My English lesson today went a bit awry, but nevertheless the boys managed to get some good writing out of it.
This all started in Botswana over the holidays while I was out taking the boys on a sleep out and night watch away from the camp. We had slept out around the campfire taking turns with a night watch to keep the wild lions, leopards and elephants at bay. The next morning it was drizzling a bit, and when we returned to camp I commented about the wet patches on my tent, muttering that it had rained much more than I thought. When I entered the tent, though, the stench was less than welcoming. I became convinced that one of the boys had hid some animal's turd in my bag while I was out on the night watch, playing an original but fairly putrid joke. I threw the clothes out of my bag and found it empty. I was wrong about the prank. So I stepped outside and straight into an area where I realised that a baboon had relieved him or herself. It dawned on me as I looked up into the leaves of the tall Mashatu tree under which my tent had been erected that the local baboon troop had chosen the comfort of its branches to spend the night. Not being quite as civilized as the company which I normally keep, the baboon had clearly "visited the library" without any customary discretion during the night, their results being evident on the canvas of my tent. I must mention at this junction that two nights prior, I had shared a tent with the other staff member who was joining me for the tour. He had snored like a wounded buffalo having an asthma attack. So my sleeping options were to either resolve the stench in my single accommodation or sleep outside where I was sure the pride of lions we had heard each night would investigate the apparent meal opportunity provided by the sounds of my melodious colleague. I decided on the former option. Luckily we kept a fire going at the camp each day, and the dense ashes from the mopane wood easily fuel the flames every morning. That day was no exception. I had also heard from one of the rangers that dry elephant dung smoked quite well and left a relatively pleasant aroma with the added bonus of acting as a mosquito repellant. Ele bodge was easy to find, so I retrieved a smattering, lit it from the fire, and transported the smoking embers to my tent using a small tin mug. I left them there to mask the lavatorial smell and soon the odor of one type of crap was replaced with the other...a much more palatable, earthy kind. Soon I was back in my tent, lying on my stretcher, and reading a book, feeling slightly heady from my new air freshener. The smell reminded me a lot of the campfire, and I thought that maybe I should take some home with me and when I was missing the bush, I could simply add some of this "incense" to our winter fireplace. Cleary the smoke was having some effects other than those directed, but in any case, I took a small piece of dried elephant poo back to Jo'burg with me. And so begins the next part of my story, because my illicit baggage did not find itself into our fireplace, but instead it made its way into my classroom. It was the first day back and the new term was busy with the reverberations of teenagers catching up on their Easter holidays, excited out-of-proportion laughter and the banging of lockers. I decided to go with something different for my first class, a creative writing lesson where the Grade 11s would write a powerful, intense descriptive piece using one of their senses. Teachers usually do this using some sort of a visual prompt, but I was going to challenge that idea. With a pack of matches, another tin cup, and my Botswanan souvenir,I stood at the front of the class, greeted my boys and told them to sit down. I kept them quiet, got them to reluctantly close their eyes, and then lit the bodge. I blew into the small pile of digested plant matter, energizing the glowing ember inside. And began to walk amongst the students. The smoke as not quite as enthusiastic as it had been in Botswana, so I blew more oxygen into the coals, and very quickly, a dense plume of grey smoke rose towards the ceiling. I carried on walking, and at the same time began speaking of my experience in Botswana. My class began to smell like a campfire in the bush, and I could feel the possibility of creative energy begin to build, if not in my class, in my head at least. I became enveloped in my own narrative, and it was only when my eyes began to feel a bit itchy did I realise that there were two significant flaws in the way that I planned this lesson. One: I should have opened the windows or turned on the fan before I begun my odourous exercise. Two: my classroom has very low ceilings which provided very little space for the smoke to dissipate. I looked around at my class, who were trying to look interested, but who were looking like various shades of blue. I thought that maybe it was the colour of the smoke that provided this complexion, but shook myself from my optimistic notions and realised that they were all holding their breath! With that thunderous epiphany, I decided to own my blunder and changed the direction of my narrative: "Alright lads, I didn't quite think that one through...lets head outside for some fresh air!" My voice was replaced with raucous laughter and the sound of plastic chairs scraping on the floor. I am lucky to have a little garden outside my classroom, so we retreated to that less suffocating space. I disposed of the smoldering pile of poo, coming to terms that my idea perhaps had something in common with its contents, and carried on with the lesson outside. When we returned to the class, the smoke was gone, and the smell was left behind, which prompted some superb creative pieces. One boy wrote about roasting marshmallows with his siblings in the Kruger Park, another about the smell of incense in his grandmother's home. A student wrote about the smell of an Indian temple that he visited whilst on exchange and another wrote about what the dust should feel like in the Serengeti. The outcome of my lesson worked, but I did learn something today: Sometimes, if you have a shit idea, it can be worth just going with it.
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