Goodbye, Mr Faiers — Gqeberha school mourns a beloved teacher
Few people leave a mark on a school the way Les Faiers did. For 48 years, he was an essential part of Clarendon Park Primary School in Gqeberha. Even after retiring, he never truly stepped away.
As hundreds of tributes from the 'Clarries family' pour in, staff, former pupils and friends will gather on Monday, 28 July to remember the man who made the school's woodwork room a second home and believed in every underdog who walked through the school gates.
Faiers died on Wednesday after suffering from ill-health. Despite retiring from teaching three years ago, he was still involved in the school community.
While he played an invaluable role in the education of thousands of pupils during the almost five decades that he taught at Clarendon Park Primary School, his service stretched beyond his time in the classroom.
'Teaching is not just a profession, it is a calling. And no one embodied that more than Mr Faiers. Teaching was truly his life's passion,' said Clarendon Park Primary School principal Derryk Jordan.
Faiers joined the school's teaching staff in 1974. He taught a range of subjects, including geography and Afrikaans, but his favourite place was the woodwork classroom, where in later years he also taught practical classes in technology.
'He was gifted with hands that could tackle any task. From teaching woodwork and technology to helping with maintenance around the school premises, especially at our aftercare, where his wife worked for some time,' said Jordan.'And no matter what the task, he always did it with a smile on his face.
'The number of tributes and messages we have received just shows how many deep and meaningful connections he made with old pupils, staff members and just the community as a whole.
'If there was one thing about Les that I will never forget, it was his love and support for the underdog. He will be sorely missed.'
Deputy principal Elisabeth Rhodes recalled her days in Faiers' classroom in 1984, when she was in Grade 7. Her brother also passed through his class, and years later, in 2011 and 2014, Faiers taught her sons.
'We still have a magazine holder and a potjie lid handle that my sons made in his class. His legacy really lives on in so many ways,' she laughed.
She said she was fortunate to come back to Clarendon as a teacher and work alongside Faiers before his retirement, where she saw him help with the development of young teachers.
Incredible presence
'We missed him at our annual staff party, and when I later heard he had passed away, I was in complete disbelief. He was such an incredible presence and ' gees ' that he seemed immortal. It is difficult to believe that he is no longer around,' said Rhodes.
Another former pupil of Faiers, Beth Hechter (class of 1989), whose children were also in his class, said she remembered Faiers as always laughing and smiling.
One of his morning devotions has stuck with her.
'He used the Phil Collins song 'Another Day in Paradise', and unpacked the meaning of the lyrics to share a religious message. Whenever I hear that song, I think of Mr Faiers and the role he played in my life and the lives of so many other kids,' said Hechter.
More than 200 people posted messages on the school's Facebook page in tribute to Faier.
Emma-Kate Shuttleworth said: 'Mr Faiers always felt like home. His kindness, exceptional memory and brilliant humour were next to none. How lucky we are to have known this brilliant man.'
'To this day, when I hear 'Hey Jude' by The Beatles, I'd remember Gr7, Mr Faiers and wood work,' said Zayne Rogers.
'He would always speak to me in Afrikaans because of my full-on Afrikaans surname that I had, knowing full well I couldn't speak a word of it. He would have such a laugh at that,' said Candice Robinson, née Van Tonder.
