Bijna door den bliksem gedood …

 It was a balmy summer day on the Highveld that a life was changed in an instant. 

Gisela was a twenty-something Language teacher at a boys’ high school in Johannesburg. A recent graduate, she had demonstrated academic prowess, having attained her degree cum laude. It was with youthful enthusiasm that she embarked on a promising career in the classroom. Passionate about her beloved language, she sought to inculcate an appreciation of her mother tongue and open up to children the wealth of fine literature to which her tutelage would give them access. 

The young educator was well-liked by colleagues and pupils alike. She had an infectiously cheerful disposition and came across as caring and kind. Her soft nature did not, however, invite pupils to underestimate her. By the force of her intellect and her outgoing personality, she held a tight rein on the youngsters in her classes. She mastered the art of classroom management by a nifty ability to anticipate disruption, unacceptable behaviour and distractions, that she was able to pre-empt and skilfully redirect to create a positive learning environment.

Gisela was always tastefully attired, with a perfectly tailored nuance of sensuality that attracted appreciative glances from the young fellows with whom she shared the corridors. Along these passages she brightened the staid dullness of a high school, as she swept along in her charming summery outfits that enhanced her well contoured frame. 

For anyone living and working on the Highveld, summer thunderstorms are a presence that is an integral part of the rhythm of life. The subtropical climate inevitably bequeaths rain showers to the area almost every day in the summer months. Because of the elevation of the city of Johannesburg these showers are often accompanied by thunder and lightning. Johannesburgers soon become accustomed to thunderstorms and, anyone who has lived in that city for more than a few months is more likely to shelter from the rain than hide from lightning bolts. 

Gisela used public transport to and from the school. In the 1970s Johannesburg had a convenient bus service and the bus stop was directly across the road from the main gate to the school. It was there, on that particular day that she waited with other commuters. It had been a warm, humid, day – ideal for the formation of thunder clouds. As she had made her way to the bus stop in the late afternoon, the first drops of rain settled over Johannesburg. Other commuters jostled for a place under the bus shelter as she struggled with typically heavy bags that teachers lug around. The school books inside strained at the seams and the weight slowed her down. She had a brolly that offered scant cover in the deluge that followed. Leaning against the bus stop signpost she made a valiant effort to keep the rain from drenching both her and her books, but to little avail. The little waif of a woman seemed pitiful as she battled the pelting rain.

Then came the first bolt of forked lightning, followed almost instantly by a loud crack of thunder. The lightning and then thunder in quick succession was a clear indication that the eye of the storm was close by. Gisela stood her ground. Seconds later another sharp bolt of current made its way from the dark clouds above to the earth. It struck her umbrella with a merciless crack and jolted poor Gisela, lifting her off the pavement and smashing her against the bus shelter. Her shoes had been yanked off her feet from the force of the blow and her clothing bore scorch marks. Her legs were singed by the flame and she lost consciousness in an instant.

Some time later Gisela regained consciousness in the Johannesburg General Hospital, to which she had been taken by a hastily summoned ambulance and emergency medical personnel. It would be several weeks before she would return to her classroom. After having been stabilised, the burn scars had to be treated. Burn specialists and plastic surgeons attended to her with great care to ensure that the most visible signs of the trauma would fade from view. Covering the visible blemishes was far easier to manage than the shock to her nervous system and psyche. 

Gisela returned to work when her physical strength allowed. Her intellect and subject knowledge seemed not to have been impacted by the dreadful event. However, she had changed fundamentally. A previously confident and cheerful young woman, was now an anxious, socially awkward person. She came across as somewhat shy and withdrawn. In the staffroom, her interaction with colleagues lacked spontaneity and she no longer conversed with ease or engaged in “small talk” and silly banter that lubricates social engagement. Her colleagues hoped that time would heal these invisible scars, and that she would someday be the outgoing and supremely enthusiastic teacher she had once been. 

Alas, that did not happen. As the months and years wore on, Gisela continued to teach the content of her subject competently, but without the same verve as before. She seemed to have lost her touch and could not relate to either colleagues or pupils. Social awkwardness is the death knell for any teacher. Kids pick up on psychological dysfunction instantly and relentlessly chip away at the effectiveness of a teacher that shows such weakness – a classroom is no place for a nervous disposition.

As she lost her ability to anticipate and deal with issues that arose in the classroom, other areas of her life also began to teeter. She lost interest in fashionable attire. Her once cheerful appearance gave way to frumpishness. Not only did she begin to dress like women many years her senior, but she began to neglect herself alarmingly. Her once slim frame morphed into obesity. On more than one occasion she arrived at work in an outfit soiled by the greasy residue of fast food. The appreciative glances she had once attracted from the gentlemen (both adult and pupil) had mutated into sniggers and unflattering remarks about her unkempt appearance as she galumphed down the corridors. The boys became harsh and unkind in their interaction with her in the classroom and they coined the nickname by which she became known: “Bolt”.

She was relentlessly taunted by thoughtless teenage meanness. Pupils would pretend to climb over an invisible thread at the threshold of her classroom, or enter the room one at a time – each opening and closing the door in a sustained campaign to make a bad condition worse. These antics left her perplexed, to the delight of her tormentors. By the time she reached retirement age, sadly, she was at the end of her tether. Her nerves were shattered and it was a relief to her and the school when she abruptly ended her career and “put herself out to pasture” in a manner of speaking.

Poor Gisela. She had such a promising start, but one bolt of lightning put paid to that.

©Paul M Haupt