Seeking sisterhood

Maisha Robinson '02 and her twin sister Nuriya '02 were sitting one day in their high school A.P. Calculus class when talk turned to hair. The teacher had stepped out of the room, and the students began to compare techniques, shocked and shrieking with laughter at the differences.

Maisha and Nuriya, who are black, washed their hair once a week and added oil to keep it from becoming too crackly. The white girls washed it every day to keep the oil from slicking down the strands.

The Robinsons permed their hair to make it straight. The whites permed their hair to make it curly. The students grinned at each other and continued chatting and sharing differences until the bell rang.

It was only one of the constant cultural exchanges that the Robinson twins valued growing up as two of a handful of minority honors students at their high school in Memphis, Tenn. And though they lived in a predominantly white, affluent neighborhood, several blocks away was a working class residential section that was more racially integrated.

The Robinsons went to the Diwali celebrations hosted by their Indian friends, who in turn attended performances of the African dance and drum troop. The Robinsons would stay up for hours at sleepovers or honor society conventions talking with students from different races and ethnicities — discussing their differences in everything from religion and styles of worship to family lives and taste in guys.

"Everything seemed integrated," Maisha said. "It wasn't a conscious effort we were making — we just found ourselves sitting up all night after long days of workshops and events. I learned so much from them and I think they learned a good amount from us as well."

"You didn't have to prove yourself," Nuriya added. "People knew that you were intelligent, because obviously you were in the honors classes. They knew you had the GPA, the IQ, you weren't really proving yourself, you were just like a regular person doing the same things they were doing. So it wasn't such a shock that you were a black person. It was just you're an intelligent individual just like I am."

When they came to Princeton, the Robinsons were expecting to find the same encouraging environment. By the second week at school, Maisha knew she hadn't.

She saw the superficial friendships forged by freshman week activities begin to fade as people drifted toward their different interests. She joined the Third World Center and the Black Arts Company, and started an African drums troop with her sister. The divide had developed.

As sophomores, the Robinsons decided to rush Delta Sigma Theta, a sorority made up primarily of black women.

"I don't really have any friends outside of my race right now, which is kind of unusual because in high school I had friends of all races," Maisha said. "I'm not blaming other people for self-segregating because I've done the same thing . . . I also think it's interesting or important for African Americans to form groups and hang together because when you go to class there aren't many of us there.

"You go to class and they're all white students and your preceptor is white, the professor is white. You're the only black person, the only spot in the room, and so when you get out of class you want to find somebody like you," she said. "They're asking you for your 'black opinion' in the precept or for your 'black view,' whatever you want to say to represent the entire black community — it's just nice to spend time with people who are like you when you get out of class."

Get the best of the ‘Prince’ delivered straight to your inbox. Subscribe now »

And Delta Sigma Theta provided the Robinsons with that chance.

Though sororities and fraternities are not officially recognized at Princeton, there are 13 traditionally white chapters and four traditionally black ones on campus.

For the Robinsons — and a growing number of students on campus — largely black sororities and fraternities offer the close-knit communities they are searching for.

But Delia Ugwu-Oju '04 and Keiyana Fordham '04 have pursued a different path on campus. Both students rushed white sororities and received bids. Ugwu-Oju accepted and was initiated into Kappa Alpha Theta on Sunday, where she will become its only black member. Fordham turned her bid down.

For Fordham, Princeton has offered her an opportunity she never had before.

"Since I came here, I've never made so many friends who were like me, black girls who are like me," she said. "It was weird because there was no diversity at my high school, so there were no other black girls who were like me. So now I have more real friends who are like me."

Fordham came from a small, primarily white high school in Georgetown, where racial differences were constantly an issue, forcing meetings and mediation between angry students.

This year, a group of white students formed a club called "my niggers" and printed T-shirts in brown with black writing. Several black students became offended and ripped the shirts off. The school called a meeting.

While Fordham was still at school, several minorities banded together to form a newsletter to compete with the student newspaper, accusing it of stifling their voice in the school and not providing opportunities for black students to advance to editorial positions. The publication also discussed the place of minorities at the school.

"It was just about how they can't stand how minority kids are used as representatives for the whole race and a whole bunch of things about how they couldn't stand the snobby attitude of our school," Fordham said.

