Sorry, Is Not Enough

To calm myself I breathed deeply, in and out, losing it will not help Jamila. Jamila had always remained strong and leveled headed facing injustice, I must do the same.  Unable to remain seated I paced back and forth desperately looking at the closed door.  “We should never have come.” I muttered to myself on the verge of panic.  Just hours ago, we joked on the plane about whether to claim all the gifts we’d bought for her family never expecting reality to so unreal. Did it really happen as they were exciting their plane two soldiers stepped in front of Doris and Jamila? Each taking an arm they walked Jamila towards a door at the far end of the corridor. How could this have happened? They were supposed to only be in Paris for two hours before catching their next flight.

 “wait..what are doing?” I had called out as they pushed me aside and closed the door.

Frantically, running to the flight attendants for guidance, I was politely dismissed. Standing, walking, sitting, I don’t know how to keep myself together. I think of Jamila’s strength in the face of discrimination. “Jamila you have to be ok”. “Jamila you have to be ok”. I chant trying to comfort myself. “Why did we come? What were thinking? Was the adventure worth it?”

Panicking, I talk to myself, “Should I call her Mom? Her Dad? Can they help or would I just be causing them pointless anxiety and worry?” I’d never been so scared or felt so helpless before. I remember all the times I’ve let Jamila down. All the times I’ve stood back and let her be mistreated. “I am sorry Jamila” speaking out loud to myself.

 Pulling myself together and trying to act confident I approach the only female customs officer. “Can I please speak talk to Jamila Ali? I need to know that she is ok?”

The officer ignores me.

 “Please give me some information.” I beg the female officer.

“Wait. Over there.” The Officer points to the chairs lined up against the far wall. I go sit. I close my eyes and remember the day I didn’t defend her in teacher’s college.

 In our final teacher training assessment, Jamila’s lesson on verb tenses, far exceeded my lesson on noun verb agreement. She had gone above and beyond with interactive engaging games, all the volunteer ESL students succeeded in grasping the concept. I had checked all the boxes on the rubric but had not put in nearly the time or effort Jamila had. All four of our peer evaluations put Jamila a full grade ahead of me.

We were all like “Yeah Jamila, you really rocked; you’re going to get an A+”

When we received our teacher evaluations back, we were shocked. B+, B+ for both of us. We knew it wasn’t right. Our team knew it wasn’t right.

“Jamila, you need to challenge your evaluation.” I advised

“What’s the point? It won’t make a difference.” Jamila kicked the chair parked neatly under the desk.

“You deserve a better grade, you worked so hard on it, your lesson was better than all of ours.” Patrick confirmed.

“We’ll go with you to back you up.” Pam suggested nodding at us.

“Yeah! Let’s go now, let’s go to his office and complain.” Patrick ordered.

“Guys, you don’t understand I’ve tried, it doesn’t matter, he’ll just make an excuse, find a fault. Tell me to try harder. Why do you think I put more time and effort than all you guys put together?”

“It’s not fair” Patrick protested

“Let’s go! Together. He can’t ignore all of us.” Pam ordered.

Grabbing Jamila’s arm and pulling her forward, the four of us made our way to Mr. Burl’s office, three of us marching purposefully, Jamila being dragged by our momentum.

Patrick knocked on his door. “Come in.” Mr. Burl ordered.

“Mr. Burl” Pam’s voice was high, “Each member on our team evaluated Jamila’s lesson significantly higher than the rest of us. Is it possible to reassess her mark?” Pam turned her head smiling and tossing her hair back opening her big brown eyes wide.

“Ok, let me see your paper Jamila.” Mr. Burl spoke looking at Pam, he smoothed his oily slick hair over his balding head, Pam continued to smile like a child waiting for a lollipop.

Mr. Burl scanned the first page, lifting it to scan, the second. “Everything looks good to me.”

“But…” Patrick began

“You know there’s a certain amount of subjectivity in all lesson evaluations” Mr. Burl interrupted, getting out of his chair, “Now if you’re excuse me, I have a meeting to attend to.”

The four students stepped into the corridor allowing Mr. Burl space to leave the office. No one wanted to brush against the large belly hanging over his belt.

“I can’t believe I just did that.” Pam shook her body as if ants were crawling all over.

“I can’t you believe you did that either. I am not a charity case. You humiliated me.” Jamila spoke her mouth tight, eyes partly closed, she shook her head and stomped off.

Pam yelled after her “I was only trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help!” Jamila opened the door and fled down the stairwell.

Patrick turned to us shrugging he said, “Well we tried, I mean what else can we do?”

“I don’t know” I said.

The door Jamila had disappeared behind opened. I jumped expecting to see her. A strong stern voice shouted a few French words from behind the door. The female officer I addressed earlier looked me and then strode into the doorway.

“Oh Jamila! Why did we come?” My thoughts were wild. I wanted to go back to the day we received our offers and refuse them.

Ping

Ping

Jamila’s sending messages.

I have to answer.

“yeah, Jay, I got a job offer too.” I typed. 5000

I hated typing it, but I knew Jamila wouldn’t want me to lie or sugarcoat it.

Silence –

I waited for a response

Silence

“I am sorry.” I wrote

Silence

“I know. It’s not your fault.” She messaged.

“I expected some difference.” She continued.

‘But not 1500.” I continued her thought. Our thought.

“I am not going to take it I wrote. I feel sick.” I wrote

“Yes, you are, I am not going alone.” She ordered.

“But Jamila I really feel awful.” I wrote

“Oh stop with your white guilt girl. You can’t change the system. We’ve been planning this for so long.”

“Yeah, I know, but you don’t always have to be strong and wise Jamila. You can get upset and be angry. We can find other ESL jobs.” I reasoned knowing there was no point, once Jamila’s mind was made up.

I sat staring at that door. Wishing I was strong, wishing we hadn’t come. Wishing Jamila out of that door.

The door opened. The female officer stepped out, she stepped to the side of the door and Jamila head high walked mechanically out her carryon bag over her shoulder. I stood. Looking. Waiting.

 “Let’s go.” She spoke to me but didn’t look at me. I walked beside her feeling a million miles away.

I could feel sad, guilty, angry but I was a witness to her inequality not a partner.

“Jamila are you ok?” I spoke softly. She kept walking.

“Did you call my parents?” her tone was harsh.

“No” I answered

 She didn’t look or speak to me. She was deep inside herself protecting herself.

 Respecting her space, I walked beside her not speaking silently vowing I must stop doing nothing; I had to start fighting racism; I would start raising my pen, my voice against it. Jamila deserves better. Jamila deserves a friend who defends, feeling bad does nothing to help.

Saying sorry was not enough, it was never enough.