This title must surely define my day! The flu has worsened and I feel like I have been hit with a sledgehammer...body aches and pains and my head feels sore. Im really battling thru the day, trying to teach and prepare for a 6oth birthday bash that im having for my mother-in-law this weekend. I would get sick now!!! Very unsympathetic husband, no doubt being a doctor and seeing these symptoms all the time makes one jaded when it happens close to home. No bloody excuse! Im pissed off enough with his attitude not to be talking to him! This is one of the very disadvantages of being married to a medical man...from all the other doctor's wives ive learnt that they are all alike...very attentive to their patients but tetchy and irritable when their own families are sick. I hate that aspect of being married to one. But look at the bright side...now I get to blog for all i like! No moans about me sitting on the computer till late. Back to my story...
Fate deals you strange hands at the most unexpected of moments. Here I am, sitting in the excess pool and now being offered a post at this exclusive boy's school, one that I was not unfamiliar with. At school, i had been a prolific debater and had used to enter speech contests and any competition involving poetry or writing. One such speech contest had been held at Glenwood High School when I was just 16 and in Grade 10. I remember the evening clearly. I had walked through the school on the way to the school hall, bug-eyed at what I was beholding. The beautiful gardens and facilities of the school compared to the less-than-modest one that i was coming from, had me looking on in wonder. When my turn had come, I had recited and enacted a poem that I had prepared before-hand. There were other kids there from various White schools in the vicinity and I was up against some stiff opposition. Imagine my shock when my name was called out...the winner of this category. My teacher had beamed from ear to ear. His name was Anand Bodasingh, teacher of English at my school but one day to become an official in the DOE, at the very time when I was going through my ordeal at this very institution. At school i had been lauded and applauded for having won this competition against some of the top White schools in the Durban area. How extraordinary that 16 years later, I was being offered the opportunity to teach at this very school that I had won the competition at when I was just 16 years old. Talk about the connectivity of life!
The other school being offered to me was Burnwood Secondary School, one that was far away from where I lived. The option was clear...Glenwood High it was to be. I was to report to the Headmaster of the school the next day for an interview- a blistering hot summer's day in February 2000. I dressed carefully, cultivating a professional image in a black two-piece outfit that was not too revealing for a boy's school but sleeveless and cool enough to be comfortable. Driving to the school through the tree-lined Nicolson Road was a pleasure, lifting my spirits immediately as i contemplated doing this drive every morning. Suddenly things seemed to be looking up. I remember my first encounter with the Headmaster very clearly. Trevor Kershaw was immaculately dressed, dark well tailored suit, shiny black shoes and a very fashionable yet functional watch, the first things that I noticed about him. He had presence, that essential something that commands instant respect when in his company. How deceptive first impressions can be. [More to follow...]
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Monday, October 22, 2007
Back to the daily grind...
Its Monday again, the weekend has flown by leaving me with a touch of flu and 2 staff meetings to attend this week. Not looking forward to either. Yesterday I did my almost weekly trawl thru fleamarkets, looking for unusual stuff to stock my shop with. This is really fun, especially planning future trips into the countryside to buy stock. I have had the best news ever, that my family members, a brother and a sister are seriously considering returning to this country after 10 years abroad in the UK, in order to live and work here for 2 years or longer and then go back to the UK. Apparently sun-deprivation, lack of a life and the continous cycle of home-work-home has taken its toll! But back to my story...
