Oooo baby baby its a wild word...

On small bits of paper I wrote an assortment of random words for a poetry assignment. Students picked one word out of a hat, which formed the title of their poem, to be interpreted as they liked. Once completed, I read the poems to the class anonymously. They absolutely loved it. Below are some examples of the fruits of their labour. Bon appetit!

Taste

It is better to have seen and tasted

then to never have tasted or seen

So come come and taste

the sorrow and everlasting pain of

my heart and soul

Now is the time

To be licking your fingers in joy

This opportunity comes only one a lifetime

So taste the emotions and feelings

of those around you

Taste the joy and peace

You have taken from nature

Taste!

Limitation

like birds singing to

the ocean’s children, flowing in

and out

of their sea home

smell of nagging ghosts’ puke

wakens me from my nightmare

while few focus favoring my fantasy

and my screams bark more and more towards

my awareness

I limit my desire to rejoice

my fearless dreams to which

I turn as a lonely person who

believes the only limit is the sky

Purpose

I am here with a purpose

A purpose with reason

You will never pause the peace that I live with

I am who I am

I can’t change

I will live deadly on earth

I know me but I never

see myself

I can hear a calling but

I’m death and now

I can walk without feet

I am on earth with a reason

Question

How can you live without food?

Is there any hope of living?

Is there any end of this road?

Sometimes I ask myself these questions

What am I want to be?

I wanted to become something

I knew nothing about

If you are living

You have to come up with

What you are ready to be

Try not to think about your life

And what holds you down

Try to say in fact:

Is there any crime in doing that?

What you want

You can get

Draw

Draw a picture inside me

Drawing the loneliness and pain I feel

Drawing me as a picture

Drawing with my imagination

Drawing my weakness and my strength

But not knowing I’m 

being judged

Drawing my life inside me

Drawing my teenagehood but

Not knowing I’m still a child

inside

Drawing my family

but not knowing they kept secrets from me

Draw my sadness

but not knowing I’m drawing my happiness

Draw my bad memories

but not knowing I’m creating new good ones

That is my drawing!

Five

The clock was ticking

til it stops at five

o’clock in the morning

the alarm was singing

til it wakes me up

to wash getting ready for

school

I ran liked a chased cheetah

to the bus stop to catch

my five thirty bus

but I smelled the

smell of tar that told me that

the bus had left

I was the bus stop’s best customer

but that time

I was five minutes late

Hear

My Last voices

accorded.

My message of

victory spinning

the wind.

My Last songs

burning pure glory

of smoke.

My Last words

written by the

gift of the magic.

Listen to them

to represent a

new story.

For your ways

to drizzle compassion

as the snow

flowing along the mountains

Don’t miss this

chance and contain

the new light.

Shelter

A shelter is a nice place to be

You hide from the world

and your debts.

The poverty is built and watched by

people who invade other people’s

privacy and problems.

Shelter is like an umbrella protecting from

all your enemies

creatures of the outside world.

It is the cover of all problems,

the protector from all seasons,

a shoulder to cry on. It is the key and

the place where people unite.

It flicks all the problems inside to the

outside.

It is a nice place to be.

Shoes

Shoes are our feet

Shoes are our walk

How

Can we go places with

bare feet?

Shoes cover

our feet and make

our feets warm

Sometimes shoes help

to cover our ugly toes

That’s what I like about

shoes

They even help during winter season

to keep our feet from getting

wet

Yellow

Bright yellow

The colour of peace

and happiness in SA

Like a sunflower under

The rise of a

big

bold

beautiful

sun

The big yellow sun

hugging and giving

light and warmth

to the amazing people

of this motherland

Let yellow spread
Let peace spread
throughout SA
and flick the
light of peace

to everyone
even the
blind

Quiet

Shhh..Quiet

Don’t make a sound
be brave yet
don’t be too proud

Quiet because the power
of no sound gives life
and education which is
sharper than a knife

The voiceless sound of
abused children
sounding pain
as my veins
pumped hatred

I was Quiet

They who have power
have sound
but they who are poor
make no sound but are proud

Quiet like a cheetah
ready to prey upon

the weaker
yet no sound is made
be Quiet

Be Quiet just for a moment…
and when your voice sounds
the nation must listen
Quiet!

