There is a Kenyan teacher who works in Tanzania who has decided to ruffle the feathers of his Tanzanian colleagues. He is the head of the English Department in one high school in Dar es Salaam.
The school rules in that school stipulate that the language to be used in the school compound is English. Now, it is the responsibility of this guy, being the head of the English Department, to monitor the implementation of this rule by both the teachers and the students in the school. And he is doing it with all his strength (but, unfortunately, he is stepping on some, already sore, toes as he goes along!)
Some teachers feel that this is too much. They gather in groups and vow that, because Kiswahili is their national language, they will speak it (Kiswahili) no matter what. They also vow not to allow “a foreigner” to dictate to them what they can and cannot do in their own country.
Some teachers even go to the extent of feeding this “poison” to the students. They tell them, when they find them speaking Kiswahili in the field:
“You know Kiswahili is your national language, so speak it freely. English will take you nowhere. Furthermore, English is the language of our former colonial masters. So, basically, it means we are glorifying the language of oppression rather that esteeming our own each time we speak English.”
The bubble burst the other day, when he caught a female student Kiswahili with a friend of hers. He took her to the staffroom, very furious because it seemed some students didn’t want to change. As he was about to start meting out “some form of punishment” the student spoke out, rather loudly:
“I was speaking Kiswahili with a teacher before you came along. This teacher, Mr. ***, told me that Kiswahili is my national language so there was no need to fear anything.” Anger surged up the temples of the Head of Department, and dismissing the student, he angrily rose from his seat and bounded towards the staffroom blackboard, a piece of chalk in his hand.
He wrote: “ENGLISH IS THE LANGUAGEOF COMMUNICATION HERE AND TEACHERS ARE NOT EXEMPTED! ”
At break time he wrote on the board that there would be a staff meeting after lunch.
At lunch time he went out of the school for a “strong drink” to “prop him up” during the meeting. He came back just as the teachers were gathering in the staffroom. He was a bit tipsy.
He opened the meeting and thanked all teachers for availing themselves. He went on to say how annoyed he was due to what had happened that morning (a teacher speaking Kiswahili with a student and telling her that it was her national language so she need not worry).
He went on to say that such teachers who speak Kiswahili with the students should be ashamed “a million times”. And as he spoke, it seemed as if he wanted to land a slap on someone’s face. His tone was akin to that of a prison warder hauling a disobedient prisoner over the coals. A tone that most Tanzanians are not used to.
When question time came, a number of hands went up in the air. The teachers wanted to know why he was treating them like children. They also wanted to know why he thought he could “abuse” them and use any kind of language to talk to them. One of them even went to the extent of questioning the validity of using English as a language of communication in the school while he (the Head of English Department) used his vernacular, too, while talking to some teachers who are from the same tribe as he.
The English teacher’s tribe is … (I fear to mention it).
Hell broke loose when he stood up to answer the questions as well as to defend himself. The other Kenyan teachers (from his tribe) raised a fuss. They started shouting at the teacher who had talked about their frequent “vernacular-speaking sprees”.
It was a meeting no longer. Teachers left hurriedly and unceremoniously as pandemonium reigned supreme. Had the gathering persisted a second longer, a fight (nay, fights) would have broken out.
Early the next day, a message from an unknown sender was sent to the English teacher’s phone. It said something to the effect that the sender would gladly kill him (the teacher) and pay the transport costs of transporting his body to Kenya if he continued to “bulldoze” and “bully” them in their own country.
It was a jolting and sobering message. But he decided not to take it lying low.
In the staffroom, before the start of lessons, he read the message for all and sundry to hear. He went on to dare the sender to be “man” enough to come out in the open and challenge him one-to-one instead of hiding behind a “toothless” message.
Phewt!
Talk of Kenyans exporting impunity, high-handedness and an annoying tribal “worship”.
Monday, December 1, 2008
In My Day…
There are times I sit down and think about my primary and high schoolteachers, when I was a student many years ago. It is during these very times that I wish I were a teacher when I was a student. Yes, instead of being a teacher today.
When I remember how we used to respect our teachers (and fear them, in equal measure!) in those good old days, I shake my head wistfully.
In my day, teachers were respected members of the society. They used to enjoy being referred to as teachers. Teaching was a sought-after career in my day.
I remember I feared entering the staffroom even when called by a teacher. I would ask myself a million and one questions: Why does Mr. … wish to see me – in the staffroom? What wrong have I done? Am I presentable enough to enter the staffroom? Is there any teacher I don’t get along with (and is he/she in school today?)?
Once inside the staffroom, some teachers would start asking what wrong you had done so that they could take part in meting out “punishment”. Some would “describe” you in a most discomfiting fashion. They would say, for instance: “Your nose is as long (and crooked) as that of your father; You are as lazy as your mother; You are walking like the infamous village hag; Your head has sharp corners akin to those of a box of chalk” and so on and so forth.
We used to leave the staffroom reduced to nothing wishing never again to visit such “suffering” upon ourselves.
I also used to fear meeting with a teacher outside the school (especially during the weekends and school holidays). On espying a teacher coming in my direction, I would change direction or dive into a nearby bush. That’s as serious as it was.
This fear would be heightened when a teacher knocked on our door (at home) on a cool Saturday evening. On hearing the teacher’s voice outside, I would start shaking like a leaf on a windy day. He has surely come to report on me to my parents, I would fearfully think.
But brushing that thought aside, I would compose myself to receive my teacher – in my best manners.
