Back to High School

Part of my PGCE requires that I have 'School-Based Experience'. This means I get to inflict myself on a High School for 3 weeks in April and 5 weeks in July/August.

The University gave me Supplies for my April Adventure:
1 x packet of white chalk
1 x chalkboard duster
1 x lever arch file for my Business Studies and Economics portfolios.  (I had to buy the second file)
20 x plastic sleeves (in case I don't have a hole punch for the lever arch file)
7 x sheets of A1 paper (in case the school has a flip chart)
1 x 650mm T-square (must be for drawings graphs on the board in Economics.  I tried. I gave up.)
3  x packets of pencil crayons. (I still can't work out why)

I had to bring my own red pen.

So at the start of the second term, I sat in the staff room of the local High School, feeling very conspicuous, being introduced as a 'mature student teacher'.  That feeling didn't last long though. I met the Business Studies and Economics teachers, who were both very welcoming and patient.  And willing to unleash me on their Grade 10s.

The blackboard in the staffroom added a touch of humanity to a room which has traditionally :been out of bounds to me:


1) TEMP COPIER in old copier room (where microwave is!) (Even School copiers break down)
2) Squash Results (19/4/2015 tournament) (Proud Coach)
3) Looking  for my apple and naartjie! (That food thief is everywhere)

The bell on the left is rung every morning, to announce the arrival of the Principal, and the start of the Staff Meeting

 One of the first things I noticed was that teachers are still saying the same things they said 30 years ago: "Where's your book? What's it doing at home?" "Why can I still hear talking?" And pupils are still saying the same things: "No Ma'am, it wasn't me." "Are you talking to me Ma'am?"

But a lot has also changed.  Apart from the fact that the schools don't offer subjects like Woodwork, Domestic Science and Metalwork any more, they now offer fancy new subjects like Business Studies, Economics, Life Skills, and Maths Literacy.  Except 'my' school doesn't offer Maths Literacy.  'Proper' Maths only.

Teaching aids have also changed.  Gone are the days of fancy overhead projectors with different coloured kokis to emphasise the important bits on transparencies..

And move over Data Projector - Hellooo Smartboard!

It felt like Christmas with a brand new toy.

Basically, an ET-style camera (the middle stalk thingy) reads from the page on the desk and displays the image on the PC monitor, at the same time as displaying the image on the Smartboard:

Old meets New:  The pull-down screen for the Overhead/Data Projector is still in place (at the top).  Don't you love that old intercom? Beneath it, the black strip is the speaker for the Smartboard, so that the class can watch educational Youtube clips.

Use your finger to point at something on the actual page, or use your PC mouse if you don't have a photogenic finger. Or even better, use your finger to write on the Smartboard. Whatever you write on the Smartboard is also displayed on the PC monitor.  How cool is that!

And no need for the intercom any more.  At the end of the day, in Register class, you login to the Intranet on the PC, and all the notices pop up on the Smartboard for everyone to see.

Unfortunately, the day my assessor was there, Eskom decided it was a good time for load-shedding.  So I had to abandon all my fancy plans and resort to chalk and talk.  Thanks Eskom.

During my three weeks, one of the classes did an assignment on devising an HIV/AIDS Workplace Programme. I was quite impressed when they were handed in.  Presentation is obviously important - cover sheets are required, and many of the assignments were typed.

There is a strong emphasis on academics, and many of the teachers give up their school holidays and weekends to give extra classes to help those who are falling behind.

Sport also plays a big role, with the teams travelling long distances to compete (East London is 220km away).  During my time at the school, one of the athletes was chosen to represent South Africa at a competition in December.  I felt so proud!

And of course you get the kids who are good at everything.  Imagine running our of space for your merit badges.

One of the topics we covered in Business Studies was Corporate Social Responsibility, which included Volunteerism. I asked if anyone had ever volunteered at an orphanage, animal shelter or old-age home. Only one put up his hand - he'd spent a few hours at an orphanage.  

The concept of an old-age home was unknown - traditionally, the aged are cared for by the community.  So the thought of someone being abandoned or surrendered to a home was totally foreign. They did not even know that Mthatha has such an institution. So I arranged an outing to Empilweni, an old-age home with 120 residents.

Well.  After a bit of hesitation (it's disrespectful to question your elders), the kids were chatting away to people with diverse backgrounds, histories and situations.  All with stories to tell.  One of the girls was moved to tears.

