History Class
Words by Lofa Totua | She/Her
St Frances’ Catholic School for Girls.
Level 3 History, MB Building.
Aotearoa, Present Day.
Natasha
The seniors don’t really care that much. It is summer. The white blouses of my students release body odour as they drift in from lunch, tote bags slung over one shoulder. The older they get, the less they have to pack—no longer the Year 9’s who carry their whole lives under their turtle shell Jansport backpacks. One by one, they enter and I watch, sitting behind my desk, legs crossed. My hair grows in volume each second and the heated air is recycled with each breath I take. Today is too fucking hot to function, let alone teach. The girls pay no mind to me, as I had predicted, each table attending to their own agenda. Ball is in Week 11, and I am already sick of hearing about who will be wearing what and who is taking who.
“...It’s such a struggle! Harry and I haven’t spoken since New Years but I can’t imagine going with anyone else. Plus he’s so photogenic. What am I going to do?”
These girls have no idea.
The group closest to the back erupts into laughter as I stand up, reaching into my desk drawer for my whiteboard marker.
“Okay girls, break time over. Today we will be voting from these two topics for your partner project and investigation. Please consider each one carefully and think about how it is a privilege to learn from other cultures and histories. What you decide ultimately helps us determine what students would like to learn.”
I try to smile brightly. Only half the class have their eyes on me. Six students have actual refills and pens out but I can still see more iPhones with Instagram feeds open than today’s date and lesson objective written. The discussions have dropped only a fraction in volume.
“Girls. That’s enough. Please take down what’s on the board, and start moving into the partner groups to discuss. I’m going to take the roll now. Once you and your partner have properly discussed each topic—and I encourage you to use this time to do some research—we can keep a running tally on the whiteboard on which topic you would prefer to study.”
One of the girls from the laughing table, Sophia raises her hand, “Miss! My partner isn’t here! I can just decide for us, it’s probably easier…”
At that moment, Ella rushes in. 20 minutes after the bell. Her hair is somehow slicker than mine but her uniform is in disarray. She’s lugging not only a backpack but a sports bag too. She strides straight for my desk, sincerity painted into her features.
“Miss I’m really sorry I’m late. I had to help out my cousin’s group with their performance at lunch and—”
“What performance?” Sophia cuts in. “I thought our school wasn’t performing in any comps this year?”
Ella grits her teeth and lowers her eyes to the ground. “Yeah… It was a video call.” She lifts her head to me and I know what her eyes are looking for. “I’m really sorry Miss, I take full responsibility. I know I lost track of time, and their lunch period is different to ours. I never meant to be disrespectful. It’s just it’s really important for our family because—”
I hold up my hand before she can finish, “Ella, I expect better from you. You know how important this next assignment is. Aren’t you doing Scholarship in this subject? This will help with your preparation. Next time, try to be more organised with your time management.”
She nods, her face determined, but her eyes look lost. I know how she feels. For the first time this lesson, my entire class is quiet, watching us. Entertainment. My voice softens and I direct Ella into the available desk opposite mine.
“I’ve just asked everyone to start exploring their thoughts and ideas around the two topics on the board. You and Sophia can discuss further here.”
“Yes. Sounds good.”
Sophia heaves an echoing sigh, as she migrates from the back to the front, clutching at her Stolen Girlfriend’s tote. “Ella, I saved you a seat at the back though, but it’s fine.”
For the next 30 minutes or so as I work on my laptop, the rest of the class buzzes with conversation. I can hear snippets of brainstorming between pairs, but it’s the dialogue between Sophia and Ella that overcomes the static.
“So do you think you can make it next Saturday to my birthday brunch? I know the change is late notice, but it’s the best Mum could do. We had to ask her friend Lisa to cater instead as a favour. She owes Mum anyway.” Sophia is expectant. Ella is doodling tatau patterns in her margins. I sneak a look at her book from behind my laptop screen and see it bursting with words and rough sketches already.
“Soph, you know I would do anything to be there but I can’t. I really can’t. I told you ages ago that I would be going Poly with my fam on those dates. It’s nothing personal I just—”
“Yeah I know you did but come on, Ella! Polyfest happens every year, you can go another time. And it’s not like you’re performing! It’s my 18th! Out of all my friends, you’re one of the only ones who I can trust and rely on. This is important to me.”
Ella is silent for a moment. “Polyfest is important to me and my family Soph,” she mumbles, her fingers flicking the corner of her exercise book and her eyes on the whiteboard.
The tally is increasing, as one student from each pair comes up and votes on a topic. Scrolling on her phone, Sophia sighs loudly. I bet I could recognise it anywhere, she does it so often. “Okay, I get it. Ella, I get that it’s a family thing. I understand how you sometimes have to do stuff you don’t want to—like you said that one time with your cultural stuff? Shit, my family makes me do stuff I don’t wanna do either. But can’t you just say you have work or something?”
She stops scrolling and glances over at Ella’s book. “Wait what?” Her eyes narrow and she looks up at the board for the first time this lesson, before pulling Ella’s book closer to her. “Ma… Ma-you? Ma-you Movement? You want to do this topic? What about the French Revolution? We could use some French words from Monsieur Aubert’s class in our presentation, try and get some points for creative thinking or something.”
