The first day of school

(written 9 January 2012)

The first day of school, 6:50 AM.  School begins at 7:00 AM.  The timekeeper--a mystery still unknown to me--rang the old tire rim at 5:45 this morning, and again at 6:30, but the schoolyard is deserted now.  The first grade teacher came to open her classroom and then went to the roadside to pick up her son's school uniform, which will be delivered shortly by a passing vehicle.  The acting head teacher's daughter scurried out from her home moments ago, but has gone to play somewhere solitarily while awaiting her friends.  A little boy in school uniform greens is standing under a mango tree.

Nothing is wrong--and yet everything is.

It's the first day of school, but the opening staff meeting (scheduled for three days ago) hasn't taken place.  The teachers think they know what classes they're teaching, but they aren't sure.  The time table for the upper grades hasn't been set yet; we're rumored to be getting two new teachers, but who knows.  One teacher went unexpectedly on leave last term and administrators aren't sure if or when he will be back.

The first day of school, and there's nothing doing.

The opening of a new school term is always anticlimactic.  There's no janitorial staff here, so the first day--even up to the first week--is spent on cleaning and maintenance.  Pupils sweep away spiderwebs, termite residue, rats' nests, and dust that have accumulated during the monthlong term break.  They slash the grass, grown high in this rainy season; sweep the schoolyard with brooms of ferns and branches; organize the books.  They move desks and, on their hands and knees, rag-mop floors with water pumped from the borehole.  When all this is prepared, they might start lessons.