Impressions of a parallel world

The author sees how class and race are still sore points in the post-apartheid society.

That smile will forever live with me.

At two years of age, its owner Michael was the youngest student at the Concordia Crèche in the city of George, South Africa. It was lunch time and he had asked me to peel an orange for him. Fascinated, he saw as I used my bare hands to tear off the fruit’s thick skin and presented it to him. And that’s when he flashed me that beautiful, innocent smile and shouted “thank you” as if I had done a huge favour to him.

That moment is engraved in my mind and every time I feel remorse for Michael’s situation, I console myself with the thought that I had at least given him some moments in life when he was truly happy.

I had met Michael during my three-week summer internship at the crèche, a type of boarding school for children’s development, discipline and preschool education. I was part of a batch of six volunteers who were selected for the internship; two of us were from Britain, one from the US and two from Germany. I had applied through a British organisation that recruits volunteers for various development sector projects across the world. I had specifically asked to be placed in South Africa and at a school where I would get the opportunity to work with very young children. After a year-long screening process, I was deemed suitable and assigned to work at the Concordia Crèche, which accommodates 70 children — 33 boys and 37 girls — the youngest of whom is about two years old and the eldest is eight.

Like almost everywhere else in South Africa, there was immense racial disparity at the crèche. During my time in the country, which is now being touted as Africa’s equivalent of a BRIC, I realised that South Africa may have moved on from its days of the apartheid but that the line that divides the different races is like a deep scar; visible even after the pain has subdued.

“We have never had a single white child at the crèche,” says Irine, the school’s principal. “Perhaps it’s because no white family lives in this township.” But while it would be a horror if they were to enrol one of their kids at the crèche, seemingly rich white folks regularly visited the school to take some pictures and hand out some candy. I learnt in time that George is a popular holiday destination.

The concept of race was so ingrained in the children’s minds that they would refer to me as “umlungu” which is the term for a white person in Xhosa, the local language. But for one five-year-old black little girl, I wasn’t white enough. “Why [do] you make trouble? Why you speak English and not Xhosa? You are coloured and not white. English is for white people,” she told me very seriously. I was taken aback by the fact that such a young child had already formed an identity based on a race and tribe.

For a school the size of Concordia Crèche, that’s a lot of baggage. The school can only afford to have three teachers on staff, excluding the principal herself, who teach English, Xhosa, math and art. The monthly fee per child is about 150 rands (approximately Rs1,800) but since most students come from underprivileged backgrounds, the school has to raise a large amount of funds on its own. “Most parents and guardians cannot afford to pay, which is why we have to rely on outside funding,” says Irine. “I don’t want these little children to end up on the streets, so even when guardians do not pay, I buy supplies out of my own salary.”

This is why the crèche depends on volunteers, who supplement the work of the staff so that they can concentrate on their teaching responsibilities. For instance, as a volunteer, my daily routine included mopping floors, serving food, cleaning dishes and sometimes even changing nappies!

The local welfare trust steps in to provide funds when the crèche is in need and the building of the school was donated by the Rotary Club International. “It is extremely hard to set up a school in the township. With such limited funds, the school can only afford three teachers. I also have to pay my own salary out of these funds,” says Irine.

Nevertheless, Irine is proud of her staff for still being able to make a contribution towards ensuring that the children get the basic rights they’re often denied: an education, proper nutrition and love. “Most of these children are not loved enough at home, so they keep hugging the volunteers. We also manage to provide them two square meals a day for breakfast and lunch,” she says.

“The kids, most of whom are from very harsh backgrounds, love hugging the volunteers,” says Charlotte, the art teacher. “Some do not know who their father is and some kids have 15-year-old mothers.”

The school has two main, fairly large areas where three classes can be held at one time. There is a principal’s office, a kitchen, a store and a bathroom in the main building as well. At a short distance is the play area, my favourite part in the building, where I was able to bond with the kids and understand them in all their vulnerabilities. Equipped with a set of swings, seesaws and obstacle courses, it was my bonding place with the children.

One of my favourite students was Michelle. This four-year-old girl was at the top of her class and took serious pride in her ability to recognise English alphabets by just feeling them with her eyes closed. I would place plastic alphabets in a bag and ask her to pick an alphabet and tell me which one it was. It was a win-win situation for both of us: Michelle would always ace the test and I would always get a tight hug whenever she got an alphabet right.

Another one of the kids’ favourite activities was chasing out the dogs and cats that would cross the plot’s wire fence and come running into the play area. The kids wouldn’t take kindly to the animals messing with our dirt.

Among the most remarkable things about the crèche was the school’s “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy about HIV/AIDS, in order to ensure that there was no discrimination against a child suffering from the virus. This is in line with the policy of the government of South Africa, where the United Nations Children’s Fund (Unicef) estimates a 5.6% HIV prevalence rate among children between the ages of two and 14 years. Under this policy, the teachers and volunteers were told to take the necessary precautions but were kept in the dark about students who may be HIV-positive.

The school is struggling to make ends meet right now but I am hopeful that its fortunes will soon change. The crèche is part of a bigger project that is trying to uplift the economy of the township. A youth centre named Sinethemba, part of the bigger picture, supports jobless adults and teens over the ages of 15. They learn welding and carpentry and the centre provides vocational training to the teens and adults so that they can employ their skills to uplift the local economy. With help from the German government, which sends volunteers every year, the youth centre has managed to rehabilitate over 50 children and young adults since its inception.

“I have been here for the past one year and really like it. The German government sponsored two volunteers this year. I oversee the welding programme and I hope my students will be able to sustain themselves after they graduate,” says Flow, one of the volunteers from Germany.

Volunteering at the school made me realise that love and acceptance is not only what these children need, but what all of us need. It was when the children showed me how to make buildings using wooden blocks and then, to reward my success, we danced together in true tribal fashion that I realised something: I had gone there to be the teacher but during all my time there, I was in fact the student.

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, October 14^th, 2012.

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