It might be that Palestinians and Israelis study together, Bosinians and Serbs meet up for coffee, but would they sit next to each other? 

By Martina Čermáková

It might be that Palestinians and Israelis study together, Bosnians and Serbs meet up for coffee, but would they sit next to each other?: Diorama of a UNYP classroom

Internationally oriented institutions bring together a range of ethnicities with the potential for cross-cultural interaction. Nonetheless, setting up the environment does not necessarily breed the desired effect: the packing of different nationalities into a shabby, blue-windowed room with a whiteboard does not guarantee the dissolution of the confines of nationality and the onset of hard-core international mingling.

Once again, with an empty look and silence in my mind, I trace the smudges and smears on the bare white walls. Scanning the surroundings for anything to engage the eyes, I find myself again exploring the wonders in the detail of the pink-dyed fur coat folded on the backrest of the chair in front of me. A wave of warm dry air rising from the visibly aged massive radiators (present in needlessly generous numbers) flows through the overused air to rub against my face. The thought of 25 students breathing 15 times a minute for three hours in a living-room-sized cubicle mercilessly digs its way into my mind, and I start pondering the recycled dirt I am forced to inhale.

Every now and then, a comment from the very back row revives my drowsy brain. It is this densely infested last row of Americans that is responsible for most of the comments that put a sparkle in the teacher’s eye and earn marks of “very good” for class participation. If you ever find yourself English-starved within the UNYP grounds, these Americans will feed you well to last another day.It is dead quiet around me, and a clock is slowly ticking in my head. Unless they’re out of paper or ink, or failed to grasp what has just been said, the Czechs do not converse much—but who needs it? The back rows empower you to observe. After devoting some time during these weekly lectures to the shallow thought processes of my mind and the collecting of explicit empirical evidence within the four white walls of the ever-so-stifling classroom, I have concluded that Czechs are too cool for front rows.    

On the contrary, front rows do not pose a threat to the small packs of Poles and Russians who save seats for their language affiliates as space allows. I passively catch bits of their talk, staring ahead at the light-green letters of a dying marker on the greasy white board.

A brunette in the front row is tapping her pen against the table, a pen-clicker with a grey hoodie on the front right. From the remote back row, I cannot determine who they are and where they are from: the lone wolves are always tough nuts to crack.

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