Written by Johnny Modipa

It is nine o’clock at a certain secondary school in the township: typical school hours.

The school is surrounded by a barbed wire fence that has holes punched in at its various “strategic” points; and the huge dysfunctional iron gate does not work anymore and is therefore unlocked. Apart from the natural blessing of a thorn hedge that seemingly surrounds the school; there are traces of overgrazing throughout the entire yard of the school; in fact, one could easily mistake this school for an abandoned farmhouse.

On the western side of the farm – I mean the school – stands a sprawling dumpsite that gives off the overpowering smell of old dogs and all sorts of rubbish on what was previously a cauldron that bustled with the energy of numerous sporting activities.  The only souvenir to this fact is the lopsided and net-less goalposts that are decorated with rust.

On the eastern and therefore sunny side of the school, near the “parking lot” that is about two minutes away from the administration building; there are a few gentlemen engaged in a casual caucus. Casual because it’s hard to tell whether these gentlemen are visitors or school educators: some of them are dressed in casual golf shirts and appalling grey jackets straight from the stone age; others are sporting the most interesting hairstyles that are representative of the latest religious craze that exalts Haile Sellassie beyond human understanding; some of them are taking a few puffs of one of the famous brand of cigarettes, some of which are giving off a certain odour of banned substances; and the other one is busy whistling at a female learner who has just arrived, seemingly late if one was to judge by her efforts at hurrying to the nearest class. She, on the other hand, is dressed nicely in a white shirt, a pull-over jersey and an embarrassingly short navy-blue skirt. Her large earrings make a jingling sound as she runs to class, her long hair bouncing on her shoulders as she proceeds forth.

I gingerly move past these interesting circumstances and advance straight into the administration building. Since there’s nobody at the “reception area”, it is safe to proceed to the nearest office marked “Principal”. Upon entering without knocking, I become an unhappy witness to the sight of a very angry principal, sweating profusely from caning a silently crying and extremely disorientated female learner, whose small hands are a mixture of red and green from the administration of this form of punishment. Since it was wrong to barge into the office of the principal and therefore disturb him in the scope of his “duties”, I regard regards it as fair to walk around the school whilst awaiting an opportunity to see him.

Proceeding into a nearby classroom of Grade 12 learners, I come across a slightly nervous female teacher clutching at a textbook, trying her utmost with her broken English to teach these learners. They in turn seem to be disinterested in what she was teaching, apart from a few jeers as she fumbles her way through the textbook.

I decide to venture into the next class, where a flamboyant educator, dressed immaculately and articulating himself very eloquently, is busy teaching a class crammed to capacity by about fifty learners. Despite the terrible grammatical errors on their books and a serious molestation of the English language, these learners are more interested but they are extremely cold… an air conditioner is a myth to this class, there’s no electricity and a loose high-voltage live wire dangles dangerously from one of the plugs near the chalkboard.

About five of them are pregnant, four are sleeping, three are not concentrating, a few are concentrating but sit stone-faced without a single movement. Another one’s stomach rumbles in what can only be regarded as an unmistakable rumble of the pangs of hunger.

An urge to pay a visit to the toilets presents itself. A group of male learners who had been exchanging a cigarette scurries away as I approach. Passing by near the dark corridor that leads to the toilet, I shockingly stumble across a couple engaged in a rather intimate moment, and common sense states that they are learner and educator, judging by the dress code and a tell-tale age difference. Ignoring these two as guilt takes its course, I get into the toilets. The sight there is likely to make an elephant vomit. Never mind the smell.

Deciding that I have seen enough for a few minutes, I rush back to my car with the hope of quickly getting out of this school. To my horror, the front window of the car is broken and the car radio, together with other valuables, has wandered off by itself.

The above is not a fictitious story that is meant to tickle the taste-buds of a literary fanatic. It is simply the medium that I have selected to document a few known matters and present them to the surface. It is this selection of circumstances that lead me to numerous questions.

In light of these circumstances, do we really have a reason to be surprised when the results fall short of the set objectives?

For those who have through sheer luck and serious commitment made it into the framework of tertiary institutions, do we really have grounds to express shock when they drop out before completing their first year?

Generally speaking, is it a coincidence that the majority of children from affluent, formerly model-C schools end up as corporate heavyweights and professional dynamites, as compared to those from a plethora of township schools? Exceptional cases of corporate world-beaters from the dusty streets are hereby purposefully ignored because they are tiny islands of success in an ocean of dismal failure.

Why is it that everybody is passive about the reproduction of these societal inequalities that eventually lead to the unequal disbursements of the chances of success and failure?

Where on earth did it go wrong?

Answers are clearly needed. The sooner we honestly identify our shortcomings and seek feasible solutions the better.

politics, social issues