Aufgabe NT 1 - Aufgabe 4 · Abitur NRW Englisch LK · Nachtermin 2023

Klausurteil B: Sprachmittlung isoliert

You are a participant in the European youth project Technology needs Diversity. Every participant is supposed to write an article for the project's website about the present situation in his or her home country.

Using Gabriel Rinaldi's statements as your basis, write an online article in which you outline the difficulties facing the German tech sector and possible ways of improving the situation.

(Mediation) (18 Punkte)

Klausurteil A

Chibundu Onuzo

Sunita

This short story centres on Dọlapọ, a Nigerian student who lives in London and is on the verge of starting her working life.

Please note: The text is reproduced as it appeared in the original print edition.

“Don’t tell me you introduce yourself to people as dollop?” her mentor Daisy had said in

their first meeting. “That makes you sound like a blob of cream on the end of a spoon.”

“No one can pronounce Dọlapọ.”

“And nobody can pronounce Adaeze. Doesn’t mean I call myself dazed. I walk into a

5 room, confidently with my shoulders back and say, ‘Hi my name is Adaeze, but you can

call me Daisy.’ Now go out, come back in and introduce yourself again.”

Dọlapọ had been sent out of the room twice for introducing herself as Lapo and Olap.

Finally she had come up with Dolly.

“Take a seat, Dolly,” her mentor said. “Now we’ve given you a name, let’s talk about

10 your hair.”

Dọlapọ loved the afro now hidden under her weave, loved its untameable, uncombable

sprawl, loved the extra inches it added to her height, loved the mushroom silhouette of her

head in photos, loved hair that grew up instead of down, gravity-defying, extra-terrestrial

hair.

15 “That’s fine if you want to work in advertising or publishing, or media, or fashion, or

maybe even engineering, but certainly not banking,” Daisy said.

“My friends like it.”

“White friends or black?”

“Does it really matter?”

20 “White or black?”

“Mostly white.”

“They think it’s funky, edgy and cool, don’t they?”

“What’s wrong with that.”

“Never elegant, chic, glamorous; these are the adjectives we use for women in banking.

25 These are the adjectives for success. As a black woman, let me be honest, when you walked

into this room, what I saw was unprofessional, unkempt and unserious.”

She had been paired with Daisy by Diversity Unlimited, a recruitment firm that helped

companies fill up their ethnic minority quota. Daisy had worked for seven years in an

investment bank. Daisy carried a red leather bag with slim, curved handles, discreet, silver,

30 letters spelling out PRADA under the zip. Daisy wore structured dresses, thin black heels,

milky pearls, minimal lipstick, dramatic eye shadow and cascading hair that swept below

her shoulders. Daisy’s hair cost a thousand pounds.

Dọlapọ’s more modest purchase came in a black cardboard box, edged with gold curli-

cue. The hair lay lustrous on a bed of crepe, folded into itself like a small, sleek creature, a

35 sable or mink. Her aunt had gone with her to the salon, leafing through magazines as they

wove Dọlapọ’s afro into lines and then stitched the human hair to hers, tight-running

stiches that made her eyes water. […]

That first night, with her new hair tucked under a net, she dreamt she was on a cart, her legs

dangling over the platform and trailing above short grass. […]

40 Dọlapọ had read somewhere that cheese gave strange dreams. That second night, she

exchanged her bedtime snack of Brie and two crackers for carrot and hummus. She dreamt

she was on the back of the cart again, fresh vegetables and fruit crowding around her. It had

rained and the field had turned to mud.

“Sunita,” someone said.

45 She looked back and saw two bullocks, their horns rising like pale crescents, sharp

tipped and dangerous. They were pulling the cart, their shoulder blades rolling with each step.

“My name is Dọlapọ Owolabi,” she said when she woke up. “My name is Dọlapọ

Owolabi,” she muttered as she rode on the tube, the ground beneath her a black mudslide.

In the windows, she saw the marble eyes of a bullock.

50 The third night, she was afraid to sleep. Her first interview was tomorrow and she couldn’t

sleep. Daisy had called her that evening to ask what she thought of the falling oil prices.

Dọlapọ had not heard.

“I’ve told you. You have to be going over the financial pages. Have you done your hair?”

“Yes. I was wondering, do you know where it comes from? Is it Brazil?”

55 “Well, it’s called Brazilian hair but it’s mostly from India. The women sell it to make

money for their families. […]

This time Dọlapọ dreamt she was in a cool, dark room. She put her hands on the walls,

pitted mud walls that her fingers slid into. There was an earthen bowl in front of her. She

drank from it and tasted buffalo milk, fat and creamy, freshly squeezed from an udder that

60 morning.

“Sunita, stop dawdling. Hurry so you won’t be late for school.”

She stepped into the sunlight, into a lane with other huts with brown walls and grey

thatched roofs, thatch made from woven grass reeds and coconut leaves. There were other

children emerging in blue and white uniforms.

65 “Sunita, where’s your hair?” a little boy with dirty knees asked. She ran her hand over

her scalp and felt the stubble of new growth bristling against her palm.

“Baldie,” he chanted behind her as they walked to school. “Baldie, Baldie.”

She waited until the huts were out of sight and then she flung her bag to the ground.

“Your mother is a baldie!”

70 She launched herself at her tormentor and they fell to the ground.

Dọlapọ woke with her legs still thrashing. She went to her dressing-table and brushed out

Sunita’s hair. She could still feel herself rolling in the Indian dirt, kicking and spitting and

scratching. She hoped she won. Nobody messed with Sunita and nobody messed with her.

She flicked her weave over her shoulder, glamorous for one last time and then she found a

75 razor and began to slit the stitches that bound her and Sunita together.

Six hours later, Dọlapọ walked into a room in Canary Wharf, in a structured dress, thin

black heels, a single strand of pearls and her hair combed out to its tallest and widest, a

globe of an afro, space for Europe, Africa and Asia on her head.

“Hello, good morning. I’m Dọlapọ Owolabi.”

80 “Morning, I’m Mike Jones. Is there a name you prefer to be called by?”

“Just Dọlapọ is fine.”

“Please take a seat, Dọlapọ, and tell us why you want to work in banking.”

Annotations

30 PRADA – an Italian luxury label for expensive, elegant fashion and accessories

76 Canary Wharf – part of London’s business district