A Homemade School
Dr Lesley Beeton visited South Africa and visited a school to find out what it’s like to go to school in South Africa.
This is the Drakensberg in South Africa. In English, it means ‘Dragon Mountain’. The children in this part of South Africa face a daily commute to school. In the area where I was staying, the nearest town was Bergville. With the windy roads through the mountains, this journey can take almost an hour. School starts early too, at eight o’clock, so that means getting up around 6 am to be ready for the taxi.
Connection Infection – Poetry by Kids
News scrolling on a bright screen
Eyes scanning down a magazine
Locked up in a daydream
Obsessed by the latest Instagram post I’ve seen
I’m infected with a virus
That I can’t get out of my head
It’s got me going crazy
At least; that’s what the comments said
Hairstyles and creations
‘Urgent’ messages from relations
The latest trends and how to cook
Living life by an electronic book
I’m infected with a bug
That’s connected to my hands
That’s left me solitary
Unware of and blind to the past
We used to talk face to face
Of politics, clothes and space
But then you were replaced
By a cruel-minded interface
My alarm’s a notification
I’m dictated by cold metal parts
My day scheduled on reaching the leader boards
The social media bug has infected my heart
Is Black Really White?
Science will tell you that black is not a colour, rather it is the absence of colour or the fact that there is no colour there. I expect that makes you think of white, rather than black!
And that’s the interesting thing about the word black: it was nearly white. And in fact in several other languages, the same root did develop to mean white.
Stories from the Stables Part 2 – Topper. Ouch!
Our Stories from the Stables series from Carolyn Ward continues with a flea-bitten grey with a shocking attitude.
Topper. I swear that pony could scowl.
It was my week to ride him, and I had just hauled him all the way down to the outdoor school and stood him in the middle to check his girth and stirrups. As I reached under to tighten up the girth he turned his head toward me and eyeballed me, then stepped over with his nearside foreleg; and stamped on my left foot.
I hissed a very rude word and frantically pushed him to move him off. My foot sunk into the woodchip surface with his heavy weight crushing it down. By now he was still looking directly at me, so I started punching his shoulder to try and get him to step off. Today’s teacher was a crosspatch I have no fond memories of; if she had found out about it I’d have been bawled out for having my foot in the wrong place or something.