Roman numerals
In Lima, the mornings were frequently unbearably cold and damp. You could see the moist walls, and you had to sleep with blankets and thick clothes because there was no heating in the houses.
My mum never let the weather stop her from going to church every Sunday at 7:00 a.m. and then heading to the market. When I was a child, she took me to church every morning, and we always had something to talk about.
My mum was incredibly smart; she always assured me that I could dream as much as I wanted and that it didn’t cost anything. Every Sunday, I shared my dreams with my mom. When I got to church, I always fell asleep; it was very early and boring for me. I only liked the moment when everyone greeted each other and looked friendly.
After the ceremony, we headed to the market to do some shopping for the day. My mum usually bought me candy, and it was the only candy I had all week.
I often struggled to complete my homework when I came home since, at the time, I was unaware that letters and numbers shouldn’t move when I was reading or writing.
School was difficult for me, and every morning I wished it would be the last day. Reading and writing were already hard enough for me, and math was an even bigger challenge.
When Monday came, and it was time to get ready for school, I faced another problem: I didn’t want to go. I could get up early for church because I enjoyed spending time with my mum, but school was different. It felt like a traumatic experience, and going there felt more like a punishment than anything else.
The teachers’ attitudes weren’t helpful; if you couldn’t read as well as the others, you were labeled lazy, and if you struggled with math, you were called a donkey. For me, school never had a promising beginning or a happy ending.
In one of the math classes, they started teaching Roman numerals. I didn’t understand anything the teacher was saying. I started feeling anxious, though I didn’t know what it was. My hands were sweating, and cold sweat formed on my forehead.
When they called pupils to the front for exercises, I always hoped not to be called or embarrassed. The whole experience felt traumatic.
In addition, there was always a classmate ready to mock you and expose your weaknesses.
— ‘Chavez!’ my teacher called out. ‘It’s your turn. Come to the front.’
I walked to the front as if heading to a slaughterhouse or straight to hell. I had just turned seven. My heart raced with every step, and cold sweat covered me.”.
And there she was that student —Jessica, with that satisfied look on her face. She knew I was struggling with math.
Standing in front of all my classmates, the teacher asked me to write the numbers 8, 17, 18, and 28 in Roman numerals.
With the pink chalk in my hand, I was frozen.
— ‘Chavez!’ my teacher Nora shouted at me. ‘Haven’t you heard me?’
– ‘Yes, Miss Nora,’ I replied.
– ‘Then do the exercise!’
I was frozen, with no idea what to do. Everything started to blur, but my teacher shouted again and said — ‘You’re lazy and never ready. Go back to your seat!’ she snapped. Then, she gave me a zero in her record
Miss Nora called my classmate Jessica. When our paths crossed, she just looked at me and smiled sarcastically. She was always studying, so she knew everything. Even when I studied, I couldn’t understand. I often couldn’t figure out what was happening to me. I think—or maybe it’s just how it felt—that the words and numbers in my books weren’t normal, or when I wrote, I would realise I had written something completely different.
Everyone stared at me, and I felt humiliated.
I just wanted to go home and hide in my bedroom with my board games and stories. Everything felt so strange. I was so mortified that I worried I might have to repeat the year.
During recess, Jessica came up to me and said:
— ‘Olivia, why don’t you study? Why are you so lazy? Your mum will be disappointed in you.’
The Principal was there, watching everything and shaking her head.
I felt judged by everyone because I didn’t know Roman numerals.
— ‘Answer, Olivia. Tell us why you don’t study. Roman numerals are easy; everyone knows them except you!’
The circle where I stood with Jessica and her friends started to grow as students from other grades gathered around.
— ‘Olivia doesn’t know Roman numerals!’ Jessica exclaimed, and everyone heard her.
I left the circle and went to the cafeteria to buy something to eat, then headed to my classroom. I felt deeply embarrassed. I looked at the clock on the wall, and with two hours left to finish the class, it seemed like an eternity.
Everyone returned to the classroom, all eyes on me. I just lowered my head and waited for everyone to sit down.
English class started, and to be honest, it was another class I didn’t enjoy; everything at school was difficult for me.
When the bell rang, I was the first to leave, but I had forgotten that the bus that picked me up was the same one as Jessica’s
I got on the bus, and Jessica came up to me and shouted;
– ‘Olivia doesn’t know Roman numerals, and she failed math today.’
Everyone stared again.
I didn’t know what to do anymore; I just wanted to go home to my mum.
The driver just glanced at me, then at Jessica, and shook her head.
When I got home, my mum served me lunch. I ate quickly and went to my bedroom.
The next day, it was the same story at school.
