Afro-Saxon is the follow-up to the highly controversial book ‘A Black Boy at Eton’, published early 2022 by Penguin. Dillibe Onyeama was the first black boy to complete his education at Eton in 1968. Written at just twenty-one, it was a deeply personal, revelatory account of the racism he endured during his time as a student at the prestigious institution.
He tells in vivid detail of his own background as the son of a Nigerian judge at the International Court of Justice at The Hague, of his arrival at the school, of the curriculum, of his reception by other boys (and masters), and of his punishments. He tells, too, of the cruel racial prejudice he suffered and his reactions to it, and of the alienation and stereotyping he faced at such a young age.
‘A Black Boy at Eton’ was a searing, ground-breaking book displaying the deep psychological effects of colonialism and racism, and the follow-up ‘Afro-Saxon’ tells more about his story and experiences in a white dominated society.
Afro-Saxon by Dillibe Onyeama was published by Quadrant Books earlier this year. As part of this #RandomThingsTours Blog Tour I am delighted to share an extract from the introduction of the book with you today.
Extract from Afro-Saxon by Dillibe Onyeama
May it please that Yours Truly be accorded the privilege of introducing himself. He was the Nigger at Eton, and wrote about it. Fifty years later that title was diluted to the more diplomatic A Black Boy at Eton. In their respective eras both titles provoked controversy of near-volcanic proportions.
One should say the story merited telling – if because of the eccentricity of such a choice for a British scholastic system that was created by English royalty to provide for an already selected minority of the British society a privileged education that equipped them to fulfil their purpose, predestined by birth, as pillars of the ruling class and leaders of the establishment.
Moreover, when the status of the British private school reached its zenith during the era of the British Empire, it was producing the very people who were most needed to show the flag and spread the word of British power and wisdom among the so-called ‘backward’ peoples in whose lands the crown had already established acquisitive occupancy. Hence the eccentricity of the choice of a pupil south of the Sahara as an ideal candidate for such an education is eloquently emphasised. “Really letting the side down,” founder King Henry VI would most certainly have grunted as he turned in his grave.
The sub-Saharan pupil, out of his depth as the only cup of coffee in the place weakened by milk, albeit of supreme quality, would at any rate find blessed solace in the truism that his membership of this exclusive breed of humanity would (or should) read well in his résumé. He may not have the facial features to look the part when cocking a snook in the nose-in-the-air English snob tradition, nor
the gaudy garments of black tail-coats and striped trousers designed for pupils a cut above the English crowd, but he would at least luxuriate in the supreme quality of almost every feature of his career in this exclusive world-famous breeding ground of dignity, courtesy and culture – a breeding ground which had produced some of the world’s most distinguished men.
There was supremacy in the quality of education, supremacy in privileges made in heaven, supremacy in sports, supremacy in charity work, in recreation, in cuisine. One felt that had it been possible, the English aristocracy would have privatised fresh air for its mollycoddled angels.
This sub-Saharan pupil’s dusky appearance attracted insults in generous doses of variety. But he could not call the school a racist institution: if it had been, he would not have been there in the first place. He could not indict his tormentors for being colour prejudiced. They would just laugh it off with the defence “Some of my best friends are coloured.” No – what he could legitimately lay claim to was the very definite existence of supremacist attitudes that ran like a thread through the soul of English royal disposition – sometimes deployed with hostility, sometimes with patronising, tongue-in-cheek love, sometimes with the constant arrogance of ignorance, sometimes with shallow atheistic stupidity.
The satisfactory breaking of many jaws in response could not rival the scale of insults and jeers, if only because of the greater population of white over black; but at any rate there was the feeling of giving as good as one got: “You insult my black face, I break your white jaw.”
It was a terrific adventure (or misadventure) that would serve to instil a deep sense of colour-consciousness for the departing sub-Saharan pupil, notwithstanding the corresponding sense of accomplishment bestowed by his privileged plunge into the unfathomable depths of English finesse. In the profit and loss
account, one could talk, grudgingly, of overall profit – in terms of
quality education, the corresponding insight into human relations,
and the comfortable feeling of confidence of being above it all and
able to hold one’s own in any situation anywhere in the world.
As soon as Dillibe Onyeama was born, in January 1951, his father put his name down for Eton, the UK’s most prestigious and expensive private school. No black child had gone there, but his father, a senior judge in Nigeria who had studied at Oxford, wanted him to have the best education he could possibly afford.
Onyeama did go on to receive a fantastic education – and made history as the first black person to complete his study at Eton College.
But the personal cost was staggering.
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