Leah on the rewards of teaching

So the other day, Rachel put it most concisely when she said, “Leah’s life is Thandokhulu.” It is true. I have fallen head over heals, irrevocably, and unconditionally in love with my students at that school. The school itself, its administration, and my fellow teachers may have their faults, but the students are just so amazing.

Before everyone stops reading my blog and labels it as the typical, “Rich white girl goes to Africa and thinks all the little kids are wonderful and try so hard even though they’re poor and blah blah blah,” I want to add a disclaimer. I am not presuming any of this in my blog. Yes, most of the students are from Khayelitsha, a poor township comprised of informal settlements within Cape Town. Yes, most of them are extremely driven and focused on their future. I mean, which American high schoolers ask their teachers for extra English grammar worksheets?! Which American high schooler would EVER in a million years attend something called Book Club?! We had 100 students come after school just to read and learn! When asked what they wanted to read, many responded, “Just anything English…” The disclaimer here is that not all of the students are like this. This is most of the students, the majority I would hope. But many of them too are just going through the motions, like American teens. I have definitely had to discipline the students for talking in class, not listening, etc. (This has benefited me in my future teaching endeavors in that I am learning how to be strict). With that said, many of the students are truly interested and excited about learning. The disclaimer that I am trying to describe is that even though many are dedicated to their work, they’re still teens. Sometimes they’re tired or preoccupied with their love life or social scenes. They are excited and they are interested, but they are also human.

For a little over a month, I had been the sole teacher of two Grade 10 classes because their real teacher was sick. I had gotten extremely used to these students and they had gotten used to me. They expected to see me, expected to learn an American slang phrase or word everyday, expected to take notes in my class. I was regularly making lesson plans and grading essays and tests. The other tenth grade English teacher constantly worked with me to put together exercises, essay topics, and exam questions. I was loving every second of it.

However, there was this constant potential disaster looming in the background. Mr. Tsoli would indeed eventually return. I knew that this dream world could not continue forever. I am a young, American, University student who is leaving this country in May. I could not provide for these students as a full time teacher. As February 28^th approached, the day that Tsoli’s medical leave would expire, I grew more and more nervous. I did not want to lose all of these responsibilities that I had gained in his absence!

Finally, he arrived. Because I still had not finished teaching the poem On Aging by Maya Angelou to my students, he sat in on both of my classes to watch me teach. After my first class, he said to me, “That was really impressive! You were great in there. You definitely have the voice for it…” and that was it. I loved him. Not only did he like my teaching skills, but he saw my loud, out spoken quality as an asset.  Back at the office, he went on to tell me about how he was a teacher when Thandokhulu was taken over! The people of Khayelitsha had been petitioning the government for a school, but they were constantly rejected. Then, the petitioned to use an abandoned school in Mowbray (which is present day Thandokhulu), but were rejected because Mowbray was a designated white area. So in 1992, students, teachers, and supporters from Khayelitsha all rode into town on the buses with the intention of taking the school. The government had sent police, officials, and even helicopters in to stop their seizure of the school. When the students broke through the gate, the dogs were let loose on them! Finally, the teachers were able to negotiate with the officials to obtain the school and ever since then, we’ve had Thandokhulu, “much love.” Anyway – the point is that Tsoli, once an omnipotent fear, has transformed into one of my idols.

On Wednesday, Mr. Tsoli was teaching a poem to the classes and I was just sitting on the side lines, watching. It is never my favorite position, but I now share my classes and I am re-learning that Kindergarten lesson about sharing nicely. So Mr. Tsoli asked the class what literary device was used in the first stanza of some specific poem. Immediately, a boy at the back of the class (the boy at the back of the class), raises his hand and answers, “Personification.” Dead on. Mr. Tsoli was so surprised! He said he was only looking for metaphor, but personification was even more specific! The boy just looked at me and smiled, I had taught them about these different poetic devices a couple of weeks ago. I could not contain myself!! The boy at the back of the class, the one you never think is listening, IS! Then, Mr. Tsoli asked the class what irony is. Almost in unison they recited the definition that I had taught them, looking over at me the entire time. I could not wipe the grin off of my face.

I was so incredibly rewarded.

All I could think was – how can I not teach? How can I not pursue something that makes me feel so good? I want nothing else in life. I just want to feel rewarded.