The silence in the library was profound, almost sacred. Mario leafed through an old book, with yellowed pages and small print. "Professor," he asked, "if education was the path to liberation, why couldn't everyone study?"“
Mahlemba adjusted his glasses and replied, "Because knowledge is power, Mario.".
And those who dominate never share power easily. Between 1950 and 1960, schools were few and selective. The children of the colonists studied to lead; the Africans, at best, learned enough to serve. They called this 'adapted education'—a teaching that taught obedience, not questioning.‘
Mario looked up. "And there was a difference even in the books?"“
“"It was everywhere," said the professor. "In the subjects, in the schedules, in the courses.".
The African didn't learn philosophy or world history—he learned carpentry, sewing, and singing hymns. It was a system that didn't create citizens, it created a workforce.”
“"But even so, there were those who managed to go further, weren't there?" Mario asked.
“Yes, there were,” Mahlemba replied. “The few who managed to advance—through studies, faith, or stubbornness—became seeds of change.”.
They read what wasn't allowed, thought what wasn't taught, dreamed what wasn't permitted. And they began to realize that exclusion wasn't an accident—it was a method.”
Mario put down the book and said, "So the fight for independence began in the classroom."“
Mahlemba smiled. “It started in the mind, Mario. Because the first illiterate person isn’t the one who can’t read—it’s the one who doesn’t have access to the truth.”
They remained silent for a few seconds, listening to the distant sound of pages being turned.
Mahlemba concluded: “Education is like the light in this room: when only a few have access, the rest of the people remain in the shadows.”
Final message: A people who learn, liberate themselves. A people who are taught to obey, repeat the prison. The future of a nation begins with how it educates its children.
