Miracles
do happen, and by sheer grit and determination, we started the third
term in the newly built Senior School. It consisted of 3 free-standing
classrooms, and an Administrative block (ie. the Headmaster's office
and staffroom). No Ablutions—there were plenty trees and bushes
around and you could wash your hands in the dam where another trusty
old windmill provided fresh water for coffee—when the wind blew.
So 80 kids (and non-kids) were squashed by sheer necessity into a
classroom made for 30 with a (oh, the joy!) blackboard! The only "little
problem" was that the front row of tables ended about 30 inches from
the blackboard—giving me nowhere to escape when the blackboard
fell down—as it did on three occasions until I personally replaced
the 4 long nails on the corners supposedly holding it to the wall,
with tile cement that did the trick. Luckily the walls held.
As fences are not really part of rural life in those parts, a variety
of farm animals, like chickens, sheep, and the occasional donkey shared
the territory with us, but we did not really mind finding the odd
egg laid on one of our tables, till a goat decided to join the history
class one day.
Now I know this defies imagination, but try and visualize a seriously
traumatised goat leaping from table to table to evade capture by 80
extremely noisy kids (and non-kids) in a classroom built for 30. I
just stood in my little corner and waited for it to end. Which eventually
it did, when the poor goat made it out the door, no doubt having been
put off history for the rest of its life.
And
so life continued—with hardly ever a dull moment - and my pupils
and I formed a bond of trust and friendship that transcended all that
made us different from each other by the sheer weight of our absolute
acceptance, enjoyment and celebration of those very differences.
We never did get a copy of the Matric Curriculum, I taught them Afrikaans
from 1 single copy of the prescribed reading book (I pinched it from
our little local town library, reported it missing and paid for it).
I managed to get hold of some old Matric history exam papers from
previous classmates— this was before the Internet—computers
had not appeared on the horizon—well, definitely not on ours.
Photo-copiers were a distant dream.
I literally drilled them on those few exam papers—all verbally,
which they copied down in their exercise books and studied. No more
objections to learning the 'White Man's History'.
I typed stuff for them on my old rattletrap of a Remington, (which
I donated to the headmaster when I left.) using carbon paper to generate
4 more or less readable copies at a time, which they circulated among
themselves and studied.
And then the time came when my own kids were approaching school-leaving
age and I knew it was time to move on. There was no future for youngsters
in the little town in the middle of nowhere where we lived.
But in the end it was all worthwhile. My pupils and I achieved a 100%
pass rate in my two subjects for their Matric. I have no idea where
they are now and what they are doing, but I shall never ever forget
my time with them—or the lessons I learned in "effective teaching".
Part 5: Joining
the Circus › |
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