Jahari Christian Academy

What a privilege to host a celebratory Awards Ceremony, honoring the tireless efforts of our students in 2025.

Five of our eleven graduates were able to join us - the others have already embarked on their next academic journey.

Glory to God for empowering us to complete this journey with success! 🎉🎈👏💫🔥

The graduates are coming in thick and fast, or should we say, going out fast? Here's a bells to TSEMOLLO MODISELLE, another one of our seniors, stepping into a brilliant new future. May the road ahead of you be adventurous and full of joy and discovery. 🎓🎉💫👏💖

How humbling is sincere and heartfelt communication from parents! It reminds us why we had this dream to start a school.

My name is Chris Maphumulo, the father of Shaun Maphumulo, who was previously a student at your academy.

Firstly, I would like to express my sincere appreciation for the incredible work and the important role that the Jahari family played in Shaun’s development and career journey. When Shaun joined Jahari, he was facing several challenges, including difficulties with speech, concentrating, and even dressing himself. However, through the support, patience, and dedication of Jahari, he improved in all these areas and continued to progress each year.

Shaun loved Jahari as if it were his second home. Due to personal circumstances, he had to relocate from the East Rand to Soweto to live with me, otherwise he would still be with you today.

From Jahari, Shaun was accepted at Green View College, becoming the second student with a disability to be enrolled there.

He pursued the N‑courses in Sound Engineering, starting at N3 level and progressing until he completed N6, successfully graduating with an N6 Higher Certificate last year October 2026.

During his studies, he completed N6 and acquired the following skills:

· Audio Mixing & Mastering
· Studio Recording Techniques
· Digital Audio Workstations (DAWs): Pro Tools, FL Studio, Logic Pro
· Sound Design & Editing
· Live Sound Setup & Management
· Attention to Detail & Creative Problem-Solving

I am still paging through my Oxford Dictionary trying to find the right words to thank all of you for the support and guidance that shaped Shaun’s background and contributed to these achievements.
Please extend my heartfelt gratitude to everyone at Jahari.

I am currently drafting Shaun’s CV. May you kindly assist by providing the name of the person we may use as a reference, along with their contact details?

Once again, thank you for the exceptional work you continue to do for our children. Please keep up the wonderful work.

Kind regards

Chris Maphumulo

Shoutout to another graduate, Joel Okorie - congratulations on your GPA of 3.61! The fruit of learning are wisdom, success, personal growth, and understanding - Aristotle declared that hard work, discipline, and effort result in valuable, long term benefits.

Joel is already registered and studying at Belgium ITversity.

May God go before you on your journey towards your dreams. May the good work that God began in your life, be completed. May God give you grace to make wise choices in this new chapter of your life.

Lifesong by Casting Crowns

May my life sing to You!

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1G8ZWLiHd6/

Casting Crowns - Lifesong (Official Lyric Video) Watch the lyric video for “Lifesong” by Casting Crowns!Listen to the whole album Voice Of Truth: The Ultimate Collection to hear your favorite hits!Amazon: h...

❤️ Looking for the right school?
🎒 Grade 1 & 📘 Grade 8 limited spaces available
👩‍🏫 Excellent teachers
🤝 Caring, supportive school
💰 Affordable fees
📩 Message us to apply!

WhatsApp Corrie Vermaak 084 240 1899
Or email [email protected]

Tuition fees: Grade 1-6: R2430 pm
Grade 6-10: R 3300 pm

We don't make a lot of noise on social media, but we stick to consistency, even in the difficult times.

A tough season can’t outrun a resilient heart.
Your spirit is stronger than what you’re walking through. 🙏🔥

A message from a Kindergarten teacher:

After forty years in the classroom, my career ended with one small sentence from a six-year-old:

“My dad says people like you don’t matter anymore.”

No sneer. No malice. Just quiet honesty — the kind that cuts deeper because it’s innocent. He blinked, then added, “You don’t even have a TikTok.”

My name is Mrs. Clara Holt, and for four decades, I taught kindergarten in a small Denver suburb. Today, I stacked the last box on my desk and locked the door behind me.

When I started teaching in the early 1980s, it felt like a promise — a shared belief that what we did mattered. We weren’t rich, but we were valued. Parents brought warm cookies to parent nights. Kids gave you handmade cards with hearts that didn’t quite line up. Watching a child sound out their first sentence felt like magic.

But that world slowly slipped away. The job I once knew has been replaced by exhaustion, red tape, and a kind of loneliness I can’t quite describe.

My evenings used to be filled with construction paper, glitter, and glue sticks. Now they’re spent filling out digital reports to protect myself from angry emails or lawsuits. I’ve been yelled at by parents in front of twenty-five children — one filming me with his phone while I tried to calm another child mid-meltdown.

And the kids… they’ve changed too. Not by choice.

They arrive tired, anxious, overstimulated. Their tiny fingers know how to swipe a screen before they can hold a crayon. Some can’t make eye contact or wait in line. We’re expected to fix all of it — to patch the gaps, heal the trauma, teach the curriculum, and document every move — in six hours a day, with resources that barely fill a drawer.

The little reading corner I once built, full of soft beanbags and paper stars, was replaced by data charts and “learning metrics.” A young principal once told me, “Clara, maybe you’re too nurturing. The district wants measurable results.”

As if kindness were a weakness.

Still, I stayed. Because of the small, holy moments that no spreadsheet could measure —
a whisper of, “You remind me of my grandma.”
a shaky note that read, “I feel safe here.”
a quiet boy finally meeting my eyes and saying, “I read the whole page.”

Those tiny sparks were my reason to keep showing up.

But this last year broke something in me.

The aggression grew sharper. The laughter in the staff room turned to silence. The light went out of so many eyes. I watched brilliant teachers — my friends — vanish under the weight of burnout, their joy replaced by survival.

I felt myself fading too, like chalk on a board that’s been wiped one too many times.

So today, I began my goodbye. I pulled faded art off the walls and tucked thirty years of handmade cards into a single box. In the back of a drawer, I found a letter from a student from 1998:

“Thank you for loving me when I was hard to love.”

I sat on the floor and cried.

No party. No applause. Just a handshake from a young principal who called me “Ma’am” while checking his notifications.

I left my rocking chair behind, and my sticker box too. What I carried with me were the memories — the faces of hundreds of children who once trusted me enough to reach out their hands and learn. That can’t be uploaded. It can’t be measured. It can’t be replaced.

I miss when teachers were partners, not targets. When parents and educators worked side by side, not in opposition. When schools cared more about wonder than numbers.

So if you know a teacher — any teacher — thank them. Not with a mug or a gift card, but with your words. With your respect. With your understanding that behind every test score is a heart that cared enough to try.

Because in a world that often overlooks them, teachers are the ones who never forget our children.