Tomorrow

You never know
what tomorrow brings
for you and me

You wake up
We wake up
Asking yourself
What tomorrow brings
for me and my
great grand children

What tomorrow brings
for the world of
my great grand children

What the leaders
of this nation can
bring tomorrow

What will tomorrow
bring for me and
my nations

Yesterday I was free from Apartheid
But tomorrow I will be free
from Poverty

What will tomorrow bring
for me and you

Right

Once I found out
that I have the right
not just any right
the human right

The right to get a good education
The right to a safe and comfortable home
The right to be protected from harm
The right to be proud of my customs

Now my life is bright

It’s not like the darkness at night

It has the colour of peace, white

Yes, that’s right

Because I know my right

I feel like I could shine like the sunlight
now that I know my right
not just any right
the human right

Cry

Why should I cry

Why are my tears so heavy?

When my enemies see me
they will just cry

Sleeping with a painful heart

Simple means my girlfriend hurts me

I’m supposed to cry

Because my feelings won’t let my thoughts go
back to sleep

Sweet

Home Sweet Home

Every time i wonder

Every time i cry

For those who don’t
have homes

Home is where the
heart of the nation is molded
and where children reap the
sweetness of wisdom
granted to them as freedom

Home Sweet Home

Home is sweet

Every one has a
right to have home
Home Sweet Home

(Written by a student who has recently been left homeless when a fire destroyed the her family’s shack)

Ask

Ask me to love you

Ask me to make love to you

Ask to touch your body

Ask me anything about love

Ask me, why don’t you ask me?

Ask me to get your attention

Ask me to save you

Ask me to save our love
the silent love

Ask me anything

Ask me, why don’t you ask me?

Stone

The stone
when thrown into the river
creates waves.

I speak poetry
when I speak poetry I create waves
I do make a difference
cause when I speak poetry
I create waves

The stone
when thrown into the river
creates waves.

Hope

Sometimes all it takes
to improve your life
is deciding which beliefs do not save you
and certainly
changing your mind about them.

Choose beliefs
that serve the grand dream
of who you want to be
and still hope to be
in the darkness

Never give up
for that is just the

place and time

that the tide will turn
and light will shine down on
you

Just hope

Forget

Will shall forgive those who harm us

You will hear voices screaming WE WANT

PEACE!

But the white man has no sorry for black

we may forget about apartheid
forget what happened yesterday
focus on today

forget how we were treated
forget about Mandela in prison

forget about Hector Pieterson

Will shall forgive but we shall never
forget

Gift
I have this Gift
I got from my grandparents

The Gift that can
make my life and
dreams come true

I walk to the street
People tell me about
this Gift this is my
Life my dream

This Gift that
can make the world
a better home for
all

This is my Gift

is my dream
my Gift is

my future

Colour

The black skin
my parents gave

me made me

The beauty that
makes the nation
mine

The green of Nature
and the blueness of
the sky

Yellow for the mellow
colour is made by the
rainbow to give meaning
to the star

Yet bold to give rise
and shine

Colour tells a story
it shares movements
it feels pain

I am black
this colour says
a lot!

Read

Reading is the light of my life

Read in order to lead
Don’t speed

If you do it
Can’t be good indeed

Don’t smoke weed
or you shall be
lazy to read

The seed mother
gave me was
to read

As education lightens my life
I shall read
until my eyes bleed

Grow

Grow to become old
Grow for the world
is ready for the young child

To grow is to understand to be found
To have knowledge
To grow is to make mistakes
and to learn from them
To grow is to move from confusion
to light

Grow to known that life
is sharper than a knife
as we kiss our dream
to dance the change
in our hands

Child

A child is the light
of the nation
a confused person
smaller in age
brave by heart

Child who lives
in the wild
is blind by influence
of his time

I m a change
the power rests in my hands
I am the dreams in my head
I am the child who loves education

A child is nothing
but a child
full questions and love

A brave child could never
go to the grave soon
but shall live the years
of the promised land

So

So what if I was blind?
So would I feel or smell
the colour of a person
or their clothes? So?

So what if I was deaf?
So would I hear or
recognize what the person
was saying? So?

So what if I was a man?
So would I be the person I am now?
So would my actions be different
to the ones I do now?
So would my mind think
the way it does today? So?

Outside

Outside there is a space
where the living dwells
from the fowl of the sky
to the serpent of the land.

Outside not inside
a sphere over which one
does not have control

Joy can be found where
things interact. Destiny
is found outside where
Pride is everyone’s ride

Death is encountered outside
Outside is dark and bright
Cold and not

Outside is where I marry
the dreams of my interest
and where I am cooked
done

Opportunities and tragedies
are ready for you and me outside
Out there mines are mined

Sweat and work
Seriousness and laziness

Jealousy and love

Outside is where we shall meet

days like these

there are days

where she feels inspired.

days where her students respond

engage

ask

answer

question

days where their circumstances

their struggles

their pain

their hunger

is a little less obvious

but then there are other days.

days where her students withdraw

become unresponsive

sleep

young eyes cloud over

old beyond their years

days where the drive to work is more jarring

the stench of streets lined with litter more pungent

the taste of hopelessness in the air more acrid

the sight of bodies with broken spirits more depressing

the sound of silent defeat more deafening

days where she cant help but wonder:

what the fuck is she doing?

what is the point?

is there one?

why is the world like this?

what. the. fuck. is. she. doing.

and on these days

the despair is almost catching

the frustration almost overwhelming

the light at the end of the tunnel almost extinguished

this great tragedy impossible to ignore

the family man

Part of my English students’ mark for Term 1 is a reading mark for which they must demonstrate their ability to read out loud. How the mark is obtained is left to the discretion of the teacher. As one of the local newspapers routinely delivers packages of week-old newspapers to the school for students to use and read (though since they are placed in a room which students are forbidden to enter very few in fact do so), I thought these would be appropriate for this task.

Students were each given a newspaper with a variety of dates over the past month and we spent a period reading. I instructed them to find an article (of at least 100 words for Grade 11, 150 for those in Grade 12) that they would read then briefly summarize in a few sentences to the class. This would allow for the evaluation of their comprehension and public speaking skills.

One student chose an article that discussed the recent revelation of South African President Jacob Zuma’s extra-marital affair and the birth of a ‘lovechild’, bringing his total number of children to 20.

As some may not know, Jacob Zuma is a Zulu, a culture in which polygamy is commonly practiced. To date, Mr. Zuma has had 5 wives: one who committed suicide (allegedly due to strained relations with Zuma), one whom he divorced, and three to whom he is currently married. His most recent child was born to another woman – his mistress – the daughter of a well-known South African soccer executive.

While news of high-ranking politicians with mistresses is nothing new, this issue is particularly of note here in South Africa, a country with one of the highest incidences of HIV in the world. In an effort to quell the spread of the virus, the youth arm of Zuma’s ruling African National Congress (ANC) Party – The ANC Youth League – has taken a firm stance on the importance of monogamy in sexual relationships, and launched their ‘one boyfriend, one girlfriend’ HIV/AIDS awareness campaign on Youth Day last year. Organizations like LoveLife work tirelessly to get the youth of this country to regularly use condoms to protect themselves from HIV and other STIs, no small feat in a society where many of its poor live in patriarchic cultures where women’s wants, needs and desires are often secondary to those of their male counterparts.

Yet Mr. Zuma, clearly not satisfied with having not one but three wives, has again broken his marriage(s) vows, and had unprotected sex. Not that the President’s history isn’t already marred with scandal. Keeping in mind that this is a man who faced rape charges before he was elected (Zuma was found not guilty of said charges). Zuma admitted that he had had unprotected sex with his accuser (the daughter of a deceased friend of his) but that it had been consensual. When it came to light that his accuser was HIV positive, and that the President had been aware of his accuser's status before having sex with her, Zuma told the media that he didn’t have to worry about getting infected because he had taken a shower after they had had sex.

Again, South Africa is fighting an HIV epidemic. The ramifications of this man’s actions are not slight. Not in a country where getting many men to use condoms in the first place is a struggle, never mind its leader publically flaunting the fact that he does not and filling peoples’ minds with falsities about how one can protect oneself from infection. I find this man's disregard for the wide-reaching consequences of his actions appalling.