"I think the problem with our school is that people are just ignorant to racial issues," she said. "Half the kids say things and don't realize how stupid they are. At least I hope they don't realize."

But, despite her frustration, Fordham did not join in when the black female students she previously had been friendly with decided not to be friends with the whites any longer. Fordham's best friend since fifth grade was white. She would not abandon her.

"We're so much alike, it's crazy," Fordham said. "We're best, best friends. I wouldn't just drop my best friends because my other friends had formed an exclusive group."

And as a result, they would not speak with her either.

But Fordham already felt alienated from her former friends. They began wearing tight, revealing clothes and stopped attending classes or doing work.

"They'd try to talk ghetto," Fordham said. "I like to wear nice clothes. Not preppy, but fashionable. I like designer clothes . . . All they think about is boys and their slutty clothes and going out to go-go clubs — a type of music that's only found in D.C. It's only beats. It's just music with no words."

By senior year, the tension had dispelled somewhat and Fordham became friends with the girls again. But when she came to Princeton, she was expecting to associate more with white students.

"When I came here at first I thought there'd be no diversity, and then there were more minorities than I thought there would be," Fordham said. "And a lot of my friends happen to be black here. I have more black friends than I do white friends. It surprises me because I'm coming from having more white friends than black friends."

When Fordham decided to rush, she was struck by the lack of diversity in the process. Though she ultimately decided not to join the sorority because she did not want to become a pledge — "I wouldn't be able to wear dumb things on certain days because they told me too," she said — the homogenous atmosphere was a factor.

"You feel like in a sisterhood there should be girls who are like you," she said, "and there are no girls who are like you."

During the rush process, Fordham approached her MAA — Maisha Robinson — for advice.

"She told me not to do a white sorority. She was like, 'Don't do it, don't do it,' " Fordham said. "I didn't know how the whole process worked. She said that I should hold off and wait and rush for the black sororities next year. That's another reason why I dropped Theta — because I wanted to be a part of a black sorority."

Fordham is still not sure whether she will rush a black sorority next year — she does not find the idea of being a member of any chapter very appealing. But if she had known about the black sororities, it might have changed where she decided to rush in the first place.

The Robinsons both understand how important it is for black sororities to be seen as a presence on campus.

"Visibility is the key," Maisha said. "I think a lot of times pre-frosh come and they didn't know that we had black sororities."

Ugwu-Oju, for one, did not know that there were black sororities when she rushed. But it might not have made a difference. For her, the decision was casual — it was just another activity to join with friends and seemed to be the natural successor to her social life at a laid-back California high school.

For her, "Race just seems like it's so nothing. It's never been an issue for me."

Ugwu-Oju's parents both immigrated to the United States from Nigeria. Her mother, Dympna, is a member of the Ibo tribe and has grappled over how to reconcile her traditional beliefs while raising a modern American woman.

In this week's Newsweek, she wrote in an essay that she has "struggled daily with how best to raise my daughter. Every decision involving Delia is a tug of war between Ibo and American traditions."

Ugwu-Oju acknowledges her parents' efforts, but drew a distinction between African and African-American culture.

"My mom tries to give us a sense of our culture being Nigerian, not being African-American. It's not been a big issue," she said. "We're Catholic. We don't even go to a black church. For some reason I don't feel like I have to — I'm just a different case.

"People whose parents are from Africa — I think there's a bigger percentage of that [at Princeton] than I've ever seen. The black culture doesn't apply to them at all because their parents didn't grow up with that."

Ugwu-Oju, who was a cheerleader in high school, said she has slipped smoothly into life as a Theta. Before this year, she would frequently attend nearby college frat parties, and is therefore comfortable in a Greek setting.

And no one, she said — at Princeton or anywhere else — has made her feel different.

"This was not a really big decision," she said. "It's just another way to meet people, it's not a way of life."

But for the Robinsons, it was just that: Their sorority is a lifelong commitment.

"It can't be something you just do because your friends encourage you, your friends want you to join," Nuriya said. "You're a Delta for life. So that means that throughout your whole life, you're required to uphold your sorority's mission and objective and you can't let it go. It's something that you're going to be committed to for the rest of your life, so it's a serious decision. You don't just do it on a whim."

