Technology is Ruining Us

Our Destructive Technology-05

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This is our school, a simple place similar to a goat pen. The place where we study, the place is so simple yet, we keep a lot of expectations so very high in this classroom.

In this school there is only one class, there is no division of class 1 or class 2 and so on. Everything is merged into one because in this school only has one teacher who sometimes rarely comes to school.

As at this time when we are trying to get to school quickly, we have to accept the fact that the teacher mother we often call Fatimah's mother never came to school. We all understand if the access to travel from the mother teacher's house to the school is quite far.

Jono breathed a heavy breath. He sat next to me with his face slightly disappointed. I can understand how they all feel. Not only me and my friends are sad but all the school children are also sad and disappointed because the teacher has not come.

I looked up to see the red and white flag that had worn out even the color was fading in the sun and rain. Undoubtedly there are some tears that are a little almost separate the two colors.

In the grass, we saw some goats that were deliberately released by their owners were seen grazing there. No wonder some goat manure also littered our school area.

Our school does not have a floor like the schools in the big city. The ground became the base, the old benches became part of this wooden-walled classroom. The windows are similar to a prison room with a gray blackboard and chalk scribbles that have not been removed.

The ceiling of our classroom seemed to be hung with ornaments of birds made of paper, call it origami and we made it when we were all training during the masterpiece lesson.

In our class there is a closet, a wooden cabinet with translucent glass even slightly cracked, it happened during a strong wind and managed to knock down the closet. The contents of the books are scattered.

Sure enough, my school is pretty sad. There was only one teacher, one class, one whiteboard and one flag. If sixth graders want to complete their school with a national exam then the children from this school will be led to the big city to take the national exam.

Some children from several villages had also arrived. One of them looks not fully dressed like me and some of my friends. Even from those who do not use shoes, clothes that look yellowish and buttons that are almost toothless all.

What a joy to school like us. All our hopes are only one, that is, we just want our school to get help to be a decent school, no need to be a school in a big city.

There are classes with rooms that are sorted according to class levels, not combined like us.

We also hope that road access from school to home is facilitated. If the road is paved, the river is given a bridge and we all do not have to bother waiting for the water to recede. We also do not need to fear any crocodiles lurking.

Our village is still beautiful until the wild animals are always our friends but, it all seems there is something so very difficult. Difficult to make.

We were all about 21 people and we were sitting in a row on a log that was used as a seat on the school terrace. Our views all lead to the long streets hoping that our teacher, Fatimah's mother, will soon come while riding her old motorcycle.

The clock has shown at nine, it has been more than two hours we waited here to spend time in vain. I looked at my friends one by one who were all tired of waiting.

Several children from other villages were seen rising from their seats, exhaling a deep breath and returning home. I complained long as this time Fatimah's mother no longer came to teach at school as it did two days ago.

Those of us who had hoped to receive lessons from Fatimah's mother had to accept bad luck if Fatimah's mother did not come to school because the river she passed by was slow to recede due to heavy rain from upstream. The motorbike he was riding could not cross the river road if it could cross then Fatimah ma'am would come to school while pushing his motorbike. Yes, maybe the motor engine was water.

The wind blows. The sun is getting hotter. I looked back at some of my friends who seemed to have put on faces with dim eyes.

Samal, the thin-skinned man was ceaselessly combing his straight hair while Jono also seemed to have grown tired of chewing his food that he brought from home. The food he brought seemed to have run out and turned to rest his head on the pole.

Leha, the queen of tears, was sitting cross-legged. The queen of tears never got up from her seat.

I took a deep breath, tired of waiting. When I tried to eliminate boredom while waiting for Fatimah's mother I occasionally counted how many goats passed in the streets.

Mansur looked down at the watch on his wrist and not long after he rose up to make me and other friends look up.

"It was twelve o'clock that meant Fatimah's mother was not chasing today" he said then he got up and stepped to make me and my friends look at each other until I finally decided to go home.

Just imagine how our journey that we have been through with great difficulty finally had to make us go home empty-handed. A science we hoped we could not get.

Walking for hours, going through various obstacles however, came home with a compulsion.

What else to do? Circumstances we cannot impose. We all need to understand each other. It's common for this to happen. Sometimes at one time Fatimah's mother who was sometimes in the classroom waited for us to come one by one from various villages but, occasionally we were made to wait for the arrival of Fatimah's mother.

And what happens most often is that we have to go home empty-handed. What else to do? It's our destiny as children living in the outback far from the reach of government and technology.

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