Prologue
Around 2002, a little 7-year old
girl sat in the attic-library of her home, surrounded by books. She peered
closely at two large ones in particular. One was a thick book with the words
‘OXFORD’ imprinted on its bound spine in bold, and the other was a Cambridge
Companion. This sight made the little girl ponder on something, and she uttered
the words: “Mum, which one is better, Oxford or Cambridge?”, turning to her
mother, who sat a few metres away.
Her mother responded after some thought, “Well, for English
Oxford is probably better, Cambridge is generally better for sciences.”
From that moment on, this little girl decided she wanted to
go to Oxford.
That little girl was me.
I’m 22 now and I recently graduated from Oxford, so you
could say a long-cherished childhood dream came true!
But… All that glitters is not gold. Oxford wasn’t exactly
what I had hoped for and expected. I’ve talked about writing about my
reflections on Oxford for a long time and here it is, that long-awaited post.
In this post I’ll be telling you things from my point of
view, and not very differently to my usual
way, presenting things transparently. This is an unfiltered collation of my
thoughts and reflections on Oxford, that prestigious and ancient institution
known world-over. They don’t have to be the same as other Oxford graduates’
opinions, or the opinions and experiences of current students. I also don’t
speak for every female Oxonian, or every Christian
Oxonian, or every black Oxonian.
Or every Mancunian or Northern Oxonian. Or every black female Christian Northern Oxonian. You get my drift. This is “Reflections on Oxford, Ruth
Akinradewo style”. My opinions and experiences aren’t being put here for debate,
they simply are MY OWN opinions and experiences.
OK, now we’ve got that straight… Are you sitting
comfortably? Then I’ll begin.
The Prestige of
Oxford
When my
mum answered my question about 15 years ago, I thought I would be studying
English at university. I have always loved reading and writing. But in fact,
towards the end of my school years, I realised that I loved languages too much
to let go. French was my favourite subject, and English (Literature) came a
close second. Initially I had thought I would keep up English at university
alongside French, but after much advice and contemplation, I decided upon
French and Italian. Heads up: I didn’t learn Italian at school, so my degree
was in French and BEGINNER’S Italian. Craziest decision I ever made I think. Do
you know, before electing for that choice I had told myself at all the open
days I went to that I would NEVER pick up a language from scratch? Too much
stress. I had started learning French at the age of seven; why would I start
studying another language at the age of eighteen and then hope in four years to
have reached the same level in the first language? No, thank you. Well, a few
months down the line and my schoolteachers and my mum had convinced me it was a
good idea for me to study two languages to give myself more opportunities,
assuring me that I was well capable of learning another language quickly and
efficiently.
I don’t
recall many days of my four-year degree going by without me taking a moment to
thank God in amazement that this was actually my university. I mean, like I
said before, this was a childhood dream, to go to Oxford. Oxford, the
university which had existed since the 1000s and was known all over the world.
Oxford, the university where some of the greatest world-changers had been
educated. Oxford, the location which had unashamed links to the furtherance of
the gospel.
Oxford
was MY university. Me, little Ruth who defied almost every possible stereotype
of the typical Oxonian. Black, Northern, a Christian, from a state school . . .
It amazed me that against all the odds I had ended up in this place. I was
awestruck by the amount of opportunities that lay right at my fingertips simply
by nature of me being there. I was amazed that I was studying at the same
college of the UK’s first female Prime Minister, India’s first female Prime
Minister and countless other world-changers (of course Margaret Thatcher did a
lot of things that I didn’t like and that most Somervillians despise - but I do
have to give her Kudos for being a strong woman in a man’s world!). I could go
to the Oxford Union and listen to speakers of the calibre of Jesse Jackson,
Malala Yousafzai (who, as it happens, has just been accepted to study at
Oxford!), sit in a hall where Malcolm X and Winston Churchill had spoken . . .
The history of this place was amazing! Just a few doors down from the oldest
debating society in the world was the Methodist Church where heroes of the
faith Charles and John Wesley had started their ministry. Oxford breathed
history and every day I walked in the trail of it.
 |
| My college, Somerville! (On a rainy day.) |
But in
the history and age of Oxford also lies some of its greatest undoings. Oxford
is the place most stubborn to change that I have ever known. In my final year
there I was well and truly done with it.
People ask me now, “Do you miss Oxford?” No, no I don’t. I
will miss my friends, I enjoyed my degree, I loved my church, and I have many
great memories of my time there. But four years as an Oxford student is enough
for me. I do get quite bewildered when people tell me that they’re going back
for a Masters, or a PhD, but Kudos to them if that’s what they want to do – I know being there isn’t easy! But as much
as Oxford can bring good things, I would definitely not choose to go back.
I
am generally a positive person and I’m not saying that Oxford was all bad – not
at all. Am I happy that I ended up at Oxford? Yes. It was one of my greatest
dreams and ending up there helped my confidence. It helped me believe in myself more and see
myself as capable.
The Journey There...
The Journey There...
It wasn’t easy to get into Oxford. It isn’t easy to get into Oxford. Even though it was five years ago
that I applied to the university, I haven’t forgotten the rigours of the
process. There’s no place like Oxford (though Cambridge is pretty similar). I
started my degree in October 2013 but I in fact started applying to Oxford
around September 2012, I believe it was.
I
started earlier than most, because I applied for a choral scholarship before
the academic application began. For those of you that don’t know, a choral
scholarship is a (usually) monetary award given to singers to sing in a choir
at the university. Thank God, even after my ridiculous nervousness during my
audition (I hyperventilated after my audition and had to breathe into a bag –
that had never happened to me before and has never happened since, thankfully) and
a nerve-wracking interview, I was awarded a choral scholarship at Somerville College,
Oxford [I’ll explain the collegiate system later, it is pretty confusing].
As a
result I was told that I should apply to Somerville for the academic round of
my application. But oh no, applying for a place was not easy – no sir! BA
applicants to any other uni had until the 15th of January to apply –
but if you were applying to Oxford you had to have your personal statement
ready by the 15th of October to apply. (NB: You can’t apply to both
Oxford and Cambridge; the rivalry between both of these institutions is REAL.)
As well
as doing the personal statement WAY before everyone else, you had to send a
marked essay both in English and one in the language you were already studying
(so French for me), and do a Modern Languages Aptitude Test (MLAT). Ah, but
because I was to learn a language from scratch, I had to be tested even further.
As well as being tested on French grammar, I had to complete a test measuring
how easily I would be able to pick up a foreign language by: figuring out a
completely made-up language. Yes, you read that right. There were a bunch of
sentences configured in a make-believe language and a couple of sentences would
be translated in English. From the translated sentences you had to figure out
the language patterns and match them to new sentences that followed the same
structure. My specimen practice paper made me cry. (Library study buddies of
Sale Grammar, you may well remember.)
I only
got through half of the weird bit of that MLAT, but somehow I still got to the
interview stage. I had two interviews, one for the French side, and the other
for Italian. I had 15 minutes before going into each interview to read and
prepare some poetry for discussion. Unexpectedly I was given the English
translation for the French poem as well as for the Italian one, which was nice!
For my first interview, I think we spent about 5-10 minutes discussing my
thoughts on the poem – in English, and then about 5-10 minutes discussing my
personal statement in French, and then the final 10 minutes or so were in
English. In my Italian interview I didn’t have to speak any Italian,
thankfully! (Considering I was only just getting to grips with the language.) For
some reason there was a German tutor in my interview, which I’ve never quite
understood, but perhaps it was precisely because all of the conversation was to
be in English that it was set up that way!
It so
happened that the poem I was given in my Italian interview I had already seen
during prep for my Oxford interview, so that was reassuring! Though it seems I
hadn’t quite understood the point of it, as the Italian tutor seemed to be
trying to get me to say something else – I still to this day don’t know what
that poem was about!
So,
fast forward about 6 weeks and on the 11th of December I found out I
had gotten into Oxford! Our college (Somerville) in fact mistakenly posted out
our letters second-class so we would have had to wait until the Monday instead
of discovering whether or not we had gotten in on the Friday, as everyone else
did – if not for the fact that they decided to spare us the agony of waiting to
find out over the weekend by sending us an email instead.
When I opened that email and read what it said, I can tell
you, I SCREAMED like never before. My
mum was upstairs and she heard me screaming from downstairs and by the time I
had rushed up to her room, I was crying. (I don’t usually cry from joy, but
that was one of the rare occasions I did!) And of course from my reaction, when
I said, “I’ve got news from Oxford”, she thought it was bad news. In between my
tears and crazy emotion I told her that it was in fact good news. And I think
she probably started screaming at that moment as well.
On
Results Day I learnt my hard work had paid off and I had obtained the grades I
needed – so in October I was off to Oxford! But before that, I had a reading
list to get through. I don’t know anyone at any other uni (but Cambridge is
likely to be the same) that had a reading list before they even started
studying there!! And of course, as I was studying French and Italian, I had to
read a whole lot of books in a foreign language – and that takes a lot longer!!
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