Ella’s shoulders curl inwards and she rests her face in her hands, still looking at the board. Her face is shielded from my view but I can see Sophia’s expressions clearly.
“The French culture is so sophisticated. I’ve read about Napoleon before and I think it shouldn’t be too hard to find information and books and stuff. I don’t know anything about… this Ma-you Movement.”
“It's Mau.”
“What?”
Ella releases her face from her palms and folds them into her lap. “It’s pronounced Mau. It’s the Mau Movement. It’s how Sāmoa gained its independence as a country. I don’t know much about it, but my grandpa knows a lot. We could always interview him? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind and I think it would be a cool angle.”
Sophia laughs and smiles at Ella. It looks almost mocking.
“Hun, I think it would be way more convenient if we just did the French Revolution. We wouldn’t have to do so much work, especially because we BOTH don’t know anything about the… the… the Independence thing. I’m sure your grandpa would be happy to chat with you anyways. You’re doing so much already and Scholarship on top of it all—wouldn’t you want to make less work for yourself? That way we can just use class time to research.”
Ella bites her lip and looks down at her brainstorm. She blinks and stares; I can almost see her thoughts.
“Yeah… you’re right. I’m sorry. Let’s just do that instead. I can get some books out after school and get a start on reading tonight.”
“Yay! Okay great. I probably won’t be free tonight but we can talk more tomorrow?”
I sweep the classroom and see that everyone has started to pack up. I haven’t even said anything about packing up.
“And Ella? Please think about next weekend. Polyfest is a two day thing, isn’t it? You could always go on Friday instead!”
Ella nods, still doodling in her margins.
The bell rings, and students evacuate my class like it was a fire alarm, no turning back. I hover, watching Ella say goodbye to each student, mechanically placing her belongings into her school bag. Her shoulders were still curved inward.
“Ella?”
She grips both bags on one shoulder and slowly edges to the door. Her eyes are on the ground.
“Miss. I know you tried. But it looks like the class wants to study the French Revolution and not the Mau. I’m sorry for being late. Have a good weekend.”
As she exits, I turn to face the board and feel my shoulders drop. She was right. French Revolution it is. Third year running.
***
2 weeks laterElla
“Do you understand why I have called you in here today?”
I wonder if she’s called Mum. Surely not. I can’t believe I was smiling like an idiot when I walked in. Her face is stern, her lips pursed and her pink lipstick is a bit smudgy in the right corner. Too much talking perhaps? She’s wearing Kate Sylvester, I recognise the print because Sophia won’t shut up about it. I’m staring at her eyes. They are a really cold blue. I guess you would have to be this close to feel it. Oh shit. She’s expecting a reply.
“No Miss. If this is about my lateness I can explain. I work late in the evenings and—”
“No Ella, it’s not. Although there is no excuse for tardiness.”
She unfolds her arms and places them on the table, chin jutted towards the ceiling, her gaze peering down at me.
“It’s about truancy. From my understanding, you were absent from school on the Friday just gone, because you were attending the Polyfest Festival. Am I correct?”
Ok. Now I’m confused.
“Yes. My Mum wrote a note, giving me permission and—”
“No Ella. I strictly said that no Pacific students were to skip school to go to this Festival. Do you understand how it looks for you to be attending? To our Juniors? As a school leader? Do you understand that your actions have a ripple effect to other students on what rules you follow and what rules you don’t? This says to me and your school community that you care about Polyfest.”
Is she for real?
“With all due respect, I do care. It does matter. I am fully aware of the expectations and responsibilities on me as a Pacific student, more than you know. I believe in attributing one’s cultural identity to pursuing excellence and success. There isn’t much opportunity to—”
She interrupts me. Again.
“Ella I am deeply disappointed in you. Our school fosters an inclusive environment. We have an annual Cultural night. Polyfest is at the beginning of the year, it is a vital time for assessments. I didn’t realise I had to explain to you why we do not participate. If anything, I hope you can take the time to reflect on your actions and think about what you will say to other students when they approach you. I am very disappointed in you.”
***
Polyfest, a few days earlier.
“Chhhhhhehoooooo!”
Everyone was cheering on my cousin’s school, this year they were the ones to beat. I admired their harmonies. Their bodies celebrated the grace and power of our dances, flowing with joyful ease. Transitions were seamless and their smiles tiptoed between pride and true joy. Everyone’s skin glowed in the sun, the smell of coconut oil strong as I reached to adjust my sei. The fala beneath us shifted as my nephew clambered onto my knees, gripping an ice cream.
Crowds of people had been gathering since 8am. The sun—and us—were gleaming from early on. We were at the Sāmoan stage, sitting near the middle. I surveyed the people around me and absorbed the love, breathing deeply. Someone near the front broke out into a familiar Sāmoan tune and soon the whole crowd was swaying and singing as we waited for the next performance. I laughed, lifting my nephew into my lap.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the most gorgeous flame coloured dress, with white frangipanis, the person was standing near the fence. She was hugging one of the boys from the previous performance and adjusting his green lavalava. I blinked. It was Mrs. Faletulu, my History teacher. She must have sensed someone was staring and her eyes found mine. She waved and we grinned at one another. It was around 2:30 on a Friday afternoon.
We were both taking History.