When Slides Replace Teachers: A Student's Journey Through Chaos and Code 3s

When Slides Replace Teachers: A Student's Journey Through Chaos and Code 3s

I will never forget the time I was in Grade 11. That year changed everything. I had transferred to a new school, leaving behind the place where I spent Grade 8 to 10. And let me tell you—what I saw, what I experienced, and what I survived in both schools? It deserves a documentary. Or at least a viral blog post. So here we are.

Let's talk about teachers. Specifically, the ones who should've picked literally any other career path. You know the type: the ones who only start "teaching" properly when a supervisor or someone from the department decides to inspect the school. Suddenly, it's Oscar-worthy performances and freshly printed slides. But when those big names leave? Boom. Back to reading slides word-for-word, as if we didn’t pass Grade R.

Seriously—why do some teachers think their job is just to read PowerPoint slides? We can read. We passed Grade 1. We don’t need someone standing in front of us doing karaoke with bullet points.

Let me rewind to Grade 10. I had a Mathematical Literacy teacher who was a miracle sent from the heavens. When she taught you something, it stuck in your brain. Like magic. She'd explain, draw things on the board, and suddenly numbers made sense. I mean, I had been bad at maths my whole life—tragically bad—until she came along. But then... she left. Salary issues, principal drama, and of course, naughty kids driving her insane. She left for a better life, and honestly, she deserved it.

A week later, they brought in a replacement.

Yoh. That’s when everything went downhill. My math grades started to collapse. I went from miracle to madness real quick. And yes, if you're in South Africa, you know what a Code 3 means on your report card. That was me. Barely hanging on.

The new teacher? He read slides. Not even relevant ones. Sometimes he’d go on and on about nasty stuff—things that had absolutely nothing to do with the subject. And the favoritism? Through the roof. If you weren’t on his favorites list, you were invisible.

But I made it. Somehow. And then came Grade 11.

New school. New battles. I had to drop History—yes, my beloved History—and take Accounting. A whole subject switch. At first, it was frustrating, but then I got this teacher. And bless her—she could teach. She repeated herself as much as needed (thank God for patient educators), especially because I was behind and some kids had been doing Accounting since Grade 8. But she didn’t give up.

I actually passed. I got a Code 3 in Term 1, and it was the most shocking, happiest Code 3 of my life.

Then she got pregnant. (By another teacher, by the way—school gossip 101.) And just like that, maternity leave took her away. For months. The replacement? A whole new disaster. She couldn’t teach to save her life. She gave us notes with “hints,” scribbled on the board like she was painting abstract art, and somehow still managed to mark our exams wrong. Yes, we had to go correct the teacher on her marking.

And just like that, my Accounting fell apart:

Term 2: Code 2.

Term 3: Code 1.

Term 4: Still Code 1. Tragic.

By some twist of fate, I ended up back in History. Full circle.

This is my story, but it’s also the story of so many students. Too many teachers are hired like it’s a game of eeny-meeny-miny-mo. Where are the qualifications? The passion? The proper interviews? Like, do principals just say, “You look good, you’re hired”? Because that’s how it feels.

And when teachers don’t care—when they show up just to hold space, read slides, and collect salaries—students suffer. Future doctors, lawyers, accountants, entrepreneurs… we all fall behind.

To all the passionate teachers out there: thank you. To the rest… maybe it’s time for a career change.

Let’s stop playing with education. Because it’s not just grades at stake. It’s our futures.

— A fed-up but surviving student of the South African school system

He Said Don’t Buy a House If You Want a Husband – So Should I Stay With My Brother Now?

He Said Don’t Buy a House If You Want a Husband – So Should I Stay With My Brother Now?”

I watched this video clip that’s been haunting my thoughts ever since. A prophet—yes, a Nigerian prophet, though I don't know his name—stood boldly in front of his congregation and said something I still can’t fully believe came out of his mouth:

> “Women who want to get married must not buy a house. They should not even buy a car. They must stay with their parents, or a sister, until a man finds them. That way, it’s easier for a man to approach and marry them.”

Pause.

Did he even think about what he was saying?

I mean, what if I don’t have a sister? What if I have a brother—am I supposed to now ask him for permission to exist in my own life?

That statement shook me. Not because it was offensive or triggering. No. It hurt. It hurt because I’m a firstborn daughter. A girl child with dreams. A generational curse breaker. A woman trying to do better than the last generation—for myself, my future, and my family.

And now this so-called prophet is telling me that the very steps I take to grow, succeed, and survive are the reasons I might not get married?

Seriously?

There are millions of women around the world who are virtuous, who are kind, who are traditional, God-fearing, and who have bought houses, bought cars, graduated, started businesses, taken care of their families—and still got married. And not just married, but stayed married. Thrived in love and in life.

So when people say women who are “too independent” can’t be wives, I just shake my head. No—it’s not the independence, it’s the attitude and the persona. That’s the real difference. Some women use  independence to compete, with men. To prove something. To play a game no one’s winning. But many of us? We’re just out here trying to build a better life.

Let me tell you something: I don’t believe men and women are equal. We are different. But different doesn’t mean I must shrink myself so you can feel tall. Marriage is two becoming one. So why is it such a threat if a woman brings a house, a car, and a plan to the table?

Your insecurities are not my assignment.

If I had a daughter, I’d want her to have her own space, her own money, her own mind. I wouldn’t want her waiting in my house hoping someone will find her more "approachable" just because she hasn’t moved forward.

And let’s be honest—there are some parents who want their daughters to stay home forever. I get that. But is that the goal? Should a woman’s destiny be tied to how passive or dependent she is?

There are so many of us who just want love. A real friendship. A husband who’s a partner. Someone we can build with, pray with, grow with. But now we have to worry about prophets—yes, prophets—telling us not to grow too much or we’ll scare men away?

I don’t know if that man is married. I don’t know what his wife was like when he met her. But I know this: women who have things are not the problem. Insecure men are. And even more dangerous are the insecure men with microphones and pulpits.

And women—we have to be careful. Some of us are too quick to fear pastors more than we fear God. We give some of these leaders more respect than we give our parents, our husbands, or even ourselves.

Not every prophet is your prophet.

Not every sermon is truth.

And not every “man of God” is a mouthpiece for God.

I’m not staying in anyone’s house just to be more “approachable.” I’m building. I’m moving. I’m becoming. And when my man comes, we’ll build together.

Until then—brother, please.