INDIAN DIARIES

“Why India?” A question most people ask me when they find out that I schooled and worked in India for a total of 5 years. I have finally decided to make a post sharing my whole experience in India. Leggo!

India is a country with vast and diverse cultures, also popular for been the technology hub of the world.

The following is the story of my 5 years in India. Enjoy…

1. ) ARRIVAL:

I arrived at the Indira Gandhi International Airport, New Delhi, on Saturday, 15th September, 2012. Getting my luggage from the baggage carousel and going through immigration took me about 45 minutes, after which I headed to the airport Western Union to change $100 to rupees. Almost as soon as I finished with the transaction, I was approached by a boy who could not be more than 14 years old, he offered to assist me push my luggage cart but I declined with a smile. How can hard can it be to push a cart? Oga, I fit push am by myself

I headed to the restroom so I could brush my teeth, pee and have a change of clothing before catching the Indo-Canadian airport shuttle to my final destination; Jalandhar.

As soon as I made my way into the rest room, this boy dashed as fast as a lightning bolt towards the exit and I swear I sensed he was up to no good; after all he had just seen me change some money. Extortion time

I went into India “battle-ready,” if you will; I heard a lot of Indians do not take likely to Africans and some even go out of their way to extort foreigners. Oh well…

Guards up and resting bitch face on, (BTW THAT IS MY DEFAULT FACE), I pushed my luggage cart towards the door, only to be stopped by a man who beckoned me into his office. Game time

Getting into his office, he demanded I open my suitcases so he could “inspect.” I was taken aback but I did as he asked. Bear in mind that I’d already been through with the whole Immigration process and all that was left was just for me to step out of the airport. Won fe gbe mi ni mugu (He wanted to play a fast one me)

In my mind I was like, “Wa bami n be” (I am ready for your gimmicks)

I proceeded to open the 1st suitcase that contained my clothes and shoes, which he tossed and not finding what he was “looking for” asked me to close it and open the remaining two.

He scoured through my hand luggage and still saw more shoes and clothes, so he proceeded to the 3rd suitcase, which contained foodstuff and provisions, exchanged glances with the boy and in his thick Indian accent said, “Ma’am, food items from other countries are not allowed here in India.” I let out a slight chuckle, rolled my eyes and said, “Says who?”

I became increasingly exasperated, but I had to keep my cool because I had just arrived the country, I did not want to cause any drama. “Well, sir, people have come in before me and none of them told me about food items being restricted. And besides if it is not allowed, it would not have been cleared right from the airport back home,” I said. I knew fully well where he was going, so I decided to play the long game with him.

Seeing that I would not bulge, he started to form boss and said, “Well, the rules in India is that to bring in any food items, you need to pay a sum of 10,000 rupees.” Ah-ha! There you are you pot-bellied extortionist

Hearing him say that, I laughed and jejely closed the box, pushed the one containing the food items towards him with my right foot and it towards him and said, “Since you would not allow me carry my foodstuff in peace, I have choice but to leave it with you. If I do not take it in, then I do not have to pay any dime, abi? So sir, you can seize the bag if you want.” With that, I headed for the door.

In mind, once I settled in, I’d call my parents to help me send another set of foodstuff much later.

Just as I was about to storm out, he called me back and nodded to me to carry my suitcase, which I gallantly did. I took it and put it back on the cart; I left there without paying 1 Paisa.

Fortunately, I was the last passenger to board the 11:00 am Indo-Canadian bus to Jalandhar from the airport. And so began the long, slow and tiring 9-hour journey!

Normally, Delhi to Jalandhar takes just about 6.5 - 7, but with the airport shuttle, it is longer, for whatever reason(s).

I arrived at Jalandhar around 9.00 pm and was picked up by 2 of guardians turn brothers; Bro. Kola and Felix and we headed for the house at Rama-Mandi, where two of my friends turn sisters also lived; Ronke and Lola.

The next day, which was a Sunday, we attended The Ebenezer Assemblies of God Church, Jalandhar.

