Oxford Series Part 6: The Work.

THE WORK.

                Ah, you didn’t think I would forget to tell you about this, did you?

                One simply cannot talk about Oxford without talking about THE WORK.

                I actually really enjoyed my degree. I love languages, and I chose the right subject for me. I loved studying something that I was passionate about, and to which there was a limitless scope of knowledge. I could never know or understand everything about French or Italian grammar, but I could keep learning more about them both with each day and expanding my vocabulary of, and familiarity with, the two languages.

                Does that mean I didn’t have moments of frustration, stress and “Why did I choose this degree?!” Absolutely not.

Course Content

                My biggest and most recurrent frustration and regret with my degree was that I chose to do French and BEGINNER’S Italian. I nearly dropped Italian MANY times in my head. By the third day of the week-long pre-sessional course that we ab initio Italian students had before starting our degrees officially, I was in tears and telling my tutor that I wanted to drop Italian. In my by then eleven years of studying French, we had never even had to learn how to conjugate the past historic tense because it is rarely used, and typically in very formal written registers. But three days in, when I didn’t even properly know colours in Italian, we were learning the passato remoto! It seemed I had bitten off more than I could chew.

                It is a testament to the endless encouragement of my Italian tutor and my mum that I kept going with Italian. I had MANY days in the first year of my course of being given back translations into Italian that I had toiled over for pretty much entire days, with markings and corrections EVERYWHERE. Amazingly, by the end of my second year I was getting firsts in some of these same tasks. Miracles do happen.

                I enjoyed the fact that I could choose what interested me the most within my subject. I loved translation and postcolonial literature, and I got to specialise in both of these areas in my final year.

                I only have a few criticisms of course content in my languages degree. We could have had more speaking practice. In our first year, we had almost no time devoted to oral practice of our languages. As a result I lost a lot of the confidence I had developed speaking in French at school. (I couldn’t speak Italian yet so that doesn’t count, LOL.) I would go so far as to say I spoke better French during my A Levels than I did in the first couple of years of my degree. It took my year abroad to give me back my confidence.

                Another thing I would have to say is that the curriculum was skewed in one clear direction throughout. Most of what we studied was written by old, white men. Nothing against that social group, but I don’t think they are the only group worth studying. And that was the impression you might get doing not just a language, but probably any, degree in Oxford. The first-year course is mandatorily the same for everyone, and for us Frenchies there was only one woman writer. They’ve since changed the course but sadly, even though they changed the work to be studied, there is only one female writer. Why is it that writing by females is marginalised to the point that two completely different writers have to be substituted for one another, because they cannot co-exist on the same course?

                We also didn’t study much from writers of colour. In our first year (for French), we studied a piece of postcolonial literature from a Martinican writer. In Italian, you could easily go through your whole degree only studying literature from white writers. Because I am interested in postcolonial literature and the relationship that European nations have with their former colonies, I asked to study two writers of mixed Italian-Ethiopian and Italian-Somali heritage. Not many people even know that Italy had colonies, because it’s not talked about. No colonisers treated their colonies well, but Italy was particularly terrible. My tutor was impressed that I had made the effort to study something different to what people usually picked, and he said after thinking about it, he was seriously going to consider putting postcolonial literature on the course.

                I’m glad. The course was too monolithic for my liking. 

Stress

                I never used to get as stressed about work as I began to be once I started at Oxford. I think a lot of it boils down to the feeling, “I’ve gotten into Oxford. That means I’m meant to be among the best in the world at what I do. I need to prove myself worthy of getting here.”

                I have a vivid memory of working on my first official assignment once I started my degree. It got me all into a fluster. I started shaking and more or less having a panic attack. Now, this was out of character for me. The particular task I had been given I had never had to do before and I just wasn’t sure I was going about it the right way. I have no doubt that the reason I got so fretful over it was that I felt I was supposed to know what I was doing: You’re in Oxford, aren’t you, Ruth? You should be able to do this.

                I ended up emailing my French tutor with my concerns, and was quickly assured that I was going about it in the right way. When I got my results, it was clear I had nothing to worry about.

                But knowing we’re capable doesn’t stop us from worrying and stressing over things, and just plain old feeling the pressure.

                Every Oxford student knows a little something about stress.

                Many Oxford degrees revolve around LOTS of reading, and LOTS of essays.

                My degree, this is true – even ask the medics and lawyers! – is widely regarded as one of the hardest degrees to do in Oxford. A languages degree is not easy anywhere, of course… But in Oxford… I kid you not, I assembled the total number of books I had studied for my final honours school – meaning the second and fourth year of my course and not including the first year – and it totalled a whopping FIFTY-FOUR!!! That’s fifty-four books in a foreign language, not to talk of all of the critical reading that we would have to do. And of course, reading in a language that is not your native tongue takes longer – you have to check words up in the dictionary and sometimes re-read things because you don’t understand the syntax, etc...

All 54 of the books that I studied in my second and fourth years for my FHS. (!!!)

                In our first year we would study one book in each language every two weeks, and write an essay on some aspect of it for a tutorial.