When news of Zuma’s child and affair made headlines last week, Julius Malema, President of the ANC Youth League was quick to come to Zuma’s defense. When asked about the ‘one boyfriend, one girlfriend’ campaign in relation to Zuma’s extra-marital dalliance, Malema refused to comment on the matter because: “Zuma is our elder, so we are not qualified to talk about that." End quote.

When my student had finished her presentation on the article, as I had previously done when a student read an article about a female Iraqi suicide bomber who claimed the lives of 54 people, I asked the class about their opinions on the issue. 10 hands immediately shot up.

The discussion that followed was a delight to watch. Perhaps unsurprisingly, views on the matter were for the most part divided by gender, with boys supporting Zuma’s activities because ‘it is part of his culture’ (as a matter of interest, while Zulu culture does practice polygamy, having children out of wedlock is not something that is condoned. More on this here). Some boys even went so far as to say that the President was ‘a leader’ and 'a chief' for how prolific he has been in expanding his brood and number of women in his life.

The girls were not of this view. One pointed out the contradiction between what the ANC Youth League preaches and the behavior of the President, calling him a hypocrite (single tear!). Another picked up on how Mr. Zuma is not acting like a leader, by disregarding his responsibility as a role model and acknowledging the power that his behavior can have over the South African people.

Another young boy said that he thought Zuma was going about being promiscuous in ‘the right way’. When I asked him what he meant by this, he clarified that because Zuma married the women he wanted, this meant that when he travelled overseas he would not be indulging with all the women he wanted (“like, if he went to China, if he didn’t have one of his wives with him, he would probably have sex with many women, with anyone he wanted, for example, strippers”). I stifled a smile when I asked him if he thought that because the President was married and took his wife or wives with him on his travels that this meant that he wasn’t ever unfaithful? "No miss," he answered, all innocent and wide-eyed. I asked him about the child the President has just fathered, one who was fathered out of wedlock, proving that not only has he been unfaithful but that he has had unprotected sex. It was interesting to see the looks on many of their faces as this logic registered.

I asked the students whether they thought the fact that this country is fighting an uphill battle against HIV was relevant to the discussion. I reminded them that this was not an issue about Zuma’s multiple wives or culture, it was more about his actions going against the message he and his party are trying to send to the youth in this country, the most group most at-risk of infection, and his responsibility as a leader to lead by example. Again, most of the girls and the boys were on different sides of the fence.

One of the female students told the class that Zuma is in the practice of dating women and impregnating them first, and then marrying them, not the other way around. She wondered if perhaps the President would soon be marrying his most recent baby mama. We spoke about how this practice is in complete opposition to what condoms are supposed to do, which dovetailed into a conversation about how unprotected sex is a risk behavior that they themselves must be vigilant about and always use condoms. They all agreed. All except one young man, the joker of the class.

“But Miss how are we supposed to have children if we are always using condoms?” He asked.

Touché. I smiled and said that I didn’t think that any of them were in that position right now, but that when that day came sure, if they are in a monogamous relationship with someone they love and they are both in a position to financially and emotionally support a child, maybe then they can think about having unprotected sex. But what must you do first? I asked.

“GET TESTED!” Came their reply in unison.

And until then?

“BE FAITHFUL!!”

And what else?

“USE A CONDOM!!”

Great advice. Mr. President, are you listening?

All quiet on the Western front

And so, another year begins. I returned to school on the 4^th day of Term 1. Shortly after the Monday morning assembly, students hastened to their classes. Within 10 minutes, everything was quiet and the staffroom was empty.

What’s this?

Teachers in class – teaching? Be still my heart. Today is the last day of the second week and so far things seem to be continuing in the same vein. Apparently in the opening meeting the principal issued a stern warning that teachers must fulfill their contractual teaching obligations under no uncertain circumstances. Apparently, they took his words to heart. This is very encouraging and I shall be optimistic that it will continue.

When I received my timetable I was pleased to find that I am teaching my grade 11 class from last year who are now in their grade 12 (Matric) year. I taught most of this group of students when they were in grade 10, which means that this is the third year I will be spending with them. Very exciting.

