Day of the African Child

Day of the African Child in Namibia

June 16, 2011

I’m not sure whether it’s order within disorder, or vice versa. There are a lot of rules and protocols here, but there is also a lot of built-in flexibility. Today was African Child’s Day (or African Children’s Day, it was not clear which and of course the only access to the internet was locked up so I couldn’t check) and just yesterday teachers were asked to have their students come up with a skit, poem, poster, etc. to help with today’s celebration.

The staff meeting this morning was an exercise in fluidity. The principal announced today’s schedule, which was to have been a “half day,” meaning that we would hold the first five periods of 40 minutes each (from 7:10 to 10:30) and then we would have the celebration assembly for the rest of the day. Normally we would have a break from 10:30 to 11:00 a.m. and then three more periods after that, finishing at 1 p.m. There were a few more announcements, including a reminder about HIV/AIDS awareness activities next week, a visitor from a college in Botswana, and a complaint by a teacher whose classroom was used by others, who said that her classroom had been left in disarray and with materials missing.

The teacher who was organizing the Child’s Day assembly ran through the projected program, but here the elastic started to make itself felt. There were several discussions about which classes were doing what, what needed to be added to the program, how long the skits and choir were going to take, etc. One teacher said that “apparently” her class was going to perform a skit, which provoked some verbal jabs from other teachers, possibly because the word “apparently” usually means “probably” in Namibia…either way, this teacher’s colleagues were ribbing her about whether her students were, or were not, going to perform.

During the course of this discussion, the school day gradually eroded until it was decided that we would only have the first two periods, then a bit of time for people to get ready, and then the assembly would start. No exact time was stated, and in fact it just kind of “happened” when everyone was ready. Everyone except the choir just milled around on the ground outside the dining hall, and eventually one of the teachers opened the doors and learners poured in. There were only enough chairs for about half the students, since there are basically only chairs for the hostel students to sit in when they eat – and there are about 275 hostel students out of a population of somewhere around 500. So the students from the upper grades sat near the front and the younger ones stood in the back.

Given this arrangement, and the fact that all the teachers sat in front instead of with their students in order to monitor them, it was amazingly orderly. There are L.R.C.’s who monitor the students to some extent – this stands for Learner Representative Council and they are like dorm proctors. However, you don’t see them reprimanding or shushing the students continually. At one point, a teacher reminded the L.R.C.’s to do a better job of policing their charges, but this didn’t seem to have much effect one way or the other.

The program was entirely student-run. There was a master and mistress of ceremonies, and they ran the show. The principal was present, but other than a brief mention at the beginning, he played no substantive part in the proceedings. There were some valiant attempts at getting a sound system to work, but on the whole it was more static than it was worth, and no one really needed much amplification. The choir (everyone is going to be sooooo tired of me talking about this choir) sang 8 songs overall, several in languages I couldn’t identify. Most songs do not appear to have verses or stanzas, although the Namibian national anthem is one that does. Instead, the songs tend to be a series of short phrases or even one word, repeated by various voices (soprano, alto, etc.) and in various configurations (overlapping groups, like rounds) or in different registers. One of the “directors” is a young man who was “head boy” here last year; he started at UNam (the University of Namibia) but had to drop out due to lack of funds, so for the time being he is helping with the choir and trying to earn money to go back to university. He sometimes sits in with the choir to provide some drumming, and then a young woman with long fluid arms and white-gloved hands directs. We haven’t yet figured out who she is; she’s not a teacher that we recognize. (This is not unusual – people who seem to have some role on the staff routinely appear and disappear on various days.) The male director told us after the program that the choir has only been practicing together for six days – the day we arrived, when we heard their voices from the dining hall as we pulled into the grounds of the school, was their first day of practice!

(Note: As I write this, I’m sitting outside in a kind of dusty interior courtyard (facing some oil drum “rubbish bins” gathered under a few palm trees) to enjoy the sunny afternoon quiet, and three girls just walked by. They stopped when they saw me, and asked if I had any “polish” for them. Thinking they might be looking for fingernail polish, I asked them that, but they said “No miss, just any kind of polish.” (Light bulb goes on.) Me: “What are you going to use the polish for?” Girls: “We want to polish the floors of the school.” I should have figured this out. Earlier another pair of girls had come to our hostel apartment asking for a mop for the same purpose. I guess if you don’t get to go home for the long weekend, you have the privilege of cleaning the school. Some things are reaaaalllly different here.)

There were two skits, and some cultural performances by different groups. Both of the skits had to do with the Soweto riots of 1976 that eventually prompted the beginning of African Child’s Day. The skits were very realistic portrayals of the scenario where students demanded to be taught in English (“our own language”) instead of Afrikaans.

It looked like virtually all the “colored” students from the school played parts in the skit about the South African Police beating young South African students. The current “head boy,” playing the recalcitrant South African child who refused to answer in Afrikaans, suffered a real slap in the face that brought an uproar from the student audience.

The South African Police skit included a scene where the police beat a group of students that was very realistic; the students adopted the stance of troops holding weapons, and stamped and swung fake blows that made me cringe, even though no one was actually struck. The students seem very familiar with the kinds of injustice black people have suffered in Africa. Compared to Afrikaans, English was shown as the language of liberation, which seemed odd to me. I wonder if this would be the case in other parts of Africa…

One of the cultural performances was also a little unsettling. The boys from Herero families did a marching routine that was clearly familiar to everyone there, but reminded me a bit too much of Nazi goose-stepping. The Herero, despite being horribly persecuted by the Germans who held Namibia as a colony before World War I, have quite a few cultural remnants of past contact with Germany, including the way women dress for formal or ceremonious occasions: long, full skirts of brightly patterned colors (not necessarily “African” patterns) with multiple layers of petticoats underneath, usually with matching blousy tops and often scarves as well. However, they have their own hybrid millinery – calling them “hats” doesn’t do them justice. They look like cow horns covered with the same fabric as the skirts, and in the old days they actually were horns underneath the fabric. Nowadays, we’re told, they use stiff paper, but the effect is still that of two huge horns curving forward from the tops of their foreheads, covered in flowers or patterned cloth.

The Herero are famous for thinking of nothing but cattle. One of my grade 9 students told me with great pride about how many cattle his grandfather has, how many are slaughtered for a wedding or celebration, how good the meat tastes, etc. etc. One Herero man we met told us he dreams of nothing but cows.

The students’ delight and pride in being African children filled the echo-y room, especially when the choir started the last song, “Africa,” and everyone joined in. It was an unlifting sense of pride that literally sent waves through the air. Below I’ve printed some of the poems my students wrote so you can get a sense of how special this day is to them.

“I am an African child, the future of tomorrow.

The one who takes the journey to life.

An African child is one who cares, loves, respects and is determined to fight for the coming leaders.

One who develops self-confidence and does not give up on anything. We are the future leaders, future ministers and we are the AFRICAN CHILDREN.”

By Paulina, Zeshinda, Penehafo, Ester, Elizabeth, Claudia, and Ainy

“An African child is one who believes in other African children

…one who dreams for his/her future

…one who wants to achieve his/her goals

…one who stands up for all African children

…one who stands in position to protect others

Africa Unite!”

By Joe-Marry, Allen, Susanna, Laitago, Deo-Marlon, Quinton, and Carlos

“We are the proud children, proud children of Africa

We come from Namibia, from south of the border and west of sunshine…”

I dream, dream more than I forget for the Future, as a leader of African children who are poor, into the richer kingdom to make a better day.”

I hope that in some small way I’m helping these students to make the changes they want to see happen, in Namibia and in Africa.