Days 141-165
Jane Furse / Polokwane / Groblersdal / Tafelkop / Blyde River Canyon (Three Rondavels / God’s Window / The Pinnacle) / Graskop / Pilgrim’s Rest
With two months to go before my pending departure to Africa there were endless possibilities of ways in which I could use my time. Having no job, no education and absolutely no responsibilities I was free to do whatever I wanted. Looking back on it all I occupied my time with three things: studying up on Africa, undertaking practice teaching at my old primary and secondary schools and acting for a TV show. As it turned out each of these skills had an equal share in helping me prepare for the eight months that awaited me.
As I have learnt over the eight weeks that have just recently passed me by teaching is a lot more difficult than I had imagined. Some things don’t call for much effort; preparing classes takes away only a few minutes from my afternoons, building up positive relationships with my learners is no more difficult than any other relationship, while the craft of making the students believe that I know what I am talking about simply requires a few lessons in Acting 101. What is a challenge is the process of transferring information into a child’s brain, in order for them to understand and memorise that particular piece of knowledge. Such a challenge became evident to me after marking my very first test.
The fact that 85% of my students passed the EMS test that I wrote for them should have made me overwhelmed with joy. On the contrary I found myself dwelling on the negatives as I tried to comprehend how two students managed to receive paltry marks below 10%. One of these kids filled his page with writing, all of which was completely irrelevant. He had memorised dozens of economic-related key terms; unfortunately he forgot to read a single question. A month later the same boy proved he was no fluke artist, delivering an equally miserable repeat performance.
Another struggle that I have to constantly deal with is the lack of discipline options on offer to me. With hitting the kids out of the question (I think it’s legal here, but I’m not willing to test to make sure) my most potent weapon is often my mouth. The problem of this is that all my threats are nothing more than talk and many of the learners are starting to realise this. A complete absense of a detention system means that I can’t force the bad kids to stay behind unless I wish to likewise remain with them, while forcing students to sit outside often results in them running off and treating the lesson as a free. Multiple times I have sprinted out of my classroom in order to catch sneaky students. Unsurprisingly my class seems to find this little performance quite entertaining.
On the contrary, the teaching style of one particular teacher has been far from entertaining for both students and myself alike. Believing that EMS is an essential subject - on par with English and Mathematics - this teacher has been forcing all of Grade 8 to attend school on Saturdays for a two hour lecture on this ridiculously difficult and unnecessary subject. Even worse is the fact that she expects all these students to be familiar with these complex economic concepts, concepts which I only starting learning about in VCE Business Management. Eish!
But teaching isn’t the worst part. And neither are the students. Likewise dealing with things like water shortages, electricity cuts and poor facilities is a walk in the park. The one thing that is a struggle, however, is dealing with the concept of time; how does one keep oneself busy for four more months? Thankfully I can now consider this a problem of the past, but for a few weeks I was in a bit of a kerfuffle.
As it turns out homesickness can be cured and although the antidote is not always effective 24/7 things have begun to improve. My solution was deciding to do the type of things that, in my personal life, characterise home; things like playing cricket, writing music and playing instruments. With that my weekly working hours suddenly doubled, but in contrast time started to fly.
One of the first things I noticed when at St Mark’s was the lack of music facilities. It seemed a little unusual considering the amazing talent present in the school’s choral group – which performs daily at assemblies and at local community concerts. Subsequently I decided that I wanted to do something about it. With the help of some donations from abroad I purchased two guitars for the school. Now, a month on, the school has four guitars, two keyboards, a tambourine and a drum. It also has a music teacher – me.
Despite not actually being able to play guitar and being an absolute hack on keyboard I now teach both these instruments as part of an after school music program. Such knowledge would surely make the Mr Grasshopper boys and my mother cringe with fear, but the simple fact is that I’m the only person in St Mark’s who knows how to play the guitar or keyboard (note that doesn’t mean that I can play them) .
Likewise I’m the school’s best batsman and bowler, a fact that will shock all members of Forest Hill Cricket Club. On Mondays and Wednesdays respectively I ‘teach’ cricket to the junior and senior school. Furthermore I am introducing more and more students to the grand sport of Australian Rules Football although, in spite of my initial presumptions, I can no longer claim to being the school’s best footballer after one afternoon, when I contested some Grade 9 boys in a game of 3 on 3 Aussie Rules. Despite being completely new to the game my opponents put me in my rightful place.