Faiers' memorial service will be held at the Clarendon Park Primary School hall at 3pm on Monday, 28 July. DM
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Daily Maverick
7 days ago
- Daily Maverick
Goodbye, Mr Faiers — Gqeberha school mourns a beloved teacher
Generations of pupils and teachers have paid tribute to Les Faiers, whose craftsmanship and mentorship at Clarendon Park Primary School helped shape the future of thousands of youngsters. Few people leave a mark on a school the way Les Faiers did. For 48 years, he was an essential part of Clarendon Park Primary School in Gqeberha. Even after retiring, he never truly stepped away. As hundreds of tributes from the 'Clarries family' pour in, staff, former pupils and friends will gather on Monday, 28 July to remember the man who made the school's woodwork room a second home and believed in every underdog who walked through the school gates. Faiers died on Wednesday after suffering from ill-health. Despite retiring from teaching three years ago, he was still involved in the school community. While he played an invaluable role in the education of thousands of pupils during the almost five decades that he taught at Clarendon Park Primary School, his service stretched beyond his time in the classroom. 'Teaching is not just a profession, it is a calling. And no one embodied that more than Mr Faiers. Teaching was truly his life's passion,' said Clarendon Park Primary School principal Derryk Jordan. Faiers joined the school's teaching staff in 1974. He taught a range of subjects, including geography and Afrikaans, but his favourite place was the woodwork classroom, where in later years he also taught practical classes in technology. 'He was gifted with hands that could tackle any task. From teaching woodwork and technology to helping with maintenance around the school premises, especially at our aftercare, where his wife worked for some time,' said Jordan.'And no matter what the task, he always did it with a smile on his face. 'The number of tributes and messages we have received just shows how many deep and meaningful connections he made with old pupils, staff members and just the community as a whole. 'If there was one thing about Les that I will never forget, it was his love and support for the underdog. He will be sorely missed.' Deputy principal Elisabeth Rhodes recalled her days in Faiers' classroom in 1984, when she was in Grade 7. Her brother also passed through his class, and years later, in 2011 and 2014, Faiers taught her sons. 'We still have a magazine holder and a potjie lid handle that my sons made in his class. His legacy really lives on in so many ways,' she laughed. She said she was fortunate to come back to Clarendon as a teacher and work alongside Faiers before his retirement, where she saw him help with the development of young teachers. Incredible presence 'We missed him at our annual staff party, and when I later heard he had passed away, I was in complete disbelief. He was such an incredible presence and ' gees ' that he seemed immortal. It is difficult to believe that he is no longer around,' said Rhodes. Another former pupil of Faiers, Beth Hechter (class of 1989), whose children were also in his class, said she remembered Faiers as always laughing and smiling. One of his morning devotions has stuck with her. 'He used the Phil Collins song 'Another Day in Paradise', and unpacked the meaning of the lyrics to share a religious message. Whenever I hear that song, I think of Mr Faiers and the role he played in my life and the lives of so many other kids,' said Hechter. More than 200 people posted messages on the school's Facebook page in tribute to Faier. Emma-Kate Shuttleworth said: 'Mr Faiers always felt like home. His kindness, exceptional memory and brilliant humour were next to none. How lucky we are to have known this brilliant man.' 'To this day, when I hear 'Hey Jude' by The Beatles, I'd remember Gr7, Mr Faiers and wood work,' said Zayne Rogers. 'He would always speak to me in Afrikaans because of my full-on Afrikaans surname that I had, knowing full well I couldn't speak a word of it. He would have such a laugh at that,' said Candice Robinson, née Van Tonder. Faiers' memorial service will be held at the Clarendon Park Primary School hall at 3pm on Monday, 28 July. DM
Daily Maverick
17-07-2025
- Daily Maverick
Madrasahs, resistance, and the creation and preservation of Arabic Afrikaans