Maisha, however, did not realize at first what making the commitment meant and was initially unsure whether she wanted to join. She thought the sorority atmosphere would be silly, filled with girls giggling over guys and joking.

"I must say that I didn't really know much about what the sororities did," she said.

But finally she decided to look at the Webpages maintained by the chapters and was startled to find names of influential black women listed as members.

She saw the sororities' emphasis on service: Delta members volunteer at the Clay Street Learning Center in Princeton's John-Witherspoon community and at the Princeton nursing home. She was impressed.

"I thought, 'I want to be a part of that. I want to join and be uplifting of the black community both at Princeton and for the rest of my life. And I want to join a sisterhood that's nationwide. I want to join an organization where I can go anywhere in the world and find people who have also committed,' " she said.

"Not only do we laugh and joke about guys and life and school and our families, but there are also people you can talk to about our community and our social responsibility," she added.

After Maisha received a disappointing grade on a midterm this semester, she went to the room of an older Delta member seeking advice.

"Don't worry," she was told. "I've been there before."

Indeed, balancing too many activities is a common problem among minority students at Princeton, Maisha said.

"A lot of the time, it's academic difficulties because so many of us put on so many different hats," Maisha said. "There are a lot of ethnic organizations on campus, but it's the same people in all of them. We're always running from meeting to meeting. We spend almost as much time in meetings as we do in class."

Maisha is in 12 clubs and Nuriya in 11, and they hold leadership positions in several.

"We're trying to increase the minority population on campus by increasing the number of opportunities for minorities when they get on campus," Maisha said.

Nuriya agreed. "You don't just come and join one activity like some of the white students do," she said. "You feel like you have to be doing everything because if we don't do it, who will?"

Part of that attitude was instilled in the Robinsons by their parents, who are both preachers and socially active, serving on boards for organizations such as the United Way.

But though Maisha and Nuriya are each involved with many campus groups, being in a sorority provided them with a deeper experience. They had never been best friends, but the pledge process brought them closer together — each sister seeing a side of the other she had never realized was there.

"She was always the tomboy and I'm really the girly-girl," Nuriya said. "I'm a dancer and I like to wear skirts and cute shoes. She wore very different outfits. She would be the one with no earrings, baggy pants, tennis shoes . . ."

"I was a basketball player!" Maisha interrupted.

"Well, you dressed like a basketball player," Nuriya countered. "I wanted to look like a dancer — like a girl."

But now they dress identically and have a deeper mutual respect for each other.

Aside from reconciling their fashion differences, the pledge process helped Maisha learn that Nuriya was stronger than she had thought while Nuriya discovered Maisha was a leader.

"I think we're all on fair playing ground right now," Nuriya said. "Everybody's a leader. Everybody stands their own ground."

And that is important, because while both have enjoyed their Princeton experience, neither feels she fully belongs. When they are with a group of black friends eating at the dining hall and laughing, they feel disapproving stares from the other students.

Or, Nuriya said, when a table starts out as integrated and the white students begin to leave, other white students never come to take their place. The table becomes black.

And in classes or walking across campus, both said they feel uncomfortable glances from other students.

"You can feel people looking at you, kind of checking you out and trying to see why you're at Princeton," Maisha said. "Are you really intelligent or are you trying to fit some kind of quota that Princeton has?"

"We still feel like we have to validate ourselves here," Nuriya added. "We have discussions about minorities and racism on this campus all the time. This is almost the focal point of our discussions with other black students — about racism and how we don't feel like we belong."

For the Robinsons, their sorority is one of the places where they can share these feelings with people who understand what they are talking about.

Whereas Ugwu-Oju said Theta was focused more on finding friends through pledge dinners and theme parties — such as biker night or fallen angels night — the black sororities serve a different function.

"I think they are growing in importance, we're getting more black students to come," Maisha said. "We're finding the black Greek life on this campus is the best that it has been."

In helping to build their sorority into a presence on campus, the Robinsons are creating a community for black Princetonians that has not always existed.

And come this spring, it might be one that Keiyana Fordham chooses to join.