Two Nations: Mamelodi High School and Midstream College

We therefore make bold to say that South Africa is a country of two nations.

One of these nations is white, relatively prosperous, regardless of gender or geographic dispersal. It has ready access to a developed economic, physical, educational, communication and other infrastructure...The second and larger nation of South Africa is black and poor, with the worst affected being women in the rural areas, the black rural population in general and the disabled...This reality of two nations, underwritten by the perpetuation of the racial, gender and spatial disparities born of a very long period of colonial and apartheid white minority domination, constitutes the material base which reinforces the notion that, indeed, we are not one nation, but two nations. 

(Thabo Mbeki, 1998)

Today I visited two schools which capture the lived reality of being a South African: Mamelodi High School and Midstream College. The experience was jarring and yet another reminder of the inequalities which exist in South Africa.

I arrived at Mamelodi High School just after 8am anticipating a lesson which would begin at 8:30am. Upon arrival I encountered a group of students who were harried and late for school. This was an hour after the school day had begun. There was a teacher with a clipboard writing down names of learners as they pushed passed her. Most sauntered into the school as though they had all the time in the world. There was no urgency about the fact that they were late. My student met me in the car park and we chatted briefly about the latecomers. She told me "This is nothing, some of them even arrive after 9am". I thought about time-on-task and the research showing the amount of time lost in poor schools in South Africa.

Mamelodi High School entrance. Pic from: http://wirelessafrica.meraka.org.za/wiki/index.php/Mamelodi_Mesh

We walked towards the staff room and spoke about her experience thus far. She seemed keen and ready for her lesson but I knew something was amiss. During the conversation she told me how she wishes she'd been at Mamelodi High School during the first teaching practice so that she would not be assessed (students go to two schools and they are only observed during one of their teaching practice stints). I could sense that she was nervous but I suspected that she had not had a positive experience. She told me that the school was at assembly and we should be heading to her classroom as soon as assembly was finished. I learned that it was a long assembly because there were sports awards being handed out to learners. I decided not to be nosy and I stayed in the staffroom going through the student's file; aware that my presence in the school as an outsider from the university was akin to being the hated school inspector.

The first lesson of the day began a little after 9am. Walking towards the classroom the usual scene of South Africa's poor schools began to emerge: broken windows, graffiti on the walls, dirt and patches of burned rubbish behind a wall, While standing at the door of the classroom I was greeted with dust emerging from the classroom door as students were frantically cleaning the classroom as they were made aware that there was a visitor. The rubbish was simply added to the rest of the rubbish behind the door. I entered a classroom that had bare walls with more graffiti; no posters or pictures signaling that this is a place where learning happens. There were more broken windows and no electricity (there were no globes in the fittings where they should have been lights). There was a chalkboard and a white board. The smell of poverty was overwhelming: it's the smell of paraffin mixed with smoke and body odour. (I know this smell well because this was the smell I knew from home when we used paraffin lamps and a heater and a primer stove for cooking.)

My student began her lesson on verbs using the chalkboard and her voice. There were no props, no technology; just a textbook and her notes. The students were largely quiet because my presence symbolised authority. They were told to take out their textbooks and notebooks. The mentor teacher remained in the classroom in order to help my student establish order amongst the learners. I noted a quote on the wall on an A4 piece of paper: Educator's purpose is to replace an empty min with an open one. I rolled my eyes at the irony and wondered how many students in the classroom could read that statement and point out how problematic it was. I wondered if the person who put that paper on the wall believed nor cared about what it meant for the context of Mamelodi High School.

As my student proceeded with her lessons to Grade 8s I was reminded of another lesson I had observed the previous term in a classroom with Grade 5 learners. I knew instinctively that little to no learning was happening. My student was exasperated because there had been a 45 minute delay to her lesson and while the learners were trying to behave, she also knew this was a futile exercise. I don't remember much of the lesson. By the end I was thinking about what I could say honestly to my student about what she was experiencing. I wondered if it was fair for her to be in a school where no learning was happening. She used the textbook, the same learners answered questions she posed during the lesson, the others carried on with their conversations. By the end all I could hear was noise. There were 38 students in the class and my student told me this was the smallest class. As we walked out she also told me that was the best lesson she had had since arriving and that was largely due to my presence as a visitor.

