I was about 3 weeks into my first semester as a woodworking teacher. I had taken possession of a woodworking classroom that had 10 workbenches. And two chalkboards. That’s it. Nothing to sit on. No wood, no tools, no books, no chalk, no electricity. Nuttin. I had bought some chalk when I was in town the other day, and I had gone to the timber company in the north, and cadged a truckload of planks, which were now stored neatly in my storage closet. All I lacked was some tools, to actually be a wood WORKING class. I had been successful in writing a letter to the timber company for the donated wood, and at the time, I had also written a letter to the Ministry of Education, to the Senior Inspector of Technical Programs, begging for some woodworking tools, and was awaiting his response. Meanwhile, my classes were working on drawing plans for the stools that I intended to have them make for the classroom, as soon as I had something with which to render my stored wood into usable sizes.
We had gotten some new teachers from the teachers college in Mbabane last week, to fill the empty slots left by the teachers who had transferred to other schools. One of them, Futhi Nxumalo, an english and geography teacher, was a beautiful young woman, voluble and intelligent, and we had become friends while sitting on the stoop of the headmasters house in the evenings, exchanging life stories. I liked her a lot. She was a city girl, and had grown up in Mbabane, the capitol city, and being out in the bush at a school without water or electricity, was a bit of a challenge for her. Her humorous perspective on life in the city versus life in Elulakeni made us both laugh.
A couple weeks later I was just finishing my last class of the afternoon, and a student came to the door, and told me that Futhi was requesting my presence out in front of the school. I dismissed the class, and walked to the front. She was standing by a car, with a handsome man, and laughing. I walked over to them.
Futhi: Oh, Maseko, do you know my brother Mphendulo?
Me: No, I have not had that pleasure. Hello, Mphendulo, I am Maseko.
And I shook his hand.
Me: I am the woodworking and technical drawing teacher here.
Mphendulo: Yes, I know, Maseko. I came here specifically to see you. It was just fortuitous that my sister is a teacher here too.
Me: You came to see me, sir? How can I help you?
Mphendulo: I am the Senior Inspector of Technical Subjects, and I have come to look over your woodworking program.
I had been warned by Peace Corps that the inspector could arrive at my school at any time during my tenure, to check that my program was meeting the Technical Subjects guidelines, and that I should be on my best behavior.
Me: Oh, well, um, come on down to my classroom. There isn’t much to show you, but I am slowly getting up to speed.
Mphendulo: Maybe you could help me with something here.
And he opened the trunk of his car, and there were 10 complete sets of brand new woodworking tools. Jack planes, tenon saws, miter boxes, marking gauges, chisels, mallets, measuring tapes. And a couple rip saws. And three hammers. Two brace and bits, and a hand drill. It was a bonanza! My eyes lit up like it was Christmas. Tools! I could actually teach how to work wood, instead of just looking at it and wishing. Yippie!
We carried the tools down to the shop, and I showed Mhendulo my stacks of wood, and the boys’ plans for the stools, and my lesson plans for the semester. He seemed pleased by my seriousness and enthusiasm. We talked for an hour, and he left to go have dinner with Futhi, and I sat there in a daze. I looked at my treasure. Tools! What useful things to have!
Tools Matter 