Blaming Things on the Past...
Gerry McCulloch
'Can I get a hug, please?' she asked, smiling, striding confidently towards me. She was black, she was beautiful, she was about 14 years of age. And I'd only just stepped into the classroom. She was one of around 85 pupils, boys and girls...in the same classroom. All black, all beautiful, all young teenagers. Many with the aids virus. But I'm getting ahead of myself....
...The trip had started most inauspiciously. Fully 3 hours waiting in a sweaty Heathrow zig-zag queue on St.Valentine's Day-evening only to be told eventually that South African Airways Flight 229 had been cancelled, that we'd be put up in a near-by hotel and that we'd finally leave for Durban at 9 o'clock the next morning. That would turn out to be only our first delay!
I say 'we' and 'our' because I was one of a party of some 20 teachers from all over the UK who were making this trip. Each of us had our own 'speciality', our own subject, and quite a diverse bunch we were. Nursery teachers, primary teachers, secondary teachers, further education teachers, teachers of special needs pupils, teachers from small independent schools, teachers from large comprehensive schools, head teachers, lecturers from tertiary education colleges. As I say, quite a mixed group. Quite a varied range of expectations, too. Of what each of us would 'get' out of the ten-day visit.
But, the second thing we all 'got' was yet another flight cancellation....this time, after a ten-and-a-half hour jumbo-jet flight from the northern to the southern hemisphere, an internal SA flight from Johannesburg to Durban, itself. So, another night, another hotel! We finally touched down at a humid Durban International Airport 36 hours behind schedule...very tired...and very much in need of a change of clothing, our main luggage having been checked-in all those hours ago at Heathrow!
However, with a sense of supreme irony that had to be grudgingly acknowledged, South African Airlines offered 'sincere apologies' and 'as a gesture of care...a 25% discount off a future flight.' Future Flight? Aye right!
But the hugging...oh, the hugging! In township school after township school we were surrounded by smiling, chortling faces, most, eager to touch and be touched. Some shyly holding back till the initial excitement subsided before coming tentatively forward to embrace. However, in one particular school, I was the one initiating the hugging!
A most attractive young girl of about 15 had just delivered an impromptu speech to our delegation. Unannounced, un-primed, she'd simply stood up and asked her startled teacher if she could tell the 'oversees visitors' something about herself, her colleagues and her parents and lifestyle. What followed would have guaranteed her entry into the Public Speaking Society in any of our prestigious schools in Scotland. For ten minutes she spoke with wit, intelligence, passion and commitment about what education meant for everyone. The hard work and dedication of all her teachers. Her hopes for the future: she wanted to be a doctor. And then the sacrifices her parents made in order to pay her meagre school fees. (I subsequently found out that they were so poor they often couldn't pay the instalments but were allowed to work off the fees doing odd jobs around the school itself. And that this was not out of the ordinary for many families).
Later, I managed to talk to her on her own. In an ice-breaking sort of way I asked her how it was that she became so beautiful and told her that while she was studying to be a doctor she could get a job as Miss World. Shyly, not looking directly at me, she laughed-off my rather clumsy compliment and simply said, 'When my mother was expecting me, she prayed to God that I would be beautiful. And I am.' It was just so matter-of-fact that thoughts of boastfulness simply didn't arise. And of course, she was truly beautiful! Then, I don't know why; I think it may have been the awareness that she hadn't seen many white men in her life. Or perhaps it was another clumsy attempt to try to bridge the 'cultural' gap. Whatever it was, I asked her, 'Do you think I'm beautiful?' With a sense of timing only granted the very best of the world's comedic greats, she gazed sideways at me for fully ten seconds. Then, without so much as a glimmer of irony in her eyes or on her face, she turned fully round to look at me before replying, 'I'll pray to God for you.'
It's a moment I'll cherish for a long, long time. What else could I do but sweep her up in my arms and give her a huge Scottish bear-hug!
Alex Nabbi, was the girl's Principal, the first black head teacher of Brettonwood High School in the province of Kwa Zulu Natal. Following our tour of the school, including a dramatised 'lecture' on the evils of AIDS, we gathered for tea and plain biscuits in the main staffroom. It was here that Mr Nabbi, in his farewell speech, told us, 'We have moved into our future, confident and optimistic that we will get to the 'pot of gold' at the end of the rainbow. The ethos of our school is captured in its mission statement- 'To provide opportunities to realise our dreams through education and training for all through excellence'.
He continued, 'We will go on believing that change is at hand and rather than focus on the past failings or on the frailties of life around us we will keep our sights set on the horizon where the day of a new tomorrow will break, where the sun of freedom will continue to rise. Freedom not of one group against another, but a freedom of this nation which is the vital prerequisite for unity and strength.'
With specific and hair-curling certitude he finished up extolling the virtues of education in the new South Africa as he pointed to our small group from the 'developed' world saying 'Show me your teachers and I will prophesy the future of your country.'
A truly inspiring day and one that lives long in my memory.
