Back to School... Day One
on Me Talk Pretty One Day (Malawi), 24/Nov/2008 10:13, 34 days ago
The middle of November sees the end of school forMalawi’s children and the beginning of a period of professional development for its teachers. This year it is the turn of those in charge of standard 3 and 7 classes to receive their induction to the country’s new primary curriculum. As a newcomer to the new curriculum myself, I was asked to attend the training. And so at the age of 27 I returned to school to receive a very Malawian education in education inMalawi...It’s a quarter to seven in the morning, the sun is shining and I’m late for school. I jump on my bike and begin the long journey to the little town ofDedza. Lessons are supposed to start at eight and I’m not sure where the school is or how long it will take to get there. It’s my first day. My directions say ‘turn left after the church’, but this isMalawiand there are churches everywhere. Maybe I’ll see some of the other students, my classmates, and I’ll just follow them.I head out onMalawi’s main road, the M1, but this isn’t like the M1 back home. This is a narrow, winding, undulating road. There are goats and chickens at the roadside and I can even see a few cows. I get a better view of the cows when my motorbike runs out of petrol and the engine falters to a stop. I’m mad—the tank was supposed to have been filled when it went in for a service last week. There is nobody about; only goats and chickens and cows. I’m mad and also a little worried. I flick the switch on the tank to the marker which says ‘Reserve’ and eventually manage to get the engine going again. Fortunately, I find a filling station just a little way up the road. This is the first one I’ve seen since I leftLilongwe, 50-something kilometres ago, and I feel lucky to have found it out here amongst the hills and mountains.With a full tank and an empty wallet, I get back on the road. Sometimes, when the road heads downhill, I manage to get up a good speed and almost hit one hundred on the dial. The wind is cool and pleasant. At other times, when the road heads uphill, the engine begins to struggle and it feels like the bike might be out of petrol again, although it obviously isn’t because I just saw the petrol guy fill it to the top.As I approach Dedza I see a roadblock up ahead and what looks like a policeman standing in the middle of the road waving his arms for me to stop. It is a policeman. I pull over and wonder what he wants. I know I wasn’t speeding because I’ve tried and my bike just doesn’t go that fast. “Do you have insurance?” asks the policeman in a friendly tone of voice. I tell him that I have. He then asks to see it but I know that I forgot it at home because I was in a rush this morning and didn’t pick it up. Itell him where it is and he believes me. I remember that I also left my license at home and worry that the policeman might not be so forgiving about that. I ask him for directions to the school before he can ask me about my licence, and even though what he tells me is confusing, I say thank you andgoodbye and then head off looking for the church.I pass a few buildings that look like they might be churches and I think about turning but I don’t. Then I see a huge building with a spire and large doors and I know that the directions were actually pretty good. I turn left and a little way down the road I find the school. It is half-past eight and I am late. It’s quiet. There is nobody around but the door to the office is open so I knock and go in. There is a teacher in there but he doesn’t have a class. I don’t think he is my teacher. I ask him where the other students are and he tells me the lessons have been moved to a different school. He tells me where the new school is but I know I will have to ask somebody else for directions when I get closer.I’m back on my bike, riding slowly, looking for the hospital. The teacher said the school was near the hospital but all I see are shops and market stalls and buildings that look like they could be pretty much anything; anything except hospitals or schools. A couple of guys are sitting at the side of the road and so I stop next to them. I say hello but they don’t say anything. I don’t think they speak much English. I would say muli bwanji to them but I don’t speak much Chichewa and muli bwanji is all I know. They are looking at me, wondering what I want. “GovernmentPrimary School!” I blurt out. One of them turns around and points to the right with all five of his fingers. The other one copies him. Following their ten fingers takes me to a large metal gate and the school. It is now nine o’clock. There are lots of bikes on the playground and I add mine to the collection.My classmates are just standing around, dressed so smart it looks like they are at a wedding. I wonder if maybe it is a wedding and I’m at the wrong school and these aren’t my classmates at all. Then a guy comes and tells me that the teachers haven’t arrived yet. Unless there are two teachers getting married at a school, I know I am at the right place. I feel a little awkward in my scruffy trousers, t-shirt and trainers andI’m unsure what I should do as I don’t really know anybody here.There are a couple of groups sitting in front of a classroom but they are groups of girls and I don’t think I should go and join them. So instead, I walk over and stand next to a small group of boys. I realise that I know one of them from newspaper club. He is a funny looking kid with a large wart on his cheek but he is alright. We worked together to produce a newsletter for the district and hesays hello to me. I say hello back. He introduces me to his friends and we spend the morning talking, laughing and waiting for the teachers.Lunchtime arrives before the teachers do and so we take a walk into town. I keep my eyes open for the two guys who showed me where the school is but they are gone. We walk through the market and my friends go into a café but I’ve got a packed lunch so I go back to school to eat it on my own. My lunch isn’t very nice.I would rather have eaten at the café.Everyone comes back to school in the afternoon but there is still no sign of the teachers. It is starting to get really boring. At half-past two one of my new friends comes over to me.“You should just go home,” he says. “You live further away than anybody else.” I also think I look more bored than anybody else. He says he will cover for me if the teachers come, but neither of us really thinks they are coming today. I say goodbye to my friends, pack my bag and walk to thelong row of bikes on the playground. I can find mine easily because it is blue and all of the others are red.I feel like everybody is watching me, especially the groups of girls who are still sitting in front of the classroom. I arrived late and now I am leaving early. It is just good thatthe teachers don’t know. I hope nobody tells. I try to start the bike and get the engine going. It takes me a while but when the bike roars into life I am happy. I ride out of the school gates and I am going home. My first day was a complete waste of time but at least I know where the school is now, and at leastI know some of my classmates. It’s weird being back at school. I feel like a kid again.