Professor Daizal Samad

Neighbouring A School

THE small house which I rent in Rose Hall Town, Corentyne, sits obliquely opposite a secondary school. The gate of the school faces north and opens onto a slim street which we all share. As usual, the school was built with the same imagination it took to build match boxes. As usual, there is no ventilation to talk about, although the walls have small spaces between the concrete blocks, each space is about 8 inches by 3 inches. Enough, maybe, for a whisper of breeze, but more than enough for outside noises to disrupt teaching and learning, enough to befoul the minds of children.

The school is surrounded on all sides by houses. The immediate neighbour to the east is separated from the school by about five feet; between the school and the house is a chain- link fence about five feet in height. The fence is porous. Everything is close, and I can hear the tiny bell signalling recess and lunch breaks. I can often make out easily the words of play and tease from the children at recess, a kind of music, a kind of freedom in the voices. I can hear the teachers.

But too often I can hear nothing because of the surrounding noise. One night last week, a neighbour (two close houses away from the school) was embroiled in a nasty fight with her brother-in-law. It all came out, vulgar and loud. The “f’s” and “s’s” before and after every word. Who can cook roti? Who “bin wid who” and how many. The whole vile thing in graphic detail. Through it all, the husband sat in his hammock. No problem. It was night, so there were no children in the school. They were closer…in the homes. It is nothing strange at all. Mothers can be heard at any time screaming at children: “Ayuh guh bathe ayuh mudda’s s…what de mudda’s s…ayuh ah duh?” And, children, often quick learners, respond exactly in kind. No problem. Culture, one supposes.

The problem came (for me anyway)on the morning of the next day. With the regularity of the “call in” school bell, a neighbour cranks up the noise:”Music”! It is loud, but not booming. At around 10 a.m., the fighting female neighbour goes across to her immediate neighbour who lives in the house closest the school. She recaps the nasty incident of the previous night. For some reason, there is a disagreement between the two neighbours–maybe some quarrel about some detail. The cussing down began! The same poetic language. The teacher in the classroom five feet away, defeated by the vulgarity and noise, shuts the door, stopping what little breeze that may have come through the door. The teacher says nothing at all.

The neighbourly cuss down lasts for about 50 minutes. It is now 10:50 a.m. There are five minutes of the school sounds. Then a car pulls up, silver- grey, nicely clean, windows down. It parks in front of the school, with the stereo going full blast. The driver gets out, leaves the front doors of the car open, sits and has a beer with the neighbour closest the school. The “music” from the car booms. The beer must be nice and cold. School? Never mind that. Just before the school’s lunch break, the driver gets back into his clean car, noise booming, and drives off. After all, he must go for lunch as well.

The tiny school bell rings signalling the end of the lunch break, the reassembly of school, and the resumption of teaching and learning. At 1 p.m., the people immediately opposite the school (separated by this thin ribbon of road) decide to show all others that their music set is second to none. The noise booms full blast. The “lyrics” employ all the kinds of words that were used the night before during the quarrel. This continues for an hour after school is dismissed for the day. Ah! The glory of education here. But it has all become quite ordinary since it is all a way of life.

And yet, through all of this hourly, daily vulgarity and noise and acrimony, there is this persistent sense of neighbourliness. It is a miracle to behold. And through all the nasty habits and behaviour, I have never heard a word of racist talk. Not one N- word or B-word or C-word. Not even once. So maybe–just maybe–there is Hope yet.