Critics argue that a one-day written test cannot adequately measure a teacher's ability to inspire and educate. Photo: Courtesy
By Adonis Byemelwa
Two weeks ago, as I wandered through the bustling streets of Kwa Magimba, Chamazi, the midday sun casting long shadows on the dusty road, a voice called out to me. It was warm, and familiar, yet laced with uncertainty.
I turned to see a young man stepping away from his motorbike, his face partially obscured by a thin layer of flour. His clothes, once neat and proud, were now tattered by time and toil. His eyes, however, remained bright—filled with recognition and something deeper, perhaps hope or longing. “Mwalimu, do you remember me?” he asked, a tentative smile forming.
I hesitated. His face held echoes of a classroom from years ago, of lessons taught and dreams once nurtured. But time is a sculptor, and it had chiseled his features into something unfamiliar. The boy I once knew, full of ambition, was now a man weathered by circumstance.
Before I could respond, he wiped his flour-stained hands on his trousers and stood taller, as if bracing himself for my answer. There, in that fleeting moment, lay a silent plea—to be seen, to be remembered, to be more than just another forgotten graduate lost in the tides of life.
To be honest, I did not remember him. Teaching involves handling many students over the years, and time erodes memory. But as he spoke, his story unraveled. He was a graduate teacher, well-trained in chemistry and biology, yet far from the profession he had studied for.
Instead, he had been distributing flour to shops around Mbagala, Mbande, and Chamazi for years. His eyes carried a weary resolve as he narrated his journey of countless failed attempts to secure a teaching position.
"I decided to take up this job, teacher. If you need flour, I can deliver it immediately. This motorbike belongs to my elder brother, who owns two grinding mills in Mbande. My job is to distribute flour. I have a wife, and a child, and life must go on. I lost hope in these teaching jobs; every time I apply, I get nothing," he said.
His tale mirrors that of another former student, Sunday Kabobe, a trained primary school teacher who has spent the past seven years cutting bus tickets. He started at the Ubungo Bus Terminal and now works at Magufuli Bus Terminal. Despite his degree, the teaching profession remains out of reach, and he has had to carve a livelihood in a space unrelated to his academic training.
Their struggles are reminiscent of the era between 2015 and 2020 when former President John Magufuli halted government hiring. He argued that resources needed to be channeled into infrastructure development, including flyovers, to boost the economy. The freeze on recruitment led to an influx of unemployed graduates, much like the 1994 crisis under Ali Hassan Mwinyi’s administration.
The weight of this decision lingers today. Education graduates, once brimming with ambition, find themselves in jobs that barely reflect their years of rigorous academic preparation. It is a crisis that has sparked heated debates, especially following Education Minister Prof. Adolf Mkenda’s recent declaration that all newly recruited teachers must pass a rigorous selection process.
"Let me be clear—every teacher must go through an interview. Graduates leave university with varying competencies. I have been asked whether we should prioritize those who have been unemployed for ten years or focus on quality. But imagine assessing an English teacher who cannot express themselves fluently. Should we employ them just because they have been jobless for a decade?" Prof. Mkenda posed to Parliament.
His remarks have stirred a whirlwind of reactions from education stakeholders. While some see the selection process as a step toward professionalizing teaching, others argue it is an impractical filter that sidelines deserving candidates who simply lack recent exposure to classroom environments.
Timsiime Innocent, a history and Kiswahili graduate from St. Augustine University has faced these challenges firsthand. Since completing his studies in 2018, he has applied for teaching positions five times without success. Today, he works at a gas station in Mwanza.
"I attended the recruitment exam, but we were told to return another day because of network issues. When we came back, the questions were different. Some were easy, but others felt impossible. I believe the difficulty comes from being out of school for too long—I have been doing a completely different job. The pay is minimal, and sometimes I just sit at home, wondering what to do next," she said, her voice tinged with frustration.
Data from the Tanzania Commission for Universities (TCU) in 2022 indicates that Tanzania produces approximately 100,000 graduates annually, yet less than 20% secure formal employment. The situation is dire, particularly in subjects like history, where 15,136 candidates sat for the recruitment test, but only 1,123 progressed to the oral interview stage. Eventually, only 500 will be hired.
For many, the selection process feels less like a quest for quality and more like a way to shrink the pool of applicants. Critics argue that a one-day written test cannot adequately measure a teacher's ability to inspire and educate. Others question why so many teachers remain jobless while schools face chronic staff shortages.
Yet, Prof. Mkenda insists that Tanzania has long neglected quality control in teacher recruitment, unlike countries like Japan and Ghana, which have refined their selection processes for decades. He challenges unemployed teachers to keep sharpening their skills, even if they work in unrelated fields.
"Even if you’re selling flour or working at a gas station 24/7, find time to refresh your knowledge. When the opportunity comes, be ready," he advised.
But how does one retain mastery in a craft they have not practiced for years? Mwalimu Amosi Elias of Dodoma believes the problem stems from an education system that fails to equip teachers with entrepreneurial skills.
"We should train teachers to open their own schools or daycare centers. That way, even if they don't get government jobs, they can still use their skills. Right now, many forget pedagogy because they are forced into completely different jobs," he said.
Meanwhile, the recently revised 2023 curriculum, set to roll out fully by 2025, is expected to emphasize practical skills. Currently, only pre-primary to Grade 4 students are benefiting, with some secondary levels gradually integrating the new syllabus. However, this leaves those trained under the old system at a disadvantage when competing for future teaching positions.
Several countries have refined teacher recruitment processes to ensure quality without sidelining candidates. In Finland, teacher selection goes beyond written tests, involving in-depth classroom simulations, psychological evaluations, and rigorous oral interviews to gauge passion and delivery skills.
Singapore invests in continuous teacher development, ensuring that even if graduates take time before being hired, they remain well-versed in pedagogy. In contrast, Tanzania’s method appears less about identifying quality teachers and more about eliminating the majority due to a severe lack of openings.
So, is the country truly seeking quality educators, or is it merely trimming down numbers to fit within a restricted employment framework? For teachers like Timsiime, Kabobe, and countless others, the road to employment remains uncertain. Their degrees hang on walls as silent witnesses to dreams deferred. And as they navigate life’s twists—whether selling flour, cutting tickets, or pumping fuel—they remain bound by an unspoken question: What if?