SCHOOL DAYS

I missed the first day of school of the new year because I went to Pretoria. Upon my return, I was warmly welcomed with lots of hand shaking and hugging. ‘Gimpy’ couldn’t keep his hands off of me and finally gave me a full frontal hug; ‘Whirling Dervish’ couldn’t stand still but made several attack maneuvers, grinning all the time and shouting, until he finally whirled away; and ‘G.I.Joe’ came up to me grinning, turned around and leaned his back against my legs until I picked him up. He is the smallest in the school (after pre-school), has a delightful, care-free personality, and comes barely up to my belt buckle. The origin of his name is from when I first met him and he was wearing a fatigue jacket with an American flag on the shoulder. These three don’t ad lib in sign much, yet, beyond “Hello”. (My sign vocabulary slightly exceeds theirs, so far.) Later, in the library, the upper level students would renew our acquaintance by writing their names for me (which I promptly forget—names as Sijabu, Gcinile, Anaile, Tandzile, Themba, and Tonone. If they were Tom, Dick, and Mary, I’d more likely remember them. Faith, I remember.)

All of the kids on campus are deaf (to answer Lisa’s question), some profoundly, and others occasionally wear hearing aids. At assembly, the little ones kind of wave their hands around, pretending to sign, with blank looks on their faces, and as you move through the ranks, the motions become more distinct, meaningful, and in unison. (Ranks and files are created by class and height; smallest, left-front to tallest, right-rear; and you better toe the line and be sure your file is straight!) Last term, they ‘sang’ the National Anthem every morning at assembly, so by the end of the term I was finally brave enough to join in. This term they open only with prayer, which I’ve not attempted yet. The upper level kids sign so fast that it’s discouraging, but I’ll begin meeting with my tutor again this afternoon. I am encouraged occasionally when I can communicate with the older kids when we work together; the younger ones simply repeat the same sign again, wondering why I don’t understand them.

I was going to answer Kathy’s question in this blog, but it is so complex that I lie awake at night trying to formulate an answer and decided it will be the subject of a blog of its own. I shall paraphrase simply, “What is a nice guy like you doing in a library, of all places, creating a curriculum on HIV, of all things, for primary-age kids who are deaf, in Africa?”.

Finally, I’ll answer Leonard’s question: The price of petrol at the pump is E8.65 per liter. Dividing by an exchange rate of 6.8 would make it $1.27 per liter, and converting to gallons (which I hate to do because it is an awkward, stupid measurement) would make the price $4.815. It doesn’t matter if you buy at Galp, Engen, CalTex, or Shell, or anywhere in the kingdom, the price will be the same because the price is set by the government. I recommend you fill up at home before driving to Siteki.