One of the more sprightly residents willingly entertained us with a delightful song and dance routine.  She is from Lusikisiki, and booked herself into Empilweni a few years ago, because she knew her family would not be able to look after her properly.

Now it's nearly the end of the term, and these kids are writing exams.  I wonder if the work I covered is in the papers, and if they remember anything at all about Production Possibility Curves and Contemporary Socio-Economic Issues?

I guess I'll find out next term when I get back in the ring for Round Two.

Doing Assignments Mthatha Style

This on-campus experience has really opened my eyes as to the passion people in this country have, in order to get an education.

Lectures have been cancelled three days this week because of power cuts. I spoke to two fellow students today. One travels from Port St Johns and the other travels from Mount Frere every day for lectures. That's a long way. And it's not cheap at R80 for the taxi each way. One is studying to teach Maths and Science. The other is studying to teach English and History. They are both incredibly accepting of the situation, as they are used to it. I would have flipped long ago.

Enough procrastination. Let me continue writing about 'Factors contributing to poor academic performance in Grade 12 for Economic and Management Science' (Please note, the wine is compulsory for this kind of essay)

Back to School . . . I'm in!

I am now officially a PGCE student, and have the student card to prove it.  Below please find the hoop-jumping process to achieve this:

Monday

Hoop 1:  Postgraduate registration opens.  To avoid the early morning rush of last time, I arrive at 11am, and go to the Registration Office to pick up my Admission Form (Form A).

Form A. I'm glad I'm not a Mr

Hoop 2: However, I cannot pay the required deposit, as Mthatha has had a power cut for 24 hours, and even my cellphone battery is flat.  So I make a plan,and return at 2.30pm, with proof of payment in hand.

Hoop 3:  The Registration Office says I'm in the wrong place, and says I must go to the Registration HALL.
Me: The same place as last time?
Them: No.  This time it's in the Chumani Dining Hall.
Me: Where's that?
Them: (Pause) Just wait.(Animated conversation in Xhosa with everyone in the open plan office). Here, she will show you where to go.
Me:  Thank you (Aware that this is the third time I've had my own personal guide)

I would never have found it. It's attached to one of the residences.

\

Seven terminals this time, up five from last time.  Only two operators though - each one performing a different function. It feels like I'm applying for my Driver's Licence all over again

Hoop 4:   I'm quite relieved - there are only 24 people in front of me.

But I've left my book at home, and the only thing I can find to read is the package insert for the homeopathic wart remedy I bought that morning.

Bad idea.

Ingredients:  Anagallis arvensis acts on the skin to treat severe wart outbreaks, groups of vesicles on hands and fingers with severe itch. (My wart is on my shin.  How will this stuff know that?) 

Hydrastis canadensis acts on the skin to relieve irregular growths accompanied by profuse perspiration and generally unhealthy skin (I can't remember when last my shin perspired).

Thuja occidentalis (sounds like something out of Harry Potter)

Castor equi is indicated for skin thickening and warts on the forehead and breasts. (WHAT?)

Fortunately, by this time I had reached the front of the queue, and was spared any further reading.  I hand in form A, and get given Form B, with a stamp confirming that I have paid my deposit.

Form B

Hoop 5: I have to wait in another queue in the same hall, so that I can hand Form B in to the second person in the row of 7 terminals, who will capture the data on Form B, and print out Form C. I ask what I have to do next, and get told that I have to get my curriculum approved, then go back to registration.

Hoop 6:  I take Form C to the Very Nice Man from my first visit. (Basically all I have to do is mark on Form C which two of Business Studies, Economics or Life Orientation I wish to teach when I graduate).

The office where the candidates for the PGCE are chosen and announced.  The list of names is on the piece of paper on the window at the top of the door.  I'm not sure why the notice boards on either side of the door were unsuitable.

Hoop 7:  I take Form B and Form C to the Faculty Office to get the stamp saying that my curriculum has been approved.  Problem is, it's 4.35pm, and everyone has gone home.  Oh well, I'll just have to come back tomorrow.

As I make my way back to the car, I start to take note of my surroundings.

A sight I'll have to get used to - abandoned braids.

The notice boards are full of pleas like this one.  Not a drawing pin in sight - the stapler seems to be the weapon of choice.

Rugby is the only extra-mural activity that seems to have got its A into G.  Well, for the most part.

