Of small and big monkeys in Melville

This is my son Nils in 1998. He was three years old and had just started pre-primary. Finding a good school wasn't easy back in the days when the South African democracy was brand new. We eventually settled for one in Melville, a fairly young and trendy suburb of Johannesburg. The school had just opened its doors for black children, a new criteria for obtaining government support. Most of the kids of colour had been recruited from domestic workers in the area. These children were generally conditioned not to take space or even to be heard; to just wait quietly while mom finished the ironing. I remember a little girl who was sitting alone looking out the window for hours, until her mom came to fetch her at the end of the school day. 

Still, some of the white parents weren´t happy. They wanted the black and white children to be segregated. The black kids should start playing outside while the white ones were be inside the classrooms. Then, halftime. they should swop, they demanded. 

When I asked Nils about his day, he told me with great sincerity that his teacher had said that his dad was a small monkey and Nelson Mandela, our then President, a big monkey. I made an appointment with the principal. She didn't have much to say, not even "sorry". The only explanation provided was that the teacher in question was from Port Shepstone. The principal suggested that we'd give them three weeks to come up with a transformation plan. 

Nils stayed at home for this period. When I went to see the principal again, my world came crashing down. The transformation plan consisted of one item, namely to gather all learners and sing "Jesus Loves the Little Children". You know the one that goes "Red, brown, yellow, black, and white, They are precious in his sight". 

I tried to argue that the other 3-year old children are not the problem. It's the parents, the teachers and yes, the principal herself. I didn't exactly win the Popularity Contest of 1998. I also tried speaking to the parents. I didn't expect them to sympathise (they didn't). I just wanted to make the point that South Africa is changing and they can as well board the train to the future. One day their kids will have colleagues - and maybe even a boss - of colour. The mom of Nils´ best friend, a tiny red-haired boy with a chronic sniffle, was apologetic, but not prepared to take a stand. She kept saying that she hoped it wasn't her son who had said anything. 

Although, at this point, I was far from sure that South Africa was ever going to change. Racism is a peculiar poison that is passed down from generation to generation, sometimes diluted, sometimes amplified and reanimated.