First published on August 30, 2012, here republished again. Nearly 7 years later. I cannot believe how fast this time went. I was still new in Sweden in 2012. And had all the symptoms of a 'sense of dislocation'. Now, my living space is much settled, I have a community. Better and stronger since then. My place looks like a home, though in my heart--I am still in search of a home...
The kids must be adults now--working, going about with their lives, even married---sure they do not know that I have this one day captured here.
When I look back, I am so grateful that I continued to write and document my time!! Thankyou all for reading!!
The boys who were hell-bent to prove that they were not late. Notice their shoes!! A reminder of 'spotless shoes' that young African men wear. Shortly, after I took this picture, the fourth boy came running. He had a twig in his hand.
When the principal said, 'That color is hurting my eyes' the girl simply started to remove her jacket, as a sign of respect. The school uniform is teal and white. Students are allowed to wear teal and black jerseys, sweaters or blazers. It was a cold morning in Durban and many 'learners' as the students were called by their teachers, wore jackets. Some did not conform to the colors of the school uniform.
Two students in their Math and Science classroom making a poster about their presentation in science fair.
Both the children/students/learners are of Indian descent. Neither one of them speaks any Indian language. The language has died out already. But remnants of Indian culture remain, mostly food, and songs from Bollywood.
Math and Science Teacher, Ms. G. The students could not stop hugging her. I loved the way she yelled at the boys, like she was their mother. At one point when she was taking me to another classroom, we passed a bunch of boys standing outside a classroom--as a form of punishment. 'Maam, Mr. N. does not take me seriously' lamented the boy, 'Honestly I did not do anything this time, he does not take us seriously'
The boy was wearing fur ear muffs, 'Who will take you seriously. Steven, with those pink fluffies on your ears'
Then she turned to me and gently said, 'Every school as their lot, this is ours.' Then as she turned the corner, she giggled like a little girl and nodded, 'But I love my students.'
I knew what she meant. I remember on the plane, when I was moving to Botswana, I took out a notepad and wrote down the names of about 200 out of 300 students I taught before leaving. I did not want to forget them. For years many kept in touch via letters etc. Today, I am in regular touch with about 4 of them.
The lovely Home Ec Teacher Ms. A, who students gushed about. But more importantly, who lit up, and said at least five times in our 20 minute meeting, how much she loves her job. Ah, envy her so much!!
Home Ec Students. I forget their names now, but they all had very interesting names. Although all of them were of Indian descent, none of them had real Indian names. I guess that is why diaspora is so interesting to study. To see how a community is transformed, what is broken away and what is left after years of being away from what they called, 'home culture.'
It was my last day in Africa. I had gone there for a conference but also to get some data collected. The principal of the school had been very kind to me and said I could ride with him to the school. So, I did.
Durban is a beautiful city. And like all cities, it has its parts. The developed, the organized, that the inhabitants of the city consider 'upscale'. Then there are those parts that the developed world knows the city by, the crime ridden, the disorganized, and the chaotic.
In between there are schools. Providing hope.
The young are not yet cynical, their aspirations have not yet calicified, and they still believe they can change the world. Schools are often characterized by laughter, play and some work. For the most part, the young enjoy school -- at least the companionship of their peers.
I had already been to this school for a film screening during Durban Film Festival, a week before. I had enjoyed being at the school so much. Even though I enjoy universities, schools are bustling with even more energy.
And university here in Europe is pretty tame. I am already forgetting the excitement that one feels on a campus.
So, I was looking forward to spending the day at the school and trying to get some research done.
The moment Mr. N., the principal parked his car, we were greeting by four young 'learners' as the students are called. The Peon (its been ages since I used the word), claimed that they were all late. And the learners disagreed with the Peon/Guard.
"No Sir, we came in time, the bell rang after we were here"
Mr. N, who had been having a very cordial, very friendly discussion with me was stern and stared at the boys, 'Who is tell the truth, you decide among yourself and tell me then'
'They came after the bell rang' said Sepo, the Peon.
'No, Sir, Sepo is not right here.'
This went on for a few minutes.