Come Monday, I went into Lovely Professional University (LPU) campus to start my registration thinking it’d be a tiresome and painful process like it is in Nigerian universities but lo, it was over in about an hour. Easy peasy

As I was about to round up with my clearance, Bro Kola, Felix, Lola and Ronke met up with me at the Administrative Block after which we headed for my department just so I could find my way to class and get familiar with the environment.

Next day, I attended my very first class and that was the beginning of my 3-year journey as a Verto. If memory serves me right, I had a class on the 5th floor, which was the topmost floor. I was about 10 minutes late and the teacher had already arrived in class. On the podium in front of the class was Ms Kim Arora.

As I stepped in, I was welcomed by piercing stares from my classmates. Funnily enough, I don’t understand the reason behind those stares as I was not the first black girl in class; I met 2 Rwandan girls in class; Francine and Mireille but they soon left before we ended year 1, leaving me as the only black student in class of about 80 students.

I was not the only international student in class. There was Aminaa from Mongolia, who later became my best buddy and there was Kuenzang and Pema from Bhutan.

My very first friends in class were Hardeep and Prerna; we remained really close throughout our college days.

In LPU, each student has a roll number, which is kind of your class identity so when a teacher calls “Roll no 5,” if you are in class, you answer, “Present!” My class was filled with clowns and you would hear different octaves of “Present,” which always ended in outburst of laughter. (IT WAS ALWAYS THE HIGHLIGHT OF MY DAY IN CLASS. I HAD SOME PRETTY FUNNY AND DRAMATIC CLASSMATES. LOL

2.) LIFE AS A VERTO:

I graduated from Lovely Professional University, Phagwara, a.k.a LPU. Students were called “VERTOS.”

LPU is India’s largest private university. Its campus sits on over 600 acres of land with about 75-80 buildings of at least 5 floors each. (SOME BUILDINGS HAD MORE STOREYS)

Student count was close to 30,000 all on one campus, with a thriving number of international students from different parts the world; Nigeria, Mongolia, Rwanda, Burundi, China, Zambia, Tanzania, Congo, Togo, Cameroon, Bhutan and many more.

LPU is affiliated to many other universities across the globe and it is undoubtedly one of India’s best private universities. (GOOGLE IT)

LPU has a great teacher-student classroom interaction, mostly with great learning tools, conducive classroom setting.

LPU (while I was there) had a very strict attendance policy; we were not allowed to sit for end-term examinations with an aggregate attendance less than 75% and with a minimum of about 65-70% individual subject attendance. The attendance strictness was both a blessing and curse, why? Because many a times, we had to drag our asses to school even when we were extremely tired and lethargic to even stand up from the bed; we often had no choice. (NO ONE WANTED ATTENDANCE SHORTAGE OF ANY KIND)

I say it is a curse because if at the end, you are not allowed to sit for your exams, you would end up with a pile of re-appears or worse, backlog. Reappear in a way, is still minute compared to backlog.

With re-appears, you only had to purchase the number of scratch card equating to the number of courses you had to re-write. Each card cost about 200-250 rupees. With backlog, you’d pay 10% of your fees for each course you failed and in some cases, you’d attend the class(es) all over again. Ay! Ay! Ay! Right? (YOU SEE WHY WE HAD TO AVOID BACKLOGS AT ALL COST)

So if you are not allowed to sit for like 5 papers and it ends up been backlogs, you’d pay 10% of your humongous tuition as an international student, for each of the 5 courses, when you think about it, you have no choice but to sit straight, attend classes whether you like it or not. More importantly study hard

Backlogs could also be as a result of you having written and failed your re-appears 3 times. (3 CHANCES TO MAKE IT RIGHT)

Most Nigerian students' utmost battle was with timely fees payment; delay with transfer and with the rise and fall of the Nigerian Naira, we were often backed into tight corners because sometimes, what you paid previously might be different from what you’d pay next, no thanks to our shaky currency.

With the university’s strict attendance policy, there was a time stamp as to when you were allowed to owe tuition, after then, your attendance would be blocked, which then would start dropping like leaves from a tree.