                In our second and fourth years we would have to read about three books for one essay. And noo, these were not small 100-pg novels. Sometimes they could be up to 600 pages. 

                It’s not hard to see why the term ‘essay crisis’ is widely-used in Oxford. You don’t even have to explain what that means to anyone, they totally get it, because the likelihood is, they’ve been there before.

essay crisis: n. Oxford University

a term used to describe the overwhelming stress of having to get one’s essay done for a tutorial in a few hours.

An essay crisis usually consists of the following:

1. Knowing you need to get your essay done and emailed to your tutor that evening, and in the morning you haven’t even finished the books yet. Because, don’t forget, even if you know what’s happens in the book, you still have to have fish out for relevant quotes from the experts, and to do that, you have to read the critical works and journals as well!
2. Waking up at ridiculous o’clock to try and get your essay done in time. For me this sometimes meant just not going to sleep the night before, which was stupid, but sometimes I didn’t really have a choice. (FYI, I wasn’t a procrastinator, I just tried to do everything and sometimes forgot that I’m A HUMAN BEING and can’t go to every fun evening event for every society I’m part of and still get all my work done.)
3. Removing yourself from all society and typing in front of your computer in a frenzy all day. Usually for me, this was in my room, as I tended to work better there, but many essay crises occur on a daily basis in libraries across Oxford.
4. Potentially working through the night. Oh, the days when I stayed in the library till 3am as late evening turned to black night, everyone left the library and I was the sole person there working on the three commentaries our tutor had set us for ONE tutorial! (That was one crazy term.) – Depressing.
   
   
5. Eating lots of crackers and crisps because you don’t have time to cook.
   
   
6. Not even having your shower and getting dressed until the work is done. Actually, I have one friend who was known for just not showering at all and going straight to his tutorial after having finished it a few minutes before!
7. Checking your word count every 15 minutes to see how close you are to the 1,500-word minimum.
8. Managing to write 2-and-a-half pages in a little over 2 hours or less, when somehow if you had more time you might be working on the same essay for a day and a half.
   
   
9. All culminates in the joy of finishing the essay. Like no other. Usually gives way to, “Ah, I’m free! Now I can go to sleep.”

Sure, then, you could go to sleep, but you knew you couldn’t for long because – hey, there was still more to do! As well as at least one tutorial a week – and sometimes I did have two tutorials in one week because of weird arrangements, so potentially two essay crises in one week – not fun… I would have to do a piece of Italian prose (translation into Italian from English) every week, French prose every other week, a translation from Italian into English every other week, and a translation from French to English also once a fortnight. Then an essay in Italian once a fortnight and the same for an essay in French – plus learning lots of vocab, practising inexplicable grammar, preparing specific things for speaking classes… Plus of course you had to go to the lectures, actual classes, tutorials and read your books.

No doubt though, pretty much everyone I know has sat in a tutorial talking about a book they haven’t completely finished. Oh yeah, it totally happened to me. Try as you may, getting through the equivalent of 3600 pages of foreign language text in two weeks is hard for anyone. Basically, you quickly learnt the skill of knowing how to talk about your books in an intelligent way with very little knowledge. Getting an overview of the general plot of the book and getting to grip with its main themes usually sketched out the outline of the essay for you, and you could throw in a few relevant quotes from the bits you actually had read to bolster your ideas.

Do you know what one of the most exciting prospects for me was as I prepared to go on my year abroad? Not just, oh, I’ll get to live in sunny places and experience other cultures and speak their languages – but oh my gosh, I’ll finally have the time to read all these books!!

Ha. I was wrong: I worked full-time on my year abroad so I actually didn’t get as much time as I had imagined, studying in depth all the books I’d had to race through over the past year and getting through the ones I was to study in my final year. However I know I wasn’t the only one that felt this way. In fact, I have friends that finished their degrees a year ago that are now relishing properly reading all the books they only managed to skim over during their Oxford degrees.

I do think it’s sad that the amount of work takes us to that point: where you actually can’t fully enjoy what enthralls you about your degree because you have to rush to get the next essay done. I mean, I do like the fact that an Oxford degree pushes you to be the best you can be: I have friends that did degrees which only called for one essay a term, and though that would make for a much more relaxed life, I don’t feel that would really be pushing myself – and if I’m paying £9,000 a year for my degree, I’d quite like to be able to get as much teaching out of it as I can.

My mum said it as I got into the throes of finals stress in Oxford, and I concur: You can’t survive an Oxford degree unless you love what you’re doing. For an academic course to take that much out of you and for you to keep going, you must have a real in-your-bones passion for it. Because most guys or girls would break up with a human being that put them through as much stress as an Oxford degree.

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Part 7: Finals.

Part 1: An Introduction to Oxford

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.

                Four years later and I have GRADUATED in French and Italian! Crazy tingz.

                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...

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 15^th of January to apply – but if you were applying to Oxford you had to have your personal statement ready by the 15^th 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 11^th 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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Part 2 - Oxford: At Odds with the Real World