Mrs. Somda's Kids
When you grow up in Addis-Ababa's diplomatic community, you end up having more siblings and parents than you bargained for. Your parent's friends become surrogate uncles and aunties (Tontons, Tantines), and their kids your extended brothers and sisters. By spending your entire childhood in Addis, you also pick up certain trends, like how certain friends come and go.
Most diplomatic missions replace their personnel every 2-4 years depending on the country, which means that it was not uncommon to separate from friends during that timeframe. It was different for those whose parents worked at the O.A.U or the E.C.A because Ethiopia hosted the Headquarter; therefore a position in one of those establishments often meant longer tenure. Occasionally, E.C.A employees could be moved to other African locations or U.N offices abroad.
During my younger days, I had a new best friend every year, but after the global debt crisis of the 1980's, many African countries were unable to maintain and sustain their diplomatic corps, a situation exacerbated by the Fall of Communism which destabilized many of them. This situation had for consequence to stabilize the diplomatic community of Ethiopia. The new status quo meant that many families stayed in Ethiopia well passed their original mandate.
During Primary school in Lycée, classes were shuffled every year, along with a new teacher you would also get new classmates each year until the 5th grade (CM2). When I started 5th grade, I was in a class that would mark me to this day and made friends that I still consider brothers and sisters. It was a year that was made significant by the teacher we inherited: Mrs. Somda.
For as long as I could remember, Lycée had been the kid's sanctuary; the one place in Addis where you were assured that parents would not be seen. Whatever parents wanted to know happened in school was delivered by us... the kids. This all changed when by God knows why, some of our Tantines decided to teach in Lycée. It was a horrible situation, a breach of everything we held sacred. We were no longer the middlemen, now parents would have direct access to our closed garden, unbearable! From 3rd grade, we would consult one another about the few of them that had already infiltrated our universe to investigate if they knew our parents. Until then, I was lucky because I had avoided Mrs. Thabit and another teacher whose name I do not recall. Rumors running in the yard were that one of them punished her students by hitting them with keys, and the other one was an adept of Cocotas, which is a bare knuckle hit on top of your head. Not that anything named Cocota warrants an explanation, but that form of punishment is embarrassment wrapped with confusion that will make you regret whatever bad deed you committed.
My luck didn't run for too long, in 5th grade I feared two teachers: Mrs. Petridesse and Mrs. Somda. The first one was an old French woman that looked like she was coming straight from another era. She was driven by an equally old Ethiopian chauffeur in an even older car, even by Addis standard, which in hindsight appears like a real life version of Driving Miss Daisy. Mrs. Somda scared me because she knew my parents, attended the same Catholic Church and her husband worked at the O.A.U with my dad; I knew her kids very well. It was too close for comfort. Sure enough, I landed in her class.
Attending Mrs. Somda's class was like being homeschooled; not only was her style very motherly strict but the atmosphere in the class also felt very familiar because I knew quite a few of my classmates outside of school. That year, I had for classmates Ahmed Abdul-Aziz, Edgar N'goteni, Lulit Metek, Naomi Felelke, Carlos N'Zoyoum, Madina Tall, Rosaline N'tula, Arlette N'gung, Mohamed Jafer, Mieraf Paulos, Carine Shingiro, Rebika Mekonnen, Daniel, Sunamawit, Alexander Vadala, Tefera Alemu, just to name a few.
Our class, 7ème A was a blend of personalities that fit and complemented one another very well. I retain fond memories of that group and how Mrs. Somda built us for success in a very challenging year. While trouble was brewing in Ethiopia, Mrs. Somda helped us focus on our studies, adopted the role of surrogate mother when needed and never failed to bring the best out of us. Whether we recognized it then, today or not, she fostered a brotherly and sisterly bond among us where without realizing it, we became a team, hence my remembrance of nearly every name and face from that year.
What also helped instill a cohesiveness in the class was the cognizance that after the 5th grade, there wouldn't be any more shuffling, from 6th grade should we make it, those were the classmates we would retain until the end of our High School education. It was a journey we were set to start together, which we partially made all together.
Getting us to 6th grade was not an easy task but Mrs. Somda was clearly up for the job. She did everything that was needed to bring the best out of everybody, from moving seat assignment to stirring peer pressure for success. During one trimester, my grade dipped and Mrs. Somda was keen on mentioning my letdown to my parents. Unfortunately, the Parent-teacher conference (PTC) was cancelled because of insecurity in the city. Not to be deterred, Mrs. Somda offered for those parents that would be interested to have the PTC at her home. That was scandalous and unacceptable in my eyes, but my mom accepted. We then drove Mom and I to the Somda residence where, sitting between the two of them, I had my entire private school life exposed to my mother. The outcome was swift.
