My first day at Mnyakanya high school (one down, nineteen to go)

 I won't say that I got up this morning, because it wasn't morning. It was night - I could still see the stars. I was cold and anything but awake, but thankfully I had got myself organised the night before and so I was somehow ready and waiting on the front porch of the hotel by 6:30am.
 I'm expecting a car to arrive, so the lady who walks right into the George car-park slips under my sleepy radar until she says, 'Sally?' She laughs at my startled response. 'Now how did I know you were Sally?' she asks.
 She introduces herself as Nellie, a teacher of tourism at Mnyakanya. 'But here in South Africa we call older people by their surnames. So you call me Mrs. Majozi.'
 A car does arrive a minute or so after that. I've only been told that a 'lady teacher' is going to give me lifts every day, but it turns out to be Jabu (last name unpronounceable), who I know from my previous visit because she runs the school choir. (I discovered today that members of the choir are still singing the 'London's Burning' from the memorable occasion when I got to lead the choir.)
 The drive to Mnyakanya takes a good hour, mainly on bumpy dirt roads. I don't think I'll be getting bored of this commute though - the scenery is stunning. Steep, brown hills roll away into the distance in the dawn light. Workers are already out in the fields chopping down the sugar-cane. Also, it gives me an excellent chance to get to know Jabu and Mrs. Majozi. We have time to discuss religion (it is the first time in Jabu's life that she's ever come across an atheist and it takes her a while to grasp the idea that I don't believe in anything), the public-servant strike and for me to learn the Zulu for 'how is the weather?' (Crucial vocabulary.) Both the teachers are very much amused by the way I wave at anyone looking our way.
 The arrival of the St. Mary's 2009 group was heralded by lines of learners at the gate singing and waving improvised South African flags, followed by an incredible whole-school assembly with performance after performance staged for our benefit. This contrasts strongly with today. Today, thanks to the strike, only about fifty out of 727 students were in school, and only four out of 25 teachers.
 A school without students is quite a sad place to be. Jabu, Mrs. Majozi and I wander into the staff room. The teachers settle down with some marking behind their desks (piled high with their respective subjects' textbooks). After leafing through a maths book and an English poetry anthology, I venture out to explore the staff block a little more thoroughly. Here I bump into Mr. Lucas Dube, headmaster, in the entrance foyer.
 I haven't met Mr. Dube before, and this is because he has been ill for a good part of the last few years. His hands shake so that it takes him a minute or two to get his key into the lock of his office door.
 Mr. Dube welcomes me, apologises for the strike (which is entirely out of his hands anyway) and asks what I will be teaching. Here is my second chance at communicating my utopic vision. I think I do much better this time, and Mr. Dube seems keen on the whole concept. However, I don't feel like I have described my proposed structure for the course at all fully before Mr. Dube has drawn the meeting to a close and is taking me to get started with the few learners who have come in today. I find myself in a classroom facing twelve or so learners while Mr. Dube introduces me as the girl who will be teaching 'good skills to help with tests and exams'. Then he leaves me to it.
 I get myself a chair and sit down, facing twelve curious, silent stares.
 'OK. My name is Sally, and I'm not a teacher. I'm only nineteen years old. [This evokes some surprise, as several of them in the room are older than me.] I want to be your friend. So let's get these chairs into a circle and start again.'
 About an hour later, I dismiss the 'class', having taught them nothing at all. We have, however, had quite a bit of fun doing ridiculous things, such as listening to me trying to pronounce the clicks in their names, throwing noses at each other and dancing the Hokey-Kokey (their suggestion, I swear!). It's all been a tad mortifyingly embarrassing, but has at least provided them all with some entertainment and reward for their two-hour walk into school.

My new friends Lungi, Anele and Thobeka.

 Afterwards, I get to know three of the girls a little better: Anele, who I remember was one of my soloists in the choir last year, Lungi, who was very helpful keeping everyone else in order during the sillier activities, and Thobeka. All three speak pretty good English, and Anele and Lungi are in the twelfth and final grade. They tell me how concerned they are about their up-coming 'Matriculation' exams. 'There have been no lessons for over a week,' says Anele.
 Following another meeting with Mr. Dube, where I take another shot at showing him the books I'm going to use and explaining that I would like to organise a pair of learners from each grade (and not just whoever happens to turn up tomorrow) to take part, Jabu and I leave. It is only a little before 11am, but there is nothing for us to do at the school. On the way back, I talk over all my hopes for my Learning Leader course with Jabu and find her to be very understanding. In fact, she is so interested that she comes in for a guava juice at the 'Mama Zulu' coffee house and I explain the Number-Rhyme memory system to her. I feel that here at least is one ally and friend. She takes the books away overnight to have a closer look.
 We agree that she will come to pick me up at 7am tomorrow - a lie-in!