One day, my mum called the school and told them I wouldn’t be going because she had to take me to the doctor for some tests.
We had to catch the bus early because the hospital was far away. While sitting next to my mum, I told her I couldn’t learn Roman numerals.
My mum took out her pencil and small notebook that she always carried in her bag.
She began explaining to me step by step, using examples. I found my mother’s explanation of Roman numerals very clear, easy to follow, and straightforward. She gave me exercises and allowed me time, rather than yelling at me for my mistakes.
We had plenty of time to practice because the drive to the hospital was long. I was gradually able to comprehend and minimize mistakes. It was as if a heavy weight had been lifted from my chest. When I told my mum about the zero, she promised to speak with the teacher, but I begged her not to.
My mum looked at me and told me she wouldn’t, but that we would practice more.
The next day, I went to school, and during math class, the teacher told us there would be a surprise test on Roman numerals.
Jessica looked at me, gave me that sarcastic smile again, and said out loud,
— ‘Oh Olivia, you better not take the test; we already know you’re going to get a 0!’
Everyone laughed, including the teacher. Suddenly, another classmate shouted’ ‘you idiot!’
The laughter didn’t stop.
The teacher shook her head and called me,
— ‘Olivia! Come here! Sit in the front; I don’t want you copying your classmates. You’re the only one who doesn’t know Roman numerals. I don’t even understand why you’re taking the test. We already know what grade you’re going to get.’—I just said, okay.
I stood up and sat at the front, holding my mum’s pencil—the one she had given me the day she taught me Roman numerals.
The test started, and when I saw the exercises, I did what my mum had told me: read first and read as many times as I could until I felt confident about what I was seeing.
I began answering the test questions slowly; they didn’t seem too difficult at the time. I wasn’t sweating, and I wasn’t feeling my usual palpitations. In fact, I finished the test before anyone else.
— ‘You didn’t answer anything, Olivia!’, Jessica said.
I simply left the classroom and went to the garden. I always liked sitting there and looking at the flowers.
It was recess time, and everyone went outside to play. Once again Jessica came up to me with a group of her friends and said:
— ‘We all think you’re an idiot, and nothing will change that! And you’re going to fail this test, just as you’ve failed previous tests.’
Everyone laughed and screamed;
— ‘Olivia the donkey!’
The laughter was unbearable.
On the way back home, I asked the driver to drop me off first because I wasn’t feeling well. And the driver did.
I arrived a little earlier than usual. My mum asked me:
— ‘Olivia, is everything okay?’
— ‘Yes, mummy. Everything’s okay?’ I replied.
I went to my bedroom and started writing little stories. I kept them in a special notebook that my mum had given me.
I had to go to school the following day. I wasn’t as discouraged because it was Friday.
I was in the classroom, and math class started. The teacher came with the test results and asked everyone to be quiet and do some exercises from the workbook.
While the teacher was entering the grades into her register, she called us one by one and gave us our grades in front of everyone. I was nervous, wondering if it would be another zero. Would Jessica embarrass me again? And would the teacher do nothing?
When she called my name, everyone was paying attention, and Jessica was smiling sarcastically. And the teacher said:
— ‘Olivia, you were the only one with an A. Now sit down.’
Jessica loudly said:
— ‘Miss Nora! You made a mistake! She is an idiot and knows nothing.’
The teacher replied:
— ‘Jessica Bustamante! Keep quiet!’
The teacher gave me my test.
I didn’t say anything. I was just silent, like everyone else in class. But I wanted to go home and be with my mum.
School ended, and when I got to my school bus, Jessica looked at me with contempt and said:
— ‘Just because of an exam are you going to feel good? You will always be an idiot, Olivia! I’m sure you cheated on that test!’
I didn’t say anything; I just looked at her. Then she turned to me again.
— ‘Don’t think you’re better than me!’
Suddenly the driver said to her;
— ‘Enough! Jessica, sit in the back. I’ll tell your parents that you’re always bothering Olivia!’
She got nervous and asked him not to do it.
— ‘No, Jessica! You’re very mean to Olivia. I’m tired of seeing you abuse your classmate. Olivia has never done anything to you. So now sit down; I’ll leave you last because I’ll talk to your parents!’
Everyone was quiet; they sat still, and the way home was quiet, which was something unusual.
The driver dropped me off first.
I told my mum about the grade I got. She smiled and told me that we would study more together, but that I should let her know whenever I didn’t understand something
I told her, ‘Mum, I was ashamed to tell you that I don’t understand math; you’re a genius at it.’
My mum replied.
— Shame on those who steal! Not on those who want to learn.
My mum hugged me, and we went to the bakery. She bought me a croissant, my favourite.