Following, the PTC, my mother asked for Mrs Somda to seat me in the front row, right in front of her desk. I was within reach of her long yellow ruler, and every time I turned my head to communicate with one of my friend in the class, the ruler's flat side would land on top of my head violently enough to remind me where I was and in the process deposit powder of chalk on my usually uncombed hair. When I learned that I'd be seated in the front row, my only wish was that I'd be seated next to the girl I had crush on, a wish that was amazingly realized, the only issue is that I was so shy that for the whole time we sat together I couldn't look in her direction, for the whole year I was in Mrs Somda's class, I never focused on the blackboard more than when that girl was next to me.
Mrs. Somda succeeded in getting her entire class to the 6th grade, where we continue to grow as a group and learn about one another. We became the 6ème1, then 5ème1 the following year. There was a rivalry with the other classes of our grade. The 6ème2 was known as the studious nerdy one, our class was the moderate one while the 6ème3 was the bad apple, the one always getting into trouble. Interestingly, despite their reputation, 6ème3 beat all of us in class GPA average during a semester; everybody was shocked, including our teachers. Me, I didn't care much about it, after all, it is not like I was the one tipping the balance in our favor.
My crew consisted of Edgar, Aziz and Carlos and I, we raised hell in our own ways, making fun of each other constantly in the process. In an attempt to be cool, we had approached an older friend, Ghislain Mulumba to assign us cool names. Ghislain and his friends, Hervé, Gaetan and José were fans of the U.S Rap group NWA and had assigned each other a moniker referring to one of the members of NWA. Because my friends and I argued about the meaning of MC, we asked Ghislain to explain to us what it meant. Based on his explanation and guidance, Edgar became Master System, Carlos adopted MC Power and I became Master Control; due to Edgar constant banter, Aziz name was never fully adopted nor would it be divulge.
Right before Basketball fever gripped Lycée, we were still very much passionate of football. We competed as a class in the interclass tournament. The games were played during lunch breaks, which in our system consisted of the hours between noon and 2:00 pm. One day, as our game prolonged until most students returned from lunch, we gained an audience and were surprised to hear the girls of our class rooting for us to win. At an age where boys and girls tend to build their own circle and interest, it was a surprising display of support and affection. This was a testament of the unspoken growing friendship and familiarity that we were slowly building. It was also the revelation of the changing nature of our rapport whereas young boys and girls were closely entering puberty. The girls cheered us on the field and quickly ignored us once we left it.
These were the same girls that a few years ago had a game that consisted of holding hands in a circle while one of them stood in the middle. They would sing the following song while moving around their friend: " Un samedi soir, je dis à ma mère : "Voulez-vous savoir le garçon que j'aime ? C'est un jeune garçon à qui j'ai donné mon coeur. J'ai donné mon coeur à….
[Translation] I told my mother on a Saturday night: "would you like to know the boy that I love, I have given my heart to…
At the end of the song, the girls will mention the name of a boy that the girl in the middle presumably likes. She in turn was supposed to say whether she agrees or not. Because they played that game during recess and loudly, it used to drive the boys crazy and often interrupted their karate games. If a boy heard his name mentioned during the girls' game, he would race to break the circle and sometimes threaten the girl before she could reveal if she liked him or not. With time, the girls got tired of our antics and developed their own strategies to cope with us. They wouldn't stop playing the game, but as soon as the boy's name was mentioned, they'd expect him to rush in. At that moment, they would voluntary break the chain and trap the boy in the middle, then proceed to give him an unforgettable beating. Many of my friends got trapped in that death circle; we never helped any of them. In time, nobody dared disrupt the girls' game; we simply resorted to make fun of each other. Now, many of those girls were there cheering us during our soccer game. Girls, things are much better with them around….
It is worth mentioning that during the Basketball tournament of 1991/1992, the popularity of Lycée's team also happened thanks to the school female supporters. Not only did the girls faithfully move in groups, but they were loud and determined to make themselves heard. Their uncanny support contributed in building a following for the team, while their zealous and feverish devotion ushered a reputation Lycée will be known for years to come.
