At the age of sixteen, I had a crush on an older girl who was easily 19 years of age and therefore, had zero interest in juveniles like me. Nevertheless, I was determined to meet her. She appeared twice a week in the area where I hung out after school so, with basic detective work, it turned out she took extra-curricular French lessons at a nun’s convent nearby.
Encouraged by my mates, I went ahead and enrolled for the Monday and Wednesday classes she attended. The lessons were not cheap but I thought the investment was a wise one. Thinking ahead, I claimed to have had a few lessons elsewhere in the past so that I would not be put in the junior, absolute beginners class and possibly end up in the same class as my muse. Blow me, my scheme did work and I ended up in a class of two, yes TWO; my dream girl and I alone, with our nun teacher for an hour! I thought I died and went to heaven.
Naturally, I struggled to keep up with them because I never had a French lesson in my life but I claimed to be rusty and that I would make an extra effort to work at home and catch up with them. First two lessons went perfectly from my perspective. I even made the two digress and talk about all sorts of things; I entertained them with anecdotes, exaggerations, and youthful boasts. Every now and again, our cool teacher nun would snap back to her usual disciplined self and call the class of two to order, which made the classes last for much longer than an hour. All in all, things were going well and I became a legend amongst my friends for pulling such a stunt, albeit an expensive one. I even tried and failed to spread the cost amongst my friends on the grounds that my reports back to them must have an entertainment value.
By the fifth or sixth lesson, I got cocky and careless. As part of my attempt at catching up with the French classes, I scoured libraries for French books and magazines to acquire additional knowledge and cultural references. I then started fiddling with the house radio searching for French radio channels. I found a couple and on one occasion heard a song that grabbed my attention. I travelled to Jerusalem to the only foreign record store that sold foreign music and after a great deal of explanation and description, I found the record I was looking for and returned home triumphant.
The following Monday, I took my newly acquired record to the class and handed it over to my nun teacher and explained that as part of my research, I came across this French song which I would like to know the meaning of the lyrics. She looked at the label and raised her eyebrows saying: ‘strange title, the grammar is not quite right’. I said it was a pop song and it was probably on purpose to draw attention. My fellow student was intrigued and said she would like to hear it. I said I would lend it to her for as long as she wanted. Our teacher said she cannot play it in class because the only record player they had was nowhere near our class but promised to sit down later on, listen to the song and translate it in time for our Wednesday’s class. I felt vindicated to have gone through all this trouble to blend with the class and be a good student, plus I scored a few points with my dream girl by promising to lend her the record. I felt I could do no wrong from that point onwards.
The following Wednesday took two years instead of two days to arrive but, arrive it did.
My dream girl and I chatted for a few minutes while waiting for our teacher nun to make her usual serene entrance from a side door. Finally, the door opened noiselessly and the nun had a serious, almost stern look on her face. She walked straight to me, handed me the record and said: Mufid, you should know better than to be buying this kind of filth, it is not appropriate for a boy of your age. I suggest you take it home and destroy it immediately. May God forgive you.
I have hazy recollection of the next hour but I paid no attention to anything that was said and I was not encouraged by the teacher to participate. I was relieved when the lesson was over and walked out feeling dejected and humiliated. Boy of My Age? That was too much to take. Needless to say, I never returned to that class with my romantic ambitions so badly destroyed in front of my dream girl.
If you are curious to know the song, it was a duet by Jane Birkin and Serge Gainsbourgh called “je t’aime, moi non plus” which translate as: “I love you, me neither”.
I investigated the song further and the lyrics are very sexually suggestive for their time of the late Sixties. However, it is the noises that Jane Birkin makes during the song that might have been too much for my teacher nun. Judge for yourself if the teacher nun over-reacted or not.
