Two Worlds, One Week: World 2 Amasango

Walk down High Street, past the cathedral, past the traffic circle and you come to Grahamstown’s now closed rail station. Past the old stone station and the one engine of an antique train sitting in front of it, down the unused tracks is a small building with a barbed wire fence around it. The Amasango School looks like any of the other slightly ramshackle houses in the area. The only distinguishing feature is the small white van with “Amasango Career School” printed on it.

This Monday was the second time Alice and I had visited Amasango. The first time, last week, had been a bit of a bust. Not realizing the school day ended at 2:00 we came too late in the afternoon, as school was ending. We still met some of the kids and walked around a little bit, but it had obviously been an incredibly stressful day and everyone there looked exhausted.

We arrived at 12:30 and were fairly randomly directed to a third year classroom. The year which a child is placed in is determined by education level, not age, so it was not exactly the typical age group of third grade students. Their ages ranged from 10 to maybe 14 or 15, maybe older. It was their “playtime.” The teacher had finished lessons for the day and the students were free to play in the classroom. Some of them were drawing, on scraps of paper with pencils or writing pens. Others were playing cards with a deck that seemed to have six black eights. The older students sat in the back talking and laughing like most students everywhere do when given the chance. Some children just sat, their exercise books still sitting in front of them. Two were asleep, with their heads on their desks. Alice and I didn’t really know what we were doing, so we just plunged in.

I sat with two of the smaller boys as they showed me what they were drawing. One of them was very interested in drawing houses. Or one house, really. A square with a flat top and sloped sides with a door in the middle. Inside he drew one bed and cupboards, outside a waterspout and a long row of steps leading to the door. I asked where he lived, and he told me the Eluxolweni shelter, the other boy got up and led me to the door to point out the brown brick building on a hill across from us. The shelter for street children is where most of the children who come to Amasango live.

I met many other students, tried, (and mostly failed) to remember and pronounce their names. I’m not going to attempt to spell any of them. The older students were amazed I didn’t know Xhosa, and I told them they would just have to teach me. I don’t think I am going to be a very good student, although I do know ‘molo’ means hello and ‘unjani’ means how are you?

It was as I attempted to explain where England was to one of the older boys, while simultaneously trying to think of the right thing to say to the girl who looked at my wavy hair with jealousy and asked why it was so soft, and right after trying to help one of the younger ones with a math problem, that I realized how inadequate I was for this job. What these kids really need are ten more teachers, counseling, and school rooms stocked with school supplies. Instead they get some college students.

I am out of my depth, but so is everyone who works here. Jane, the teachers, the staff, the security guard who sits all day in the doorway of the school office. Thursday we will be coming at 8:30 in the morning. I plan to bring some books, and a map, to show everyone where England is.