Page 19 - Obruni In Ghana | Amber Lockridge

OBRUNI IN GHANA 17
minutes every morning, which always includes a bible reading. Each class lines up in the courtyard. We must look like stalks of corn in neat even rows with our golden colored skirts and cream cotton blouses.
“Our father, who art in heaven..."
As I mumble along, I wonder for the hundredth time if my hypocrisy is ruder than my abstinence would be. I'm similarly ambivalent about the national pledge. Do I really pledge myself to the service of Ghana my motherland? As a result, I usually mouth the words without saying them. Somehow, that seems like a good compromise. After prayers, the headmistress or headmaster will spend no less than ten minutes berating us on a seemingly endless list of misbehaviors. When that's through, we are permitted to leave, a row at a time, while marching in place to the song of the day.
Back in the classroom, I glance warily at my desk. I know I will be here for at least eight hours and most of it will be spent sitting on that hard chair. I keep hoping my buttocks will somehow gain