One of the most loving memories I carry around till date is when my friend, Aminaa and I formed a "group" and we called ourselves "The Selfie-holics." A day did not go by that we did not take at least 3 selfies. We were later joined by Vikrant. Lol.

Oh, Vikrant was also one of the loveliest friends I had. I mean, I invited him to church and he joyfully showed up and participated, despite being Hindu. I remember telling him about some Nigeria dishes and I promised to make him "efo riro" (Vegetable soup) and that he would love it. I did eventually and he told me he enjoyed it.

Another fun memory was when Hardeep invited me to her home in Nawanshahr for Diwali (Festival of Lights) and I went with Lola and Ronke. I got my first mehendi that year in the spirit of Diwali. Her mom so fed us well. Damn, I miss her pakoras.

While we were lighting the firecrackers, I remember holding on to it longer that I should have and when I realized it was about to let out a bang while I was still holding it, I dropped it and made a run for it so as to avoid been close to the loud noise and it the process, I fell, broke my right hand and started laughing.

3.) LPU ON-CAMPUS ACTIVITIES:

We had a lot of fun on-campus activities; One World Fest, Youth Vibe, One India and many more. All through my 3 years, I participated in One World Fest, (A 5-DAY FESTIVAL WHERE CULTURES FROM ALL OVER THE WORLD ARE DISPLAYED. IT INVOLVES, SINGING, DANCING, BEAUTIFUL PROCESSIONS ET AL) to showcase the Nigerian culture(s).

Boy was it fun!

I now look back at those bickering, disagreements, yelling and quarreling during rehearsals and laugh hard.

My very first One World Fest participation was so impromptu that only 3 of us; Yetunde, Lola and myself) ended up dancing. Our procession wound up on the Hindustan Times front page, which I sentimentally kept for a long time. LOL.

Subsequently, in the 2nd and final year, Nigerians came out in huge numbers to take part.

The one we had when I was in 3rd year was about the most fun; we fought, laughed, danced, did all manner of crazy stuff. I remember one yeye fight I had with Elizabeth which got almost instantly resolved though. Typical troublesome me, eh! Lol

During these fests, each country had different rooms assigned to them at the Division of Student Affairs; where we did and perfected everything pertaining to our presentation; dance numbers, songs, procession and all.

The eve of the dance presentation, rehearsals for time and stage management were scheduled by organizers at the stage in front of the Campus Café where we’d be cheered on by students who had just finished from class.

Participants were allowed to not be in class for all of 5 days and after the whole fest, we’d be given bonus attendance for participation.

Different days were for different events. Day 1: Procession, Day 2: Dance, Day 3: Songs Presentation, Day 4: Tent tour/Culture showcase. We’d make different dishes and decorates our tents with artifacts.

The university CEO and management would visit each tent, where again, we’d welcome them with dance and songs and take them on a tour inside our tent. All the while, they’d be grading us. At the end, there would a winning country

Once during One India Fest, (ALSO A 5-DAY FESTIVAL WHERE CULTURES AND TRADITIONS FROM ALL PARTS OF INDIA ARE DISPLAYED), I was part of the Madhya Pradesh procession, along with my classmates, for the fun of it and also because the state was assigned to the Journalism Department, so one of our teachers roped us in by blackmailing us with our attendance. LOL

During these campus fests, different cultures/countries are assigned to different departments that would go above and beyond to work with people from that country/culture to deeply showcase the tradition from that particular country. The school made financial provisions to cover some of the things needed by each department for their “country.”

4.) RACISM:

None of my classmates was racist towards me, at least not to my face!

Racist Teacher No 1:

The times I felt some sort of racism were from 2 teachers, who at first, I held in high esteem but on realizing how small-minded they were, I lost every ounce of respect I had for them. (FACT)

The first, being Ms Ruchi, our photojournalism teacher. She had a very non-challant attitude towards the presence of foreign students in class; she’d address the class and teach mostly in Hindi, ignoring the fact that LPU is a fully English-taught school. She’d act like we did not matter and would never carry us along and when she’d manage to speak English was mostly towards the end of class.

