Invisibility Confirmed

We all get the feeling from time to time. We ask a question, nobody responds. We walk into a room, not one eye glances in our direction. When it happens to me, I tend to look for something I can gaze at that will reflect my image, just to be sure that I at least can see myself. I’ve often complained about feeling invisible—some of you can confirm that. But I’ve always felt like my invisibility was a bit different from the average person’s. Nobody believes me, though. My friends just say, “Oh, we all feel like that from time to time.” I tend to walk away from that explanation very reluctantly, choosing to agree with them outwardly, while remaining positive that my own invisibility is unique, highly disturbing, and more deserving of attention than the average person’s. Today, I got justification for my feelings. And if I weren’t so angry, I would be jubilating triumphantly and pointing Aha! fingers at everyone.

Now, as you know by now, I’m in Ife on this language study program. I’m here with nine other girls and three young men, and I feel pretty lost and frustrated most of the time. This is exacerbated by the fact that I don’t think any of them realize I’m actually there with them. This is more than just walking in a room where nobody says hi. In fact, it goes beyond my fellow classmates. My own lecturers don’t seem to believe that kulutempa actually signed up for this trip and comes to class just like everyone else. They will actually hear me answer a question in class then praise someone else for giving the right answer; or they won’t hear me at all then someone else will repeat what I’ve said three or four times—at increasing decibel levels—and get the credit for it. It’s not that it upsets my ego; I just can’t believe that nobody hears me, and even when they do, they don’t see me! Today was the last straw.

I’ve been really, really depressed being in this village of a town, and I just want to go home and see my family. They’re literally right round the corner (as compared to when I’m in the States) and these wankers are just not letting me go see them. My sister-in-law is pregnant for the first time and I want to see her, all round and barefoot, before she jets off to have the baby; I want to see my favorite big brother’s smile (his smile looks like mine J); I want to see my aunt, who isn’t very happy these days and cheer her up…I just want to go home. These bastards tell me that I can’t because if I go, then other people who have been asking to travel for personal research will want to go as well once they notice I’m not around (how they will notice, I have no idea) and that’s just not allowed under the program. They (the directors) want me to understand that they are in a tough position, having to turn down requests all willy-nilly. And you know, I actually tried to empathize with the fact that they have rules and want to stick to them for the sake of peace in the group. I was willing to sacrifice my own happiness, people—or at least just plan a trip without informing anyone and damn the consequences—until today. This fateful, wicked day.

It’s the fourth of July, so we don’t have lectures. Matter of fact, they planned instead to take us out on the town, then arrange a picnic for everyone to ease the pain of those who are homesick. Let’s forget that I’m very homesick right now and no fucking Fourth of July picnic that means jack-all to me is going to erase that pain. We went around Ile-Ife, which was an all right experience. I was pressured to pray at a shrine and “donate” 10 naira for the privilege; I saw ancient pottery and a giant granite pole; I went to visit the Ooni of Ife’s palace. It was decent. Then we came back to campus to hang out for about an hour before the glorious picnic. I went into one room, everyone went into another one down the hall. I was going to follow, but then I decided that I was tired of being with a group but still feeling alone. If I’m going to feel alone, I might as well be alone, right? So I stayed in my room, writing in my Yoruba journal, listening to music and singing along loudly just for the hell of it. I was jamming; I was having a good time. An hour and a half later, someone “flashes” me. One of the girls in the group. I “flashed” her back—who told her that I had credit to call her? Three minutes later, she texts me: Where are you? We’re on the bus going to the picnic.

I was naïve. I assumed she was saying that they were waiting for me outside. I got my things together and I walked outside. There was a bus there, quite all right, but it was empty. I text her back: What bus?

No response.

It began occur to me that I had been abandoned, but I pushed that thought to the back of my mind. There was no room for pessimism, at least not yet. I decided instead that they must still be in the other room and on their way out to get into the bus, so I went to the washroom to wash my face and hands of the sticky sweat that was all over them. In the back of my mind, I knew that I was just buying time to deal with the reality of the situation—my ass had been left. But I told myself that when I was done, they’d be ready to go and congregating around the bus in the parking lot. When I walked out, there was still no sign of anybody. Oddly enough, I couldn’t bring myself to walk to the room and find out if anyone was there or not. I never set one foot in that direction, not even after I was ready to go home. Instead, I phoned my “mom” and told her to come and pick me up. Fifteen minutes later, as she pulled up to the building, the good professor Ojo phoned me to say, and I quote, “Ah, [kulutempa], we are at the Park and Garden Unit.”

Yeah, that’s all he said. Now, I could have taken that a million different ways, which I won’t bother you with right now. This is how I DID take it, though: This motherfucker was informing me that I needed to walk down to this place that everyone else needed a ride to get to. And I say walk because either way he was expecting me to find my way down there, and since we’ve been warned against taking the motorcycle taxis, how else was I supposed to get there? Then this motherfucker wasn’t even about to apologize for the fact that he fucked up at his job at MY expense. No, he was going to act as though everything was fine, or maybe as though I’m the one that messed up. And you know, I might even have felt bad for being irresponsible enough to get left behind. Forget that there’s no way anyone could have looked for me before they left and I know it. No, I might have felt bad, if the good professor Ojo hadn’t given a very carefully-worded speech merely six hours earlier, for the benefit of those of us who had asked to be excused from the program during our free time, about how it was his responsibility to know where everyone is at any given point in time. Yes, the good professor Ojo informed us JUST this morning that he was not in a position to let anyone out of range of his radar because, not only does he need to make sure that he can produce us when the US government asks for us (because, you know, embassies just up and request to see random language students on a whim), but he is our guardian and he would feel just AWFUL were anything to happen to us when we were out of his sight.

But let’s forget the speech for a second and address another point. We’ve been on a number of group excursions since we arrived in Ife. I remember having to wait an hour for someone who wasn’t sure about the right time to meet for the trip. I remember being delayed for lunch because we couldn’t find Amber and Laura and we had to make sure they were OK before everyone else made a move. I remember headcounts, and names being yelled out, and concerned phone calls being made—all before everyone got on the bus. I don’t once recall having to suddenly realize that a member of our group was missing once we arrived at our destination. Or is it that I didn’t pay the same money as everyone else? Was I told to pay only $1000 while everyone else paid $5000, just so that it would be OK to disrespect and mistreat me?

This man had the GALL to pretend that he didn’t owe me an immediate apology! I might not even feel so heated right now if some of the first few words I had heard were along the lines of, “I’m so sorry...” But it’s all right, though. I plan to hold this gaffe over the head of the good professor Ojo when I again demand to be allowed to see my family for the first time since December 2005. He will be reminded about his infamous speech. He will be made VERY aware of how much I do not appreciate the misrepresentation that he will not be allowed to get away with. I can’t see my family because the other students will notice I’m away and complain, is it? I think not, Dr. Ojo. I think not.

They may not be able to see me now, but this invisible student will definitely have a voice at the program evaluation. Yeah, that’s a threat. Bastards.

**On a much lighter note, after a major WC upset, we find that the Fascist Spaghetti Eaters© will be at the final in Berlin!! In support of my boy who stands to win a big pot of loot in the office draw (I am also a winner through you, my dear—forget me not), I stand firmly behind the skills and talents of those Little Boys Blue, if you will, as I chant, “Viva! Viva Italia!”