Starlight in the Ring (24 page)

That disturbs the progression of my lesson, as some children appear unstable. The secretary collects her, leaving me to continue with the lesson:

“When the music starts, I want you to jump like a frog. Walk like an elephant. When the music changes, greet your friend, and clean the toy-shop together. Reach out to the top shelf, bottom shelf and the middle shelf. When the music stops, freeze in an interesting position. Change positions.”

To cool down, the children stretch their arms and legs gently, for a count of five, and then relax. And then they sit up very slowly with a straight back, but looking down on the floor.

We go through the dance together from the beginning. And, the lesson finishes. The children return to their classroom to change.

I believe that I have delivered the lesson successfully. Unfortunately, the assessors do not agree. Arguing my case, nobody is keen on accepting and acting on all the points I raise, even when I provide written evidence for every fact I give. They insist my lesson showed little progression.

Josie, my friend, suggests that I comply with the assessor’s opinion regarding my final lesson, and prepare to be reassessed. A miracle could happen in my favour because we are in a different country now. I agree, but prefer to have a different assessor this time around. I suspect this process could nullify the teaching qualification I obtained in South Africa. Therefore, I
decide not to proceed with the re-assessment.

I’m determined to pursue this issue as far as it can go, hoping someone reasonable might see sense in this, and defend me. My mind is made up.

I feel courageous as I sit down to write my story to present to the Educational Tribunal. I’m hurt, and find this difficult to do. So, I obtain lawyers, and one, Mrs Matthews, happily accepts to take on my case. She knows her job very well, and is popular. Her office is always full of people needing help. The firm charges a high fee to cover the cost of preparing the documents, and for actual personal representation I’d have to pay more money. So, we agree for my lawyers to help me prepare the documents which I’d present at the tribunal.

The tribunal-hearing day arrives. I put my aide-mémoire into my bag, and call a taxi. I travel to the National Education Head Office building in the city where the hearings are held.

I stand outside the door for a while, to reassure myself before knocking. I hear loud voices, and listen carefully, noticing they speak Afrikaans. I can’t understand them very well. I usually lip-read to aid my understanding of fluent Afrikaans speakers. But I can’t do that now. I hear laughter again, but then knock at the door immediately to avoid being caught spying on them. A loud, deep voice says,
“Kom binne,”
meaning come inside – in Afrikaans.

I turn down the door-handle quietly, while pushing the door away from me to enter this big room with a long rectangular table in the middle. Three men, all quite mature-looking, and a younger woman, probably in her twenties, all of European origin, are sitting on both sides of the table. A chair for me is left just by the door. “You can sit down, Miss Baker,” says one of them, pointing to the chair by the door.

“What is your problem?” Mr Van Vuuren asks, appearing to be unenthusiastic about this business.

I rise up, take out my notes and read them, slowly and clearly,
pausing to enhance clarity of my speech.

“Do you want us to address you in Afrikaans or English, Betty Baker?” Mr Van Vuuren exclaims loudly in his rough voice, and in a manner that was very unsympathetic.

I’m glad that they have recognised my good command of both foreign languages. I remember Lottie telling me about a senior government officer who refused to consult the natives to ask them about their preferred medium of instruction in schools. He argued that it’s to the benefit of the natives to learn both languages, to enable them to communicate with any ‘Baas’ who can only speak one of the languages.

I stand there ready to defend myself confidently.

“I can understand Afrikaans, Sir, but on this occasion, I would prefer you to speak in English,” I reply calmly, staring at him.

“Right. Firstly, I must explain what our role is, and then you can decide if you want us to continue dealing with your query. Do you understand, Betty Baker?”

I reply, with great respect, “Yes, Sir.”

“The purpose of this meeting is to decide whether your concern is not at all justified, partly justified or fully justified.” He continues, “To help us make this decision, we have already considered whether the Star Academy followed its own procedures correctly. We have also considered if they made reasonable decisions in all the circumstances.”