Days of sitting in the staffroom, doing nothing was also taking its toll. Tempers frayed and the uncertainty of the future was getting to every one of us in the excess pool. Then one afternoon, my world changed. A phone call from the DOE stating that there were 2 posts available at 2 schools, both of which I was eligible for. The 1st was at Glenwood High School, an ex-Model C school in the leafy suburb of Glenwood, not too far away from where I lived. Ex-Model C schools were established during the apartheid era for the White population group. They are very well resourced and the facilities are pristine. Staff in these schools are mainly White. Explaining the Model C structure would mean explaining the separate development policy held by the previous Nationalist government. In those days of White supremacy and separate development, White children were allocated a hefty sum of money by the Nat govt to fund their education. All manner of sporting facilities were made available at these schools, in neighbourhoods that boasted parks, gardens, neatly trimmed verges, lovely cottage houses, bowling and tennis club and every other manner of recreation known. In contrast, a girl like me who had to grow up in an Indian township and attend an Indian school, had to make do with a dusty patch of ground on which drums had been set up to act as goalposts during soccer matches, a school that had no swimming pool and served a community that lived in tiny, matchbox homes, where priviledges of the other lighter-hued pupils, whom we were never allowed to come in contact with, were the stuff of dreams. Now suddenly, I was being offered a chance to teach at such a school! [More to follow...]
Days of sitting in the staffroom, doing nothing was also taking its toll. Tempers frayed and the uncertainty of the future was getting to every one of us in the excess pool. Then one afternoon, my world changed. A phone call from the DOE stating that there were 2 posts available at 2 schools, both of which I was eligible for. The 1st was at Glenwood High School, an ex-Model C school in the leafy suburb of Glenwood, not too far away from where I lived. Ex-Model C schools were established during the apartheid era for the White population group. They are very well resourced and the facilities are pristine. Staff in these schools are mainly White. Explaining the Model C structure would mean explaining the separate development policy held by the previous Nationalist government. In those days of White supremacy and separate development, White children were allocated a hefty sum of money by the Nat govt to fund their education. All manner of sporting facilities were made available at these schools, in neighbourhoods that boasted parks, gardens, neatly trimmed verges, lovely cottage houses, bowling and tennis club and every other manner of recreation known. In contrast, a girl like me who had to grow up in an Indian township and attend an Indian school, had to make do with a dusty patch of ground on which drums had been set up to act as goalposts during soccer matches, a school that had no swimming pool and served a community that lived in tiny, matchbox homes, where priviledges of the other lighter-hued pupils, whom we were never allowed to come in contact with, were the stuff of dreams. Now suddenly, I was being offered a chance to teach at such a school! [More to follow...]
Saturday, October 20, 2007
We are WINNERS
Today was a momentous day in our history. Our SA team has just lifted the World Cup Rugby Trophy from the English. Play was mediocre, I thought but the SA team had the added edge it took to win. As i write this, cars are hooting in the streets and private parties are going on in the suburb in which I live. Today was also an important day in the Hindu calendar, the Day of the Goddess of Education. Since im a teacher, first and foremost, this day was set aside to honour the goddess. I have 2 kids, aged 12 and 15 and they, together with their Dad who is a medical doctor, stood by as I did the prayer honouring the Goddess. Prayed for wisdom and for my situation to resolve itself.
The story unfolds as such...In 1994, former president Nelson Mandela was released from prison, to start a new order in this country. The expected civil war did not materialise. At school, we were ecstatic. At last, the end to being regarded as second grade citizens. I was teaching in Clairwood High School at the time. The school had a majority Indian pupil population. The 118 teachers that taught there were Indian but 2 were White. We got along fabulously but only because they harboured no prejudice. Rare men indeed! By 1998, we felt the winds of change blowing closer to home. There was a need to fast-track integration of a once divided society at all levels. The new government chose to start this at schools. Suddenly a circular was sent to all schools stating that a new pupil-teacher ratio was to be implemented. The number of pupils in a class, from around 35 were to be decreased to around 30. The school had to look at its enrolment and then work out how many teachers they were entitled to. At the same time, retirement packages were made available to those wanting to leave the profession, so as to make space for people of other race groups to enter. By 1999, this "redeployment" process was put into action. At my school, entire departments took the package , having seen the writing on the wall. Other departments were downsizes according to the new requirements. the policy used to determine who was to go was "last in, first out". The resent and anger was tangible. many friendships and bonds were broken as coleague competed with colleague for the right to stay. Principals added to the mayhem by moving their favoured teachers to other less-staffed departments to keep them in the school. I was not so lucky. There were 16 teachers in my department and the last 3 of us were put into a pool of "excess" teachers. Our future was uncertain and it was a horrible time for all of us. Suspicion, resent, anger, envy, every vice known to man was experienced. All excess teachers were not given a teaching load for the new year, 2000. While others who were "in" went about their daily teaching duties, we sat in the staffroom, looking on in envy and fear. We had bonds to pay, mouths to feed. I was lucky. My husband was a medical doctor so we were relatively well off. But I had a deep seated need to work and earn my own income. Now I was not unemployed but hanging in limbo, ready to be redeployed to a new school chosen for me by the Department of education. (DOE). It was a traumatic start to the new millenium.... [More to follow...]
