Pomp and Circumstance

On Saturday, I arrived at the 6th grade graduation ceremony more or less on time, and I was surprised to see that others had done the same. Normally in Cape Verde, “on time” is synonymous for “alone.” In an ironic twist, the organizers of the event were the only ones who weren’t punctual. As we all waited 2 hours for the hosts to arrive and prepare decorations and food, guests and graduates leaned against a wall in such a way that caused our feet to be lined up in a perfect row.

As my eyes scanned over the row of feet, I noticed that each woman and girl had carefully painted their toenails. My pale toes were the exception, and I made a meager attempt at tucking them a little further back, as if it would make them less visible. My clunky sandals stood out noticeably among the delicate high heels and shining new slippers- all bedazzled with plastic rhinestones. It was clear that graduation day was the first day that the shoes had taken to the road.

The ladies were all dressed in their best. The dress code that day, as with every special occasion, was ‘wear something clean that you think is pretty.’ That meant that some women wore what would pass as a prom dress or a bad bridesmaid’s gown while other wore tight-fitting jeans and a graphic top. Whatever the garment, they were all lacking the tell-tale marks of washboard laundering. The clothes were all brand-spanking new.

Keeping with theme, the women had painstakingly styled their hair. Chemical treatments straightened out crimps, and rollers added volume back in. Some women had spent hours sitting still while a trusted friend worked her magic creating perfectly parallel braids and meticulous designs. Cape Verdean women are talented braiders.

An enormous amount of care had been put into each women’s appearance- down to the tiniest detail. When does this happen in America, I thought? To this extent, probably only at weddings. All this fanfare for a 6th grade graduation? Overkill, perhaps.

As the ceremony was about to begin, I asked Lydia, my neighbor seated next to me, how many of her kids would be attending secondary school now that her 6th grader was graduating. I know that she has at least 5 sons, and I’m not exactly sure how many of the little girls habitually playing near her house belong to her. She replied, “just one.”

I must have furrowed my brow when I said, “I thought you had a few sons that are school age,” because her face was almost apologetic in response. She explained that one of her sons already studies at the secondary school in the city, and he’ll continue with his classes. The son graduating that day, however, would not continue with school. Her family does not have the money to pay his school transportation each month. One son already receives support to cover his costs, and it is unlikely that a second child of the same family will be eligible for assistance too.

And so the ceremony and celebration continued for me in a new light, seeming suddenly unlike overkill. For some of the students, we were recognizing the greatest scholastic honor they would ever achieve. It was a bittersweet experience to celebrate the end of the children’s studies and their official entrance into the world of working adults- a world in which they have already mastered most all of the manual skills and practical knowledge that they’re likely to need for the rest of their lives.