Such a busy lifestyle now leaves me with merely one spare afternoon per week – Friday – which is more often than not utilised as a day of travel in order for us to escape the utter boredom of Jane Furse, where the only remaining ‘recreational’ activities include jogging laps of the shattered glass laden soccer pitch and trying to write lyrically potent songs with the guitars. We knew the day would come when our DVD supply would run out, but we foolishly refrained from making the effort of creating any contigency plans.
Our first expedition for month 2 of the placement was a trip to apparently South Africa’s most proficient witch doctor (although he likes to be known as a traditional healer). Disappointed that he was charging R150 ($24) for a consultation and that his office actually resembled a normal doctor’s surgery I decided to not ask him about voodoo and my explosive flatulence. Rather I laughed as the other volunteers each spent a fair chunk of their money on discovering that there is no immediate witchcraft in their future. I guess that’s a good thing, but I honestly reckon I could have delivered the same news for a smaller price.
Being in the witch doctor mood – sorry, traditional healer – the next day we ventured to Tafelkop for a festival which entailed more than 200 of these guys dancing barefoot. This was one of those unique African experiences that you would expect to find on the Discovery Channel, however when you have to watch this for three hours on end you begin to crave unique Australian experiences instead. Being subject to something – that is, talking to ancestors and matters involving witchcraft – that I do not believe in the slightest left me feeling quite cynical; it was as if I was watching an episode of Crossing Over with John Edward except with Sepedi dialogue and frequent breaks for musical dancing. Nonetheless I found the whole concept to be incredibly intriguing, particular the fact that these people also believe in God and the fundamentals of Christianity. Centuries ago when European missionaries brought the Word of God to Africa the locals believed what they were hearing however, unwilling to denounce their beliefs, these people continued worshipping ancestors and decided to combine the two belief systems together.
Our journey a few weeks later was less of an African thing to do and more of a touristy idea. Venturing into Blyde River Canyon, the third largest in the world, and admiring three amazing world-renowned viewpoints came as much needed relief to all of us. One of the most beautiful pieces of scenery that my eyes have ever gazed upon this awe-inspiring sight confidently positioned itself high on my imaginary list of African highlights whilst affirming the fact that God is out there, and that He knows how to mould a perfect sculpture. Gazing at the Three Rondavels was almost surreal; it was like looking into a postcard or painting as it moved ever so slightly. Naturally photo opportunities were a plenty and foolishly we all succumbed to the rich temptation of cheating death and posing on the awkwardly positioned rocks, which provided the foreground to this magnificent backdrop. A wrong step could have very easily taken us to an early grave, but there was no chance that we were going to miss such an opportunity by obeying the signs that read ‘Do Not Go Beyond This Point’.
Given its reputation and generous name God’s Window didn’t live up to our expectations. Nonetheless it was a picturesque lookout that showcased how massive this canyon really was, justifying the strenuous walk involved in reaching the rainforest view. Lastly but not leastly The Pinnacle proved to be another wonderful spectacle. Taking centre stage before an endless row of low-altitude valleys this upright rock structure closely resembled a giant…
“Wang! Pay attention!” “I was distracted by that enormous flying…”
“Willie!” “Yeah?” “What’s that?” “Well it looks like a giant…”
“Johnson!” “Yes sir” (you get the idea)
On our way back from Mpumulunga we made a pitstop in the quaint old gold-mining town of Pilgrim’s Rest, a combination of Sovereign Hill and the Dandenong Ranges. Unfortunately we only got a small preview of this little village but a whole term of weekends still awaits, so a return is certainly on the cards. South Africa is beginning to creep its way up my list of favourite countries; the sights it has on offer are beginning to convince me that there is a sheer volume of light at the end of the inconsistent tunnel known as teaching. I don’t want to go home anymore. Well, not yet anyway.
As I sit here in the wondrous city of Cape Town, where Table Mountain keeps watch over a vibrant waterfront city and where internet is only R5/hr rather than R60/hr I can’t wait to begin typing out another blog that captures the sheer brilliance of this place. But the holidays have only just begun, meaning I’ll just have to wait, and so will you.
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