Julia Grey visited a school for the severely mentally handicapped that is special in more ways than one: it not only caters for learners with special education needs, but does so with flying colours
On the second floor of the school building, a vision fit to dazzle stands out with the swirls of colour and collages of broken mirrors on the brick walls. It’s the art room at a school called Ningizimu SMH, near Durban.
This must be outcomes-based education (OBE) at its best: freedom for learners to experiment within the framework of a learning objective, hands-on opportunities to discover personal strengths in your own time. In fact, Robin Opperman, the man driving the programme, says, “OBE is perfect. Previously, we had to hide everything away and hope the inspector wouldn’t see it. Now we can come out of the closet with our approach.”
So revealed – and appreciated – are their methods that Ningizimu recently won the district-level national teaching awards for special education, and is within reach of provincial – and possibly national – awards as well.
His job, says Opperman, is easy. “I just expose the students to materials and they quickly let me know what they like and what they’re good at. Each of them has a skill.” The art room is a hive of industry, with everything from crazy bead-and-wire sculptures to mats, bags and hats – crocheted out of plastic off-cuts – in piles.
Besides this process challenging the pupils’ fine-motor skills, “it’s fantastic for their self-confidence,” says Opperman. “They have a great sense of achievement when they see their finished products.”
Learners, like 18-year-old Nobahle Jali, are also able to start building futures for themselves by selling the fruits of their effort, a huge plus for mentally handicapped youngsters whose prospects of finding jobs as adults are dim. And the opportunities for learners don’t stop at the art room. Sizwe Ngcobo struck gold when he won the Thinkquest international website challenge – a trip to Los Angeles – in 1999. This year, learner Siyabonga Dangwane has given it a try, creating a website on autism with a Singaporean student and a Dutch student.
Ngcobo (18) was a student at Ningizimu for four years, having first been at a mainstream school. “It was very hard for me in the school for normal children,” says Ngcobo. “I can’t learn things quickly. Teachers weren’t going to wait for me because they have to teach all the children to do things. Then all my friends went to the next class [at the end of the year] and I was left behind.”
The benefit of attending a special school, in Ngcobo’s experience, is: “If you can’t do it, the teachers help you so much. I don’t get fed up, I try and try.”
Ngcobo is currently at Ningizimu in a different capacity: he teaches learners to play steel drums – “a job that I love”.
Both educators and pupils at Ningizimu are facing the prospect of major change, as plans in the white paper for special education needs are gradually implemented. The school will probably become a resource centre for schools in the district, and its learners may find themselves relocated to mainstream local schools.
While Opperman supports the idea of inclusion, he is mindful of the practical implications. Plentiful resources are important to making the policy work, but the educators are key: “If the teacher puts in more time and effort, the students will get what they need and more,” says Opperman. “But if it’s someone working for their salary cheque and a good pass rate, it’s going to be tough to meet the demands of special learners. You might find these kids dumped at the back of the class with a bunch of magazines.”
Constance Ngubane has been principal of Ningizimu for the past 20 years. There is a difference, says Ngubane, between educating special learners and just getting by as a teacher in a mainstream school: “You can’t say, ‘Well, it’s 3.15, let me get my bag and go home’. You need patience, love, commitment. Even on the weekends, we work so that the public can see what our children can do.”
– The Teacher/M&G Media, Johannesburg, October 2001.