By Ahmed Joosab, Head Boy
Assalamu Alaikum wa Rahmatullahi wa Barakatuh.
As I stand before you today, nearing the end of our school journey, I find myself wondering where all the time went.
It feels like yesterday that we were Grade 7s entering high school during the unusual days of COVID, trying to find our classrooms and wondering how Grade 12 could possibly be so far away.
Back then, matric seemed like something that belonged to other people.
And yet, here we are.
Not at the beginning of Grade 12, but almost at the end of it.
The year that once felt impossibly distant is now drawing to a close, and the school that became our second home is slowly becoming something we will soon have to leave behind.
The learners who once looked up to the matriculants are now preparing to leave as matriculants themselves. The corridors that once seemed enormous have become familiar, and the years that once felt so long have somehow passed in the blink of an eye.
Somewhere along that journey, I was given the privilege of serving as Head Boy.
When I first received the position, I thought leadership was about being the person at the front: wearing the badge, speaking at assemblies, and being someone others could look up to.
But I soon learnt that leadership is far more about responsibility than recognition.
It means listening when it is easier to speak, making difficult decisions when there is no popular choice, and trying to set an example even when you do not always feel capable of doing so.
And I certainly did not get it right all the time.
There were moments when I made mistakes, exercised poor judgement, or simply was not the example I was expected to be. Yet those moments taught me a lesson that I will carry with me long after I leave these gates:
Loyalty is important, but integrity cannot be conditional.
In Islam, leadership is an amanah – a trust and a responsibility entrusted to you. An amanah is not measured by how impressive you appear while carrying it. It is measured by how faithfully you carry it when you are tested.
I was not a perfect Head Boy, but I hope I became a better one by learning from the times when I fell short.
As we approach the end, I find myself thinking less about the big milestones and more about the moments that made school feel like school.
Listening to Mr Virasamy enthusiastically explain his plans for the 100th time, whether the lesson called for it or not.
Looking up in Mrs Noor’s Life Sciences class and finding Sophia the First on the screen when we were fully expecting a serious lesson.
Hearing Mrs Paruk call on someone in class and watching the entire room suddenly avoid eye contact.
Seeing Mr A. Mahomed walk down the passage the moment the bell rang, walking with the urgency of a man who had somewhere very important to be.
Or simply laughing with your friends over something completely ridiculous and then spending the rest of the lesson trying to pretend nothing had happened.
At the time, those moments felt ordinary.
They were simply part of another school day.
But now I realise that those ordinary moments were the very things that gave this place its character.
They were the moments that made us laugh, complain, roll our eyes, and feel at home.
And perhaps the strangest thing about today is realising that the moments we thought we would never think about again are the very moments we will remember most.
One day, we will remember the classrooms more clearly than the marks we received in them.
We will remember conversations before assembly, rushed homework before lessons, jokes that somehow lasted for years, and the people who sat beside us every day.
We will remember the teachers who challenged us, guided us, encouraged us, and occasionally tested our patience just as much as we tested theirs.
And we will realise that while we were living those moments, we never knew they were becoming memories.
But if there is one lesson I hope we carry with us beyond these school gates, it is something Mrs Paruk often reminded us:
“Don’t be bludgeoned by circumstance.”
Life will not always go according to plan. We will face disappointment. We will fail at things we thought we would succeed in. We will encounter situations we never expected and challenges we cannot control.
But we cannot allow our circumstances to determine who we become.
Adapt. Learn. Stand up again. Keep moving forward.
The Qur’an reminds us:
“Indeed, with hardship comes ease.”
Perhaps that is what faith ultimately teaches us: that every challenge carries an opportunity for growth, every setback contains a lesson, and every ending opens the door to a new beginning.
Years from now, we may not remember every lesson, every test, or every result.
But we will remember how this place felt.
We will remember the people.
We will remember the laughter.
And we will remember that, for a little while, we all shared this chapter together.
Before I conclude, I would like to thank our parents, families, and especially our teachers.
Their work is not measured only in lessons taught or papers marked, but in the lives they help shape. Many of the values, habits, and lessons we carry into the future were planted by the people sitting here today.
May Allah reward our teachers abundantly for their patience, guidance, and sacrifices. May He grant them good health, happiness, barakah in their lives, and make every learner they have inspired a source of ongoing reward for them. Ameen.
So, Class of 2026, as we step into the next chapter of our lives, may we do so with courage, integrity, gratitude, and trust in Allah’s plan.
May Allah guide us, make our paths easy, keep us firm in our faith, and grant us success in this life and the next.
Jazakumullahu Khairan.