The Complex Meaning of a Simple Word

I was tired of waiting for my future. I was standing in a line, waiting for my turn to be interviewed at the dreaded U.S. Embassy in Accra. The lounge was packed with people who may have been there for the first time, or may have been returning for their 100th visit. There was no air conditioning, or I was not feeling cool enough. People were going over their lines, sharing previous experiences from interviews, trading secrets about what to say, what not to say, and why they had to go to America. Interviews at the U.S. Embassy were always dreaded—people saved three months worth of their salaries for interviews that sometimes lasted less than 45 seconds.

The atmosphere was tense. It was so thick you could cut through it with a knife. The lounge where interviewees waited was so packed you could feel dreams lingering in the air. The aroma of wishes and hopes that would either be curtailed on that day, postponed for another day or endorsed by an agent was palpable. I was concentrating on the newspaper in my hand. It was almost 4 p.m. but time had no need to hurry. For me, the future was beyond the veil. I had nothing to lose but had much to gain. I was there to knock on the doors of fate, feel the pulse of destiny, shake the hands of time, and get a sneak peek into my future. I was tired of waiting. No one in my family knew I was going to the interview but they must have known I was tired of waiting for the future.

The first time I planned to visit England, Mum said I had to wait because my older brother had to travel first. I waited until my second year of high school was over. My older brother didn’t travel. I worked my way through my final year, performed excellently to win personality of the year, another window opened to visit the Queen’s country but mum said, “Your senior brother has to travel first.” I got selected three times into the finals of annual poetry competitions in Florida, worked on my first theater project that was receiving funding in England, and formed a company that toured through high schools using poetry as a tool to educate and motivate. I arguably started the spoken word movement in Ghana, got a rare opportunity to share my poetry on a highly ranked morning show and started writing for the national broadcasting co-op in Accra. More doors to travel opened up but Mum said I had to wait.

So that day when I sat the at the U.S. Embassy, fasting, waiting to be interviewed without telling my family, it wasn’t because I didn’t have any respect for Mum or my older brother, it wasn’t because I needed someone to massage my ego or tamper my impatience and temper, it wasn’t because I didn’t think older brother shouldn’t travel. I was anxiously waiting because beyond that interview was a future that was gradually getting clouded with each plea to wait. My acceptance letter from Columbia was sitting on the table and I was being told “older brother has to travel first.” I had performed to a crowd over 20,000 at the University of Ghana, my radio gig was going to move to one of the topmost stations in Accra, a deal which I knew was going to take me far away from school. I performed at the National Theater to ministers of state and presidents of banks and hit the peak of what a young person could dream of in Accra. I needed to move on and yet Mum was telling me, “Older brother has to travel first.”

Students from all backgrounds on campus have been told over and over to wait for changes to the Core Curriculum which have never been made, asked to wait for increased financial aid or better financial aid for international students especially in the School of General Studies, forced to deal with hate crimes without any proper guarantee of security, asked for a proper deal for the ethnic studies program, and nothing has really been done. We’ve heard of committees, forums, town halls, and banquets. We’ve received apologies, letters about patience, talks about how great the future will be, and rumors of resources that will enhance funding for students coming from poorer backgrounds. That future hasn’t still arrived.

We spent the first half of this semester dealing with the headache of hatred and distress. Our thoughts swung from fear to organizing protests to taking classes and facing the fear of waking up in the morning to another hate crime. Must we endure such plight in our humble pursuit of quality education? While we wait, we strike. The hunger strike is not because we are trying to get attention, we get attention from our lecturers during office hours. The hunger strike is not because we are being insensitive. We have been cool enough to endure the hatred and racism in our community without being unreasonable.

The hunger strike is because we are tired of waiting. Our future is here, our education is now. The opportunities we need are begging for our attention; the hate crimes are heightening our sense of fear and the lack of security. Perpetrators of hate crimes are not sensitive, they do not care, yet hunger strikers are condemned for their sensitivity toward the plight of those being abused by the ignorance of others. Our colleagues are dropping out of school because of lack of adequate funding. While I type these words, I cannot count the number of students I know who might drop out of school next semester because of poverty. Until when should we wait? And until what has been done?

This strike is not about the strikers or the administration per se. The administration isn’t our enemy. Some of the deans and directors are our mentors and role models. We strike because we would rather starve now and be fed with a balanced diet later than get filled with half balanced meals that will only give an appearance of health but kill us inside. We strike because multiplying hate, increasing ridicule, and succinctly bringing us to the end of our educational quest is definitely not a fair deal in this honorable pursuit. We strike because we care about the legacy of our alma mater. The issues we are trying to address are about the core values of our community. The word ‘wait’ is a simple word. It doesn’t say yes, no or maybe. It could mean never. The word ‘wait’ is not an answer.