Well, today…
But these days, teachers are not as esteemed as they were, say, twenty years ago. Respect for teachers has dwindled. And the teaching career is for people who have not got a chance to study anything else (that needs higher marks to study!)
A woman is regarded in low esteem when she announces her bid to get married – to a teacher. “A teacher? Why a teacher? Do you want to tell us that there are no other befitting men in “worthwhile” professions who are worthy of your hand?” the woman’s father would ask, eyes bulging; nerves strained.
The remuneration, too, is not very enticing. It can hardly meet a teacher’s basic needs. Thus, some teachers resort to setting up small businesses (for instance, selling vegetables and other groceries) to supplement their salaries.
Students nowadays don’t think twice about entering the staffroom. Some of them don’t even knock when they get in. when I call one student to the staffroom he/she comes with a friend as an escort. In my day, this would have been an abomination. Some even come to the staffroom to chat with teachers. Come to think of it!
Students today can call you by your name (without the titles Mr., Mrs. or Miss so and so!) out loud in the street. It’s like they are calling their buddies. This reminds me: Once, two years ago, I was invited to a wedding by a friend of mine. As I was in the queue waiting to be served with food, a student of mine shot from wherever he’d been and came and stood behind me.
When I got to the server, I had to lean so 5hat I could whisper to her (the server) tat I’d be honoured to be served…with an extra spoon of cabbages. She did so, and my nosy student heard it all. It is then that he tugged at my shirt to catch my attention. I was surprised to see him there. We exchanged pleasantries and left it at that.
Come Monday I had a lesson in that boy’s class. In the middle of the lesson, the boy raised his hand and asked me why I had been greedy at the wedding reception.
A hot flush rose up my cheek, and before I could do anything about it, he shouted out for the whole class to hear: “The teacher asked for more food than the rest of the guys at the wedding reception.” He burst out laughing and the rest of the class followed suit. By the time I restored “order” in the class the “damage” had already been done.
That was two years ago.
Today my head is heavy with thought. I am hankering after and exceedingly pining for the day when the teaching profession will regain its lost colour. But will this day ever come?
When I remember how we used to respect our teachers (and fear them, in equal measure!) in those good old days, I shake my head wistfully.
In my day, teachers were respected members of the society. They used to enjoy being referred to as teachers. Teaching was a sought-after career in my day.
I remember I feared entering the staffroom even when called by a teacher. I would ask myself a million and one questions: Why does Mr. … wish to see me – in the staffroom? What wrong have I done? Am I presentable enough to enter the staffroom? Is there any teacher I don’t get along with (and is he/she in school today?)?
Once inside the staffroom, some teachers would start asking what wrong you had done so that they could take part in meting out “punishment”. Some would “describe” you in a most discomfiting fashion. They would say, for instance: “Your nose is as long (and crooked) as that of your father; You are as lazy as your mother; You are walking like the infamous village hag; Your head has sharp corners akin to those of a box of chalk” and so on and so forth.
We used to leave the staffroom reduced to nothing wishing never again to visit such “suffering” upon ourselves.
I also used to fear meeting with a teacher outside the school (especially during the weekends and school holidays). On espying a teacher coming in my direction, I would change direction or dive into a nearby bush. That’s as serious as it was.
This fear would be heightened when a teacher knocked on our door (at home) on a cool Saturday evening. On hearing the teacher’s voice outside, I would start shaking like a leaf on a windy day. He has surely come to report on me to my parents, I would fearfully think.
But brushing that thought aside, I would compose myself to receive my teacher – in my best manners.
Well, today…
But these days, teachers are not as esteemed as they were, say, twenty years ago. Respect for teachers has dwindled. And the teaching career is for people who have not got a chance to study anything else (that needs higher marks to study!)
A woman is regarded in low esteem when she announces her bid to get married – to a teacher. “A teacher? Why a teacher? Do you want to tell us that there are no other befitting men in “worthwhile” professions who are worthy of your hand?” the woman’s father would ask, eyes bulging; nerves strained.
The remuneration, too, is not very enticing. It can hardly meet a teacher’s basic needs. Thus, some teachers resort to setting up small businesses (for instance, selling vegetables and other groceries) to supplement their salaries.
Students nowadays don’t think twice about entering the staffroom. Some of them don’t even knock when they get in. when I call one student to the staffroom he/she comes with a friend as an escort. In my day, this would have been an abomination. Some even come to the staffroom to chat with teachers. Come to think of it!
Students today can call you by your name (without the titles Mr., Mrs. or Miss so and so!) out loud in the street. It’s like they are calling their buddies. This reminds me: Once, two years ago, I was invited to a wedding by a friend of mine. As I was in the queue waiting to be served with food, a student of mine shot from wherever he’d been and came and stood behind me.
When I got to the server, I had to lean so 5hat I could whisper to her (the server) tat I’d be honoured to be served…with an extra spoon of cabbages. She did so, and my nosy student heard it all. It is then that he tugged at my shirt to catch my attention. I was surprised to see him there. We exchanged pleasantries and left it at that.
Come Monday I had a lesson in that boy’s class. In the middle of the lesson, the boy raised his hand and asked me why I had been greedy at the wedding reception.
A hot flush rose up my cheek, and before I could do anything about it, he shouted out for the whole class to hear: “The teacher asked for more food than the rest of the guys at the wedding reception.” He burst out laughing and the rest of the class followed suit. By the time I restored “order” in the class the “damage” had already been done.
That was two years ago.
Today my head is heavy with thought. I am hankering after and exceedingly pining for the day when the teaching profession will regain its lost colour. But will this day ever come?
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