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I don't know what my sister thought of this, but I hated it. We were treated deferentially by the teachers, you know. And the worst possible thing is that at lunch time, my grandmother sent us hot lunch in a stacked enameled containers and we, the maid assigned to us brought it, and as a sign of terrible human insensitivity, in the sort of middle yard -- I may be exaggerating this, but you know, where we were visible -- a table was spread with a tablecloth, and the food was put on that table for the principal's son, my sister and me. And we were required to eat while the other children, barefooted and what not, stood around and watched us eat!

Nobody saw anything wrong with this!

This was supposed to be “privilege,” youknow. And I was furious. I couldn't tell anybody that, what this was doing to me. They wouldn't understand, you know.

The education was terrific. But the social setting was horrible. You know, I would have wanted to be one of those kids that did not have the maid coming and bringing the damn hot lunch. I mean, it was a terrible experience, and all the more terrible because I couldn't talk about it. I couldn't -- I could just have food be a symbol of trauma and indigestion.

And when I came back to the United States, I was glad, but I was particularly glad because i was skipped. Because the standards and the rigors of education that one year were just terrific. The inspector, white -- I remember that he was white, in a white uniform, would come from England to examine us and have us read, and write compositions and what not..The education was word erful. But the class distinction was unbelievable and absurd.