From:
Memoirs of a Teacher
an autobiography which might, or might
not, be written one day
I’ve
LOST it!
On Mondays I see my nemesis - the 9B class - for a double period, right at the beginning of the day. My altercation with Ramsey Mpshe confirmed once again that I have finally lost it as a teacher.
At least once a week at one of our daily staff-meetings (which I try very hard to miss by coming late in the mornings), we are reminded that we, as teachers, must work together to achieve DISCIPLINE in the school. It does not help if some teachers are strict about the dress code, and other teachers let learners get away with incorrect uniform. So when I passed Ramsey's desk and saw his Rasta bracelet, I pointed at it, co-operating with the system. Personally, I really could not care whether he has a nose-ring, purple hair and filed teeth - but I try to do my job as defined for me by the powers that be. Wordlessly he took off the bracelet, and put it away in his bag. Matter closed.
Ten minutes or so later, I passed his desk again. The bracelet was back. I held out my hand this time. The rule is that non-regulation items of dress are confiscated, tagged, and placed in the safe downstairs, to be redeemed by the payment of a nominal fine at the end of term. By allowing Ramsey to merely divest himself of the offending bit of jewellery, I had actually been nice! He has now openly defied me, and, what is worse, the system, and he is flaunting it. I could ignore it. I try to ignore it. The morning's sermon rings in my ears: "School discipline is everyone's responsibility. We, as a staff, must work together!"
Ramsey peers at my open hand, looks up at my face, and feigns total lack of understanding. Fellow learners sitting around him giggle. I have to go through with this now. "Ramsey, give me your bracelet," I say, in my no-nonsense voice, looking him in the face with my no-nonsense expression. I have spent more than 20 years cultivating the voice and the expression, and they have always worked.
"No," says Ramsey.
What now? My authority has been challenged, and found wanting. Ramsey and I stare each other in the eye, locked in battle - the young buck and the old cow.
I make my expression angry, my voice even more steely: "Give it to me, now!"
"No," says
Ramsey.
I know that I have lost.
There is nothing left but "higher authority", I think.
"Well, then you are
coming with me, right now!" I say.
"No," says
Ramsey.
I flounder helplessly.
The class eggs us on. The noise is deafening. I turn on my heel and leave the
classroom to go and fetch the higher authority, which puts on an awesome
display, and manages to divest Ramsey of his bracelet. I am sunk. I have turned
into one of those pathetic old teachers whose life, until they retire, is hell.
Will I survive the 625 days until I am 55? I think not.
Portfolio
Pains
I started this week full of hope that all 160 grade 9 learner portfolios would be ready by Friday, so that I would have four days to process the marks that have to be ready next Wednesday.
After all, I see each of
my classes four times, each period is 45 minutes long, their files all have
indexes already (I made them stick those in last week)...
How long can it take to stick ten numbered labels onto ten assignments?
I also gave them the ten labels last week...
So let’s be positive!
It's all systems go!
We're organised and it’s A for away!
How long can it take...?
By Friday I was frazzled and had the screaming heebie-jeebies.
This is how it went:
"I want your files open at the index...."
"Mem!" frantic waving from the back of the middle row.
"Yes?"
"Mem, I heven' gotta index. I was ebsen'."
"Over there, in the grade nine box on the shelf. Get one. Paste it in the front of your file."
I start again:
"Open your file at the index,... Ramsey, where are you going?"
"I need a index, too."
"But you got one last week. You weren't absent!"
"Stuck at the back. Is wrong."
"Bongani! Sit!"
"I'm getting my glue from Mmone. She took my glue."
I roll my eyes, and decide to carry on. Let them wander. We only have three hours to get this done, after all.
"See assignment one on your index. It says: test.
Choose your best test and stick a label on it, on the page where the moderator will find the mark.
Number the label one, and then fill in your mark next to one on the index sheet.
I'm coming 'round your desks to check, and I will tick the column that says 'Tick if in order'. Keep your file open at the index, so that I can check and tick quickly...."
"Mem!" frantic waving from the front of the middle row. "I don't have a
label. Somebody stole my labels!"
"Mem!" frantic waving from the back of the first row. "Can I have a
label? Can I have a label? Can I have a label?"
"Mem!" frantic waving from the middle of the last row. "Can I go to the
toilet?"
"Can I go to the
locker room? I think my labels are in my locker."
"Somebody stole my
best test! I know I did a better test!"
"I can't find my file, it's not in the box. Somebody mus'
of stolen my file!"
"Mem!" "Mem!" "Mem!" "Mem!" "Mem!" "Mem!" "Mem!" "Mem!" "Me-em!"
My ears start
ringing. I see spots in front of my eyes, I feel dizzy... I feel a
transformation taking place. From a nice, calm, grandmotherly lady, I am
turning into a... vampire!
"SIT DOWN! SHUT UP!
YOU LOST YOUR BLERRIE STICKERS YOURSELF! I SAID STICK THE DAMN STICKER
WHERE THE MARK IS, NOT
AT THE BACK OF THE TEST!