My throat tickles, and I cough gently. He pauses for a little while and then says, “In considering your case, we have taken into account all the documentation you and the Academy have provided. We asked you to comment on the Academy’s response to your case. Bear in mind, our decisions do not necessarily refer to all the documentation provided and points raised during our review. However, we have considered all the materials provided, which we consider necessary in making an informed decision about your case.”

He pauses, and stares at me in a way that I find makes me
uncomfortable. Our eyes meet. I struggle to breathe, and my hands sweat. I feel dizzy, as if my body is about to drop down. I hold onto the back rest of the chair for support, as he continues to speak:

“Let me remind you, Miss Baker, we cannot interfere with the operation of any institution’s academic judgement. We have no mandate to do so. We cannot put ourselves in the position of examiners in order to re-mark work, or pass comment on the marks given by your assessor, who according to the Academy is doing her work very well. For your benefit, and for us to be seen to have done justice, we can just look at whether the Academy has correctly followed its own assessment, marking and moderation procedures. We can investigate whether there was any unfairness or bias in the decision-making processes. What’s your view about all this?”

I remain silent for a while, considering whether it is worth going through this grilling period.

“What would you like to do?” Mr Van Vuuren asks.

“I’d like you to proceed with the hearing, Sir,” I reply confidently, regaining my composure. Mr Dirkie Van Vuuren, who seems to be the senior member of the Tribunal, says, “Colleagues, the Star Academy provided us with a copy of their complaint procedure. It shows all internal stages of dealing with students’ concerns.”

He lifts his head up and looks at me asking, “Are you aware of this official document, Betty Baker?”

“Yes Sir,” I reply.

He says, loudly, “Firstly, the Line Manager, within a maximum of thirty days, investigates the case. Secondly, the Academy conducts a hearing, chaired by any senior staff with four or five other staff members present. The student must attend this meeting. The process is expected to be completed within a week. Should the student be dissatisfied with the outcome, they can move on to the next stage. Thirdly, the principal or deputy
principal must chair this meeting with the student in attendance. It must be done within two weeks. Fourthly, and finally, we here take into consideration the facts gathered from previous hearings. This is done by the Board of the Academy. At this stage, the student and other parties are not consulted. At all stages, the student can only proceed to the next stage after providing written representations detailing their concerns, and the resolution they seek.”

No one speaks for a while.

“So, Betty Baker, you have gone through all these stages, and you are unsatisfied with the outcome?” Miss Swiss, a brunette with a high-pitched voice asks, sweeping her fringe sideways before looking at me.

“Yes, Miss,” I respond.

“You mean you aren’t happy with the decisions made about you?” Mr De Kok enquires, putting his spectacles on the table.

“That’s correct, Sir,” I say.

“Colleagues, let me give you Betty Baker’s background, as this is very important in this investigation, as you might know,” Mr Van Vuuren says. “Betty Baker is a ‘qualified teacher’ from South Africa.”

Miss Swiss smiles, and rolls her eyes up to the ceiling. I feel ashamed with this reaction, wondering what the problem with qualifying in South Africa is.

“She enrolled on the upgrading programme for teachers, and was not trained by us here. Her start date has been deferred. I can see from this other letter that her Mathematics standard is quite low. She didn’t actually meet our entry criteria, so she needed to sit our Maths exam, though she did so, successfully,” she concedes.

The comment about Mathematics annoys me, as I recall the reason for getting a low grade in the first place. I remember Lottie telling me about the Educational Officer in South Africa who queried the purpose of teaching Mathematics to the natives,
‘when they would never get the opportunities to use it practically in the right context’. Therefore, the policy was based on the fact that the natives do not require a high standard of Mathematics.

“What is this programme all about exactly, Dirkie?” Miss Swiss asks enthusiastically. Before Dirkie answers, Mr Burgher explains, “It’s kind of a conversion programme, which enables teachers from other countries to be assessed against our standards. When we are satisfied, we give them a licence to teach. They can then seek work in our schools, but only when we experience some shortages.”

“Do they train like our teacher-trainees here?” asks Miss Swiss, refusing to let this issue pass.

