What’s Ignored in the Classrooms of the Privileged

by Estrella Guerrero (self-chosen name)

She was Sabila, about 12 years old, a girl from a rural background. Due to her intelligence—and the incomprehensible threads of fate—she found herself in the city, unable to anticipate what would happen that year. It was a challenge for her parents to let her go with a teacher from their rural village to the distant city, hoping she could complete her first year of secondary school under his care—a dream barely attainable for the most privileged.

That year, her mother was in a hospital in Fusagasuga, the nearest city, where she endured all kinds of mistreatment, including gynaecological violence. Her father travelled back and forth from their remote village, leaving his other young children with a caretaker while he visited his wife in the city hospital.

The teacher, her best friend at the time, was like a father to her. He adapted some corner of his place as a bedroom, and did everything he could to cheer her up whenever he found her crying or with her head in the clouds. He never realized she was looking for a way to abandon the school and return to the countryside.

Her tutor showed her the school’s walls adorned with perfect portraits of alumni, told stories about their success, and pointed out at the latest technology on top of shining tables. The teacher was far from understanding the parallel world that existed between these two realities.

Working the land and getting the new harvest.

Kiriapa, a girl two or three years older than Sabila, with pale skin, blue eyes, and curly golden hair, ended up being in the same classroom and grade as her. She became Sabila’s relentless tormentor in the massive school, located in the wealthiest part of the city. From the start of the school year, Kiriapa constantly chased Saliba, alongside a group of bullies. Sabila, for her part, avoided Kiriapa as much as she could. Her world became of silences and shadows, and she, a girl from the countryside dreaming of a better future, was trapped in a school that taught harsh lessons about discrimination, class struggle, and the indifference of those meant to protect her.

When Sabila told her teachers about the abuse, the nicknames, and the mockery from Kiriapa and her group, they would often say: “You are exaggerating, child. It is normal for kids to joke around sometimes. Just play with them during the break, make some friends, and stop bothering us. We are very busy”.

With her simple uniform, Sábila was confused by being surrounded by the privileges of those kids accustomed to luxury, who saw her as an intruder, a strange bird that had dared to cross the wall between these two worlds.

The girl feared running into ruthless classmates. “Look at the filthy-mouth girl, the poor thing, the ragged peasant!” they shouted at her, pushing and elbowing her until she fell to the ground amid laughter and applause. They stole her school supplies and threw them in the trash, and she also had to endure scoldings from the people she lived with, who blamed her for losing her things due to carelessness.

Estrella Guerrero, at present.

This is how she found refuge in the bathrooms. During recess, Sábila would rush to the first empty stall she could find, lower the lid, and sit there, eating her small lunch while reading Moby Dick or Journey to the Center of the Earth. The works of Jules Verne transported her to a world of fantasy and dreams.

Everything was manageable until the day she heard a loud bang on the bathroom door while reading The Rebellion of the Rats during recess. A second later, she saw Kiriapa’s mocking, satisfied face above the door, alongside the furious face of her teacher, Mejía Nateban, who demanded she open the door immediately.

Sábila was paralysed with fear as she heard the jeers from her classmates: “Open up, filthy girl! No wonder you never come out to play with us. You can’t eat in the bathroom. You’re going to be punished!”

At last, she managed to stand up and open the door, but no one was there anymore. Trembling, she anticipated the punishment to come and what her guardians at home would say, though not all of them were truly protective. She shuddered at the sound of the bell signaling the end of recess.

Suddenly, Kiriapa appeared from behind a wall, smirking. She stuck out her foot, causing Sábila to lose her balance and trip. Slowly, Sábila stood up and looked at her. Strangely, the fear had vanished from her body. She walked toward Kiriapa without blinking. Kiriapa was taken aback and didn’t react until Sábila’s fist landed squarely on her face.

With feline agility, Kiriapa grabbed Sábila’s hair, and the two rolled on the ground. The surrounding students erupted into a frenzied chant: “Kiriapa! Kiriapa! Kiriapa!”

Teacher Mejía Nateban struck Sábila’s back with a whip-like instrument, similar to the one her father used on livestock, ordering her to stop.

Diversity

Back in the classroom, the two girls sat facing each other with their notebooks in hand. On the blackboard, the punishment was written: “I must respect my classmates.” Each had to write it 250 times as the beginning of their penalty.

That same afternoon, she had to confess everything to her guardian. She thought he would send her back to the village, that she had ruined everything, that she would be punished there as well. She believed that might be for the best.

Her guardian looked at her for a long time, then embraced her with a tenderness she still remembers, telling her: “You did what you had to do. Don’t regret it. We’ll sort it out later.”

The following week, Sábila returned to school, where she finished the year in second place. She never saw Kiriapa again. No one humiliated or discriminated against her for being poor and campesina again. Her guardian had fixed everything.

The raising

Sábila’s story is a call for awareness—a cry against the role we play in perpetuating discrimination and inequality. Education should be a space of true inclusion and respect, where everyone has the chance to grow without fear, without being condemned for their origins or appearance.

We must confront our own prejudices and work together toward an environment where everyone can flourish.