Tuesday

Hoop 7 (continued):  I arrive at the Faculty Office at 1.30pm.  Closed. Now why did I think they would be open during the lunch hour?  At least I've remembered to bring my book this time (Girl with a Pearl Earring). At 2.15pm, there are quite a few students standing and waiting (there seems to be a lot of this all over), and eventually a woman comes up to us, and says she can't help us, we must come back another time.  I say, "All I need is the stamp approving my curriculum, where must I go?" She tells me to come with her, adorns my form with said stamps and gives them back to me.

So off I go to Registration.

Hoop 8:  As I sit down in the only queue in the Registration Hall, a security guard approaches me, and asks what I need.  I tell her that I was sent here.  She looks at my documents, and says, no, this queue is for student cards only. I must go to the Registration OFFICE. 

After a 15-minute wait in that queue: 

Hoop 9: 

Them: I don't know why they keep sending everyone here.  You're supposed to go to Faculty Office

Me:  But I've just come from there.  Look, I've got my stamp.

Them:  But where's your Proof of Registration?

Me:  Here - my form, it's got a stamp

Them:  No, they were supposed to give you another form

Me:  The same people who stamped my form?

Them: Yes

Me: Then why didn't they give it to me when they stamped my form?

Them:  I don't know.

Hoop 10: Back at the Faculty Office. More students standing around and waiting, with no apparent queuing system.  Eventually a woman comes down the passage, takes all our forms, and leaves without a word.

Two minutes later she comes back:

Woman: The machine is broken, you must come back tomorrow.

Me: NO! FORGET IT! (The seemingly infinite well of patience has now run dry. All the other students scatter).  THIS IS MY SECOND DAY HERE AND I'M NOT COMING BACK TOMORROW (Yes, I was shouting)

Woman: Okay, come with me...

I follow her down the passage into an office where a young lady explains to me that the printer is not working properly, but she will do her best to help me. I must wait. It will take about 10 or 20 minutes. Fine, I said, I'll wait here.  No, she says, please wait in the passage.  So I go and stand where she can see me through the door.  She closes the door.  The only thing there is for me to look at is this poster:

I have two problems with this poster.  1)  Why is it still up, if the conference was three years ago? 2) How did the Department of Education manage to organise an extra day in September 2011?

Eventually I get Form D, and the woman tells me to go to get my student card,  Ha!  I know where to go!

Hoop 11:  This was the most painless procedure of all.  There were two guys - one taking the photo, and the other one printing the card.  It was great watching the students get all self-conscious as they looked into the lens.

By now, it's 3.30pm, and time for the Orientation Lecture. YAY, my first ever on-campus lecture!  Apart from the normal stuff about dates and times, we are told that the Faculty's means of communication is via the notice boards.  As students are still registering, no timetables are available.  Lectures were supposed to start last week, but because of the demonstrations, everything is delayed.  The best way to establish when classes are, is for the students to speak to the lecturers directly, and negotiate the best time.  Yes, I'm serious. And the only way to find out when lectures are, and if there are changes, is to come onto campus and check the notice boards every day. I'm still being serious.

We had to finish up by 4.30pm because we were due to have our first Real Lecture at 4.30pm.  But at 4pm, the lecturer phoned in to cancel the lecture.  Sigh.

Anyway, those of us at Orientation swapped details, including subject choices (to facilitate setting up study groups).  I am delighted that of the 17 students present, five are studying to teach Maths, and six are studying to teach Physical Science.  It makes my heart sing that in some small way our class will help fill a very big gap in our High School education system.

Tribute to Thandi

Thandi has worked as our weekly gardener* since June last year.  She is in her late twenties, always has a bounce in her step and a smile on her face, despite her circumstances.

Thandi's home is in Qunu, about 30km from Mthatha.  She lives in her mother's house.  Her mother is frail, and cares for Thandi's 3-year old child while Thandi stays in Mandela Park Township in Mthatha during the week.  She is desperate to earn more money, because she believes that when her mother dies, her brother will turn her and her child out of the house, and they will be homeless.  Thandi's plan is to build an extra room onto the house, so that she will have somewhere to stay.  So, I pay her more than the local rate for gardeners (which is about half the going rate of Cape Town), and she is incredibly grateful each time I pay her, taking her leave each week by saying, "Oh my God, thank you my boss, I love you my boss", followed by a hug.

