My favorite high school English teacher once said that friendship is never telling each other “‘I told you so.”
But saying “I told you so” — between friends or not — has always seemed more redundant than mean-spirited, because all the air particles around me seem to be chanting it. Toldjaso-toldjaso-toldjaso. Among that flurry of toldjasos, the last is only the straw that breaks the camel’s eardrum.
Now, I’m generally on the receiving end of an “I told you so” or, worse, a “You’ll say your mother never told you so.” But the other day, the sun set in the east.
Literature class at UJ. The professor gives discussion points to those who share information about an author. So all the over-achievers come prepared. Safaa, one of my classmates and a petite mother of two, is among them.
As she reviewed her papers before class in anticipation of the professor’s question, I peered over. Even though the font was illegibly small and I couldn’t make out a thing, the format looked familiar.
“Where do you get your information?” I wasn’t trying to compare notes; this was straight cheating. I didn’t have any sources for obscure Arab authors’ biographies. I needed this.
“Wikibedia,” she said with a smile.
“Oh, Wikipedia!” I exclaimed, just as I had when I found a Subway franchise on Medina Street. “You know what’s funny? I love Wikipedia and, in college, I used it all the time to prepare for classes, but my professors would always remark that they wanted us to use more sophisticated sources, peer-edited journals and the like. But Wikipedia is just so reliable and accessible. It’s so hard to resist.”
She listened wide-eyed, then shook her head, “Our professors don’t mind.”
Class began, hands shot up and the professor pointed at a girl in the far back. The girl gave more biographical information than even the author’s mother cared to know.
“Get to the relevant material. Tell us about his work, its characteristics, his style.”
When the girl fumbled, hands shot up, but before the professor could pick someone else, the girl started up again. She was like a sputtering faucet at first, producing rusty water. But now clean water gushed out and washed away the dirt and grime. Now she was talking. The professor nodded and made positive interruptions.
Then, the student misspoke. Or misread. Or misled. (I’m getting carried away.)
“What is your source for this information?”
“Wikipedia,” came the confident reply.
“That is unacceptable,” the professor retorted, rearranging her papers in dismay. “You need to be able to trace the information to specific sources. How else can we discuss its integrity?”
I saw Safaa turn self-conscious, as if her papers were glowing fluorescent green under the teacher’s UV vision.
I avoided her eye. I didn’t want to rub it in, to effectively rub salt into my own wounds. This was war. The sea of ignorance was before us and the armies of professors approached from behind. They’ll try to divide and conquer, but not us, not now. We shall raise the (please-donate) banner of Wikipedia and march forever onwards.
Back to reality.
The professor wasn’t done dragging the student in the mud. “Why didn’t you look the author up in the library?” she asked.
“I did, ductora, but there wasn’t anything there.” This wasn’t a first. The UJ library had failed many a student before.
“You’re right,” came the reply, “They did burn down the library.”
The student made no comeback. I’m sure she realized that the library isn’t the only one with the power to fail a student.
