4:53 am: Alarm. Snooze once. Hear the drip, drip, drip of water falling onto the motorbike covering. Wake up, close door to bedroom, every where darkness outside, start the kettle, open the outside doors to let in the cool, chilly air. Lay out yoga mat, stretch calves and lower back for the 3rd time this week after 9 months of no practice. Begin running shower water, breathe some steamy, calcified water deep into my lungs and become more alert. Dry off, contacts in my eyes, lotion on my dry skin, swallow vitamins, dress, pour tea.
5:15 am: Settle onto bed in spare room, laptop on, tea in my right hand; finish creating examination for Grade 10 students sleepily leaning against the wall.
6:00 am: First light of day leaks over the horizon. The mist is thick with the trees creating an incomplete view of the hills beyond. The dew is dripping from the eaves in steady movement, splashing out puddles onto the tiled stoop. The giraffes are out, gnawing on the trees just beyond our front door. You can hear the impala bulls making a bellyaching, "ghaw" gasp from the bush (their usual morning wake-up call).
6:15 am: Wake up Johannes. Set out breakfast food. Quickly make lunch of Johannes' homemade seed bread with Mozambique honey.
6:25 am: Sit on the stoop steps with my yoghurt and another coffee. Listen to the loud chomping of the warthogs deep-throating their grass fodder and snorting as they walk along. They rustle the grass with every step and create a depth to the tall grasses of "what goes there?"
6:45 am: Oh, shoot, gotta go! Brush teeth, grab bags, open gate, wipe condensation off truck, and GO.
6:55 am: Make it to the outer gate and some curious local school children stare as I hop out to unlock, drive forward and close the gate.
alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471426279302177586" />7:05 am: Sibusiso's yellow uniform shirt peeks out from around the bend as I reach the Magudu turnoff. He hops in my car and says, as always, "Good morning Miss Sha-non. How are you?" An older man, sick with TB, approaches for a ride to the clinic. He hops in the back of the truck and off we go. Ride the rest of the way to school in general silence. Gaze at my favorite view of Pongola, just past the Zululand Nyala Lodge, where the rows of farms and their tree borders stack in rows, forming lines between the strips of morning fog, slowly withdrawing its opaque forces.
7:20 am: Arrive at school, along with all the other educators, just in time to hear the hand-held bell be rung by the appointed "Ringer." Students begin to form their lines, according to grade level, gender, and height. Someone in Grade 11 initiates a singing of the song, "Malibongwe" which means "praise." Students steadily stream in the school gates from the dirt road they walk until the whole school has more-or-less collected.
7:25 am: Ma'am Cele, with turban on her head and a shiny, whole expression on her face, begins her husky talks of God, "Xuloxulo." She sets down the wooden stick and trades it for a small, well-worn red Zulu Bible, from which she reads in her left hand. Meanwhile, her right hand attacks the air as she reads with steady, unwavering fervor, repeating sections for emphasis. End of her biblical streams of consciousness, students bow their heads in prayer, some holding a hand to their eyes as is customary here. She tells students "March in" and they go into their respective classrooms.
7:40 am: School starts, as usual, 10 minutes late. Sign in at reception. Gather books, chalk, walk to Grade 10A. Teach visual literacy, how to dissect an advertisement. Discuss marketing, target audiences, factual language and opinionated language. Show posters of “Romeo & Juliet” the film and students gaggle over the kissing figures in foreground.
8:30 am: Second period. Teach the same to 10B, but in a slightly improved way from first period.
9:30 am: Go to moderation cluster meeting with other Grade 10, 11, & 12 educators from the district. Supposed to share marked papers and moderate that each educator is marking fairly and appropriately. Head of cluster nominates moderation as waste of precious time and seeks approval from group to sign and date marked papers as “moderated” without actually moderating. Group agrees. We sign papers without moderating and the meeting finishes in less than 2 hours. The way of South African education.
11:30 am: Wors (sausage) rolls laid out in staff room in celebration of student teachers who leave today, during break time. Teacher Mathabela mocks my Zulu, while all other educators converse in Zulu.
12:00 pm: Planning periods for rest of the day. Print the exam papers I have written, in preparation for 2 weeks I leave to Mozambique. Make sure all assignments are laid out and ready for easy distribution while I’m away. Begin marking over 200 essays that were due this week.
2:00 pm: Bell tolls its final ringing of the day. Students spend the next 20 minutes sweeping their classrooms, stacking their desks and chairs, and mopping the staff room floor in preparation for the weekend. Students leave the school in droves and the educators are quick to follow, very few taking books home for the weekend. I leave with stacks of papers to keep me busy while I’m away.
2:45 pm: Drive to the local Traffic Department, for the fourth time in 2 months. Still attempting to cross the grey areas of my SA Citizenship and USA drivers license to become a SA driver. Take with me a ridiculous letter they required me to bring on my last visit, a letter stating why I was in the USA for 25 years and why I don’t have a SA license. Argh. Wait in line. Rudely, they ask me what I want when it’s my turn. They argue with me about putting the wrong address on the letter, which is irrelevant -- because now they want a letter from the US Ambassador detailing and legitimizing my USA license details. Argh again. So, so rude. Know that it’s because I’m white. Angry because I don’t own any of the racism expressed in this country.
3:15 pm: Give a lift to a woman who has just failed her drivers test into town. Drop her off and leave Pongola. Drive the 30 minutes home in silence and anger.
3:45 pm: Meet Mayoni at the gate, who is leaving the farm. He greets with “Sawbona, Enjani” and I respond with “Yebo, Si’apile.” He always has a huge smile that makes my heart sing. Depart the gate. I’m still angry and drive the last kilometer of dirt road trying to enjoy my surroundings and shake off the racism. Yes, there are my giraffes. Six of them, chomping on trees along the road. And a kudu bull way up on a hill.
4:00 pm: Home at last. Kettle on. Bags down. Cup of tea, lay blanket on grass, hoping giraffes will turn corner and I will get better view. Email from laptop in garden, what I do best in the afternoon.
4:15 pm: Johannes returns home. We both sit and enjoy the end of the day. Notice a beautiful bird fly across the sky, red breast, blue tail, cone-like crown. Look it up in my book: purple breasted turaco (lourie).
5:30 pm: Darkness settles fully. Begin packing in preparation for our 2-week trip to hot Mozambique on Sunday. Piddle. Fuss. Drink more tea. Make popcorn snack, fresh.
7:00 pm: Johannes takes charge of dinner. Tries to use leftovers to make meal: including ball of pizza dough made this week and old spaghetti with venison mincemeat from the farm and tomatoes from our garden. Result: Pizza crust base with parmesan and warmed spaghetti on top. Looks disgusting, but is remarkably nice.
7:30 pm: Inevitably turn on TV because it is Friday night and we’re too tired to be inventive. It’s dark. We should have made use of the afternoon by going to a special spot on the farm, but it’s Friday and we didn’t have the energy. Tomorrow we will make a braai somewhere nice and wild with Marlene and Mike, 2 of my favorites from the farm. We watch a very terrible 70s film called “Cliffhanger.”
9:00 pm: Drink more tea. Make dark chocolate crepes from leftover batter. Eat with ice cream.
9:30 pm: Stop watching terrible movie. Very chilly evening, not so nice for stargazing. Go to bed early.
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