In October last year, Thandi fell ill, and two of her other employers shared the medical costs of the tests.  Thandi was diagnosed with TB, given tablets and sent home.  Thandi continued coming to work, as she said she felt okay.  She continued sweeping leaves and annihilating weeds, with her cellphone at her waist, tuned to uMhlobo Wenene.

The last time I saw her was on 17 December, where she was angry and frustrated at how tired she was feeling, but she promised she was taking her medication, and that she would take it easy over Christmas and New Year. She also said she was looking forward to coming back to work on 8 January.

This is the last communication I had with Thandi.  She died on Thursday 15 January.  Her funeral is tomorrow.

I am heartbroken, angry, feeling helpless and overwhelmed, and looking for someone to blame for yet another wasted life.  Is it the fault of poor medical care in rural Eastern Cape?  Or is it lack of education in rural Eastern Cape? Poverty? Politics?  All of the above?

I'm afraid that Thandi's child will become another statistic. Will she be brought up by her grandmother, or will she be placed in one of at least five children's homes or orphanages in and around Mthatha?**

I really love my country, but sometimes it hurts too much.

R.I.P. Thandi




*Women gardeners are a common sight in Mthatha
 
**Children's homes in Mthatha:
Bethany Place of Safety
Happy Homes Disabled Children Centre
Khanyisa Children's Home
SOS Children's Village 
Thembelihle Home

More School Stuff

I've been spending a bit more time at the local primary school, standing in for teachers who are sick or otherwise occupied, and rehearsing for a Grade Project on the Rainbow Nation (more about that later).

Apart from the two hours when I had to occupy 100 (yes, one hundred) Grade Threes while the teachers were busy with inspectors and parents, my most challenging time has been taking the Grade 6 and Grade 7 classes for Maths and Science.  For three whole days.

I swear I only started learning algebra in high school

My home base for those three days was the Science Lab.  Bonus!.  When last did you see these things?

Nowadays you usually see bottles like this in display cabinets in pharmacies

These bring back memories of colourful and peculiar smoke and smells from my own school days

One of the teachers claims that her appendix is in one of these jars.  Not so sure what the toothpicks are doing on the shelf though.

Typical science teacher's desk. I particularly like the toilet roll.  My surname is apparently quite difficult to pronounce, so I am called Mrs G.  Or ma'am.

Remember the day each year when school came to a standstill for class photos?  And those signs for each photo where each letter had its own special shade of off-white?

The school celebrated its 20th birthday during September.  As you can imagine, getting this picture together in close to 30 degrees Centigrade was quite a feat in patience and discipline.

The walls around the outside of the school are painted green, yellow and black. For the first few months in Mthatha I thought that this was because Mthatha is an ANC stronghold.  Needless to say, I felt rather silly when it dawned on me that the colour scheme is a reflection of the school colours.

How cool is that!

Last Tuesday, during second break, Umtata High School Band came to play for the kids.  Here's a sample of what they played:

There is no band teacher at Umtata High - the pupils pass their knowledge on to the new band members each year. Very few of them can read music. Proof that if you want to do something badly enough, you will succeed.

It is particularly appropriate that the band is playing R Kelly's "I Believe I Can Fly'"

(When you watch it for the second time, have a look at the audience - singing and dancing.  The kids at the back on the right are in Grade Three.  They've just learned how to knit [boys and girls] and some of them are knitting while dancing.)

The more time I spend at this school, the more hope I have for this country.  There are some extremely bright young sparks coming through the system, and I look forward to watching them as they follow their paths to success.

Signs of the Times

Most of us are familiar with most of the road signs. However, in the last few years, new signs have started appearing on our roads.  This one is quite new to Cape Town:

 There are also signs which we don't see too often in suburban Cape Town, like this one:

However, when driving from Port Elizabeth to Mthatha last month (a 5-hour drive), I realised that road signs actually tell a story...  

Often, this is the only indication that you are approaching an inhabited area

This sign is seen regularly between PE and East London. There are none after East London.  Is it because most of the land after EL has been given over to cattle grazing, or because the vegetation before EL provides better opportunities for concealment?

This is quite a common sign along the N2, so it may not always be a good idea to travel at 100kph as the sign in the background suggests.

