"No..." comes the mumble from under the small heap of child, lying just off the carpet from where the other children are sitting cross-legged and upright in their obedient lines. On the whiteboard, amongst the list of the other occasional disobedient childrens' names, Micaylah's name (ironically the longest name in the class) is almost fully spelled out: 'Micayl'. But the six year old is still spitefully lying on her side and fiddling with the chairs foot next to her, unwilling to fit in with the crowd. It is my first day working as a teaching assistant and I don't quite understand my role in this disciplinary system, but I am feeling slightly sorry for the small children forced into such a strict school system every day of their lives. Finally the teacher had enough and asks me to take her out to miss who-ever in an office where-ever. I'm slightly panicking, because I'm very lost in the school's corridors although I don't want the children to notice, but I confidently urge Micaylah to stand up and come with me. I am very aware of the fact that the children know I'm new, and will therefore try their luck with me, because I haven't earned my respect from them yet. After no response the teacher drags her out on her one hand and I take the other, but Micaylah refuses to walk on her own two feet. Just outside in the corridor, where she plunges into a heap again, I give up and sit next to her.
"What's wrong, Micaylah?" I try to make eye contact, but her eyes are spitefully fixed on the floor.
"I don't want to be at school!"
"I can understand that, but neither of us has a choice and now you’re just making it difficult for me."
“I just want to go home.” She mumbled.
“I can’t send you home, so we’ll just have to make the best of it.” By now, the rebellion in her eyes was turning into complete helplessness and a big tear were rolling down her one cheek. “Won’t you try and participate in the class, please?”
“School is boring, I want to go home.” No more naughtiness, just true sadness, true regret.
“Micaylah, you’re just making it hard for yourself. Do you understand that? It would be so much easier if you just obeyed and tried to cooperate with the rest of the class.”
Real tears, real sadness, she couldn’t stop herself from giving in, she looked completely helpless, defeated, overpowered, and my heart is aching for her. Her battle was lost. Just another brick in the wall. At that moment I just wanted to sit down on the floor and cry with her. “We don’t need no education! We don’t need no thought control. Teachers leave them kids alone!” I’m sure she could see in my eyes that we understand each other, so she dried her tears and willingly took my hand to lead her to her time-out session. Micaylah was the first child in the Schools of London that really entered my heart.
In the last few weeks, these children really opened up my heart and showed me a part of myself that I didn’t know existed. My job has changed from setting tables and serving afternoon tea...
to explaining to four year olds why they cannot eat their pudding before they had some vegetables...
Instead of explaining to customers about Chardonnay and Pinot Grigio, I have to remember names like Shadenay and Omarian.
So, in short, this is the changes in my life going on while my blogging is silent and non-existent. the main reason for this, though, is because I have another (Afrikaans) blog to manage lately. Feel free to check it out for some of my other philosophies and experiences that I share with the Afrikaners at home:
