The school year is finished. Having spent most of my time with the older pupils at the school, I am preparing to say good bye—and good luck—to more than a dozen kids from grade seven who will be attending high schools in the township when school resumes on January 15.
To mark their success, I am taking every student that’s passed grade seven out to dinner at Gino’s, a nice Italian restaurant in the predominately white part of Grahamstown. Earlier this week, I got a list from one of the grade seven teachers with the names of the kids who passed. I needed to know so when, inevitably, a kid shows up who hasn’t passed, he or she can be shown the door. This dinner is to celebrate the success of those who took school seriously and worked hard—and I’m going to be sure nobody is at the table tonight who does not deserve to be there.
I received the list on Wednesday, but the kids are kept in the dark about their success until Thursday night: that’s when Amasango hosts a yearly prize giving ceremony and formally announces those who’ve passed and gives out small gifts to each of its students.
The teacher pulled me into the side office next to Jane’s and began writing the names of the kids who would be leaving. I couldn’t help but look at her master list, a large, checkered piece of paper with the students’ names, test scores, whether they passed or failed, and a section for notes.
Nearly ten had the word “absconded” written in the notes section. Those are the drop outs.
Another one or two students had “did not write exams” next to their names. This means they’d come to school regularly, but for one reason or another, didn’t pitch up for exams. That means that even though they’ve attended school, they’ll be stuck in grade seven for another year.
Two students had “in prison” in their notes section.
The rest had either a pass or fail. I read down the list of names. Masixole Sam—pass. Siyabulela Dwani—pass. Xolisani Makelani—pass.
Masixole came with me in July to the Port Elizabeth airport to say goodbye and then found his own way back to Grahamstown.
Siyabulela Dwani, “Aromat” as everyone here knows him, walks me home whenever I have anything valuable on me. He’s good with his fists—and with a knife, I feel very safe with him as long as he’s on my side.
Xolisani Makelani is all talk. Last year, he stole an avocado and when I called him out on it, he got angry, picking up a brick and threatening to hit me with hit while calling me a “white devil.” Some of the kids scare me when they talk like that. I know with Mr. Makelani, he’s all bark and no bite. And that’s why I like him so much.
The teacher kept writing. I kept scanning the list with my mind wandering to all the times I’ve spent with these kids over the past year-and-a-half.
Nomathamsanqa Gqoza—pass. Simphiwe Matina—pass. Phakamani Fanga—pass.
Nomathamsanqa goes by the name Caroline. Most of the times, the kids pick something close to their real name. Seeing as Nomathamsanqa bears no resemblance to Caroline, I think she simply likes the name. Most of the kids I’ve gotten to know really well have been guys. I spend most of my time at the boy’s shelter, and most of the students at school are male. Caroline has to be one of my favorites though. She doesn’t let the boys push her around, and she’s not fearful or nasty toward men like some of the other girls. She’s spontaneous. She’s always smiling. And I hope she goes very far in life.
Simphiwe Matina I’ve never been all that close with. In fact, most days he treats me like dirt. Many of the kids are opportunists, being overly nice to people so they can a hand in your pocket and grab your wallet. Simphiwe has no qualms letting me know he’s got issues with me. I respect that. I also believe that if I were ever really in trouble, Simphiwe would be one of the first to step up and help.
Phakamani is smart—and loves to cause trouble, but not nasty, knife-wielding trouble, just some good-humored hassles. When I tell the kids I’m going home, Phakamani is the first to smile and say “Go get your sons to walk with you.” I shouldn’t have favorites, but I do. Phakamani knows who they are and loves to rub my face in it, referring to those I really like as my “sons.” I don’t think he realizes that he falls into that category as well. When, I go to the video store, I’ll take Phakamani, and a couple others, with me to select a movie. The store has a small selection of “adult titles” on a high shelf that he’s managed to find and each week, he brings one of the DVDs over and says, with an enormous grin “I want this one.”
I stopped in my tracks when the teacher wrote the next name: Samkelo Maqanda. This kid is an inspiration. I do like them all, but very few inspire me the way Samkelo has. He comes from a desperate, bleak background, but is one of the most hopeful, kind, incredible people I’ve ever met in my life. Ever. He’s only been in grade seven for two terms, and typically, kids stay at least a year before moving on. I looked again to make sure the teacher hadn’t made a mistake. No, he passed. I rushed outside. I never expected to see his name on the list. I was not allowed to tell anybody whether they passed or failed, but I went up to Samkelo and said “Listen, I am taking anybody who passes grade seven out to eat on Sunday. If you pass, please tell Mama Rose (the house mother at Eluxolweni where he lives), that you’re allowed to leave Sunday to go to dinner with me.”
He looked at me “I didn’t pass Jason. I know I didn’t.”
I looked back. “Well, if you did, and you’d like to come, you can come. Please tell Mama Rose.”
“Okay,” he said again. “But I know I didn’t pass. You can take Masixole and Phakamani and them, but I didn’t pass.”
I wanted to shake him and tell him the good news, but I just smiled and turned away. If I hadn’t, I might have told him right then.
I feel like an apprehensive parent. My babies are going off to high school. I’m excited, and I’m sad, and I’m proud. Over the past year-and-a-half these kids and I have really shared in the good times—and the not so good times. I know the majority of you have no clue who these kids are, but a couple of you (some former volunteers) do, and I want to list their names.
So, though there will be no graduation ceremony, be it known that the Amasango Career School in Grahamstown, South Africa is proud to announce its class of 2007. Each student is a living example of how seemingly impossible, desperate circumstances can be beaten. Congratulations and best wishes to…
Bulelani Bete, Siyabulela “Aromat” Dwani, Phakamani Fanga, Ntombizanele Gqola, Nomathamsanqa Gqoza, Xolisani “Matthew Dawson” Makelani, Samkelo Maqanda, Ntombekhaya Marwana, Simphiwe Matina, Thandolwethu Ndemka, Vuyelwa Ntile, Athenkosi Ntlokwana, Masixole Sam and Melikhaya Tambo.
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