One of her many despicable acts was purposely grading my assignments and tests poorly; she’d give me preposterous scores like 4 out of 20 or 7 out of 20 for assignments I clearly did well in. I ended up having a re-appear in her subject because my aggregate continuous assessment score was so low it affected my end-term result for her subject.

On this very day, she decided to unleash her inner unrepentant racist. We were in the photography lab, where we had the class. The class was supposed to last for 2 hours.

Earlier that day, I was given an appointment for 1:30pm with the Dean as regards to my tuition transfer delay, so when the clock struck 1:00, I stood up, walked to her and asked to be excused for 20 minutes for a meeting with the Dean of Arts, only for her to yell atop her voice and scoffed, “Please speak up. I do not speak Swahili. I cannot understand you. Also I will mark you absent for both classes once you leave.” Really? Even though I had been present?

I was bewildered! What the butt! Just ‘cause I am African doesn’t automatically mean I speak Swahili, b****h!

In that moment, I must have had a rush of blood through my face; because next I knew, I bit the left corner of my lower lip, eyeballed her and let out a typical Nigerian “Eh, see this one o! You are lucky you are my teacher” kinda laughter, and blurted out, “I spoke in perfect English, Ma’am. Even I do not speak Swahili. That’s a super racist statement. I have an important and unavoidable meeting with the Dean, so please mark me absent if you have to.” And with that, I carried my bag and bounced my ass out of her class.

Racist Teacher No 2:

Mr Rahul or “Rahul Sir” as he was often referred to, was the other racist teacher I encountered. Overtime he thought us about 2 or 3 courses.

He too would use the better part of an hour class to blow in Hindi without any regards to non-Hindi speaking students and when I’d plead with him to teach in English, he’d dismiss my plea.

Some of my class friends, who were Indians, asked me to make a complaint about him but I did not, because I felt it was unnecessary. Typical me would have but I really do not know what stopped me.

When he started teaching us a more practical course, (I THINK RADIO PRODUCTION) we were often divided into groups for assignments, projects and test.

For an assignment, I was in a group with Rohit, Prerna and Hardeep. We had to come up with our own radio commercial for any kind of product.

After working tirelessly as a team, putting heads together and coming up with our script, my teammates graciously agreed that I be allowed to voice the commercial because of my diction and tone of voice, which we all ended up loving and patted ourselves in the back for a job well done done. We really killed it. Or did we?

Eyin eyan mi, when the scores came out, I had the lowest score of about 86% when everyone else on the team all scored 92% or 93% thereabout. (IT WAS A GROUP EFFORT. GROUP MEMBERS ARE OFTEN GRADED THE SAME WAY)

I was devastated! Typical me, I marched up to his cubicle and questioned the grade and as usual, he came up with some sort of nonsensical excuse that held no water but sha I stood on his neck till he gave me the score that I obviously deserved. Radarada

4.) EBENEZER ASSEMBLIES OF GOD CHURCH, JALANDHAR:

I attended E.A.G, Model house, Jalandhar, owned by Pastor Joseph and Beulah Rajan. (THEY WERE PARENTS INDEED!)

English service kicked off by 2:00 pm after the Punjabi service. We were indeed a family.

When I first arrived, we barely had 20 members, but before the end of my first year, we had an overflow of members from different African countries.

Bro Kola, on spotting my “singing talent,” (I QUOTE IT ‘CAUSE I ONLY CONSIDER MYSELF A BATHROOM SINGER. I SING BEST IN THE SHOWER. LOL) urged me to join the choir, which at first I hesitated but later joined. We were led and coordinated by the multi-talented Bro. Nathaniel, who in no time helped me come out of my shell by pushing and testing my limit. (SOMETHING I WILL FOREVER BE GRATEFUL FOR)

Bro. Nath would often indulge us to learn songs from other countries/languages so as to make our non-Nigerian members feel at home in church. Learning and singing songs in other languages was indeed a great experience for me. I still sing them till date.

Our rehearsals lasted till around 9:00 pm on Saturdays and we had a shuttle that dropped us right in front of our houses.

