It’s eight o’clock and already the sun is scorching here at Pearston Primary. At Paulet House, we were up early to be on time for the big do. On the beautiful Bruintjieshoogte Pass between KwaNojoli and Pearston, I feast my eyes on the mountains that were still covered in snow just last week.
It’s me, Gilbert van Zyl and Siena Arends from the Jakes Gerwel Foundation, Leana Kotze from Citizen Connect, dr Zakaza from Nal’ibali and her son, Luxolo, as well as the optometrist Johan van der Merwe and his team from The Small Projects Foundation. Later we are joined by theatre makers from ASSITEJ. Even later, I pick up Nompumelelo Sokoyi from her house. My right hand should actually be in bed – she has been booked off with a sore back but doesn’t want to miss out on anything. How wonderful that there are so many hands!
The day’s programme has been meticulously planned, but we already know that African time gets a whole new meaning here. Ja-nee, laughs Gilbert next to the table packed with sausages and bread rolls. Here, no-one dies of stress, and certainly not of being late. He and Siena have been preparing to feed the more than five hundred mouths since yesterday. Juice and fruit have been set up at different stations.
The excitement is audible, tangible. My phone is fully charged, ready to take photos. After all, I want to document this day for all the anonymous donors on BackaBuddy who contributed to the children’s gifts; for the support of KAMERS/Makers; for our partners like Suidoosterfees, who helps bring theatre to the schools every year; and NB Publishers who generously donates books.
I ask the little ones: What is happening here today? The stuff for the eyes, one boy gestures by creating spectacles around his eyes with his fingers. Absolutely. The Small Projects Foundation’s bus is already parked at the school gate. This combi has been set up to test children’s eyesight. They receive both the eye test and prescription glasses for free.
And what else? I gesture towards the gift bags neatly packed into crates by the assistants in one of the classrooms. The children didn’t suspect a thing! One of the ASSITEJ actors puts on a warm suit to entertain the kids. Mariska Spoormaker, RSG journalist, pulls me aside to ask whether one of the children would be willing to read to her. Soon a group of willing readers gathers around her. Wow, why do you read so beautifully? No, Teacher, comes the answer, I’m from Johannesburg. Apparently everyone there reads beautifully!
The children from Lukhanyiso walk all the way from the township on the other side of town, over the bridge. We decide that we would rather drive some of the little ones. They are way too small to walk that far. Everyone who is able helps us to transport them. The children greet me with a song and we high five. I sing along, not knowing a single word. We get into the car dancing. The teacher sits next to me and in the rearview mirror I can see the little ones whispering behind their hands. I hear the amazement in their voices. A missed photo opportunity: the faces of children who see the other side for the first time after driving for barely five minutes.
The day is filled with our reading assistants having the children play and dance in different places on the premises, the energetic dr Zakaza getting the shyest children reading, and the little ones reporting one by one for their eye tests. Some of them realise for the first time how bright the world actually is!
I take one photo after another. Of children devouring hot dogs, gulping down juice to quench their thirst. What else would you expect in a town without running water? I take photos of the classrooms, young readers, little feet dancing. Hands greedily clutching fruit. I erase most of them. That’s not how you show poverty or the good you do for others. The things privileged people take for granted are considered luxuries here.
Three little girls tug on my trousers. I must take photos of them too, each with a star on their forehead and no front teeth. Aren’t you too young to be in school? The one who introduces herself as Koekie holds up four fingers above her forehead to show how old she is. I snap a photo, knowing that I won’t be able to share their faces on social media, and they giggle at how they look.
The activities come to an end. The children line up to receive gifts from the assistants before disappearing onto the dirt road outside the school gate. Don’t open your gifts yet! the teachers say. Why not? I want to ask but I don’t want to step on any toes. A few can’t contain their curiosity. They have barely reached the gate before tearing open the paper bags. Amazement is written across their faces as they struggle to decide what to take out first – the KitKat, the chips or the toy. These are faces I don’t have to photograph; they are imprinted in my memories.
***
Exhausted we sit on the stoep at Paulet House, reflecting on the day’s events with a cold glass of Boland Cellars wine in hand. I want to take photos, but I reconsider. No-one is in the mood, and we are all drained after a day in the sun after all. We share stories of our own children at home, of the beauty of the Eastern Cape, of how nice it is working together, of the indescribable feeling of satisfaction when you realise that you have made a difference in the lives of others. The need is great, and the hands can never be enough. We won’t dare patting ourselves on the back too hard. We are too grateful for that after having eaten Gilbert’s deconstructed Beef Wellington.
Later we listen to Brenda Fassie, Paul Simon and Johnny Clegg. The party can’t go on too late, because tomorrow is another day. I go to bed knowing that I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. This country, with all its problems and its laid-back attitude and its warm-blooded people, is where I belong.
***
The next morning, it’s KwaNojoli’s turn. St Theresa’s and William Oates are having their Christmas party together. Later, we arrive at Masiqaqambe, which, together with Gilbert Xuza Primary, provides a refuge for the Xhosa learners in the township. I am astonished at the effort they have put in: A tent, trimmed with Christmas decorations, has been pitched to shield everyone against the already blazing sun. Christmas songs are playing through a speaker. I am shown to my seat by the principal, who gestures towards a chair at a table set with glitter, golden stars and a carafe of water.
Lithemba, one of our reading assistants, gives me a look and I know exactly what he means. I can’t sit back now. We will have to make a plan not to look bad in front of the teachers – all dressed up in red and white. We head to town to look for a Father Christmas costume. In this small town with its limited shops, it’s easier said than done. Later, a street vendor sends us to his home where his wife would be able to help us. She frowns when we explain to her what we need; she only has children’s costumes. Lithemba and I laugh – who makes Father Christmas costumes for children? They are the ones who are supposed to be entertained by adults! We buy it anyway, thinking someone will be able to wear it. Where would we find a child who doesn’t believe in Father Christmas anymore? It’s not really something you can ask of a young child … On our way back, Lithemba comes up with a plan. The suit could probably fit one of the smallest female assistants in the group. I keep my scepticism to myself but am elated when I am proven wrong. I wish I had taken a picture of Lithemba’s smile when his plan worked out.
Thank goodness for African patience, I think when we return to the school about an hour later. It doesn’t seem like anyone noticed that we were gone! Mother Christmas gets dressed in one of the classrooms while the assistants keep the children busy. Then she emerges with a balloon belly to imitate the generous, chubby man with the long beard.
Later, after the function ended, I take the assistants to Paulet House group by group. Gilbert and Siena have prepared hamburgers and chips for all the hungry mouths. Just before the hill on the way to Masiqaqambe, I see some of the Gilbert Xuza children in their yellow and black uniforms heading back to school. I notice it too late to take a photo: a group of boys reading from their Book Dash books! Could it be? Are they truly reading books? And these are boys I usually see kicking a ball around at this time in the afternoon.
***
Back at Paulet House, the weather takes a turn. A thunderstorm hits. Oh no, what now? I ask Siena. How will we make room for everyone in the house? It doesn’t seem like the drops are bothering them. Now we do nothing, Siena laughs. We just enjoy it. The rain is a blessing.
Theo obtained his master’s degree in creative writing at Stellenbosch University. He has been involved with various projects in the arts before in his role as, among others, project manager of the Woordfees, advertising coordinator at NB Publishers, programme manager at the KKNK as well as at the Vrystaat Literature Festival and as executive director of the Breytenbach Centre in Wellington.
Theo is the author of two novels, Skool and Strafjaart.