By virtue of being the only non-English speaking school, Lycée attracted less than favorable perception in the private school circuit, and being undefeated placed a target on their back. While Lycée took the tournament by storm, nobody was expecting our fan base, led by our girls; Lycée finally became a unit, a force to be reckoned. Girls, Girls, things are much much better with them around….
Most diplomatic missions replace their personnel every 2-4 years depending on the country, which means that it was not uncommon to separate from friends during that timeframe. It was different for those whose parents worked at the O.A.U or the E.C.A because Ethiopia hosted the Headquarter; therefore a position in one of those establishments often meant longer tenure. Occasionally, E.C.A employees could be moved to other African locations or U.N offices abroad.
During my younger days, I had a new best friend every year, but after the global debt crisis of the 1980's, many African countries were unable to maintain and sustain their diplomatic corps, a situation exacerbated by the Fall of Communism which destabilized many of them. This situation had for consequence to stabilize the diplomatic community of Ethiopia. The new status quo meant that many families stayed in Ethiopia well passed their original mandate.
During Primary school in Lycée, classes were shuffled every year, along with a new teacher you would also get new classmates each year until the 5th grade (CM2). When I started 5th grade, I was in a class that would mark me to this day and made friends that I still consider brothers and sisters. It was a year that was made significant by the teacher we inherited: Mrs. Somda.
For as long as I could remember, Lycée had been the kid's sanctuary; the one place in Addis where you were assured that parents would not be seen. Whatever parents wanted to know happened in school was delivered by us... the kids. This all changed when by God knows why, some of our Tantines decided to teach in Lycée. It was a horrible situation, a breach of everything we held sacred. We were no longer the middlemen, now parents would have direct access to our closed garden, unbearable! From 3rd grade, we would consult one another about the few of them that had already infiltrated our universe to investigate if they knew our parents. Until then, I was lucky because I had avoided Mrs. Thabit and another teacher whose name I do not recall. Rumors running in the yard were that one of them punished her students by hitting them with keys, and the other one was an adept of Cocotas, which is a bare knuckle hit on top of your head. Not that anything named Cocota warrants an explanation, but that form of punishment is embarrassment wrapped with confusion that will make you regret whatever bad deed you committed.
My luck didn't run for too long, in 5th grade I feared two teachers: Mrs. Petridesse and Mrs. Somda. The first one was an old French woman that looked like she was coming straight from another era. She was driven by an equally old Ethiopian chauffeur in an even older car, even by Addis standard, which in hindsight appears like a real life version of Driving Miss Daisy. Mrs. Somda scared me because she knew my parents, attended the same Catholic Church and her husband worked at the O.A.U with my dad; I knew her kids very well. It was too close for comfort. Sure enough, I landed in her class.
Attending Mrs. Somda's class was like being homeschooled; not only was her style very motherly strict but the atmosphere in the class also felt very familiar because I knew quite a few of my classmates outside of school. That year, I had for classmates Ahmed Abdul-Aziz, Edgar N'goteni, Lulit Metek, Naomi Felelke, Carlos N'Zoyoum, Madina Tall, Rosaline N'tula, Arlette N'gung, Mohamed Jafer, Mieraf Paulos, Carine Shingiro, Rebika Mekonnen, Daniel, Sunamawit, Alexander Vadala, Tefera Alemu, just to name a few.
Our class, 7ème A was a blend of personalities that fit and complemented one another very well. I retain fond memories of that group and how Mrs. Somda built us for success in a very challenging year. While trouble was brewing in Ethiopia, Mrs. Somda helped us focus on our studies, adopted the role of surrogate mother when needed and never failed to bring the best out of us. Whether we recognized it then, today or not, she fostered a brotherly and sisterly bond among us where without realizing it, we became a team, hence my remembrance of nearly every name and face from that year.
What also helped instill a cohesiveness in the class was the cognizance that after the 5th grade, there wouldn't be any more shuffling, from 6th grade should we make it, those were the classmates we would retain until the end of our High School education. It was a journey we were set to start together, which we partially made all together.
Getting us to 6th grade was not an easy task but Mrs. Somda was clearly up for the job. She did everything that was needed to bring the best out of everybody, from moving seat assignment to stirring peer pressure for success. During one trimester, my grade dipped and Mrs. Somda was keen on mentioning my letdown to my parents. Unfortunately, the Parent-teacher conference (PTC) was cancelled because of insecurity in the city. Not to be deterred, Mrs. Somda offered for those parents that would be interested to have the PTC at her home. That was scandalous and unacceptable in my eyes, but my mom accepted. We then drove Mom and I to the Somda residence where, sitting between the two of them, I had my entire private school life exposed to my mother. The outcome was swift.