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In South Africa's literary heritage, specifically concerning Cape Muslims and Arabic Afrikaans, the late Dr Achmat Davids stands out. As a renowned linguist, historian, and formidable researcher, his pioneering work about the Cape Muslims and development of Arabic Afrikaans in the 1800s highlighted the dedication and intellect of this marginalised community. Suleman Dangor writes how Muslim slaves were stripped of their fundamental human rights, including the right to worship freely and openly. Despite their harsh conditions, this group of people, led by Sheikh Yusuf of Makassar (a resistance leader, Islamic scholar and exile to the Cape), met in secret to worship. Although it probably did not occur regularly, these gatherings played a crucial role in preserving their faith and sense of belonging. These meetings are considered the earliest form of a madrasah system in South Africa. 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As Cape Muslims increasingly spoke Afrikaans (Cape Dutch) instead of Malay, the Arabic script had to be adapted to capture uniquely Afrikaans sounds, hence the development of this exceptional writing tradition. In the context of the madrasah system, Arabic Afrikaans can also be seen as a form of cultural and linguistic resistance. Under Dutch and British rule, Cape Muslims were marginalised, and their identities suppressed. Through Arabic Afrikaans, this community cleverly linked their faith with their everyday language. In doing so, they helped transform Dutch – originally used as a colonial tool of oppression – into a new language and a form of empowerment and cultural preservation. Davids attributes the birth and development of the Arabic Afrikaans literary form in South Africa to a strong and well-organised madrasah system, which is still active today. Toelies in Salt River As a brown Muslim child in Salt River, Cape Town, during the late 1970s, I myself was part of this system. 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After my grandfather passed away, I had to take over the madrasah, thereby continuing the process of knowledge transfer. Little did I know that decades later I would share even more knowledge, thanks to the Afrikaans Language Museum and Monument's competitions and workshops, where I now can introduce the wonder of Arabic Afrikaans to young and old people from all backgrounds, through madrasah-style classes. The fact that this institution promotes a true reflection of the origins of Afrikaans is heartwarming. By focusing on deconstructing Afrikaans as a so-called 'white man's language' and showcasing its diverse origins, the institution succeeds in presenting Afrikaans as an inclusive language. This fosters understanding and healing, something I deeply experience among the excited participants of the Arabic Afrikaans workshops. DM
Daily Maverick
20-06-2025
- Daily Maverick
We should forgive but never forget: Afrikaans was the language of the oppressor — and the language of resistance
In the latest broadcast of Die Stories van Afrikaans on KykNet (Sundays at 20:00), I mentioned that Afrikaans was made ' een vir Azazel' (One for Azazel). I received a number of enquiries about this. The metaphor is borrowed from Etienne Leroux 's book Een vir Azazel (1964), a complex and symbolic novel. The title refers to the Jewish scapegoat, which appears in the Bible, Leviticus 16. Moses asks his brother Aaron to bring him two goat rams. The one is 'for the Lord', and 'one for Azazel'. The ram for the Lord was a sin offering. On the one for Azazel, Aaron had to perform the atonement ritual with the laying on of hands. Thus, the sins of the Israelites were transferred to the scapegoat, which would be set free into the wilderness to Azazel. In Le Roux's book, the character Adam Kadmon Silberstein then questions the truth, and in his search for enlightenment and answers, he experiences an emotional breakdown. This was one of many works that I studied at the University of the Western Cape (UWC) under Prof Jakes Gerwel in the late 1970s. Other books such as Die Swerfjare van Poppie Nongena (Elsa Joubert), the novels of André P Brink and Karel Schoeman, the dramas of Chris Barnard and Adam Small as well as the poetry of Small, DJ Opperman, Lina Spies, NP van Wyk Louw and Breyten Breytenbach were the reason that many students changed their courses in order to listen to Gerwel. At that stage, UWC's Department of Afrikaans and Dutch was the biggest in South Africa, though some students and politicians demanded that Afrikaans be banned. Many students, including myself, were in matric when Soweto exploded in 1976. Across the country, black students revolted because Afrikaans had been forced upon them. UWC students were torn in two: they struggled with their love of Afrikaans, while the wounds of 1976 were still fresh in their memories. How do you reconcile Poppie Nongena's love for the language she learnt at her mother's knee with the pain she experienced when she begged unsympathetic (Afrikaans) officials for an extension of her pass? How could she make sense of her passion for Afrikaans while her son was rebelling against the 'language of the oppressor'? Language of resistance It was Jakes Gerwel who brought perspective. He encouraged us to continue to speak Afrikaans, to write it, to make poetry, to sing and to resist in it against policies which wanted to make of you a lesser person. The language of the oppressor became the language of resistance. The time to talk had