The curious case of the Box School

Thulaganyo Jankey | Tuesday September 8, 2026 11:44

But as usual, there are those who criticise. Some unionists have banded together and declared, with great conviction, that the school is made of boxes. Yes, boxes. Not bricks, not mortar, not steel beams. Boxes. Now, most of us are sitting here with our heads spinning. How can a school be made of boxes? Did someone raid the back of a supermarket and decide to stack banana cartons into classrooms? And most importantly, what happens when it rains? Will the Standard 5 classroom float away like a soggy cereal packet? The unionists, of course, are serious. They even called a meeting to announce to the citizens that the school is nothing more than a glorified warehouse of cardboard.

One can imagine the scene: a stern-faced spokesperson, pounding the table, declaring, ‘Comrades, our children are being educated in boxes!’ The crowd gasps. Someone faints. Another whispers, ‘But... what if it’s true?’

Meanwhile, government officials are probably rolling their eyes so hard they can see their own brains. ‘Utter balderdash,’ they’ll say. ‘Nonsense. Lies. Propaganda.’ And yet, the seed of doubt has been planted. Because let’s be honest: stranger things have happened.

We’ve seen the National Stadium take more than five years to refurbish, the SSKB turf take more than a decade to re-turf and the former vice president Sdala convert into a content creator. So why not a box school? Let’s picture it. You walk up to the gates, and instead of a proud brick façade, you’re greeted by a wall of taped-up cartons. The school motto is printed in bold: Knowledge is fragile, handle with care. The classrooms are labeled ‘This Side Up.’

The principal’s office is a giant refrigerator box, complete with a flap door. Inside, the desks are made of flattened packaging, the chalkboard is a repurposed shipping crate, and the science lab proudly boasts ‘flammable’ stickers on every surface.

The students are told to bring umbrellas, not for the walk to school, but for the inevitable leaks when the rain starts. The teachers, bless them, soldier on.

‘Class, today we will learn about the water cycle. Step one: observe how our classroom dissolves when it rains.’ The children dutifully take notes on paper that is already curling from the humidity.

The unionists are adamant: this is a scandal, a disgrace, proof that the system is collapsing. They warn of collapsing roofs, collapsing walls, collapsing futures. They demand answers, accountability, and perhaps sturdier materials.

The defenders, on the other hand, insist that this is innovation. ‘It’s eco-friendly!’ they cry. ‘Recyclable! Sustainable! Cutting-edge architecture!’ They point to international trends in modular design, conveniently ignoring that those modules are usually made of steel, not cardboard.

Some optimists even suggest that the box school could be a teaching tool. ‘Children will learn resilience,’ they argue. ‘If your classroom melts in the rain, you adapt. If your desk blows away in the wind, you improvise. Life skills!’

And so, the citizens of Gaborone are left wondering. Should they laugh? Should they cry? Should they march to the school and poke the walls to see if they’re real? Rumors swirl like dust in the Kalahari wind. Some say the school is perfectly fine, a sturdy building unfairly maligned. Others swear they saw a goat chewing on the Standard 2 classroom wall.

Here’s the real kicker: what if it is true? What if the unionists are right, and the school is indeed made of boxes? Then we will have witnessed the birth of a new architectural genre. Future generations will study it in textbooks (printed on recycled packaging, naturally).

Tourists will flock to see the famous ‘Box School of Gaborone,’ marveling at its fragility. And when it rains, well... perhaps the students will simply take the day off. After all, education is important, but so is staying dry.

In the end, whether the school is made of boxes or bricks, the story has already taken on a life of its own. It’s a reminder that in our part of the world, even the most ordinary announcement — ‘a new school has been built’ — can spiral into comedy, controversy and cardboard conspiracies.

So until someone actually visits and reports back, we’ll keep wondering. Is it a school? Is it a box? Or is it both — a box full of knowledge, waiting to be unpacked? For comments, feedback and insults email inkspills1969@gmail.com) *Thulaganyo Jankey is a training consultant who runs his own training consultancy that provides training in BQA- accredited courses. His other services include registering consultancies with BQA and developing training courses. Contact him on 74447920 or email admin@ultimaxtraining.co.bw