I’m in England now, living in South London. I am fifteen years old. In my first week of secondary school, on the Tuesday, I beat up the school bully.
It went like this. It was the end of the day and I popped into the loo, when bully and her friend walked in. I was drying my hands when she came over and started saying something about me looking at her funny.
Bish! Bosh! Wallop! Wallop! is how I floored that bully.
It was a combination of things that made me lose my rag that day. Now reflecting on it, the “looking at...” may have triggered me as well, sending my mind back to America when I learned I was also a colour too.
I left school and went home. I had things to do. Like having to write a letter so my Nan could pray over it before it was sent off to the Immigration Office. I had to help put forward my case on why they should allow me to stay in the UK, since I was actually at that moment an Illegal Immigrant, Citizen of Jamaica, and an Alien of America.
I found out the next day, that bully was the school bully. Some of the teachers and students came up to congratulate me and told me about her. She had been terrorizing them or their little brothers and sisters for years. I kept saying whenever anyone chatted to me about it all: “Not sure what came over me. I don’t really fight girls, only boys, as I have brothers. I’ve also taken up writing now.”
I didn’t really say that last bit, but I had just written a very important letter to immigration. Also, it was my written account of the bullying incident, for the school, that had bully suspended and me exonerated. So yes, I had taken up writing now.
Standing up to the school bully meant I was welcomed by almost all the different tribes and cliques, made up of pupils from around the world, for the rest of secondary school, which helped set my future career path. What a privilege to have met and hung out with them all.
My Ghanaian best friend Stella, parents strict AF, taught me how to budget for life. I spent a couple of months with the hair-and-beauty-girls. There was too much preening and looking into mirrors, but they did improve my eyebrows for a time.
I would spend a few days here or there with the Japanese crew when they would have me (I wasn’t quite cool enough). I was taught a few words and phrases but can only remember “Konnichiwa.”
I chilled at least one day a week with my South Asian posse, Saima, Fatuma and Suparna. They usually brought in their own school lunch. Food delicious. We ate while we chatted about this and that.
Then there were also the girls who liked to pop to the shops to buy fags and crisps during school lunchtime. I could only meet with them every few months, as it meant lots of hiding from the teachers, which was all too exhausting.
I tried grunge after hanging with the cool kids but had to drop my new style after grandad moaned that I was shaming the family every time I stepped out of the house looking like my clothes hadn’t been washed!
My Chinese friend Lan (who styled her uniform so much better than mine), was a brilliant artist. She spent most of lunchtime drawing or snogging the face off her boyfriend, DJ.
Hanging with the Columbo fans meant I could dress up. I love a trench coat me.
The grown-up-kids taking care of the family, doing the weekly shop and looking after their siblings, plus the cat, dog and other assorted pets, were pretty good to hang with as well. They always filled me in on what was what.
And I always found time to chill with the mixed bunch of nerds in the library and the geeks in Maths Club, I love reading but needed help with my algebra and trigonometry.
Flexing with the Caribbean girls was where I got the chance to speak patios, even though everyone insisted on calling me “the American girl,” because of my new accent. I dropped that within a few months and became a Sarf Londoner innit.
Yes, secondary school was a lot of fun - so many cultures, so many stories.
It would be great to hear yours.
Best wishes,
Sherry Collins (her / us)