I was not however as excited when I got to class to find that there were only 23 students. 23. Last year’s class had 48. This means that over half the class failed Grade 11. While I was not surprised about some of those who did not pass, there were 3 in particular who I fully expected to see in Grade 12 and it was disappointing to find that they had not made it through. I was most concerned about one of these students in particular, a young man who I know for a fact is involved in gangsterism and has spent time in jail more than once during the time I have known him. Over the last couple of years he had become very keen on English, and my class was one of the few that he regularly attended. His marks improved and last year his final mark was in the high 60s, quite an accomplishment for someone who had failed English twice before grade 10. I was worried what the failure might mean for him and his commitment to school. I felt that perhaps it could be the straw that made school lose its last appeal to him, made him say fuck it, made him drop out and become involved in crime full time, like so many other former students have done.

The grade 11 class I was given was not the one I had anticipated; the one I had taught in grade 10 last year and had discussed teaching this year with my colleagues. When I spoke to my Head of Department about this mix up, he apologized and assured me the change would be made ASAP. The next day when I spoke with the person in charge of timetabling who said he had made the change, but from his understanding it was causing trouble within the department as the teacher who had originally been given my class was complaining. When I investigated, I was far from surprised when I found out who it was.

Regular readers of this blog will recall a certain teacher I have written about on more than one occasion, the one who refused to attend class or mark students’ written work. The one who repeatedly neglected her responsibilities as a teacher with nary a concern for her students, who took a term-long stress leave only to return and refuse to teach the classes she had been allocated, who felt no onus of responsibility when many of her students failed. This was the teacher who had been given my class.

Her complaint when the change was made was that she had not been consulted about the change. Granted, had this been a class she was familiar with, or perhaps a mid-semester event, I could understand her grievance. But this was the 5^th day of school, the third day of classes. She had seen the class twice. She has never taught any of the students before.

Initially I thought perhaps her refusal to change classes was out of spite, as she knew this was my class that I had wished to teach, and we were not exactly the best of friends after the events that unfolded as a result of her behavior last year. I soon found out what was likely the impetus for her desire to stay with the class: it has 35 students. The class that I had been allocated? 56.

In any case, in the interest of avoiding a confrontation or further tension within the department, I agreed to take on the larger class. As it turns out, this class is comprised of a variety of students I have taught over the past couple of years who had failed, including a number of those from last year’s grade 11 class of 48. So alls well that ends well, I suppose. Well, aside from having a 56-strong classroom. But I digress.

Later that day I was working in Phumi’s office when one of the grade 12 students from last year knocked on the door. An incredibly sweet young man, he had done well on his matric and is currently attending the Cape Peninsula Institute of Technology in their Engineering department. He asked me how I was doing and how the chess club was coming along, if we were still meeting (he had been an avid member last year). We spoke briefly and then he got down to work writing something he had been working on. I did not ask him what he was writing.

Later after he had gone, I asked Phumi about him and what he had been doing at Fezeka. Phumi told me that while this young man had been accepted to pursue his post-secondary studies, none of the bursaries or scholarships he had applied for had come through. He is now faced with the very real possibility that despite being accepted, he may soon have to withdraw because of a lack of financial resources. One of his professors had told him that day that if he did not show up to class with the required reading materials by the following week, he would be taken off the class list. In Phumi’s office the young man was writing a letter to a local businessman who offers 2 scholarships to qualifying applicants from across the Gugulethu township. While this is admirable, I couldn’t help but be saddened as I considered the likelihood of this young man getting one of only 2 scholarships, from a pool of hopefuls that most probably runs into the hundreds.

What is further frustrating is how many of the bursary and scholarship applications are so limiting in that many require a student to be accepted at their desired place of study before they offer them the financial assistance they need. This is somewhat farcical, as generally students require financial assistance in order to apply. For the majority of families, paying the application fees (sometimes as high as R2000) is all but impossible. And so, students are often in the difficult position of often having the marks, the desire and the dedication to apply and continue with their studies, but for reasons mentioned above (and others), are unable to do so.

and they said it wouldn't last...

