It was mid-morning and most of the students were heading out to their various religious instruction classes or at least supposed to. I was upstairs looking around at the students trying in some small way to ensure that students moved along speedily when I saw a crowd of students a few feet away.
There were little arms shaking wildly as their standard one owners shouted out instructions to their fellow students who were heading to their classrooms. "Don't pass here gal!" "Go round dat way!" "Miss say to pass round!" The students that received those clear instructions looked most confused and many of them chose to ignore the orders. Some students tried to plead their case, "But de class is right there. Let me pass boy!" Others began to argue with the young security guards, "I passing dis way. You can't tell me what to do!" Most of the students however just peeped curiously over the heads of those in front of them, trying in vain to catch a glimpse of what they were being prevented from seeing.
I briskly walked across towards the brewing confusion. I was beginning to get quite annoyed that so many students were still in the corridors and that with all the escalating noise not one teacher even glanced out to see what was happening. As I parted the group of onlookers I also wanted to know what these self-appointed hall monitors were so eager to keep others from seeing. It was fairly easy to part the crowd - after all an average eight year old is not that large. As I passed through them I ordered each child to go the long route, "you all should have been in your classes a long time ago." By this time it was not a very difficult task to say this firmly.
The little feet obediently scurried along and remaining, facing me was a line of about five seven and eight year olds. Their no-nonsense stares clearly meant business. They were leaning against a desk that had been placed to block the entire corridor. It was surprising to see a desk so strategically placed in the corridor. Certainly this was nothing a typical standard one child would do without permission. "What is going on here?" I asked.
The children were more than willing to forward the answer. "Look Miss. Over there Miss!" There it was... we had had a visitor and a gift was left. Although the visitor remained faceless it was clear that it was man's best friend but the gift certainly wasn't. The load was soft, brown, large and did not leave a pleasant odour (I can safely assume this since I did not wish to go any closer). Someone had seen the gift and decided to protect the precious load. 'Put up a desk...keep away the crowd...the gift must remain in tact at all costs'...well that's the impression this sight left with me!
"Who put you here to guard something like this?" I asked, still trying to come to terms with this surreal situation but I didn't need an answer. By their classroom door the familiar head of one of my fellow teachers popped out and she took a seat in a chair by the entrance. She seemed to be guarding the gift from her end while making sure that her little guards were protecting the load from their end. "Hello Mrs. Powell,' she said casually as though guarding a load from a dog was the most natural thing in the world to do.
"Ms. --, don't you think that we should call a cleaner?" I tried to say this as respectfully as possible considering that she was almost as old as my mother and I really liked her as a person.
No response.
"Well... maybe we should send your students to class and I'll get someone to clean it up."
She had no objection to this suggestion. I guess it was because the corridors were finally cleared of students so the gift was now safe. The students hurried to join their classmates for R.I. since the call of duty was now over while I headed down to the senior teacher who was standing in for the school principal that day. When I explained to her the situation she shook her head quite unsurprised and within ten minutes the offending gift was removed.
I often think of this story over the years and I have come to understand more and more why something like this could have happened. In a later blog I will discuss the issues that this event raises so keep tuning in.
There were little arms shaking wildly as their standard one owners shouted out instructions to their fellow students who were heading to their classrooms. "Don't pass here gal!" "Go round dat way!" "Miss say to pass round!" The students that received those clear instructions looked most confused and many of them chose to ignore the orders. Some students tried to plead their case, "But de class is right there. Let me pass boy!" Others began to argue with the young security guards, "I passing dis way. You can't tell me what to do!" Most of the students however just peeped curiously over the heads of those in front of them, trying in vain to catch a glimpse of what they were being prevented from seeing.
I briskly walked across towards the brewing confusion. I was beginning to get quite annoyed that so many students were still in the corridors and that with all the escalating noise not one teacher even glanced out to see what was happening. As I parted the group of onlookers I also wanted to know what these self-appointed hall monitors were so eager to keep others from seeing. It was fairly easy to part the crowd - after all an average eight year old is not that large. As I passed through them I ordered each child to go the long route, "you all should have been in your classes a long time ago." By this time it was not a very difficult task to say this firmly.
The little feet obediently scurried along and remaining, facing me was a line of about five seven and eight year olds. Their no-nonsense stares clearly meant business. They were leaning against a desk that had been placed to block the entire corridor. It was surprising to see a desk so strategically placed in the corridor. Certainly this was nothing a typical standard one child would do without permission. "What is going on here?" I asked.
The children were more than willing to forward the answer. "Look Miss. Over there Miss!" There it was... we had had a visitor and a gift was left. Although the visitor remained faceless it was clear that it was man's best friend but the gift certainly wasn't. The load was soft, brown, large and did not leave a pleasant odour (I can safely assume this since I did not wish to go any closer). Someone had seen the gift and decided to protect the precious load. 'Put up a desk...keep away the crowd...the gift must remain in tact at all costs'...well that's the impression this sight left with me!
"Who put you here to guard something like this?" I asked, still trying to come to terms with this surreal situation but I didn't need an answer. By their classroom door the familiar head of one of my fellow teachers popped out and she took a seat in a chair by the entrance. She seemed to be guarding the gift from her end while making sure that her little guards were protecting the load from their end. "Hello Mrs. Powell,' she said casually as though guarding a load from a dog was the most natural thing in the world to do.
"Ms. --, don't you think that we should call a cleaner?" I tried to say this as respectfully as possible considering that she was almost as old as my mother and I really liked her as a person.
No response.
"Well... maybe we should send your students to class and I'll get someone to clean it up."
She had no objection to this suggestion. I guess it was because the corridors were finally cleared of students so the gift was now safe. The students hurried to join their classmates for R.I. since the call of duty was now over while I headed down to the senior teacher who was standing in for the school principal that day. When I explained to her the situation she shook her head quite unsurprised and within ten minutes the offending gift was removed.
I often think of this story over the years and I have come to understand more and more why something like this could have happened. In a later blog I will discuss the issues that this event raises so keep tuning in.
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