Gava Kassiem recalls the ups and downs of her life as a teacher
Learners are unaware of the tapestry they weave into an educator’s life. There are some who by their very nature embody the earnestness and nobility of a once-revered profession.
My teaching career started in a township school in Athlone, a derelict building where the principal reigned supreme. In my first year as a teacher I organised a variety show in which learners could find some fulfilment and escape the poverty and sadness of their existence. We spent months training in the afternoons and at every available moment. The raw talent and the enthusiasm of the participants astounded me. The show was a huge success, and I felt a great sense of accomplishment.
Then there are those who are absolutely unteachable, who you vow to forget, and yet they are the very ones who haunt you.
One of the learners, whom I still remember by name and dirty face, pulled the rug out from under me. After I had admonished him, this boy chose a quiet weekend to vandalise my classroom. It was a horrific sight that met this enthusiastic teacher that Monday morning. Books and charts were torn and strewn across the floor. A kaleidoscope of chalk covered the floor. Powder paints were splashed on the walls. I think it was when I saw my teacup filled with human excrement that I broke down and cried. Was this the only way this boy knew how to express his anger at me?
I’m left wondering what happened to a girl whose mother refused to press charges against her husband. He was abusing his daughters, and the mother was well aware of it. One rainy Friday afternoon, I waited for her at the local police station so that I could assist her. She never came. I felt betrayed for having cared and being forced to teach the girl knowing the circumstances. At best I could only ask how she was keeping and her standard answer was always “okay”.
It saddens me to think that a brilliant girl with a great future would consciously decide to fall pregnant to get back at her parents for not allowing her to have a boyfriend. She wanted to be an accountant, but last I heard, she married her boyfriend and now has three children. She is living in a makeshift hut struggling to survive. Could I have saved her? She spoke to me when she was five months pregnant. There was nothing I could do.
I am convinced that teachers are born, not made. Those who habitually come late, stay absent without legitimate reasons, and those who work with little diligence and eagerness fall into the “made” category. I know we are not social workers or psychologists, but how can any educator relentlessly continue to drill the maths times-tables and expect a brilliant essay when he or she has been made aware of a learner’s predicament?
I had a serious chat with a grade 11 boy about his lack of motivation in class. He explained that he was worried about the result of a paternity test. I was speechless.
Then there was the beautiful teenager who informed me that she had a slight problem – she had been raped by her cousin’s father. She was too scared to tell her mother. I held her in my arms and cursed this man. I arranged a meeting with her mother, where she told her mother in my presence about the rape. What ensued was a double betrayal. “I hope you didn’t tell anyone!” the mother said. The learner passed her matriculation examinations with exemption.
What happened to the boy who urinated the minute I started with a maths lesson? I dreaded entering my classroom because of the pungent smell. As a last resort, I asked him to bring disinfectant to school.
Then there was the boy who found his little brother who had committed suicide. He had to grow up very quickly. He became one of my best students. Will he ever be able to cope with the harsh world?
Where is the little girl who slept with a knife under her pillow to protect her mother from her father? She heard him scream one day that he was going to kill her mother. She dozed off in class, unable to do her work.
The above is but the tip of the iceberg. The question remains: “Why didn’t I leave the profession in my first year of teaching?” Quite simply because I care. My motto has become a simple one: trials and tribulations will strengthen us.
Unbeknown to these learners, they have enriched my life and humbled me. The memories will linger … The beauty of this profession is that, years later, you meet up with some of these learners, and it warms the heart to know that you’ve played a part in their lives. So I will not give up on them. I will believe.
There is a marked gap in the schooling of educators. We complain about outcomes-based education, a lack of facilities, security problems, delinquent learners, drug abuse and the high rate of teenage pregnancies. But what are we doing about it?
We are supposed to be torch-bearers, but we are whiners. The energy for whining could be used for putting strategies in place to alleviate some of the problems we face.
The 100% matriculation pass rate will eventually become a reality. We as educators should rise to the occasion and put our profession back on the map. When people ask what profession you are in, the answer should be a proud “I am a teacher”.
My career as an educator has been blessed with wonderful and interesting learners. I know with certainty that I have completed my grandmother’s legacy. She yearned to become a teacher, but could not fulfil her dream.
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– The Teacher/M&G Media, Johannesburg, September 2001.