Shakeups and Surprises

By mid-January I had to return to Okando, school was starting! When I returned home to the village my family had underwent a metamorphosis. Family in Owambo culture is not your nuclear family, it includes all aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, and nephews. In fact there aren't words for most of those relations in Oshiwambo. Three of my siblings had moved on to hostel schools, and two siblings returned home after completing grade 12. Two of my older brothers also returned to the homestead to help with cultivating.

On my first day of school, I awoke in the predawn to a rainstorm beating on my tin roof. As I lay in bed, I asked myself, "Self, do you have to go to school today? You've never even called in sick, faking or otherwise!" I mustered enough will power to get out of bed and used extra protection for my walk; a raincoat and a poncho.

When I arrived at school it seemed just like last year, it started with a 'brief' meeting. Unfortunately the word brief just doesn't translate and the meeting dragged on and on (and on). Fortunately there were many surprises in the meeting to prevent me from taking a siesta. The biggest surprise is we're getting grade 11 at Emvula JSS. My principal explained that since our grade 10 learners performed well last year, we were to be 'rewarded' with a class of 40 grade 11 learners. I don't know if 'reward' translates that well either. The teachers were furious over this decision for many reasons. Basically they think our school's performance will nosedive because of the added load of another grade and we don't have resources for 40 more kids.

Our school was also chosen because we have more classrooms than classes, leaving some rooms empty for some periods. The principal asked if we had any ideas, literally anything. After a long silence I suggested we split up the classes we have. There are six classes with around 35 learners each, not an ideal size but we make it work. If we were to split them up, then we wouldn't have any open classrooms and they would (hopefully) receive more attention, problem solved, right? But another surprise was in store to kill my idea, according to my principal there is a minimum class size of 30 learners. That's not a typo, 30 learners is the minimum class size. Boisterous laughter ensued in my head; maximum for US, minimum for Nam, all too true.

I started the year teaching two classes of grade eight math and grade ten physical science. The grade eights seemed nice, smiles on their faces, pens busily scribbling math in their notebooks. I speak about as fast as they type, one word per minute. After a year of teaching Namibian learners, I have a good idea when kids understand something or just feign it. So just to test them, I said, "If you understand what I'm saying, raise your hand." Only three or four kids raised their hands and guess who they were, the repeaters from last year. I thought maybe that was too hard of a question so I asked, "What day is it?" This time no one answered. I tried the direct Oshiwambo translation, "How much is the day?" Their faces remained unchanged, smiles and glazed eyes. It dawned on me that last year there was a majority of repeat learners and that this year it was almost all newcomers. After a few more days I spoke to the other math teacher and we swapped classes. So the official count has me at grade nine math and grade ten physical science. These classes include all the learners I taught last year, so they understand how I pronounce the letter 'r'.

A wise mad once said, shake me up, shake me down, shakin that thing all over town. So after all that shakin it's been same old same old, I go to school everyday and try to teach some kids something.


A few kilometers from my house is a big hole in the ground. The sand was used to build the current gravel road. It's a nearly perennial source of water for the village.


This is my host-grandmother Nangombe in her Sunday best.