Joys of teaching

Real Life stories from my primary school teaching days

I have always intended to chronicle the stories of children I taught that changed me as a teacher and an educator. So many years have gone by and as they say procrastination is the thief of time. It has stolen my time. I wonder where the years have gone. I have always procrastinated on writing about my daily stories on what I experienced with the children I taught from 1975 until 2000 when I took a break away from the repetitiveness of the classroom. I had many happy experiences, equally sad experiences, some heartwarming and equally heart-wrenching experiences in my career. All in all the experiences fabricated the story of my teaching life and painted a more colorful and enjoyable experience. I have decided to share some of the stories I still remember and the ones that made an impact on my life as a primary school teacher and a mother. For the reader some of the experiences could be fun, for the primary school children they could be relatable, to the parents this might be a revelation to what goes on when your child is in school, and to teachers probably they could be a reflection of their experiences as well. Some of the readers might recognize themselves in these stories. I have used pseudonyms for the students rather than their real names. However, every story tells the truth and I hope you enjoy these stories.

You are going to eat me!

This happened early on in my career. I was teaching in Chitungwiza in 1981. I had been allocated a Grade One (1) class. I was by then a mother of two young children. I used to enjoy all my students and I believed in reinforcement of schoolwork through homework for all of them at the end of the day. That particular day I had stressed that, my students do their homework that evening. I had also jokingly threatened that those who failed to do their homework I was going to the eat the culprits in school the next day.

The following day the first thing on the agenda was to check their homework. As I went round checking on their homework I noticed that one of my best pupils Tapiwa was crying. When I inquired why Tapiwa he was crying, his simple innocent answer was Makundidya…‘You are going to eat me!’ I remember that I laughed so hard and all my students laughed along with me. It was days like that which made my profession more meaningful and an enjoyable way for making a living. Trust a child to take things literally. I had never thought any one would believe that I would eat them per se, but trust a child to believe anything!

My mother is dead!

This story pulls at my heartstrings even today as I write it down. This was in the early 1984 and I had moved to Chakari from Chitungwiza. We had school assembly every morning and inspected the children for hygiene. When I came to this particular boy, his clothes were so dirty that I was disgusted. There was an odor from his body, which I could not stand. Instead of questioning him, I made a flippant comment to the effect of whether his mother was home when he left for school. I questioned why she sent him to school dirty as a pig. I continued to insult that boy and am ashamed at the disgrace I put him through. I went further and inquired whether his mother was dead or merely lazy a lazy woman.

The boy did not answer; he simply broke down and cried. I could not believe it and when I asked why he was crying as though I had beaten him up. In his young innocent frightened voice, he respondedin one simple word, vakafa “My mother is dead.” Immediately I felt ashamed of myself. I wished the ground would open up and swallow me for my insensitiveness to this poor little boy. In my own eyes, I could not deny I had seemed insensitive and not caring. My heart went out to the boy.

Immediately I hugged him to my body despite the bodily odor and the dirtiness of his clothes. I consoled the boy as best as I could. I assured him I would take him to my place to give him a bath. I carried out my promise and I always made sure I encouraged him. From then on I learned not to pass careless remarks and risk appearing insensitive to the students I taught. I knew from that experience that my students were human beings and that they felt the same heartaches at loss of a loved one just as adults do. I learned to treat my students throughout the years with respect, care, and love.

Siniganiza-I-do-not-think/care

This was a real name from one of the mid 80s students, I taught in Chakari. This little boy was of Malawian descent. His name was Nyanja translated to mean I do not think or care. I could not imagine a parent giving their child such a name. It was a Grade Three (3) class. I had first heard his name during assembly when new kids were being allocated their classes and teachers for the year. When I heard he was going to be in my class I laughed. I could not imagine what I was going to teach a child who neither who thought nor cared.

Initially my attitude towards the boy’s name influenced my low expectation of his performance as a pupil in my class. Occasionally I would overlook his outstretched arms, as he eagerly wanted to participate in class. I usually turned a blind eye until one day going over their written tests.

At the end of every month, I gave review tests to assess my students acquisition of concepts covered. When I was marking his English test, I thought maybe it had been a fluke of good luck. I paid particular attention to his Math. The boy had nailed all the 20 mathematical questions I had given them. I could not understand the irony of his name. I realized it was only a name and had nothing to do with his intelligence. How many times have we as teachers been influenced by such mundane aspects of the children’s lives. It was a lesson I carried all my life never to judge a book by its cover.

Please translate Come to school in the morning!

In Zimbabwe from the late 1970s to the late 1980s, there was such a demand for education. This was just before our independence and soon after when education was free for all for once. In order to cope with the high demand the education bureaucracy hatched the idea of the hot session. The hot session aimed at accommodating two classes in one classroom a day. In some schools, one class would have classroom access in the morning from 7.30 a. m -12:30 p. m. The afternoon session started from 1.00 until 5.00. Every two weeks the two sharing classes would alternate the learning time and space. Whenever necessary if the teachers had some personal businesses to attend to they would swap sessions. That was the case on the particular day I told my students “tomorrow we come to school in the morning.”

I had some personal business I needed to attend to in the afternoon. Though it was my class’ turn for the afternoon session, I stressed to my pupils that they had to come in the morning. English is the official language in Zimbabwe. Examinations are set in English. Parliament debates in English. All official business uses English. Consequently, I encouraged my students to speak English as much as possible as I knew Shona and any other indigenous languages had ample time in their homes. I made it a habit to speak to my students in English.

As I was dismissing my class, my colleagues were waiting for me by the door. One of them asked whether I was not going to translate for my pupils benefit to Shona. She laughed and stated that most kids would not turn up in the morning. I told her I was not going to translate. I further stated that I taught the way I meant to go, as this was early in the school year. I told her my kids had to get used to the use of the English language.

The following morning, I had five children who were absent. I concluded that out of the 50, only five had failed to understand my language of communication. My colleague came to check and was amazed that only five had not turned up. When the five later came to school it was not due to misunderstanding my language of communication but due to various reasons. Anyway, my colleague tried the same with her class and more than ten pupils were absent. Her kids had been used to translations and never bothered to learn English, to know a language you have to speak it and understand it. My conclusion was never to translate for my pupils as a result; they had no option but to learn English. My motto was start the way you mean to go!

No radio lessons for Gilmore!

Gilmore was one of the smartest kids I ever taught throughout my teaching career. Every week, in primary school we had radio lessons, for either music or English. By the time, I taught Gilmore it was my 18^th year or so in the field. I had conducted radio lessons on average twice every week. No student up to then had ever questioned how the voices were transmitted to us through the radio. Early on that year I had noticed certain reluctance in Gilmore to participate in the radio lessons. On that particular day, he told me the reason. Gilmore told me he could not understand how a grown person could fit into a radio and be able to conduct the radio lessons. He claimed whoever was teaching was too big to fit into the radio. I understood his query. Gilmore thought real people were sitting inside the radio. I took advantage of his concern and curiosity.

Sometime after school, I recorded all their voices on tape. We had different things recorded on tape, as individuals, in pairs, in groups, and as a class. It was an exhausting exercise but well worth it. Some of the pupils were afraid to speak into the microphone, and others had to be persuaded. I later replayed their voices back to them on the radio. The exercise did a lot for different personalities. Even listening to various recordings conducted brought about lots of discussions. Later I asked Gilmore whether he had to fit into the radio. He smiled and thanked me for the practical explanation. I also explained about airwaves and how they carried voices all over the country. I wish I had kept in touch with Gilmore as I wonder what he became in life. All students we teach are individuals as such we have to nurture and accommodate their individual differences!

Never mark the child present when actually absent!

My first year of teaching after teacher training I was deployed to teach in Domboshava. I had a Grade One (1) class of 46 pupils. The students ranged in ages from six to seven and a half. Domboshava was not my local community. My accommodation was within the school grounds. Interaction with the local community was minimal. It was in May after our April school holidays. The first day I conducted the roll call one of my students whom I shall call Kuda was absent. I asked the students whether they had seen Kuda during the school holidays and none had. I thought maybe he would be back by the following day.

I marked my student present for the day and continued to do the same for the next three days. I did not want to be bothered with the addition of the absentees at the end of the semester. I had struggled with balancing my register the previous semester. As such, I had resolved none of my students were going to reflect their absenteeism in the register at all for easier balancing of my attendees at the end of the term. Luckily or unluckily, every Friday the registers were submitted into the school principal’s office for review.

The following Monday, my school principal brought the register personally to my classroom. I began to question myself inwardly why he had not sent the messenger. After handing me the register, he asked me whether I knew where Kuda was. I told him no. Only then did my heart sink. I knew I had done something wrong. He asked me why I had marked the child present for the last three days. I looked stupid but what he said next made me feel very bad. He told me that the child had passed away a week after our schools had closed. I was flabbergasted at myself. I learned the hard way to never mark children present when they were not physically in the room. I hated subtraction, addition, and all the operations, that were a nuisance in balancing the register but they would have saved me the embarrassment of marking a dead student present. That semester I taught myself to love the operations. I would teach Math first thing in the morning and in the end, it was my favorite subject to teach. Don’t be a teacher who learns the hard way.

Five cents and how are you?

For the longest time I would greet my children in class and never thought about how they responded to my greeting. One day I decided to greet them individually and just hear their voices. They all used to chorus their responses to me. Somehow, I felt the way of greeting my pupils did not bring them closer to me. I just greeted one by name and the next and the next. It was when they responded to How are you that I felt I had not heard them correctly. The first student answered Five cents and how are you?  I became curious and continued to ask them all and they all responded the same.

I showed them a five cent coin and asked what the difference was between what they were saying and the word Fine. Y pupils were quiet and had no idea what I meant. They were second graders. This was a clear indication that they had never seen the word fine written down and had no clue what it meant. It was a lesson for me to always connect the spoken word to the written word and make sure I heard each child enunciate the words to me.

That misspoken word took me to the time I was a primary school student myself. One of the teachers had taught us to sing If you are happy and you know it clap your hands. The last line If you are happy and you know it and you really want to show it if you are happy and you it clap your hands. All the time until I was training to be a teacher I had always sung it as If you are happy and you know it the mushalishalishu, and had no idea what it meant or if there ever was such a word. I clearly felt sorry for all English as Second Language speakers. Sometimes they just say words and have no idea what they are saying.

My Mother Mrs. Musandipa

In Zimbabwe, schoolchildren use school uniforms. In 1994, I was a teacher at Sir John Kennedy School. The requirements were school uniforms from head to toe. Sometimes class teachers would not realize that some students did not have appropriate uniforms. As such, school prefects were utilized during school breaks to check on missing pieces of proper school uniform.

My middle daughter never took anything lying down without fighting back. One day she was a culprit and did not have her hat during break time. She was still new to the school. As one school prefect was preparing to jot her name down for breaking one of the school rules, she started slowly saying, My mother who is Mrs. Musandipa…..and before she completed the sentence the prefect recognized the threat in the sentence and told her to walk on.

In the evening as she was narrating the story to me we all cried our eyes out. She would never have her name written down for detention or anything if she could avoid it from the top of her head. She managed to counter attack and always got away with a lot. Sometimes I thought she would never make it through her education! Some battles in life we do not need to fight for our children let them figure out and negotiate things on their own!