“No, there are various ways of doing it. They can get full time training or just teach part-time while being assessed. To undertake the second option, the student must firstly be employed by our government as an unlicensed teacher and accept to be paid less money. They aren’t allowed to make a comparison with other teaching colleagues – those doing the same job for more money. This has nothing to do with the Academy, or the school rules. It’s our initiative. The students make their choices, and there is no pressure on them.”

“And what does the Assessor do for a part-time assessment programme?” Mr Erasmus, who has been listening to the discussion all along, asks. His voice sounds a bit croaky, perhaps due to smoking the pipe that’s in front of him in the ashtray on the table.

“It’s up to the Assessor, really: there is no prescription, Mr Erasmus. However, whatever they choose to do cannot be disputed. They represent us,” Mr Van Vuuren responds, fidgeting with a pen. “We ensured this clause is included in all the training programme documents because Assessors are on the ground, facing all sorts of people. So, we must protect them and their judgement.”

I’m listening to all of this discussion, and I understand how
my case has been handled. I’m happy to know this information. My knees feel weak though so I sit down, feeling pity for myself, for having taken this issue so far, and I lose in the end.
Betty – it’s okay,
I say mentally, encouraging myself.

At morning coffee time, I’m asked to wait outside, while the Tribunal members are having their drinks. I carry my chair to sit in the corridor, and shut the door behind me.

A woman who seems to be in her thirties appears at the end of a long corridor, pushing a trolley with cups, coffee and teapots into this room. She’s wearing a pink apron, and her hair is tied in a bun and clipped behind with hair grips. She seems to be of the Baster racial group from Rehoboth. She stares at me, knocks slightly, peeps through the door, and goes in.

I hear another roar of laughter as they chat to each other loudly. I don’t know what to do. I feel like screaming, “No!” to release my anger and frustration. I feel my knees shaking. I take a deep breath, and then let it out, several times. All along, I’m holding tears that have flooded my eyes, suddenly. I wipe them off with my tissues.

“Come in,” the voice from the room says. I push the door slightly, and it flings open. I put my chair back to my place, by the door again. My head throbs.

Mr Van Vuuren continues, “A letter from Ben Schoeman Primere Skool confirms that Miss Baker will be employed in a full-time teaching post. However, this school terminates her contract soon after commencement. Miss Baker was subsequently employed at Arthur Benson Infants’ School later in the same year. Do you agree with all this?” asks Mr Van Vuuren, unexpectedly.

“I refuted that decision, because it was unfair, Sir.”

He pauses while looking at me. I’m puzzled. I don’t know
whether to respond with a “Yes, Sir” or whether just a nod would be sufficient. I nod a “Yes.”

“Her contract with the original school had been to teach older children, while Arthur Benson offered her a post to teach the younger ones. She’s covered the whole age range.”

“Hmm, that’s good,” Mr Erasmus agrees, nodding his head repeatedly.

They are trying to paint a picture, in order to understand my concern in detail. I sit quietly, allowing them to get on with it. I feel thirsty, but daren’t ask for water, or to go to the toilet. “Subsequently, the Academy confirmed by letter to Baker that she has been successfully registered in our scheme for part-time assessment in the Infants’ School. The duration of the programme is six months. Baker was deemed to have failed the last lesson observed by two teachers.”

I notice that he doesn’t talk about all the lessons I passed, and I wonder why. He only emphasises the fact that two observers failed my lesson.

Mr Van Vuuren, clearing his throat, continues to read the report:

“The Academy instructed Mrs Arno and a colleague to conduct a repeat observation of the failed lesson, giving Baker the opportunity to complete her course.”

I stare at him when hearing this, thinking of how I didn’t want Mrs Arno to be involved this time. This report misses this important aspect of my case, and I’m disappointed with what I hear. However, I keep quiet, biting slightly on my lower lip to ensure I stay in control. Mr Van Vuuren continues:

“On the scheduled assessment day, Arthur Benson School was closed for teacher training or something, and the Academy rearranged the assessment for a later date. However, on the agreed date, Baker called in sick, and her appointment contract with the school ended shortly afterwards.”