By Lufuno Masindi
2011
“Turn to the next page, Lufuno; you are not paying attention!”
I almost fall over my chair. My daydreaming has been disrupted by the loud, agitating voice of my least favourite person, my Grade 3 English teacher.
“Yes, teacher,” I reply in monotone and comply. I slouch in my chair to hide from the faint murmurs, and several pairs of eyes fixated on me. I stare at the hundreds of meaningless words in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, pretending to read while intentionally blurring my vision, and continue delving into my interrupted daydreaming. I imagine myself a sloth, lazily dragging myself onto the warm sand, with no care in the world, and not in this dreadful literature class, forced to read about a crazy girl like Alice.
It had become a daily ritual to find the most comfortable position, stare outside the rusting maroon window frame, and slowly tap my fingers on the hard, graffitied desk to let my mind wander to exciting adventures. In my mind, I could be anything I wanted and do as I pleased with no one to force me to page through distasteful books with terrible morals.
I never understood its essence and why teachers forced it down our throats. Why do we not have the liberty to choose for ourselves? How will this change the world and make it a better place? It is just reading, after all.
A few months later
My mom oils my face with excessive Vaseline while I sit on the miniature chocolate sofa, waiting for her to finish so we can arrive early to school for my end-of-year report. We rus h out of the house in a flash, our feet barely touching the bright green grass beginning to overgrow slightly. We take the nearest small white taxi to my school, sitting in front to make it easier to get out once we reach our desired location.
We arrive on time, and my mom goes alone to speak to my class teacher. I sit on the hard pavement with my legs crossed. I impatiently wait for her while drawing stick figures on the sand on the pavement. I grow anxious as I realise they have been speaking too long, but I do not think the worst. After waiting for what seemed like forever, my mom comes out with a gloomy expression and a sad smile. Her expression tells me everything that I wanted to know.
2012
Nothing much has changed from the previous year except that I have been moved from my favourite seat next to the window and compelled to endure the torture of sitting in the front, right next to the teacher’s desk. I still have a strong disdain for reading and do not dare to touch a book unless yelled at by my ‘favourite’ teacher.
My teacher was anything but civil; her dislike for me has intensified, considering that I had ruined her perfect record of a hundred per cent pass rate. I am on her watch list, and she watches me like a hawk. She practically throws books at me to force my interest in reading. And due to the fear of being yelled at, I force myself to do something I never thought I would do – read.
Although I still hate reading, I need to get my grades up and get my teacher off my back. Reading is still like looking at meaningless words created to control our thinking processes and prevent independent thinking.
Home is where I feel the happiest; no reading, more joy! I only read when I have some homework, but other than that, I relax. I sit on my favourite tiny chocolate sofa, lazily throw a leg on the table and watch an episode of Winx Club. I imagine myself as a Winx club character with brightly-coloured giant wings and long, brown, sparkly hair instead of reading boring literature my teacher had lent me to read over the weekend.
My father silently watches me from the other side of the room and spots the literature books I have carelessly discarded on the brown and white tiled floor. Seeing this breaks his heart because he is an English teacher. One of his children despises the sight of books. After a few minutes of searching, he finally finds the book he knew would be perfect for me. He places it on the small, black coffee table as if I could take it or leave it. This is new to me because, unlike my teacher, who makes me feel suffocated and oppressed by books, I finally have a choice. It feels liberating.
I quietly stare at the vibrant and seemingly engaging book Lazy Mandla and spot something that catches my attention. On the bright green grass is, I assume, Mandla; he seems satiated as he casually lies down with one leg raised. It is like seeing a reflection of myself; Mandla is just as lazy as I am. My whole body buzzes with excitement because I have finally found a character I can relate to. I open the book, read it, and anticipate what will happen next, allowing my imagination to go to places it had never gone before. I have opened a portal filled with endless possibilities and adventures. As I continue reading the book, Mandla’s character develops as he comes out of his shell. He stops being lazy because he has found joy in discovering new, exciting activities. By the end of the book, I am inspired by Mandla, as I, too, want to be like him. Reading that book evoked a hunger I never knew I had, and no, it was not for food but for reading. From that moment on, I paged through book after book, exploring new worlds and ideas that unravelled my imagination.
The present
As I enter adulthood, I find myself seeking high and low for all kinds of literature, which is a remarkable difference from my childhood self. Reading felt like torture, and I would feel despair whenever I was told to read something. But now that my father has aided my love for literature, I only think about reading. Reading has become a drug that I cannot get enough of. Every time I read a page of something, I am left yearning for more. Exposure to literature has offered me a constant companion, solace, comfort, and a refreshing perspective whenever needed.
It has answered so many questions that have troubled me since childhood. I used to wonder why we need reading in our lives and if it can improve the world. Since I started genuinely enjoying reading, all these questions now have meaning. Reading has indeed transformed my life; it has changed how I view the world and my thinking process.
I have developed a solid foundation in several languages, including English and various indigenous languages. As I explored different cultures and practices, I gained a deeper understanding of the world, allowing me to connect with people from diverse backgrounds.
My love for literature has led me to Journalism. Since starting this course, my writing has been centred around literacy topics because I have spotted a need for literacy development in our society. I yearn to discover literacy programs that have the resources to promote literacy in disadvantaged areas.
Now, being at Rhodes University, my love for literature has drastically transformed; it has diversified. As my reading tastes evolved, my passion for reading remains unbreakable. Now, as a journalism student, I can share my love for reading with others while using my writing to connect and inform the community.
