Free Starlight in the Ring by H. N. Quinnen Page A

that affect us, and that I shouldn’t talk to anyone else about the Apartheid Laws. I listen, nodding every so often.
    “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t behave like this. My parents banned this kind of talk at home, our lives depend on Bass Jimmie, who is the Government,” I reply, thinking about what I’ve just heard. “And what happens to the Europeans who don’t agree with the Government’s laws?”
    “Well, they have a choice to accept the job, or leave it. Should they take it, they are obliged to abide by the country’s laws too,” Nancy explains.
    “Well, girls, what can we do about these laws? I personally need more information about them,” I say, and then change the topic, to talk about the upcoming netball tournament.
In September, the same year
    I am at school for afternoon studies. It’s noisy in the classroom, and I find it difficult to concentrate. I just can’t continue reading. Some children are talking about something that seems interesting, but they are in disagreement. I close my book, and move to the back of the class to listen.
    The talk is about the 1953 Bantu Education Act. The debate is about the pros and cons. Wow, so many children know about these laws! The children who live outside urban areas know a lot more than those who come from rural areas and farms. These don’t have a clue, and have nothing to contribute – just like me.
    So, I pull my chair to sit down and listen. I’m amazed the more I hear, but I keep quiet throughout the discussion. This strengthens my determination to see the change in South Africa. Meanwhile, I cannot yet break the laws. How will I manage to contain myself, when I know very well that these are designed to hinder me? I must surely obey them, because should I fail to do so, I might go to prison. My dad warned me. I return to my usual desk, and bow my head down. The bell rings. I collect my bookcase, and walk slowly back to my dormitory.
    From now on I think more seriously about many things: my punishment and pains endured at school; the hardship my parents are facing; trying to earn a living from Baas Jimmie and getting pocket money while I’m studying. Yet this ‘education’, it appears, aims at keeping me inferior to people of other races for the rest of my life.
    My concern is about my teachers, especially the natives.
Do they really have advanced subject knowledge,
I wonder.
Or they are here to reinforce the limitations?
I have no one to answer my question.
    So, I conclude that unless I teach myself independent learning skills and explore other avenues, I may never succeed in helping bringing about the change that is desperately needed in mycommunity.
    I think about the European teachers, and wonder how much knowledge they are imparting to me.
Do they stick to the Bantu Education Curriculum, or do they go beyond it?
I can’t tell, for I know no other way to make a comparison. I have a lot to accomplish – going beyond what I’m taught. I start using my pocket money to buy books. I buy an Oxford Dictionary and novels, and spend most of my spare time reading. I find some words difficult to pronounce, and use my knowledge of phonetics to try to learn the correct English pronunciation phonetically. For example: ‘kidney’ reads as ‘kidni’, ‘greedy’ reads as ‘gridi’, ‘scale’ as ‘skeil’, etcetera. I’m really determined to learn. Before I realise it, it’s December: the year is over. Tomorrow is the last day of the term. I’m returning home to Skoonfontein for the holidays, having learnt a bit more about South Africa - my beautiful country!
    I’ve searched for a suitable word to describe my life in South Africa, and emerge with none that completely satisfies me. Many words could do – dehumanised, trapped, resentful, misunderstood, disbelieved, terrified or violated. But these words aren’t enough to paint the whole picture of my feelings. I’m thinking of the right word. Will this situation ever change? This has been my