WHO DO YOU THINK WOULD STEAL YOUR FILE?
THERE WAS HARDLY ANY WORK IN IT. YOU CAN'T GO TO THE TOILET UNTIL THE
Mercifully, the bell
rings. They leave. I stare mindlessly somewhere in front of me, completely
befuddled. I slowly come to my senses; remember my name and where I am. I
become calmer, my breathing returns to normal.
The next class walks
in.... "Class, I want your files open at the index...."
Now it is the weekend,
and all I have to do is check one thousand six hundred and sixty assignments
and process the marks....and stick the stickers.
I think I'll have a nice
nervous breakdown instead.
Teacher or Shepherd?
Exams started this past
week for the seniors. The matrics start first, grades 10 and 11 four days
later, and the juniors next week. This means that exams and teaching run
concurrently. I do not really understand the need for a staggered start to the
exams, because it causes chaos. On Thursday, the whole day, I ran around
between my classroom and different exam venues. I invigilated an exam in G3 the
second last period, and Maya was a few minutes late in coming to take over so
that I could go and teach my last class, 9D. You see, with this system, a
knock-on effect occurs. Someone had to come and relieve her, first, before she could come and
relieve me, and that someone
first had to get the juniors she had been teaching packed up and out of her class. The few minutes delay are inevitable.
I hurried down the
corridor, and found the 9Ds (or some of them) milling around at the bottom of
the staircase to the G-block. "What are you doing here?" I asked sternly. "You
are supposed to be at my classroom now! Hurry up! Get to class!" I herded
them along, and a few muttered far-fetched explanations, like: "We thought
you were absent," or "We thought they were writing exams in your
class." Some of the little boys were finishing off their soccer game, and
paid me no heed, so I back-tracked to break it up. They scattered, and so did
the class I was trying to shoo along to my classroom. I am not two sheepdogs,
so by the time I got up the stairs, across the walkway and up another flight of
stairs to E26, my classroom, I had only four 9Ds left. The rest were making
their getaway to various points of the compass, as far away from class as
possible.
I sternly instructed
the four goody-goodies who did make it to where they were supposed to be to
remain in my class, and proceeded down to the office of the headmaster, to ask
him to lend his authority and his loudhailer to round up the strays (as I said
before - I have obviously lost it as an authority figure). On my way I found a
class of Grade 8s looking lost.
"Where are you supposed to be?"
"With Mrs
Scott"
"Well, get to her
class, then!"
"It's locked, she is
not there."
I hurried on to the
headmaster’s office. He was busy with two important looking gentlemen, so I
went to the school secretary to make an announcement instructing the 9Ds to get
to my class forthwith, but she is not allowed to make all-calls during exams,
lest the learners' concentration be interrupted. (All-calls are only made
during teaching periods, so the teachers' teaching is interrupted.)
Then I ran into Mrs
Scott.
"There is a class
milling around looking for you"
"I know. I told them
to go to substitution. I am leaving in 10 minutes, I'm writing exams."
"There is no
substitution. Their subs teachers are probably all invigilating."
"Well, what am I
supposed to do about it?'
"Okay, I will
collect them and they can come and sit in my class"
So I did, and since they
are grade 8s, they docilely followed me to my classroom, and I got them nicely
settled and quiet. Some twenty minutes later I was sitting behind my desk,
working at something, when my classroom door was yanked open. There stood the
headmaster, fuming. He strode towards me, and then stopped short as he saw a
classroom full of learners, all quietly occupied.
"Who's this,
then?"
I knew why he was mad.
His visitors had left, he had walked them to their car, and had seen various
9Ds playing soccer or whatever, and he thought that I had given myself a free
period.
"Well, Sir, those
four over there are 9Ds, who are supposed to be here.
The others ran away, and I came down to ask you to help me round them up, but
you were busy. The rest are grade 8s. I am babysitting them for Mrs Scott, who
has gone off to write her exam.”
“Oh. Well. Those others
will just have to get yellow slips, then.”
And he turned on his heel
and left. I thought: “33 yellow slips? Fat chance.”
Erna Buber
(since
retired from the job – having survived thirty years of teaching)
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|
Name |
Comment |
Date |
|
Louis Harris |
Erna, One minute i laughed, the next minute was filled with anxiety, the
next fraught with delight. You must continue writing your memoirs,
especially since we have so much to learn. I relate to some of what you hve written having placed my stepson into a private
school and watching him grow during the year with several teachers. I
think teaching has changed over the years, all for the better. |
2007-12-21 |
|
Mandy |
Erna, this is a brilliant piece of
work. I was engrossed from the first to the last sentence. You capture so
well the ongoing banter in the classroom and the seething 'chaos' that seems
to be school. My only comment is that I wonder if you can make you dialogue
more slick. I found myself getting a bit bored with some of the longer pieces
of dialogue. Points 4 - Pretty close to perfect. I was captivated |
2007-12-21 |
|
James Tobias |
Well done on a very competent
piece of writing. |
2007-12-22 |