My Primary School Years Were a Waste

I am no lawyer, but if I had it my way, I would claim my primary school fees back from the government, because half the subjects they kept us busy with have no real value to me as an adult.

What did they think I would do with ‘sangklas’ (singing class), ‘krulskrif’ (cursive writing) and PE (physical education) in my adult life, and why did they put us through such torture?

Look, I’m talking about the time before grades.

Like when we went through Sub A, Sub B and then Standards 1 to 4 or 5.

Hell, I don’t even remember everything.

I remember my parents paying around two rand for my school fees, but I’m not sure if that was for a semester or the entire grade.

But whatever it cost, I think all those who went trough that torture should be able to claim a refund.

That was educational embezzlement, because I spent time learning things I have never used after that.

Now, before you dismiss me as some lazy oke who blames his shortcomings on school, let me tell you a story.

A story filled with enough ‘sangklas’ torture and ‘krulskrif’ nightmares to make even the toughest Augustinium cowboy shed a tear.

Useless subject 1: ‘Sangklas’

Yes, ‘sangklas’ was a crime against rhythm and all things funky. Picture a room filled with wide-eyed youngsters, myself included, facing a stern teacher who wouldn’t know rhythm from the blues.

Picture a teacher wearing an outfit straight out of the Mahomedy’s mail-order catalogue, armed with a thin, freshly cut, mopane tree stick on the table to beat those who would not sing ‘Satana Pita Mondjira’.

We were subjected to church hymns so slow they could put a sloth to sleep, and we were not allowed to dance either.

The only movement allowed was the occasional nervous twitch from a kid about to get a ‘taai klap’ (slap) for singing out of tune.

Where’s the return on investment for being stuck in a class learning songs from the church songbook?

Did any of those hymns translate into booming businesses built on the power of choral excellence?

I highly doubt it. In the name of all things groovy, I demand compensation for the emotional trauma and wasted brain cells!

Useless subject 2: ‘Krulskrif’

Next, the ‘skrif’ class, specifically the ‘krulskrif’ part.

This was a form of torture designed to turn perfectly normal children into arthritic pen monsters. Hours were spent contorting fingers into impossible positions, meticulously joining letters that, let’s face it, were perfectly happy standing alone.

My nightmares are still haunted by the ghosts of Bic pens that bled ink everywhere but onto the designated lines.

And for goodness’ sake, why did the writing exercise books have such small lines? Did any of those teachers really go to heaven at all?

The most obvious proof that cursive writing failed us all is the handwriting of medical doctors.

That is cursive writing gone wrong.

By the way, where, if at all, do we use this fancy script in the real world? Do we type emails or text messages in such script now?

Useless subject 3: Physical education – chasing donkeys was more efficient

Ah yes, PT (physical training) or PE (physical education), whichever fancy term they used to mask the utter pointlessness of it all.

The logic, apparently, was that the rigorous jumping jacks and soil-rolling sessions were superior to the exercise I got, you know, actually chasing donkeys, goats and sheep around the bush.

Look, ministry, I appreciate the sentiment behind ‘health is wealth’, but let’s be real: We Namibian kids were practically born with built-in fitness trackers.

Frankly, the only thing this class achieved was making a sweaty spectacle out of us all, dirty school uniforms and hunger.

I have no idea what they have replaced it with in modern primary schools, but that is one subject I will dodge and get detention for.

The only useful period: ‘Pousetyd met dun pap’

Now, I wouldn’t be completely heartless.

The ‘pouse’ (break time) with its questionable but filling worm-infested porridge kept us going. I am not making this up.

That maize meal had to be shipped from South Africa and stayed in storage for months, and the rest is natural.

And let’s not forget the social hierarchy established by the coveted Cool Aid sweet sachets.

As you can imagine, only the cool kids could come to school with different flavours of that beautiful stuff to add taste to the ‘pap’.

But even with these colour highlights, the sheer number of wasted hours leaves a bitter taste in my mouth (much like that un-Cool-Aid-ed porridge).

Some schools were lucky to have that good old ‘Rooikruis’ mince soup.

I wonder what schoolkids eat at school these days? Or is it not needed any more? Ai!

Considering what I went through, learning what a thorax is on a locust or who Van Riebeeck was, I wonder what useless subjects our children are being tortured with these days.

While I am researching how to claim a refund for my primary school fees, I suggest that we re-evaluate our curriculum, invest in practical skills and stop inflicting emotional distress through hymns and ‘krulskrif’.

These kids need to know how to iron a shirt if not how to prepare a meal from scratch.

They need to know what tax is and how money really works.

Of course, they need to know the periodic table, but they also need to know how to make themselves wooden table.

PS: Who else remembers the body parts of a locust?