On Saturday I attended the graduation ceremony for the local health training institute. I was cordially invited by one of the graduating midwives who now works for us. I knew I should attend to support the institution and the graduates, though my enthusiasm for attending was dimmed a little by seeing that a whole series of speeches were listed to occur from 10am to 1pm. And having a little experience of events like this and African time, I anticipated that the event could use up most of my day off. However, my strong sense of responsibility and a small amount of cultural curiosity resulted in my sitting, the only white face in probably 400 people: gowned graduates, current students in their blue uniforms, proud family members and the important ‘big’ people on the plush couches facing us up the front.
I had arrived on time, knowing the likelihood of it actually starting as scheduled was rather slim, but I did not want to arrive after the big people and create any more of a spectacle than my white skin would already create. I need not have worried. No one else was there, other than some current students who were still washing the dust off the chairs. I did not just want to stand there and watch them work, so I asked if I could join in. They did look at me a bit strange, but I was given a cloth and was allowed to do the last couple of chairs. The girls did speak to me afterwards so I must not have completely upset the order of things.
After the chairs were clean I was escorted to an area of chairs labelled for NGOs. I sat and waited for someone else to turn up so I was not the only one sitting down in a sea of chairs, while the security guards, with their guns clutched in front of them, looked on. Other guests did slowly dribble in, and, finally, an hour after it was due to start, the sound of the local marching band could be heard. The band came into view with their brass instruments, blue uniforms with gold embroidery and tassles; followed by the important guests, graduates and current students.
Being a high context culture, the bigger something is, the more formal it is. And graduating is a big thing. So, there was present the newly elected governor sitting in the robes given for a doctorate. Next to him was the newly appointed minister of health also in graduating robes, the deputy mayor, another minister, the principal of the institution and a few other important people.
After the singing of the school song by a select choir (during which I was glad that I do not have perfect pitch), the speeches began. Now, it is my understanding, that in beginning a speech, you must acknowledge all of the important people. Individually. For every speech. There were quite a few important people. There were quite a few speeches. I was practising my attentive face.
However, after a couple of speeches that followed this protocol, some of the students put on an item. And all they had to say was, “Let protocol be observed” and then they could just go on with whatever they were doing. Without having to mention every important person by name! And this happened several times.
I was excited. Not only might there be a hope that the programme would finish before the middle of the afternoon, but I had learned some magic words. Words that can be said that allow you to show proper respect, while allowing you to just get on with what you need to do.
The speeches continued and the certificates were handed out. Family members and friends ran screaming to their graduating ones and draped tinsel and embroidered sheets around their necks. Huge smiles with glistening white teeth were flashed before cameras.
My smile was also on my face. The ceremony finished at 1. The speeches were actually not that boring. I got to see some happy graduates. I was given free bottles of Sprite and water.
And I learnt that there are some magic words that enable you to skip the boring bits.
Now if only I could learn those magic words at hospital and in relationships.
Though, I have a sneaking suspicion, that sometimes you just have to do the hard boring work.
Life Down the Rutted Red Road 