But I was fascinated with how polite the boys were with the Principal. Not afraid, but polite. As if there was an underlying understanding that the each regards the other. The Principal expressed his disgust at the tardiness of the boys, asked them if they had stopped somewhere to have cigarettes, and then told them to help him get his things out of the car.
As one of them was closing the boot, Mr. N, said, 'wait, cant you see there are things there in there.'
All the boys started to giggle. There were some twigs, that seemed to have been prepared for grafting.
'Ok, I have a job for you all' said Mr. N.
He handed out one twig to each of the boys.
'I want you all to get a hoe from Alex...' and two boys already started giggling, 'dig a hole about --this long' he held out his lower arm.
The boys' body was shaking in a soundless giggle.
The Principal knew what he was doing. He was not punishing them. He was making them accountable. He did it with all seriousness, yet taking the youthfulness of the boys into consideration.
' and then you water the plants. You do that for the next two years. If they die...you will be in trouble. If they live, we will put your name on them!"
'Thank you Sir' a chorus.
'Now, go on...' Mr. N, moved his arm in the air. And as he turned towards me, he was smiling. I had had a hard time keeping a straight face. I had been a witness to, party to that situation so many times on both sides.
During the day, I met many other teachers, and students (learners). I was so touched so see the students come and give hugs to their teachers.
'They do that?" I asked, in surprise.
'Yeah, our learners are very affectionate' said the beautiful math teacher, who told me that she loves her job.
I also met the HomeEc teacher, who gushed about her work. I told them both that I had taught both math and home ec. The latter in Botswana.
I walked around the school. It was chilly. My extremities were cold. I was wearing a light sweater. The same that I wore on midsommar here in Sweden!!
After talking to faculty at the lunch hour and asking people to respond to some questionnaires, Mr. N. took me around to show the 'garden project'--organic farming, school library, and few other things. As we were walking towards the car, I saw the three of the four boys who we met in the morning standing waiting for Mr. N.
'What are you doing here boys?" Mr. N. commented.
Mr. N. seemed to have eyes all over his head. He would be talking to one learner, while commenting on the other ones. That is when he spotted some learners in 'non-school' colors, and said, 'that color is hurting my eyes.' a hint about his dislike of breaking the code (not rules).
'Sir, Mr. N, we needed to know....' and they were each holding the twigs given to them a few hours ago.
'Give this to me.' snapped Mr. N. in mock anger, 'Do you know what it is? do you know....'
"Yes, Yes Sir, we do, ' interrupted the boy with confidence. "Sir, we have them in our house, we use it to make hedge, yes, I know....'
"No, it grows up to be a big, almost tree, like that....' Mr. N. pointed at a bougainvillea.
'....Yes, I know....' and the boy paused in shock, "what it grows up to be like that......??' and he gave a buffoon-like look, that I knew all too well from teaching young boys, years ago.
I could not hold my laughter any more, I turned around and started giggling.
"Give it to me...' said Mr. N. 'Go on now, and do not ever be late again.'
The boys left giggling...and I ran after them....'Please boys, can I take a picture....?"
Shortly, after I took this picture, the fourth boy came running. He had a twig in his hand.
While, all of this had a purpose, it was all a sort of a play. The boys knew that they they were late and must bear a bit of embarrassment, Mr. N. knew that it was not such a big lapse on their part. Both knew it was play, both knew what the rules were. In that role playing, they were respecting each other, holding up an idea/ideal, yet not taking making a big deal out of something that we all do.
Both sides played into the little drama acted out on an ordinary day at school!!
I miss that. I used to have that in the US sometimes. But since then the classes have been too small to have that energy. While I enjoyed my work at Fiji, the students were too few in number and it took away the energy, even though it made it more personal. Here in Sweden, we hardly have that, University works very differently.
Ordinary school days are made of so many of those silly memories, where we all played clowns or enjoyed our classmates acts.
I miss it all. At the end of the day, despite the cold, I walked out of the school with heart that felt like it had been on a 'keep warm' for a few hours.
Mysigt!! (Cozy)
