Behold the Dreamers(91)
“So you are telling me you think I should not try to be a pharmacist?”
The dean took off his glasses, placed them on the desk.
“One of my duties as associate dean of students,” he said, “is to offer our students career counseling. And my aim when I counsel students like you, Ms. Jonga, is to guide them toward achievable goals. Do you understand what that means, for a goal to be achievable?”
Neni glared on without a word.
“There are lots of other great careers in the healthcare field, and we can help you get into those. Licensed practical nurse, ultrasound technician, medical billing and coding, lots of great careers which … you know, which will be more achievable—”
“I don’t want achievable.”
“It would be a shame for you to spend years pursuing a goal which you have such little chance of achieving, don’t you think? I’m just … I just want us to talk it out and see what the odds are of you, you know, graduating from BMCC, getting into pharmacy school, and becoming a licensed pharmacist while dealing with financial stress, raising two children, and living in the country on a temporary visa. Don’t you think it would be a shame to start something, spend time and money, only to give it up later because you realize it’s too much for you? And before you think I’m trying to rain on your parade, please know that I’m only saying this from years of experience. You won’t believe how often I see this happen, and what a shame I think it is that we didn’t give the student the best counsel. Because for every student in your situation who does become a pharmacist or doctor, there are four or five more who never make it into pharmacy or medical school and then they have to turn around and start trying to become a nurse.”
Neni laughed and shook her head. The situation wasn’t funny, but in a way it was.
“I don’t think I said anything funny,” the dean said.
“Did you grow up dreaming of having this job you have right now, Dean Flipkens?” Neni asked, the funniness of the situation gone, replaced by a rage bubbling so ferociously within her that she was afraid it would spill out through her nose.
“Actually, I had other dreams, but you know … in life you have to—”
“That’s why you don’t want me to be a pharmacist?” she said, standing up and slinging her purse over her shoulder. “Because you are sitting in this office and not somewhere else?”
“Please have a seat, Ms. Jonga,” the young man said, motioning to the chair. “There’s no need to get—”
“I want to become a pharmacist!” Neni said. “And I will become a pharmacist.”
When Jende came home from work that night she told him nothing of the conversation, except that she was likely not going to get any kind of scholarship. Then why are we still planning to go to the ceremony for this honor society thing? he asked in a tone that made her feel as if she’d sorely disappointed him. Because it would be good to celebrate how far I’ve come, she responded, but he was unconvinced. He wasn’t going to take off work and lose money just to go watch her join an organization that wasn’t going to help them. Go with one of your friends, he said to her. Or ask Winston.
Winston told her he would be delighted to attend, when she called to invite him. He teased her about the accomplishment, saying she’d better make sure she was joining an honor society and not a secret society because sometimes they looked the same, and she teased him back, saying the only secret society she would ever consider joining was the one he’d joined, which had taken him from Chicago grocery store cashier to Wall Street lawyer. Winston laughed, told her how proud he was of her, and on the day of the induction ceremony, he left work early to join her and Fatou and the kids in front of the auditorium. While Fatou stayed with Timba in the hallway, Winston and Liomi clapped and cheered as Neni, alongside twenty-eight other students, was formally inducted as a member of Phi Theta Kappa. After the ceremony, Winston took everyone to a sushi restaurant where he ordered a platter of eel and avocado rolls, California rolls, and shrimp and cucumber rolls. He encouraged Fatou to have as much sake as she wanted, laughing with her as she downed it and slammed the cup on the table every time.
“We enjoy lika this when she join société,” Fatou said, giggling at her silly self for acting like the girls she’d seen on MTV, “what you gonno do when she become pharmacist?”
“He will take us to a restaurant in the Trump Hotel,” Neni said, laughing, a spoonful of miso soup in one hand. “He will hire Donald Trump himself to cook steak for us.”
Winston shook his head. “No,” he said, smiling at the fun the women were having at his expense. “The day this our special girl becomes a pharmacist, I will take everyone to a place called the Four Seasons.”
Forty-eight
THE RAINY SEASON IN LIMBE BEGINS IN APRIL. THE RAIN COMES EVERY few days for an hour or two, not too heavy to stop the townsfolk from going outside but heavy enough to force them to put on their chang shoes before braving the muddy streets. By May, the rains are heavier and times between downpours are cooler, though not so cool that the townsfolk have to put on sweaters just yet. The May rains tend to come at night, drumming so loudly on zinc roofs that some folks fear they will awaken to find their roofs lying on top of them.
The night Pa Jonga died was one such rainy May night.