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| https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ghana |
Donnel has always been different. From the beginning of our acquaintance in junior high school, she stood out as a girl who'd suddenly break into shrieking barks of laughter at any moment, making the whole auditorium turn around to look at her, which is the very first time I noticed her. She was sitting in the back row of stadium seating for our 7th grade science class, the first lecture hall I'd ever been in. Felix V. Festa Junior High School is a lot bigger than my elementary school. In fact, our junior high is so big that it's sub-divided into wings comprised of the different elementary schools in the Clarkstown school district: A, C, and D wing, which quickly split into serious factions.
"D Wing" had a bad rep of smoking, spitting, cursing, fighting blue-collar kids who were rowdy in the hallways we'd briefly pass them in, while going to the main auditorium for the first day speech, at the ripe ages of 13 and 14. "C Wing" had wealthy Jewish kids from northern New City with rich doctor/lawyer parents who'd spring for limo rides to school on their birthdays, or to pick up their date for the 8th Grade Dance. Neither resonated with us.
"A Wing" had kids like us from the more rural parts of New City, or the town kids clustered around North Main Street. We only went there for two years before attending high school, as a way of prepping for the very different type of experiences we'd be having. Grade school here is K-6 (Elementary), 7th-8th grade (Junior High), and then high school, which is 9-12. And different it was. I had a cubbyhole with my name on it at Chestnut Grove Elementary, and I hung my coat from a row of hooks on the wall. I'd never seen a locker before, and I met my best friend Gina on the very first day of junior high (our last name initials being "D" and "E"), because she took pity on me for being unable to open the lock. After she showed me, I could manage it on my own, but I still have nightmares about forgetting my locker combination, or where exactly it is in that huge school during those first few disorienting days.
After that initial loud bellow of belly laughter from Donnel in a packed lecture hall, I could always spot her in class wearing a cute little top bun of hair, with slits for laughing eyes, seated next to her equally striking best friend, Laila. They were as different as night and day. Donnel emigrated here from Ghana with her family at 8 years old, while Laila is a classic Viking-like blond from Norway. Donnel can appear as dark as a winter night with no stars, while Laila's long, flowing, white-blond hair fanned out behind her like the rays of the sun. It was astonishing to me, because l'd never seen people like them before.
There was a lot to adjust to, at my new school. I'd form friendships of my own during those two years, drop others, and as always, walk two miles to school every day, up-and-down the big hill on Germonds Road. For us, that was the real main event, because a kid's candy store was on our way (remember Jill's, next to DiNoto's?). Occasionally, I'd walk a few streets over to wait for a morning bus that stopped on a nearby block with school bus service (home to the large Boos fraternal twin sisters recently arrived from Brooklyn of blond, blue-eyed, German-Italian stock), but most of the time, we just walked.
I wouldn't become friends with Donnel until high school, and it was extremely contentious at the time. Not with me, but with her best friend Laila, who was so jealous of our friendship that she refused to befriend me or even speak to me, which baffled me to no end. She never really liked me, and to this day, I have no idea why, other than my friendship to Donnel. I also dated her younger brother my senior year, ahem, but I digress. Back to Donnel. She had two younger siblings a year behind her in school, Dawn and Donald, but it was her mother who fascinated us. She kept two big pots on her stove at all times: one topped with perfect white rice, and the other filled with the most delicious stews I have ever had in my life. It was the perfect drunk-and-stoned food for us, as teenagers.
Always, the pots were filled with popping hot, saucy, spicy stews, made with big chunks of beef, simmered and softened to perfection. It was my first real introduction to African food, and unlike the bad starvation jokes about Ethiopia or sodden broccoli sent to poor kids with "bloat belly" in Africa, I had no idea their food was so good. It was exactly what you wanted after school on a cold wintry New York afternoon. At her mother's house in New City, two large pots were always on the stove's back burners. I don't remember a single time without them being there. During the summertime, we swam in their backyard pool, which was another luxury to me, coming from a strict Acadian household with rules about no extras allowed (ever) for children.
"Oh, these pots always have food in them," she explained to me during a quick house tour, excited as we were to get into the pool. "See?" She opened one of them with a ladle, to show me the steaming stew inside, pouring it back into the pot. "You don't even have to ask! Just take some. Here's where the bowls are." And with that, she opened up the nearest cabinet, as her smaller siblings raced by us onto the sunny deck waiting outside. It was stunningly luxurious to me, the exact effect they desired towards their upward mobility. Not ask for food?! I'd never heard of such a thing before, and during our time spent at her house, I'd never take something without asking first. It was one of the many cultural differences we'd come across as friends during our time together, but we took it in stride. After all, that's nobility for you.
Donel - One of the numerous Angelic guards of the South Wind.
