Shortly before we left the States for Cape Town, I was informed that I would be interning at Thandokhulu Secondary School, a high school in the suburb of Mowbray. It sounds simple enough, doesn't it? I pictured myself checking homework assignments, grading essays, handing out papers, making copies; the fundamentals of a student-teacher's workload. I never thought I'd be in the position to actually teach the children. The idea itself was laughable to me. How could I possibly be qualified to stand in front of a classroom and impart the necessary knowledge required to pass the dreaded Matric Exams students spend the entire year preparing for? How could I be trusted with the futures of hundreds of students? And yet, on my second day at the school, there I was, with forty pairs of curious eyes trained on me, waiting for me to do something… anything.The gravity of my position did not dawn on me until just before my first day began, while Faina, Emily and I were riding the minibus taxi to the school. Soon after leaving our humble abode at 10 Loch Road, the panic started to set in. I tried to concentrate on the route the driver was taking, worried we might pass our stop, but even more worried that we'd actually get there. Walking through the gates that led to the school, I was convinced the kids could smell my fear as they stared at us curiously. For once in my life I was the minority, and I was terrified.
Upon arriving, the three of us were paired with teachers who specialized in English or Mathematics. Emily's specialty was Mathematics, so she was spirited away early in the day to teach grades 8 and 9, while Faina and I were shepherded around the school by the buoyant Ms. Bopi. Ms. Bopi is an English teacher for grades 10 through 12, and is one of the few members of the faculty whose name we could actually pronounce without difficulty. I could have sword I met a man with a name that sounded like the word "Tokyo" with small clicks interspersed in between the syllables, but I can't be sure. The act of producing the complicated clicking noises required to pronounce Xhosa names is still beyond me, so I parroted what I heard as best I could and picked up little lessons on pronunciation as the day went on.
During lunch, Ms. Bopi coached us on the correct noises to use for the letters 'C,' 'Ch,' 'K,' and 'Q,' but integrating those sounds into actual words was a bit too much for my American mouth to handle. I felt more than a little silly practicing in the hallways between lessons, reading the student rosters posted outside each classroom, but I knew would need practice if I ever hoped to conquer names like Siphokule, Ncebakzi, and Ntombifuthi in front of a class full of native speakers.
On our first day, Faina and I sat in on Ms. Bopi's classes to get an idea of her style of teaching and of how we would be assisting her in the classroom. It was then that she informed us that, in time, we would be getting the chance to teach lessons on our own. English classes are primarily composed of government-mandated lessons that test the comprehension skills of the students. Most students are fairly proficient in English by grade 10, even though they only begin to learn English in grade 8. Learners are confined to the use of English during lessons, and Xhosa (their first language) is only used outside the classroom.
The first lesson that Faina and I sat in on was a point of contention for us. The assignment called on students to read a short article entitled Men Are From Mars and Women Are From Venus and to answer questions based on the ideas they gleaned from the article. The article summarized many of the ideas discussed in the famous (and notoriously sexist) book of the same name; namely, that men and women are biologically and psychologically different. According to the article, the different distributions of white and grey matter in the brain can account for certain behavioral differences in men and women. It tried to justify that timidity, emotionality, and reliance on relationships for support are innately female traits due to the amount of white matter in the female brain. By the same token, the article asserted that because of a predominance of grey matter, men tend to be more naturally aggressive, dominating, withdrawn, and unemotional in relationships. At the end of this article, the students were asked questions about the differences between men and women, like what jobs they would be better suited for, or what roles they adopt in relationships as a result of their "natural differences." Considering my position as a Women's Studies student, it was difficult for me to listen to Ms. Bopi read from an article that contained so much misinformation and sexist propaganda. It was even more difficult to sit there silently, knowing every student in the class took the information in the article as fact. Adding to my frustration was the fact that every subsequent lesson taught by Ms. Bopi that day included the use of this article. The idea that the government of South Africa, generally progressive in its stance on sexism as compared to other countries, would approve of such material being taught in a classroom left me shocked and appalled.
On a more positive note, our second day was much better in terms of the subject matter of lessons, and both Faina and I had a more hands-on experience teaching the students towards the end of the day. We also had more opportunities to socialize with students one-on-one, something I'd been waiting to do since I learned I'd be working at the school.
It was during one of our breaks on the second day that we were approached by an English teacher in grade 8, who pleaded with Ms. Bopi to allow him to use us as assistants in his class. For the first 45 minutes of our double period, we watched him guide the students through interpreting a poem about poverty and crime in South Africa. Then, in an unexpected turn of events, he turned the lesson over to us, and asked us to supervise the students alone as they worked in groups to answer questions about the poem. It was strangely empowering to get the chance to put my skill set in interpreting poetry to good use, but I struggled to simplify my language so students could understand me. Even though I was daunted by the language barrier, I look forward to facing more challenges like this in the future.
The schedule at Thandokhulu is very loose in terms of when teachers arrive to teach classes. Each class stays in the same room all day with the exception of several break periods, while teachers move around as needed. That meant that every time a teacher was late to class, Faina and I had the opportunity to have question and answer sessions with students, most of whom were itching to know about us and where we came from. Many of the children had questions about whether or not we knew American celebrities or approved of Barrack Obama, and one girl in grade 8 insisted that pop singer Beyoncé was her sister. Some were more curious about why we had chosen to come to South Africa, while other more brazen male students asked if we had boyfriends. In my last class of the day, I had the opportunity to talk at length with two very well spoken grade eleven girls named Pumeza and Sindiswa, and at the end of the conversation, I felt sure I was on my way to making my first real South African friends.
There seem to be two things that there are never enough of at Thandokhulu: books and chairs. In many classes Faina and I attended, students bent over backwards to accommodate us, sharing chairs barely big enough for one person so that we would have a place to sit. If there did happen to be extra chairs in a classroom, they were quickly appropriated by students from other classes, so students had to act quickly if we wanted seats. I was touched (but also embarrassed) by how generous and welcoming the students were, and the more time I spent with them, the more I began to realize that they were just as nervous about interacting with me as I was with them. They were so desperate to make a good impression that some shy students even covered their mouths when speaking to me for fear that I would judge their English.
Much of the time on our second day was taken up by the distribution of books, a process that required many students to pair up and share to combat the chronic shortages. Students painstakingly covered their books and notebooks with plastic or paper to protect them from being damaged. All the learners share their personal supplies with one another. I frequently saw tape, scissors, pens, and whiteout flying through the air as they passed from one student to another. I also noticed that many students sell snacks during class to make extra money, toting huge bags of biscuits or potato chips around all day and clandestinely trading their goods for money under the desks. I learned from Ms. Bopi that this is strictly forbidden, but many teachers turn a blind eye to this practice because they know that for many students, every cent counts.
It's hard to believe that I've only been at my internship for two days because I've learned so much. Much of what I've learned has been heartbreaking or difficult to come to terms with, like the reality of the students' poverty, and the poorly furnished classrooms they inhabit. But the more I interact with the students, the more opportunities I see for unlocking their virtually unlimited potential, and the more hope I have for the future. If I can reach just one student in my work at Thandokhulu, I know I'll consider my stay here to have been a success.
The joy of arriving at the top of Table Mountain
(Julie front center)
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