Married Man

Yesterday was my first full day helping at Tshiamelo Inclusive Academy. I leave my modest lodge at 7:00 and walk the 200 meters to Claire and KJ’s to make myself some breakfast. Classes begin at 7:30. I am helping in the second grade, which is taught by Miss B. There were 11 students yesterday and another boy joined today. Many of the students are academically challenged and four have significant learning disabilities. I was somewhat helpful yesterday working one-on-one with students as they struggled to categorize nouns as persons, places or things. I was more helpful today and even led the lesson on number patterns.

The school day ends at 12:30 and the after care program begins at 1:00. I help serve lunch, assist the grade 2-5 students during the homework period, and then play in the yard until pick up time at 5:00. There is a insistent stream of ‘sir, sir’ directed at me during the homework period as students ask for help and vie for my attention. Two confident fourth grade girls, Tshepiso and Obelong, befriended me yesterday. They wanted to know about the United States and told me to bring them there the next time I came.

A third grade girl, Boikanyo, has repeatedly asked me to marry her. She clearly wants me all to herself. She refers to me as ‘my husband’ and makes many demands. I only sometimes do as she wants–I tell her she has to share me–so I am pretty disappointing as a husband. Perhaps this is normal husband behavior.

Today she gave me a picture she drew. It shows the two of us, ‘Mock’ and ‘Me,’ holding hands with a big heart between us, and our two children. It seems fitting that she is by far the biggest of the two of us.

Of the 140+ people at the school during the day, I am the only white person. Tshepiso and Obelong asked if I knew Africaans and didn’t believe me when I said no. I think I am the first non-Africaans-speaking white person they’ve met. There is a revolving cast of students who sit next to me and rub my skin. They are unaccustomed to its color and its hairiness.

There are lots of images of white people, especially blonde girls, on many of the students’ backpacks. They feel bizarrely out of place to me, but so many students have these bags that perhaps it doesn’t seem odd to them.