However, we have only recently discovered how learning occurs at the molecular level. Scientists have figured out how our dense network of 10 billion neurons works and how sensory information is transported along this lightning-fast network to be stored in the hippocampus.
We are innately wired to seek knowledge, which is why when we were babies, we put everything in our mouths. Seeing as we are not constructed to bear sharp fangs or possess blinding speed, it is this ability that keeps us firmly at the apex of the food chain.
And as the biting northern wind scraped at my exposed skin, I harnessed whatever little propulsion that I possessed, not to escape any pursuing predators, but to find a warmer place indoors. My boot clad feet pounded the compacted Canadian snow rhythmically as I ventured on. The predatory wind continued to swing its mighty sword at all exposed areas. My skin pleaded to surrender. It yearned for the the warm caress of the nurturing African sun. And while this hemispheric conflict raged on the playing field of my billions of neurons, I saw my salvation in the distance. And as the stoic brown face brick building with the recognisable dome in the middle focused into view, I quickened my pace. I pushed through the large aluminum double doors that served as my finish line.
My heart rate steadied as I felt the artificially heated warm air greet my frozen skin. That was the one thing about the Northern hemisphere winter. While the elements mercilessly ravage your body outdoors, inside the warmth and comfort rival the perfect summer day.
I was cocooned in the safe confines of Allandale Heights primary school in Barrie, Canada. All of 11 years old and a Grade 6 student in Mrs Henderson’s class. I had made the transition from Crescent School in Lobatse to the academic world in Canada relatively easily. Analysis of Shakespeare’s best required no particular latitude and longitude. My classmates welcomed me with friendly curiosity.
This was a world devoid of pixels and Bluetooth networking, so Africa was only accessed through television and books. And now through a native son. I earned their respect by not only powering through the academic jungle with no particular problems, but by participating in and holding my own in sport. I had many friends and for all intents and purposes became fully integrated into my new community. Allandale Heights was an upper middle class neighbourhood and as such provided a pleasant living environment.
Everyday along the same route, my sister Sadia and I travelled to school. A nondescript but fairly large house stood at the intersection of Meadowland and Broadmoor St. It was always neat, but the lack of kinetic activity stood out. This residence served as a foster home. One of the residents was a boy named Charlie. While we were never friends, we ran into each other through mutual friends. Somewhat abrasive with a fairly loose tongue for a young boy.
One particular day as I walked alone, I ran into Charlie with a group of his left of centre friends. While he had steely eyes, they could not hide his own fears and insecurities. Not sure what came over him, but maybe to impress his motley crew, he called me a derogatory racist name. His nervous laughter was followed by more nervous laughter from his gang.
I replied, “Get a life Charlie.” They continued on their way when I showed no panic. After informing my parents, who subsequently called our school principal, a meeting was convened in Principal Brucker’s office. I felt extreme anger and hoped for the harshest punishment for Charlie. I waited at the school reception in the warm protective shelter of both my parents. I sneered as I looked at Charlie who sat with his mother. No words were exchanged between the two of them. In fact there appeared to be no connection between foster mother and son. She looked irritated and in sharp contrast to our last meeting, Charlie looked petrified. As I watched the scene unfold, a strange transformation took place.
My anger evaporated and was replaced with intense pity. Charlie was forced to apologise and shake hands with me by Principle Brucker. As it turned out, this catalytic event resulted in an interesting new friendship between us. While we were never close, his personality smoothened at the edges and we always chatted amiably. Rather than harbour any hostility towards Charlie I chose to forgive him and move on. Interestingly, research has shown that the act of true forgiveness has beneficial effects for both mental and physical health. A study published in the journal Neurology showed that forgiveness reduces stress and the stress hormone cortisol.
Elevated cortisol has been shown to have negative effects on memory and the immune system, reducing your ability to fight off disease and fatigue.
Anger and hostility have been linked to an increased risk of heart disease, as well as worse outcomes for people who already have it, according to a meta-analysis published in the Journal of the American College of Cardiology. And while I have scarcely thought about Charlie in the subsequent years, I do wish he is surrounded by better and happier circumstances as a result of his challenging childhood. The world is rife with immeasurable conflict and we would do well to minimise confrontation and anger. The greatest benefit would likely be our own.