While walking back to the staffroom to debrief two of the other teachers came outside. One was asking her for a red pen and the other was checking the timetable. Even though it is third term, the school did not have a permanent timetable which contributed to disruptions in learning. The timetable needed to be adjusted and I didn't ask why this was the case because it was yet another red flag about the disruption in learning. We walked towards a gate which led towards the staff room. It was locked. The only person who could open the gate was the principal. We waited for him to arrive. The purpose of locking the classroom was to ensure that learners did not roam around the school as was the culture; there were about 5 classrooms behind the gate. I though about the symbolic violence of being locked inside an environment where no learning was happening. I thought about being jailed in in order to be controlled. The principal eventually came to open the gate and led us out and locked the gate again.

I tried to be as honest with my student. We both knew that it was not her fault that she could not teach in that environment. That in fact, we all knew that no learning was happening in the school. There were constantly teachers in the staffroom. We spoke in whispers so I did not come across as being overly critical or naive about what it meant being in that school. My student was dejected because I think she feared failing. I had to use a rubric that assumes the best case scenario where learning happens. I allocated a mark; I made comments and we walked to my car. Our conversation ended with more stories about how today was the most productive day at school as learners were not wondering around the school. Last week, COSAS had had a meeting with students about their behaviour and it seemed as though the students had listened. I said I few encouraging words. We spoke about making an appointment for my next visit and I got into my car and drove away.

My next school observation was at Midstream College in Midstream Estate. I had visited the school last year and I already had a knot in my stomach. I was going to a new school which had been established about 10 years ago. It was the prime example of white flight and middle class flight. A community and a school behind boom gates. The first time I had visited the school I sat in a classroom where there was one black child and I was the second black person in the classroom. I hadn't know about Midstream Estate until that visit. I had heard about estate communities but had never visited one with a school, a shopping complex and a petrol station. It was a self-sufficient enclave behind boom gates. On my way to the school one of the signs read "Heritage Hill Estate: A village in the City".

View of Midstream College. Pic from: https://arcarchitects.co.za/project/midstream-college/)

My student met me at Gate number 4 and we walked through a pristine campus. It was break time and learners were sitting happily on the grass, in their racially segregated groups. I observed a lesson with about 25 learners. I was the only black person in the room. Before the lesson my student told me about how he was teaching Grade 9 short stories and had been experimenting with tailor-made lessons for each class in order to serve the students' needs. He told me about the approach he was taking which wanted more conversational lessons in order to be more approachable to his learners. As the learners walked into the classroom there was music welcoming them into the lesson. They were all seemingly happy teenagers talking and dancing their way into an English lesson. They took out their iPads from their bags and waited diligently for the lesson to begin. My student had warned me that this was the rowdiest class he taught. The extent of the rowdiness emerged during the game the students played at the beginning of the lesson to introduce the story. The introduction to the lesson gave the learners a roadmap of what to expect in the lesson. They would even have a five minute break. The lesson unfolded without a hitch other than the expected kinks of any well-behaved classroom.

At the end of the lesson the learners filed out and moved onto their next lesson. My student and I had time to debrief and I allocated a mark on a rubric that had his school and lesson in mind. He walked me to the gate and we spoke about some thoughts he had about the ways in which he could give his students choices in their learning experience. The knot in my stomach had moved to a pain in my lower back.

I thought about the humanising and dehumanising experiences I had witnessed within a space of a few hours. A world where learning was taken for granted and learners were happy to be reading a short story about Roald Dahl and a world were students were asked to define a verb. In one day I was confronted with the neurosis that is South Africa which accepts inequality as a way of life. Mamelodi  High School is the epitomy of social death and how it happens in classrooms across South Africa. While Midstream College is humanising for those children in that class, there is something jarring about a classroom where white children are protected from the realities of this country by virtue of who has access to their school. My thoughts are still muddled up in my head. I am not shocked by what I experienced. I am beyond angry about the failures of this country. I am amazed that inequality is a normal part of life which we have found ways to placate ourselves. South Africa is a ticking time bomb. I am no longer interested in being hopeful. I am post-hope. I like it as an idea that gets me out of bed and loses steam as I go about the rest of my day. Instead I think about what I will do when this explodes. Will I stay or will I leave? Will I stay and be the chorous that says we told you so or will I leave and resume a life of comfort elsewhere? These are some of the questions which keep me awake at night. This country is unsustainable and only a fool will remain hopeful.