Ubuntu: an ethical concept of African origin emphasizing community, sharing and generosity

‘One of the sayings in our country is Ubuntu - the essence of being human. Ubuntu speaks particularly about the fact that you can't exist as a human being in isolation. It speaks about our interconnectedness. You can't be human all by yourself, and when you have this quality - Ubuntu - you are known for your generosity.

We think of ourselves far too frequently as just individuals, separated from one another, whereas you are connected and what you do affects the whole world. When you do well, it spreads out; it is for the whole of humanity.’

- Archbishop Desmond Tutu

...

January 9th, 2010 will mark my 2 year anniversary in Cape Town. No one is more surprised at how quickly the time has gone by that me. It seems so recently that I was writing my first letter to my wonderfully supportive social network, informing them of the journey I was soon to be embarking on, to a city, country and continent I had never before visited, to do work that even then, I knew I would love.

Initially, I had committed to a year in Cape Town at Fezeka High, but as that year quickly came to a close, it became clear that I would stay on for another. And now, as my second year has officially wrapped up, the pull to return for a third is equally strong.

The past two years have not been without event. Not without personal and professional growth and experiences that have touched my heart, mind, being and allowed me a heightened understanding of the world I have been immersed in.

My students are the reason that I have been so addicted to this work. It is because of them that I am one of the few people I know who can say that they truly love their job. Their daily challenges…their struggles…the injustices they face everywhere they look, coupled with their desire and dedication to learning, are humbling in the deepest sense of the word. Bit by bit, they have allowed me into their worlds. They have trusted me, shared with me, cried with me, belly-aching laughed with me, taught me. In return, I have given them my time, my ears, my shoulders, my brain, my heart. In so doing, I have formed a relationship with many of them, with some of the members of their communities, with their families – a relationship that is novel to so many of them (my students in particular) in the sense that I am the only white-skinned person with whom they have contact.

Through the birth of the poetry club, the chess club, the photography program and the drama club that I have been so fortunate to have been asked to share in, some students now enjoy the opportunity to express and engage themselves in arts-based initiatives previously foreign to them. Having had the privilege of teaching two of my classes for both the years I have been here, I have witnessed the English-language skills of several students improve remarkably during that time, through in-class activities, their spoken vocabulary and exam results.

As any teacher can tell you, it is these moments, these acknowledgements and understanding that make our profession so rewarding. And for me, in this context, these moments are many.

The words of encouragement and support I have received from my students, their families, my colleagues never fails to floor me as I constantly feel that it is me who is so fortunate to be afforded the opportunity to work with these kids, to share in their energy, to encourage their growth, to push them to dream big.

I have committed to returning to Fezeka for just over half of the next school year, to continue the work I have started since arriving. Because of the overwhelmingly generous support of those who have provided me with moral support, as well as financial and emotional, I am in a position to be able to do this for that duration. It is difficult to put into words the gratitude I feel towards those who have helped me to be able to continue working with these incredible kids. I am ever-grateful to those who have helped to thus far for enriching my life in some way, for helping me to understand the true meaning of ubuntu through first-hand experience.

To anyone who themselves have a journey they feel drawn to, an adventure they want to embark upon, I pass on the words of one of my grade 10 students, a brilliant young man who I have no doubt will do great things:

‘If you want your dreams to come true, don’t spend too much time sleeping. Open your eyes and realize.’

With warmth and thanks,

alex

Anti-climax

It’s a funny thing, this feeling. I vividly remember the first time I experienced some form of it. I was nine years old. My birthday party, that my mom and I had been excitedly planning for some time, had just wrapped up. The guests had gone home, the mess put away, and I was sitting with my mom in our living room.

‘Mama, I feel…sad? I feel like, we just looked forward to it so much and now it’s over?’

She smiled at me. ‘Anti-climax girlie. That’s the feeling you’re experiencing. When you are looking forward to something a lot, preparing and getting excited for it for some time, there are certain expectations that go along with how it will turn out. Then the day comes and goes, and even if it’s a wonderful day, where everything goes as planned, there is often a feeling of sadness or being let down that follows because it all over. Feeling this way is normal.’ And then she gave me a big hug.

