THE EDITOR: Two female students erupted with laughter as they navigated their way on a footpath where a couple of inches of muddy water swirled. It was about 9.45 am on October 5 as I wended my way towards a grammar workshop at the UWI's LRC (Learning Resource Centre).
Whereas my clothing and footwear offered some protection from the water, the students, in their ripped jeans and sandals, were forced to choose another pathway. Before I was out of earshot, I overheard one of them echoing the question I had asked out loud, 'How on earth are we supposed to cross here?' I resisted the urge to burst out laughing and to join them in their quest for whatever came next.
By 10.20 am the front of the LRC was properly flooded. (Small wonder that the grammar workshop was a no-show). Students galloped up the stairs barefooted, pant hems rolled up under their knees. Wet footprints covered the shiny terrazzo floors and stairs. The building now thronged with people.
While I became concerned about slipping my mask back on, the students were more intent on getting to their classes. Drenched books and bags covered the table in the lobby where others stood waiting. Some held their clothes under the dryer in the bathroom. The side pathway leading from the building appeared not yet to be affected by the flash flood so I negotiated my exit there.
At 10.45 am a student opened the door to Room SB4. Pointing to his shoes in hand, he asked permission to enter. My own trousers and footwear had not fared well on the journey to my 11 o'clock class, and we sat barefoot and shivering.
My attention was drawn to a slew of e-mails from students stranded by floodwater. They expressed their concern that they would miss their oral presentations. The tone was deferential, 'I am hoping I would be given another opportunity to do my exam…' 'I know I still have time before class but I wanted to know if I can go next week in case the weather happens to get worse…' 'Please reply when you can.'
By 11 am the oral presentations for those who had shown up, started. Cue-cards were soft and wet, the notes penned on them, smeared and blurry. Students improvised. They pulled notes up from their phones and other devices, offering to assist in timing their classmates' presentations.
One student entered very late. He said, almost inaudibly, that he had come from Arima and it had taken him a while to get to class. He was the last to deliver his oral presentation. As he left the room he turned back to say, 'Stay safe, okay Miss? Please keep safe.'
October 5 was World Teachers' Day. As the WhatsApp greetings for teachers came in, so did the videos of the flood waters and roads and buildings that had become almost unrecognisable. But I did not at all consider myself a hero as one greeting said I was. On October 5 I recognised the joyous attitude of the students, their motivation to get to their classes on time, their patience, their helpfulness, and their respect, even in the face of adversity. On World Teachers' Day, I saluted the students.
AMINA