Before rehearsal proper, Bro Ayo would drill us with tasks of denoting the tonic sol-fa to the first 2-3 lines of a particular song; it was his way of making us better singers. We’d goof around and laugh at our inability to decipher the sol--fa for the best part of it until Bro Ayo gives us that “please be serious” look, then we’d behave.

Highlight of our rehearsals was when Mrs Rajan or “Ama-ji” as we lovingly called her, would bring us cookies served with cold drinks, in the summer and with very hot chai (tea) in the winter.

I joined the drama group, which was then led by the now late Prince in my 1st year there. When I joined, we were just 5. Overtime, we recruited more members. When Prince graduated, he handed me the leadership of the group and to top it all, the church made me the media department leader. I became the H.O.D of 2 departments!

As the media department leader, with my basic knowledge of Photoshop and CorelDraw, thanks to LPU, I made fliers for church programs.

As the drama coordinator and leader, I must say I had the best team; we all loved what we did and there was cooperation; the joy of any leader. I at one point came up with two full drama scripts for our drama night.

Drama rehearsals were fun, role deliveries were 100% on point.

Also an “unofficial” cooking committee started from our household when we made food for my birthday for the church and with that, with each event we had in church, we were in charge of the food and the best thing was we had a lot of hands join us. Those mornings were sure fun for me; we’d assign ourselves to different tasks and come up with marvelous food.

The English service of EAG, Jalandhar was led by Pastor Allison.

We had a quarterly program tagged “IN HIS PRESENCE”, which had so many people in attendance and other churches too. A lot of other Africans and even Indians would attend. We’d invite our other African brothers and sisters from other churches to minister. To be honest, I always looked forward to the program.

One of my fondest memories about church was how after service, we'd all get into what I called "picture craze". Lol. We'd all start taking pictures in front of church. There was this Sunday when about 10 of us realised we were wearing heel shoes made by the same designer and we decided to gather for a shoe group photo!

We went on a couple of trips as a family in church; to different amusement centres. I miss EAG!

5.) COMMUNITY:

The African community in LPU and Jalandhar environs was indeed a large one; we had many people from Nigeria, Congo, Burundi, Togo, Zambia, Tanzania, Rwanda and many more. Our Nigerian community was quite large, although each tribe had their own posse. (YOUNAMEAN) But that did not hinder us from relation and regarding each other.

We once held our Independence Day Program at the campus auditorium where I was the MC/anchor.

In our household, we were a family. Well, that is not to say we did not disagree a whole lot like every family does.

I lived in Rama-Mandi, just a few minutes from main Jalandhar City.

I encountered friendly and equally racist people. I remember some people would yell when they saw us passing “Oye, Negro!” on the road. At first, it would offend us but I soon realized that the most people who said the “N” word were mostly illiterates who did not have any clue how offensive it was.

Although, I smacked one kid so hard for calling me the N word o.

I also experienced some perverts who took joy in touching the female body part. I wonder if they thought what was under a black female’s cloth was built differently than their Indian babes because the rate at which they’d look at us sometimes, one could almost be undressed by their eyes.

The first time I had such experience was on the bus going to school when the guy next to me folded his arms across his chest all in a bid to use his index finger to feel my right boob. Oluwa o

On realizing this, I dashed him one thunderous slap across the face and when he was trying to feign innocence, I dashed him another one and with immediate penitence, he blurted, “I’m sorry yar.”

At another time, myself and some friends were headed to a dinner party or something, walking on the road, some Indian guys on the bike decided to be stupid enough to want to touch my breast. But those ones got away because of the bike. If not…

This dude will remember me throughout his days, Lola and I were walking and he decided he wanted to be unfortunate that day so he smacked my ass. Oh boy, I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, caught up to him and dealt with him. My body don suffer for those people hand o. Only God knows why

...TO BE CONTINUED...

PEEPS, THIS IS WHERE WE’LL STOP PART 1. Y’ALL SURE KNOW I CANNOT FIT A 5-YEARJOURNEY INTO JUST ONE PART, RIGHT? LOL.

ON THAT NOTE, PLEASE LOOK OUT FOR PART 2!

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I remain your

#Seriouslyunseriousgoofqueen

Gwen ‘Lope