Throughout my life there have been a number of occasions upon which I have had the confusing sadness associated with this feeling, they were usually after a big event that I have put a lot of time and energy into planning.

Which is why I initially felt confused about why I feel this way today.

I sat and thought about it for a bit in my classroom just now. And then it came to me.

I will be away from school for the next three days, and exams officially start on Monday, meaning this is my last day of classes with my students for the year. In addition, the Grade 12s, whom I taught in Grade 11 and many of whom spent a lot of time in my classroom this year despite my not being their teacher, are leaving. When they finish their exams in a couple weeks, there is a good chance I will never see any of them again. This makes me sad.

My two classes of grade 11s, whom I taught last year and again this year, and with whom I have connected and established what I believe is a good educator-learner relationship will likely be taught by another teacher next year. As I am not officially employed by the state’s Department of Education the management of Fezeka is wary of giving me a grade 12 class for administrative and accountability purposes.

The Grade 10s, whom I have struggled with since the beginning of the year, who are routinely very challenging when it comes to eking out any sort of class participation, the majority of whom are completely apathetic about their learning, despite my best efforts to the contrary, are likely the only students I will continue with next year. Not that this is in any way a negative thing, just the way things are.

And then there are the feelings of self-doubt in regards to my teaching and how well the students will do on their exams. Are they prepared enough? Have I done enough? I want to think that I have, but the pudding with the proof will ultimately be the test.

But the anti-climax…

Saying goodbye is never easy. Its one of the things I do worst. And saying goodbye to these kids, kids I’ve spent so much time with over the past two years, who have come to me when they need advice, who have shared their life stories with me, who smile when I pass them by, who feel so flattered when I remember their name or to ask them about something that I know is going on in their lives, just the thought of these goodbyes brings tears to my eyes.

And yes, this is part and parcel of the teaching profession, to which those who are teachers can attest. But with these kids…I don’t know. I feel different? Perhaps it’s the freedom with which they speak with me, how much about themselves, their lives, their communities, that they are willing, wanting to share.

Perhaps it’s because I have become so connected with them not just in a teaching capacity but in the extra-curricular activities I have involved myself in, both in and out of school. Perhaps my open-door policy has something to do with it. Or perhaps it is because I know that for many of these kids – far too many of them have no one to listen to them – I am one of, if not the, only adult figure in their lives with whom they can open up, ask any question, without the fear of rejection or abuse. Who knows? These are of course, all assumptions and hypotheses and can also be way off on all of it.

I don’t know.

The only thing I can speak to with absolute certainty is how I’m feeling right now. And about how much I will miss these kids when they leave.

sound.

Friday, 11:58 am.

Alone in my cool classroom, I sit and read. On my right, a soprano from the choir sings strains of an unfamiliar aria in the schoolyard, her beautiful voice wafting through my door. Through the open windows to my left, birds chirp happily, eagerly announcing the impending arrival of summer. A hundred metres down the way the entire grade 12 class has assembled for their final assembly as today is their last official day of lessons. Intermittently, their raucous laughter and thunderous applause crackles through the air, raising the hair on my arms. And above all, the ever-present cacophony of students' voices - chattering, laughing, screaming, whispering - fills the warm late-october air...

outside the fishbowl looking in..

During the spring break of last week, four students from Fezeka participated in a conference called Shikaya with students from a variety of schools across Cape Town. The three-day forum included discussions, debates, guest speakers and the exchange of ideas on various issues facing the youth of this country and South Africa as a whole, focusing particularly on the use of statistics and a rating system developed by the Mo Ibrahim foundation (www.moibrahimfoundation.org).

On Monday following a particularly heated meeting with the English department (more on that to follow), our Principal asked me if I could drive these four students to a school in Rondebosch where they would participate in the closing ceremony of the conference, including with an audience with the board of the foundation, a London-based NGO that rates the countries in Africa based on a range of criteria, offering a $5M incentive to the leader of the country that manages to top the list each year. More information can be found on their website.

