Teachers Adrift: The Weary Heroes of a Country That Has Forgotten How to Teach

Professors, Drink water and stop complaining (Filipe Jacinto Nyussi)

Being a teacher in Mozambique means carrying the weight of an entire country on your shoulders and, paradoxically, feeling invisible. As the calendar marks another Teacher's Day, in many schools across the country, there are no flowers or celebrations; there is only silence, frustration, and a routine that repeats itself like a punishment. Amidst the erasing chalk and broken desks, a class that was once a symbol of prestige survives, but now lives at the mercy of empty promises, late salaries, and dreams that time seems to have left behind.

In a stuffy classroom at a public school on the outskirts of Maputo, a teacher we'll call Professor Pardal, a fictitious name to protect his identity, speaks with a calm but weary voice. "Being a teacher in recent years hasn't been easy. The profession has lost its value in society. We're no longer viewed with the same respect," he laments. Pardal has been teaching for seven years. His love for children and his desire to teach sustain him, but the hope of seeing improvements seems increasingly distant.

He says that, at first, he faced methodological difficulties, learned over time, and graduated independently. "I feel more mature, but it's frustrating. Conditions aren't improving. The classrooms are overcrowded, there's a shortage of materials, and the salary... doesn't always come on time." When he talks about salary, his tone changes. "We give our all, but the return is low. Teachers carry an entire country, but they're treated as if they were a burden."

Precariousness is widespread. In many schools, teachers and students share the same discomfort: broken desks, worn chalkboards, scarce books, and the sound of discouragement echoing in the hallways. "The learning environment often offers no conditions for either the student or the teacher," Ramiro continues. "Sometimes I look at the class and see children sitting on the floor. How can you teach like this?"

This question is a cruel portrait of a system that seems to have forgotten its foundations. The base salary of a Mozambican teacher is among the lowest in the public sector, and what was once heralded as a light at the end of the tunnel, the TSU (Single Salary Table), has become a collective nightmare. "The TSU came like a sweet treat: at first it seemed like a blessing, but then it was abruptly snatched from our mouths," says another teacher, Crisostenes (also a fictitious name). "Today, we are in total despair. What should have been a source of appreciation has become a source of frustration. We receive less than before, and with more deductions."

Rogério has been teaching for six years and shares the same anguish. He speaks slowly, as if measuring his words, but his voice carries an uncomfortable truth: "Being a teacher in Mozambique is complicated. We pour our hearts into the classroom, but the system doesn't reward us. We work overtime that never gets paid. At the end of the month, our salary doesn't even cover half of our basic needs."

He says he's often forced to pay out of his own pocket to print worksheets and buy teaching materials. "Teachers have to reinvent themselves every day, but without support, it's impossible to maintain motivation. There are days when I think school is the place where they teach you to give up."

This lack of motivation is perhaps the greatest enemy of Mozambican education. The profession, which should be a beacon of wisdom, has become a field of emotional resistance. "There are teachers who no longer feel inspired. They teach out of obligation, not vocation. When salaries are delayed, when promotions are years away, when effort goes unrecognized, the love for the profession slowly begins to die," confesses Ramiro.

The situation is worsened by the lack of career advancement. Many teachers remain at the same level for years, without any progression. The government promises reclassifications and improvements, but time passes, and the reality remains unchanged. "We undertake training, courses, and try to grow, but nothing changes. Promotions are slow, almost nonexistent. And, while we wait, the cost of living rises every day," laments Rogério.

This stagnation is also reflected in poor training. Many teachers struggle to continue their education. "A teacher who earns little can't afford to go to university. And even those who try do so to increase their salary, not for the sake of science," says Rogério bitterly. "But it should be the opposite: teachers should study to improve their teaching, not to escape hunger."

The reality described by Ramiro and Rogério is merely a reflection of what we experience in the provinces, where the situation is even more dire. Schools lack desks, teachers walk long distances, and students drop out because there aren't enough teachers. The deterioration of working conditions has a direct impact on the quality of education. Lack of motivation permeates the classroom and infects the students. "When a teacher arrives at school without energy, without joy, it's reflected in the class. The children feel it. And teaching stops being about learning and becomes about survival," explains Pardal.

In many communities, teachers have become examples of quiet resilience. They face months of salary delays, political promises that never materialize, and a society that seems to misunderstand their role. "Today, being a teacher is a survivor. We go to school without knowing if our salaries will go down. And when they do, we're already saddled with debts and loans. There's no way to live like this," says Crisostenes, with a sad smile.

The lack of social consideration is another hard blow. In the past, teachers were symbols of respect. Today, they're treated with indifference, almost like disposable employees. "Before, teachers were feared, a role model. Today, they're just another role model. People no longer value knowledge," laments Pardal.

Teacher's Day, which should be a time of tribute, has become a day of bitter reflection. While official speeches are made about the importance of education, thousands of teachers face the harsh reality of a profession that no longer fuels dreams. "People talk about motivation, but how do you motivate a teacher who doesn't even have enough to eat?" asks Rogério.

The devaluation of teachers is, in fact, a reflection of a deeper crisis: a crisis of national meaning. A country that fails to value its educators is a country headed toward the abyss of oblivion. The teacher is the architect of the future, but in Mozambique, the future seems to have been mortgaged by a state that promises but fails to deliver, that encourages merit but punishes dedication.

At the end of the conversation, Pardal falls silent for a few seconds. He looks at the ground, takes a deep breath, and says: "Being a teacher means continuing, even without strength. It's teaching how to smile when all you want to do is cry." This sentence sums up the portrait of a class that endures out of love, but no longer believes in miracles.

On this Teacher's Day, the country should pause to listen to the weary voices that, despite everything, continue to write the future on the peeling walls of schools. They are the weary heroes, the unarmed soldiers in a daily war against oblivion. And as long as the chalk continues to scratch the board, there is still hope, even if it is a fragile hope, like the sound of a final bell at the end of the day.