OBIRTUARY : BY JERI JURO We sit expectantly on the rough wooden chairs in the lecture room on the second floor of the faculty building. We are strangers to each other, so there is very little talk as we each muse over the semester teaching and learning programme clearly typed on white sheets of paper boldly labelled “COURSE OUTLINE”. The excitement of having been admitted to study for a Bachelor of Education degree in English at one of the country’s prestigious institutions of higher education is tangible in most of us. We all dream about the kind of knowledge that we are going to acquire and how the knowledge is going to change our perception of education in general and teaching in particular. The tutor we are waiting for while we fumble with our papers and other curious belongings most of which ultimately prove to be a collection of hot air, useless college belongings bought by enthusiastic college recruits, is Professor Rosemary Moyana . I look at my equally petrified colleagues who I guess are wondering what kind of a tutor a professor is. Most of us hail from communities where we have been told that professors are people who have devoured every kind of book, big and small, people with some talismanic brains that can read into the minds of others with ease. We expect, on this day, to meet the Oxford English dictionary personified, so we have small notebooks in which to write new high sounding words and phrases. Most of us believe that people who are well-read must demonstrate their skill and competence by belching out every kind of exotic words. The clicking sound of her shoes announces her presence in the corridor. At last our expectations are answered. The professor doesn’t disappoint as she enters the room. All her fingers are decorated with rings of different shapes and sizes. She has a golden necklace that fits very well with the colours of her blouse. Her black African hair tells us that there was something natural and African about the well-read and travelled professor of English. We looked at her with awe as we suspected that each of her actions was a result of critical analysis and supposed to send a message to us. Alas, we were wrong in our wild anticipations and expectations of overt and covert professorial behaviour. It slowly dawned on us that the highly-esteemed professor, who is also the dean of the Faculty of Education, was just like us in many ways. She moved around the room greeting each one of us as she enquired about our families and why we had chosen to pursue studies with the University of Zimbabwe. It was easy to see that she was human and down to earth. Her laughter punctuated the room as she shared jokes with each of us. We were shocked on this day because, in our wild imagination of a professor, it was not proper for a fountain of wisdom and embodiment of knowledge to listen to our stories because there was nothing important that we could say to a professor. It was on this very first interaction with Moyana that we began to slowly develop new perceptions about the difference between bein