Following, the PTC, my mother asked for Mrs Somda to seat me in the front row, right in front of her desk. I was within reach of her long yellow ruler, and every time I turned my head to communicate with one of my friend in the class, the ruler's flat side would land on top of my head violently enough to remind me where I was and in the process deposit powder of chalk on my usually uncombed hair. When I learned that I'd be seated in the front row, my only wish was that I'd be seated next to the girl I had crush on, a wish that was amazingly realized, the only issue is that I was so shy that for the whole time we sat together I couldn't look in her direction, for the whole year I was in Mrs Somda's class, I never focused on the blackboard more than when that girl was next to me.
Mrs. Somda succeeded in getting her entire class to the 6th grade, where we continue to grow as a group and learn about one another. We became the 6ème1, then 5ème1 the following year. There was a rivalry with the other classes of our grade. The 6ème2 was known as the studious nerdy one, our class was the moderate one while the 6ème3 was the bad apple, the one always getting into trouble. Interestingly, despite their reputation, 6ème3 beat all of us in class GPA average during a semester; everybody was shocked, including our teachers. Me, I didn't care much about it, after all, it is not like I was the one tipping the balance in our favor.
My crew consisted of Edgar, Aziz and Carlos and I, we raised hell in our own ways, making fun of each other constantly in the process. In an attempt to be cool, we had approached an older friend, Ghislain Mulumba to assign us cool names. Ghislain and his friends, Hervé, Gaetan and José were fans of the U.S Rap group NWA and had assigned each other a moniker referring to one of the members of NWA. Because my friends and I argued about the meaning of MC, we asked Ghislain to explain to us what it meant. Based on his explanation and guidance, Edgar became Master System, Carlos adopted MC Power and I became Master Control; due to Edgar constant banter, Aziz name was never fully adopted nor would it be divulge.
Right before Basketball fever gripped Lycée, we were still very much passionate of football. We competed as a class in the interclass tournament. The games were played during lunch breaks, which in our system consisted of the hours between noon and 2:00 pm. One day, as our game prolonged until most students returned from lunch, we gained an audience and were surprised to hear the girls of our class rooting for us to win. At an age where boys and girls tend to build their own circle and interest, it was a surprising display of support and affection. This was a testament of the unspoken growing friendship and familiarity that we were slowly building. It was also the revelation of the changing nature of our rapport whereas young boys and girls were closely entering puberty. The girls cheered us on the field and quickly ignored us once we left it.
These were the same girls that a few years ago had a game that consisted of holding hands in a circle while one of them stood in the middle. They would sing the following song while moving around their friend: " Un samedi soir, je dis à ma mère : "Voulez-vous savoir le garçon que j'aime ? C'est un jeune garçon à qui j'ai donné mon coeur. J'ai donné mon coeur à….
[Translation] I told my mother on a Saturday night: "would you like to know the boy that I love, I have given my heart to…
At the end of the song, the girls will mention the name of a boy that the girl in the middle presumably likes. She in turn was supposed to say whether she agrees or not. Because they played that game during recess and loudly, it used to drive the boys crazy and often interrupted their karate games. If a boy heard his name mentioned during the girls' game, he would race to break the circle and sometimes threaten the girl before she could reveal if she liked him or not. With time, the girls got tired of our antics and developed their own strategies to cope with us. They wouldn't stop playing the game, but as soon as the boy's name was mentioned, they'd expect him to rush in. At that moment, they would voluntary break the chain and trap the boy in the middle, then proceed to give him an unforgettable beating. Many of my friends got trapped in that death circle; we never helped any of them. In time, nobody dared disrupt the girls' game; we simply resorted to make fun of each other. Now, many of those girls were there cheering us during our soccer game. Girls, things are much better with them around….
It is worth mentioning that during the Basketball tournament of 1991/1992, the popularity of Lycée's team also happened thanks to the school female supporters. Not only did the girls faithfully move in groups, but they were loud and determined to make themselves heard. Their uncanny support contributed in building a following for the team, while their zealous and feverish devotion ushered a reputation Lycée will be known for years to come.
By virtue of being the only non-English speaking school, Lycée attracted less than favorable perception in the private school circuit, and being undefeated placed a target on their back. While Lycée took the tournament by storm, nobody was expecting our fan base, led by our girls; Lycée finally became a unit, a force to be reckoned. Girls, Girls, things are much much better with them around….