The event was held at Rondebosch Boys High School. Despite being touted as a government school by the event organizer, it was difficult to imagine how this could be. From the time we drove onto the campus, it was like we were in an alternate universe. Beautiful wide tree-lined roads wove their way in and around the property. Lush green fields and plants were everywhere you looked. Stunning, well-maintained and massive structures housed the administration, school and various other buildings. A cricket field and soccer pitch, complete with their respective clubhouses rounded out one edge of the campus. As the students and I walked along one of the roads towards the location of the event, their awe was impossible to ignore. Their silence as they took it all in was interrupted only by the occasional ooh and ahh. I later found out that this “government school” has annual school fees of R40K. Right.

When we reached our destination we sat on the grass outside for a bit while the rest of the students arrived. The organizer had asked the students to think of some questions they may like to ask the board about what they had learnt during the conference, or that they may have about their rating system. They asked me for help with their questions so we sat and discussed. Despite the rating focussing predominately on economic development, the kids said that they had also talked about education and crime in South Africa. Sensing an opportunity, I asked them what they thought about the education system in this country, if they thought it was fair. They did not. I agreed and asked them to give me an example of how this is true.

“Look around you miss. Look at these trees. This grass. These buildings. You don’t see kids bunking. You don’t see rubbish everywhere. Why do these kids get to have this kind of education, these kinds of things [facilities]? How come we don’t?”

This had been exactly what I had been fishing for. The stark contrast between the school and environment we had left 20 minutes earlier and the one at which we currently found ourselves had not been lost on them. Sad as the reality of the situation was, I was happy to hear that they were at least aware of this sort of inequality.

I asked them how it made them feel when they looked around the campus surrounding us.

“I feel….small.” said one.
“Wow.” said another, under his breath.

We spoke about how they mustn’t feel small, that they mustn’t ever allow anyone – or anything – else to make them feel small. That the advantages enjoyed by the students at this school were no reflection on them as individuals, merely of the opportunities they had been lucky to benefit from, because of where and the privilege into which, they were born. By that same token, my students had been born into a disadvantaged reality. Neither them nor the students at Rondebosch boys high school had asked or done anything to be born into either world. It’s just the way it is.

We continued talking. The issue of crime and violence in South Africa was raised. What causes crime? I asked.

“Poverty.” answered one.
“Can you expand on that?” I asked.
“When you are hungry you are not thinking with your head, you are thinking with your stomach. When your tummy is rumbling you can’t think of anything else.” she continued.

As we were heading into the clubhouse for the discussion, a student from another township school approached me.

“Miss, do you teach at Fezeka?”
“I do sweetie, yes.”
“Wow. I never expected that. I thought maybe you would teach at a school like this – but a township school? Shuuu.”

The discussion was an interesting one, as the students – diverse as South Africa comes – asked a number of interesting and well thought-out questions. I was impressed at the degrees of critical thinking expressed by many of them. At the same time, there was clearly a difference between the competency levels of the students, particularly when it came to the knowledge and grasp of the English language. This saddened me. The students that had been selected from Fezeka were among the top students in their grade but yet they were miles apart from their colleagues from wealthier schools. Not that this came as any surprise but as my exposure to students from these schools is very limited, it was a jarring reminder.

I couldn’t help but smile as my students asked some of the questions we had discussed, with their own twists. One of my favourite answers from the panel came from the only South African member (it is an international collaboration, with members from all over the world). When one of my students asked her what she thought about the fact that there were so few green spaces and recreational activities available to youth and how libraries are all but non-existent, in disadvantaged communities, she wholeheartedly agreed with him on the greatness of this injustice.

“This issue is not one of a lack of funds,” she continued, “every year the Minister of recreation returns with a surplus in his budget. The money to build parks is there. The fact that this isn’t happening is because of poor organization and mis-management at the implementation level. I am glad to hear you are aware of this however, and support you in your mission to change things. You need to make yourselves heard though. Take advantage of 2010. The world’s eyes will be on South Africa. The powers that be don’t want the world to know that your schools don’t have libraries or that poor kids don’t have places to play. They don’t want people to be aware of how much worse off township schools are then richer schools, especially when they’ve sunk billions of ZAR into that “fish bowl” [referring to the Green Point stadium that is being constructed for the world cup, to be used for only 8 games]. The world cup is your window to have your voices heard. Take it.”