Sometimes I can’t see the forest for the trees
I’ve been feeling a bit dissolutioned lately but on
reflection, maybe it’s me who’s loosing the plot again. It’s easy to fall into
the trap. The pathetic schooling system really fails the children here and it’s
driving me insane trying to work with a system that is non existent. Besides
the fact that school only takes place Monday to Thursday mornings; afternoons
are a bit wishy washy since it depends on which teachers aren’t in a meeting.
Some afternoons the teachers who are at school, leave work on the blackboard
for the students to do on their own but usually the students just amuse
themselves. Friday’s the teachers go home from 10am and the learners clean the
classrooms. When it rains, many learners
can’t get to school as the river flows stronger than normal but they don’t miss
much. Lessons are taught in Xhosa by
teachers who don’t have a clue about dedication and the principal is about as
much of a token trophy as we are. The
kids have no discipline but mind you they are pretty good at making coffee for
the teachers.
Last week we attended a big party at school. The grade R’s graduation and the grade 9’s
farewell. The parents/ grandmothers and the
elders were there to proudly cheer the 6 year old’s dressed in hired white
dresses and suits and cloaked in their graduation gowns. The grade 9’s looked like matrics in their
fancy suits and shiny dresses all dressed to the nines. The school spent a fortune to feed everyone who
attended and there were no lessons for the whole week what with students having
their hair done, others cleaning classrooms and teachers off shopping for
groceries for the occasion.
Last month at the school sports day, another huge chunk
of school cash was spent on meat and booze to feed the teachers. The students were given their usual samp and
beams although the guest soccer team were treated to hunks of bread and a slice
of polony. The teachers took loads of
left over meat home and we were given our share as well. The guest school went home with a few bottles
of Johnny Walker red label and I went home with a lump in my throat.
So. What am I
missing here? The whole forest actually.
The above are all the reasons why education in Transkei sucks but I’m not a
politician and I didn’t come here to change the course of education in Transkei. I’m just somebody living in a rural village, helping
at the school and our library while learning about the Xhosa nations’ lifestyle.
Actually, I enjoyed spending the day at the functions with
the other teachers in the kitchen chopping vegetables. I got to know them a little better. I was
intrigued by their practical method of cooking 2 huge bags of butternut. Peeling all the butternut took some time but no
one complained and they sang songs and did the occasional dance when it got
boring. Cooking seemed to be part of the
party. Then they put all the peeled
butternut slices back into the big orange bags which they came in and tied the
bags up again. They boiled the bagged butternuts
in a huge black pot for an hour or 2 on the fire. Then they took the bags out and hung it on
the fence for all the water to drain off for a half an hour or so - somewhere
out of reach of passing livestock. A
nifty way to handle bulk portions of food.
I took my own chopping board in since I haven’t mastered chopping
carrots and vegetables into miniscule blocks in the air above a bowl.
They boiled a pig in a huge black pot on the fire. Everything got cut into massive blocks, chops,
hocks, the whole damn thing. No water
was added at all and the meat just cooked in its own juices with some spices. It was quite tasty. Another huge pot was
filled with hunks of seasoned beef steaks, stewing meat and sirloin all stirred
into one pot and also cooked only in its own juices on the fire. It was just as tasty.
Luckily we are not fussy eaters and have sometimes been
invited to join the teachers over lunchtime when they eat boiled pigs heads and
such like. I ended up with a piece of
ear once which was a bit too cartilagy for me so I kinda sucked on it and
nibbled on it until a respectable amount of
time had passed and I could politely put it down on a plate. The way to
eat meat, fat or afval is to pass a knife around and cut chunks off which you
eat with your hands. This is the Xhosa
way which we are becoming comfortable with.
In the beginning I tried acting casual and took my piece of stomach or
whatever it was handed to me and bit into it as you would a chop. I felt a bit like a Neanderthal gnawing and
yanking on my kill until someone passed me a knife while the teachers all continued
jabbering loudly around me.
I’m learning that when Xhosa people get together for a
party it makes white people’s parties look like a stuck up affair. The graduation was much more of an
interactive event and the mammas got quite carried away with spontaneous singing
as they hailed the next speaker. Some ululating to show appreciation of a child’s
performance was quite in order.
Next month we have been invited to an initiation and I can’t
wait. I think Theo is a bit worried
about the fact that he will be the only male there over the age of 25 with a
foreskin but I don’t think they will be doing a spot check.
I’ve decided it’s more fun enjoying the ride through the
forest than worrying whether someone checked the brakes.
