Traumatic episodes follow the first day at school

Many of those who cried on the first day are still crying. Many of those who tried to escape are still eyeing the exit door. Even those who were too overwhelmed to cry or flee are still coming to terms with this strange experience. Even Morena, my former classmate (see “The tearful comedy of first day at school”) was still acclimatizing by this time.

I remember how the sub-sequent weeks, months and years became hell for some of us. We got introduced to caning -- sometimes for speaking without permission. You also got lashes for giving the wrong answer, or for arriving late after break time. And the drama that went with it was both amusing and traumatizing.

I do not know whether to be grateful or to lambast the fact that corporal punishment (CP) has been abolished at schools. This mental conflict was re-ignited in December when I met my former high school teacher inside KFC. (Don’t judge me; the smell of that greasy chicken is irresistible.) We exchanged pleasantries. And I pummeled her with questions –- where is teacher so and so? Oh, principal Mofokeng is retiring? 

A mother stood between us in the queue. As we were shuffling towards the KFC personnel, who often look like they are close to collapsing under fatigue (mostly we say their customer service sucks), and the nice-to-see-you flame between my teacher and I was ebbing, Mother felt the need to extend the conversation:

‘Ngwanaka, tell me, when did you finish school?
‘1997, Mme,’ I replied.
‘Aha, so teachers used to lash you during those days?’ she asked, looking pleased.
‘Ho jwalo, Mme.’
‘I see by the way you seem to get along with your teacher.’
(Where is this going, I wandered before she concluded)
‘Kajeno bana ke di “gammors” hoba ha ba sa shapuwa (today kids are rubbish because teachers can’t lash them.) Look what a good man you have become; even your teacher is proud to chat to you.’

I just smiled and remained quiet, fearing that arguing against (CP) will make Mmistrese (Mma)Putsoane to order me to go find “thupa” outside, bring it to her, and have her lash me inside a packed fried chicken shop (mind you, I was carrying Boitshwaro at that time; what type of father would I appear to be to him?)

If it wasn’t for the fear of looming CP inside KFC, I’d have retorted: Mme, the caning we used to get has left me with scars. I am afraid to use my brains to this day. Yes, we abided by the rules; we conformed; and we accepted the wrath of canes breaking our palms, and tearing through our buttocks. Yes Mme, we forgave Titjhere Mabaso who threw anything (chalk, duster, a chair) at learners whenever his lessons were not getting through to us. And whose problem was that, Mme? Was it ours or of a teacher who was often ill-prepared, who drank a lot and had self-esteem issues?

I am getting agitated just thinking about Mabaso and a whole bunch of emotionally reckless teachers I have come across in my 12 years of imbibing Bantu education. So I suggest we drop this subject of violence right here. But before we do, there were also very good teachers. I appreciate their lashes because if they did not talk sense into you before whipping you, they did it after their cane had eaten into your skin. Their words of wisdom were like salve on your sore bum.

Boitshwaro’s first week at crèche is not without hair-raising incidents, as you are about to find out. On the day before the official opening of the schools, we left him at crèche. We returned after a while. He did not cry. So we thought: awesome!

The first day was okay, even though we’re told that he was demanding to see his Mother. The following morning, he cried the moment his teacher opened the door to receive him. He came close to digging in the teacher’s face as he tried to break free. When we left him, we were heart-broken.

This morning, as we pulled in, he cried. As soon as the same teacher who received him yesterday came out, mayhem began. Suddenly, poor teacher was holding the renegade in her right hand while using her left hand to rescue her hair from being pulled off her scalp.

We tried to help by offering to kiss him or to give him his favourite “shap-shap” greeting. To our relief, and, oh for the sake of teacher’s jumbled up hair, another teacher came wearing a big smile. She offered to hold him. Boitshwaro welcomed the offer. Peace was restored. Poor teacher could restore her hair back to order.

Today is day 3 yet kids are already choosing this teacher over the other. We may never know how things unfold during the course of the day at school, but the minds of kids are already engaged and patterns are emerging.

While the fanfare of the first day at school is fading, and Friday is bringing us to the first weekend of the schooling season, we may have to consider that the kids will adjust to what seems like a traumatic moment for some at their own pace. And that their coping mechanisms will go a long way to define the relationships they will have with their teachers, their surroundings and with us (parents.) Helping them to adjust will be a long and complex task. We must be alert to pick up the signals and respond, perhaps in ways we are not accustomed to. It is time to do parenting.