Konkoori
A day in the life of D.
October 3, 2003
The Iranian
The clock is ringing, and ringing and ringing like screaming
drums. Wasn't it a moment ago that she lay
down to rest? It's 4:30 and time
to rise. Outside, the world is still sound asleep. Her mother has
gotten up to pray and will be sound asleep afterwards. But the
girl will not have that privilege. Nor will the time come until
8 at night, after what seems like 30 college exam prep classes.
She is behind already. Her
friends whom she called before going to bed at around 2 in the
morning have gone through 10 more sets of multiple choice
questions than she has. Her rank was all the way in the 5000s
range on her last konkoor exam. The number of people registered
to take the exam is one 20th of the whole population of the country.
The thought of that makes her want to vomit, scream; and then go
to her mother and weep. But she has already done that for
the
past two nights and obviously her mother can take no more.
There's one thing she does to make herself feel better at the
end of the day. She gives herself until tomorrow. Tomorrow
she thinks;
that's when I'm really going to start catching up in the race.
Her eyes are itching, and the cold water makes them burn. She
is nowhere near the finish line and yet she is already exhausted.
After taking the konkoor and getting her ranking
a month later,
she will be able to write her first 100 prefereances of what
she would like to study in college. A month after that, the final
exam results will
be
published and it will become clear who gets accepted where.
But unlike her friends, she has never been one to compromise.
She wants to go the school of her choice in the program of
her choice. It is her
way or the highway. And she is slowly beginning to understand
that
unlike
her childhood days, life is beginning to show her the highway.
It's all a pain for her, but family and neighbors are having
a ball, waiting for the results which are published for the whole
world to see in newspaper and on the internet. It's a favorite
pastime to go around trying to figure out
how everyone did. From grandmothers to cousins to the grocer down
the street, they all love it.
She can quit. She can just say to hell with it all. She
can go visit her cousins in Shiraz. At least she's
a girl.
The boys, poor things, will have to burn two years of
their lives in the army in some faraway village
if
they
are
not accepted into college.
She knows
girls could be in far worse situations than she; they
could be forced into marriage if they fail the konkoor.
She is immersed in all these thoughts and more when the
next batch of tests peak at her from behind her desk.
She will
try to do at least five prep exams: chemistry, physics,
math, and two more of all subjects combined. Then she will mark
them. She will find out that no more than 60%
of the answers are correct. And
that will
again lead to more crying or just pure fright. All
her life, she has never been regarded as stupid. But in this
race, you end up being a genius or a loser, there's
no middle ground.
She gets up to check her email. When she's back it's
already 5:30. She knows that she wastes a lot of
time daydreaming,
emailing, and walking instead of taking a taxi. She
could have used the time
to sleep. But she doesn't think too much about it.
She sits down to take more prep tests, and to her surprise,
this time her average is around 75%... not nearly
as good as she needs to be, but still
much better
than last time. That makes her feel better. And as
she heads out the door for her first class, she feels
lighter
than
she has in
a long time.
****
The room is small and stuffy. Originally,
it was not intended for anything more than a single bed
and maybe
a small table.
Now, somehow
they've managed to cover one wall with a black
board, and the rest of the room with small desks. About
30 people are there
this morning.
It amazes her to see these girls. With all that
makeup, and fancy hairdos under the scarf,
she wonders where they found the time?
This is an illegal Arabic
class. Illegal in
the sense that it's not a registered teaching
institution. The teacher is
a superstar
by all means. The most famous Arabic teacher
in Tehran. Rumor is that he earns around 300,000 tomans an hour
through private tutoring. And he teaches
from 7 in the morning until 1 or 2 at night.
His car parked outside is clear proof. All
his official
classes
are full,
but he teaches this group for an hour every
week. And he's quite good actually.
After Arabic she runs to physics class. And chemistry
after that. Since she wants the best teachers,
she has to go to
different institutions as opposed to taking
all her classes in one place.
She knows all
this running around especially in Tehran's
polluted air makes her extra tired. Her wealthier friends
have all these
teachers
come to
their house. Less privileged
people sell
their jewelry, carpets or even their car to
send their children off to prep classes.
Her cousin who lives in New York thinks it
all sounds crazy. Maybe she's right. She
was able to go
to college
without lifting
a finger.
But this place isn't called a third world
country for nothing. And despite all the
troubles it
causes for so many
kids and
parents every year, it still seems the only
way to get ahead in life. When there are
so many applicants and so little capacity, what
else can anyone do? And you
have to admit, this is about the only thing
in the country that's not based on who you
know
or how much
money you
have. Money will
only get you better teachers, but that's
about it. It all comes down to four hours
on a hot summer
day.
****
She is walking home drunk with sleep. She
even contemplates the idea of lying
in a corner
of the street and closing
her eyes.
But seeing the homeless beggar without
a leg makes her change her mind.
Once home her father will want to learn
all the details of her day. What she's learnt,
how well
she did on
her tests,
how much
she has left to study.
She dreads this every time and tries to change the topic. Sometimes
she is
successful, other times
she's not.
At the end of the day, she really
doesn't feel like she's learnt anything. All she
does is solve tests and memorize
formulas she doesn't understand; like
painstakingly trying to walk
in the dark. Maybe if she had sat home all day
and focused
on one subject
instead
of
7, and had
read her books instead of constantly
solving multiple choice questions, she would have
learnt a little. But
now there is just an ocean of formulas
and equations floating around in her head that
will be washed
away before midnight.
Her mother will kiss her head and
ask her to come to dinner. The
extra-delicious meals are her mother's
way of making
her feel better and she is grateful.
The 20 minutes that
she spends
eating
around her family is about
all the peace and
comfort she has.
Coming home is not the end of the
day . She
has to
gather her
notes,
and solve
as many sets of
multiple choice
questions as she can. But Thursday
nights she
feels more
beat than
ever.
She goes down
to start studying,
but usually falls asleep or reads
a magazine until she does. She lets herself
sleep an extra four hours. Although
the class schedule only
permit three hours. The instructors
hand their own personalized
schedules which include when
to eat and sleep. The only thing
not
taken into account
is when to go to the
bathroom.
She could have accomplished lots
more today she thinks before
surrendering to sleep.
She could
have done
much better. But
there are exactly
five more months to go. Tomorrow,
she thinks; the race will start tomorrow.
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