When pride was shared

I UNDERSTAND exactly where the nostalgia comes from.

- NYANISO QWESHA

There was something electric about that early morning rush to buy a newspaper and flip straight to the matric results. You scanned the tiny print with a racing heart hoping to see your name or that of a friend. When you did it felt like a public badge of honour. It was proof that you had survived one of life's first major tests and that the world could see it.For those of us who wrote matric back then seeing your name in print was not just about marks. It was a rite of passage. Parents pointed it out to neighbours.

Teachers took pride. Communities celebrated quietly but collectively. Success was shared and even disappointment was cushioned by the fact that everyone had been through the same pressure cooker.

The matric year I remember most vividly was exceptional in ways that went far beyond exams. It was the first matric class of the new democracy and we carried that knowledge with quiet pride. We were not just writing final papers. We were stepping into a different South Africa.

When the results were published and our names appeared in the newspaper it felt symbolic. Our efforts were publicly acknowledged at the very moment the country itself was redefining what recognition and opportunity could mean.

Even now as I write this article I can hear my former class teacher reminding us of the task ahead of us and of the responsibility we carried. Passing matric was never meant to be the end. It was only the beginning.

The late Mr Mabece used to say that when they call your name it must not be just your name. It must be your name followed by a qualification and another qualification and another qualification.