So today was a FRESHMAN MATRICULATION Ceremony for the students on the campus.

I really don’t know what it was, so I didn’t pay much attention to the planning process.  All I know is that it is a formal ceremony where the seniors welcome the freshmen to the school.

So I did something dumb.  I asked questions.

And something crazy happened.

I got an answer.

It seems that once you get enrolled into college, seniors don’t recognize you as a student of the institution.  Even when you are registering for courses you are not recognized as a freshman.  The day you pay your fees in full is not the day you are recognized as a freshman.  Even when you start your classes, meet your teachers, or even take the mid-term exam for your freshman course the SENIORS do not recognize you as a student of this university.  It is only after this Freshman Matriculation Ceremony.

So our Freshman Matriculation Ceremony was held, two weeks before the finals week of the 1^st semester. (CP time, huh).  Because after you receive your grade sheet, then you can prove you belong to the university and there is no need of going through the ceremony.

During this ceremony, all the freshmen line up outside the University gate.  They are identified by wearing white.  They are in a straight line holding white candles.  They are blindfolded. The seniors are around them. The seniors are dressed in black.  They act like parents.  And if they can break the pledges, excuse me…I meant, the FRESHMAN line, then they swat them with sticks and switches. 

Does any of this start to sound familiar?

So, I was told that big sticks and branches were outlawed due to the fact that one freshman a couple years back was beat into a coma but the ceremony is traditional so they only simulate the hitting.

Really?

Because what I witnessed was straight HAZING.  I mean, the students drew on the freshmen, marked up their white shirts, yelled at them, and swatted them with sticks, and a lot more. Like chase them around the campus yard, swearing on a AME campus, smacking, pushing, and whipping.  I ain’t no punk, but I had my dukes up during this whole little procession that I witness from AFAR.

And I am thinking….

Never mind, I think you can tell what I was thinking….

Can I tell you that we had NO IDEA that us as American Administration just allowed a full blown hazing event on campus and had even suspended classes because we thought we were doing an all campus assembly.  No one told us the process of HOW the freshmen were supposed to arrive to the auditorium.

My new little niece, Fe Fe, is sick with malaria.  So my first time meeting her was not the joyous little cries of a four-year girl ranging with excitement over the phone happy about her Christmas gift.  So when she arrived in my doorway one day at work, I jump up eager to see her and she gripped onto her mother with the nervousness of any child around a strange face.

Etta in all mothering tones eased her daughter, letting her know that I’m here “auntie” and the girl buried her face in her mother’s skirt.  Etta lead her to me and that is when I saw the sickness in her eyes.  When I reached out for her, I felt the heat of the malaria fever radiating off her face and I immediately with whatever instinct God gave me (not mothering) drew her on my lap and let her lay her head.

It was there that she rested for over twenty minutes while I completed my tasks with only one hand, but making sure the other was patting her trying to comfort her in sickness. I mean, I even put the computer radio on some Luther Vandross talk about maternal skills.

Well, we took some photos and FeFee went home.

Fe Fe’s treatment worked and the next day she was bouncing all over the house bragging to her brothers that she finally met her “White Auntie” and her “White Auntie Jes” was so nice and kind and her “White Auntie” held her and took pictures and she can’t wait to see her “White Auntie” at her momma’s wedding later this month.

And I thought that story was sooo cute, until I realized that…I WAS THE “WHITE AUNTIE”.

And I was hurt.  I mean, yeah my skin is a litter browner than most, but I can’t break it down to a four year old about the slave trade, Massa being in the cotton fields, the civil rights movement, Indian rights act, and all the things that caused my skin to be lighter than hers, but by all mean I am true AFRICAN with some American in me.

But by all means, I am mature enough to let a little thing like 400 years of slavery and oppression go.  The fact that our people’s blood has been diluted through various factors of historical measures.  And I can hug my little niece and when she introduces me as her “White Auntie”, I won’t cringe as hard on the white part as I will smile on the Auntie part. 

Because really…it’s kind of cute…