The story unfolds as such...In 1994, former president Nelson Mandela was released from prison, to start a new order in this country. The expected civil war did not materialise. At school, we were ecstatic. At last, the end to being regarded as second grade citizens. I was teaching in Clairwood High School at the time. The school had a majority Indian pupil population. The 118 teachers that taught there were Indian but 2 were White. We got along fabulously but only because they harboured no prejudice. Rare men indeed! By 1998, we felt the winds of change blowing closer to home. There was a need to fast-track integration of a once divided society at all levels. The new government chose to start this at schools. Suddenly a circular was sent to all schools stating that a new pupil-teacher ratio was to be implemented. The number of pupils in a class, from around 35 were to be decreased to around 30. The school had to look at its enrolment and then work out how many teachers they were entitled to. At the same time, retirement packages were made available to those wanting to leave the profession, so as to make space for people of other race groups to enter. By 1999, this "redeployment" process was put into action. At my school, entire departments took the package , having seen the writing on the wall. Other departments were downsizes according to the new requirements. the policy used to determine who was to go was "last in, first out". The resent and anger was tangible. many friendships and bonds were broken as coleague competed with colleague for the right to stay. Principals added to the mayhem by moving their favoured teachers to other less-staffed departments to keep them in the school. I was not so lucky. There were 16 teachers in my department and the last 3 of us were put into a pool of "excess" teachers. Our future was uncertain and it was a horrible time for all of us. Suspicion, resent, anger, envy, every vice known to man was experienced. All excess teachers were not given a teaching load for the new year, 2000. While others who were "in" went about their daily teaching duties, we sat in the staffroom, looking on in envy and fear. We had bonds to pay, mouths to feed. I was lucky. My husband was a medical doctor so we were relatively well off. But I had a deep seated need to work and earn my own income. Now I was not unemployed but hanging in limbo, ready to be redeployed to a new school chosen for me by the Department of education. (DOE). It was a traumatic start to the new millenium.... [More to follow...]
Friday, October 19, 2007
Nostalgia
What an interesting day this has turned out to be! What good news, learning that the wheel turns and with it comes the inevitable fall from high horses or the showing of clay feet. I am feeling nostalgic and low today, having received a letter from the current Minister of Education that a report sent in 19 months ago, is finally receiving attention. The report detailed years of hell suffered at the hands of a previous headmaster, who has remained smug in that he got away with atrocities committed against me and was never brought to book. But the wheel turns and now, hopefully, he shall get his dues. Nostalgia because it was a school that i loved to teach in and low because i cannot believe that i have been in this fight for 7 long years. How strange to be born and live through this particular time in history, 13 years after democracy was achieved in this country and to live through this transition, with its current situations and nuances, all which have affected me personally.
Apartheid is long gone, dead and buried, the men who affected the change lauded and commended, the Nobel Peace prize recipients, who cannot and will not ever know that an Indian woman is still suffering the effects of this time.
Apartheid is long gone, dead and buried, the men who affected the change lauded and commended, the Nobel Peace prize recipients, who cannot and will not ever know that an Indian woman is still suffering the effects of this time.
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