passed. The students proceeded to take action. It was in this time that the slogan ' Hek toe! Hek toe!' was coined ('to the gate'). At the campus gate the students shouted out their rejection of apartheid laws on placards at passersby: the laws which drove people from their homes; the Mixed Marriages Act; the laws of Bantu and Coloured Education which prescribed where you could work and study; the law preventing you from wearing the Springbok blazer; the law which expelled us from the beaches. Afrikaans was the language in which Poppie rebelled against the pass laws. It was the language in which Adam Small expressed the pain of the Cape Flats, where people struggled to survive in the midst of gang violence. Thus, Cape Afrikaans became a language of literature. One for Azazel That the slogan 'hek toe!' was in Afrikaans proved that the students did not have a problem with Afrikaans per se. They actually had a problem with the apartheid laws – in the words of Small, it was ' de lô, de lô , de lô'. Afrikaans could never be the reason for riots; perhaps only as the last straw that broke the camel's back. Yes, to force Afrikaans on black learners was foolish. It was the spark in the powder keg which made Afrikaans the scapegoat, the One for Azazel, on which the blame for apartheid's sins was laid. In the book Ons kom van vêr (Le Cordeur & Carstens), the former UWC lecturer and MK soldier Basil Kivedo spoke of his involvement in the Struggle: 'When the Soweto youth revolted against Afrikaans on 16 June 1976, I protested with them in solidarity in the same Afrikaans that they called the 'language of the oppressor'. Did it make me an oppressor? NO! I carried out my student politics in Afrikaans. I was arrested by the Security Police in Afrikaans. My defence was in Afrikaans. I was tortured in Afrikaans, but I fought back in Afrikaans.' In the same book, the late Danny Titus writes: 'Although Afrikaans was the language of the 'oppressor' who was linked to Afrikaner nationalism, we had to find a way to reflect the other side of Afrikaans; a more comprehensive history of the rich diversity of Afrikaans, but also the neglected history of the black and brown speakers of Afrikaans who still did not obtain their rightful place in the general discourse and media.' And as we began opening up the space for a variety of Afrikaans identities (as Small had taught us), more and more coloured and black people came forward as it dawned on them that you can achieve your dreams in Afrikaans. June 16 By the time I reached UWC, the riots of 1976 had abated, but every year June 16 was commemorated. Hein Willemse, the late Cecil Esau, myself and others involved in the literary association Litsoc published a journal titled Grondstof. The Grondstof poets wrote mostly about the themes of social and political realism, which were recited in the cafeteria (the kêf) on June 16. My first poem, Pik en Graaf, was published in it. It is a poem about poverty-stricken parents trying to earn a future for their children with pick and shovel. Other students launched the drama association Dramasoc under the leadership of Adam Small. On June 16, the group performed the works of Small (eg Kanna) in the kêf, which by then had become the heart of the UWC struggle. The commemoration of June 16 with Afrikaans literature continued. The government had no choice but to declare this day a public holiday. Language of reconciliation It is now four decades later (three of them as a democracy). In spite of Article 9 institutions such as Pansat that could develop Youth Day into a unifying nation-building project, Youth Day today is just another day to braai; just another reason for a long weekend. The youth today know little of the history of the youth who, 49 years ago on this day, propelled South Africa on a new route to democracy, of which we all pick the fruit today. These days, Youth Day is seldom celebrated properly. What can we do to get relief and answers? We can all help to create peace in our violent country. We can begin by forgiving one another, as I did long ago. But do not, however, expect me to forget. Actually, we should never forget. But we may hope. How I hoped that Youth Day was not watered down to a political gathering. How I hoped that the youth would take the lead, like we did 49 years ago. And how I hoped that the President in his speech would have condemned the singing of the song, Kill the boer, Kill the farmer, as a crime against South Africa and its people. And how I hoped that the President would recite Ingrid Jonker's poem, Die Kind (The Child), to the nation, as Nelson Mandela did on 24 May 1994, because on that day Madiba changed the stigma of Afrikaans as language of the oppressor irrevocably to the language of reconciliation. We cannot wish the past away, but we can leave a better South Africa to our children by singing together, working together, building together and celebrating June 16 together. It is time to stop laying our guilt on a scapegoat.