  The first time I saw the 'Cattle Crossing sign, I was reminded of this call to a radio station in America:  

 

After a while, it seems as if the authorities got a bit fed up with putting a 'Cattle Crossing' sign every kilometre or so, and changed their strategy:

But even that, they decided at the Great Kei River, was too onerous to repeat every 10km, so they just put this one up, to get the warnings over and done with:

This one makes statements about several things:

1. There are quite a few schools in the rural areas
2. These kids have no means of transport to get to school
3. They walk along the N2 
4. They have long distances to walk to school and back each day

This was my absolute favourite.  It ranks up there with the 'Toads Crossing' signs in Noordhoek and the 'Tortoises Crossing' signs on the West Coast

But there's no sign like the sign that tell you you're home.  Ads like this are nailed to the trees all along the N2 as it comes into Mthatha.

Hunnee, I'm home!

Back to School

I've always believed I was allergic to children, but it appears I've grown out of it.

One of the gals at Book Club is a Grade 3 (Standard 1 for the oldies like me) teacher at the local primary school, and she mentioned that this is a crazy time of term with exams needing to be marked, marks needing to be submitted, and learners needing to be kept occupied at the same time. Would I, she asked, be interested in class-sitting for her at all?

Ooh, something new to do!  So I said yes, and went to meet the class of 9- and 10-year olds on Tuesday morning.  I greeted all 33 of them as I have been taught : "Molweni Bafundi".

"Ahem,"  said titshalakazi (Xhosa for a female teacher), "this is an English medium class."  Never mind, it worked!  A class of faces lit up and grinned.  We did a bit of reading, maths and Life Skills. At home time, titshalakazi asked if I would like to come in the next day and provide relief for another Grade 3 teacher.  I'd had such fun, I agreed.

Well.

On Wednesday, as I walked into the classroom, I was engulfed in a 20-strong hug sandwich.

"Yay, Aunty Wendy's back!"  What a heartwarming, special experience.  I just had to laugh out loud. I must have done something right! Each child wanted to say hello, and hug me individually.  How on earth can hugging a child be wrong?

And then I started getting letters:

 

Have I mentioned that children are observant  and intelligent?

On Wednesday, I was left alone in the classroom with a whole new set of young minds to warp.  Silly titshalakazi. They were fascinated with my attempts at Xhosa, and I rewarded each completed task with a phrase or two, which usually resulted in laughter and arguments correcting my pronunciation.

Most of my utterances that day were along the following lines:

Sit down / hlala phantsi (raucous laughter)
Yes you can go to the bathroom.
Sit down.
You don't have a pencil. Well, borrow a pencil.  Who can lend Ovayo a pencil? (Big mistake - any diversion is a welcome opportunity to avoid work)
Sit down.
No, you can go to the toilet when Kora gets back
Sit down.
I don't care who farted.
Sit down.
No!  Please don't use the Glade Strawberry for Sipho's farts. It makes my teeth curl.
Sit down.
No, you can't write the names of the people who are talking on the board.
Sit down.
That's beautiful!
Sit down.
Mpho, please give Onamusa's shoes back.
Sit down.
What are you doing under the desk?
Sit down.

That was the first ten minutes.  Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

It was exhausting, but we still got through a remarkable amount of work between 7:30 and 14:00.

I'm delighted that despite technology cursive is still being taught, and that the times-tables are being drilled into the kids. I couldn't fault them on their 6x table and they weren't too shabby up to the 8x table.  I was secretly thrilled to see a child sneaking her book out of her case to read, instead of doing a maths exercise.

I also invigilated a Grade 6 Afrikaans Begrip exam, and was heartbroken when a child asked what 'vakansie' meant when the question asked 'Vertel van jou beste vakansie'.  I couldn't tell him, as it was an exam.  It reminded me of one of my Afrikaans exams, when the question was something about 'iemand wat met worshonde teel'.  I had no idea what 'teel' was, the invigilator couldn't tell me, and I still remember the hour of terror and despair that followed.

Friday was amazing.

I spent it with Grade 7s who were preparing for Speech Night in August.  Just up my street! Each of the three classes (now between 20 and 25 learners per class) had to tell me what their topic was, and a little bit about what they were going to say.  If they didn't have a topic, we would use the time to help them choose. The range of topics blew my mind.  Inner Beauty versus Facial Beauty, Freedom of Religion, Racism, Therapy of Dogs, Rugby, Significance of Rap Lyrics, Bullying, Political Secrets and Corruption.... it made my heart sing.  At this age (12/13/14) all I was thinking about boys and discos.  These kids are so aware of society and what's happening around them, I have renewed hope for our country, our kids, our education system.

Please sir, can I have some more?