Adolescence was a very awkward time for me. Where my body was concerned, everything happened at an accelerated rate. The crimson tide rolled in early in 1995 when I was 12-years-old and in standard four. At that point, the birds-and-bees discussion had not occurred yet so understandably I was traumatised and refused to leave the bathroom. Ouma had to hurry on those little stumps she called legs to buy those crap sanitary napkins of back in the day. Learning to walk like a normal person and not like a gun-slinging cowboy was the first challenge. Not long after (in fact, this was during the June-holidays) the rack popped out right into a respectable B-cup. Balancing and walking up straight became the new challenge. I learned that children of any age (whether in their childhood or teens) should be seen and not heard. In other words, my thoughts and feelings would never be taken into account and my opinions mattered too little to make any kind of contribution. And then I also learned that the values planted in me as a child by parents and teachers (like sharing, respect for elders, respect for your body and waiting until marriage) became null and void in the transition to high school. Not even the adults were impressed with what was called the "little girl lost" act. A failed attempt at seeking the approval of my peers and teachers followed along with trying to find my place in the world.
This should sound familiar to most of us; that time when we didn't stand out but didn't quite fit in (to quote the Hanson-brothers). There was honestly a time when I thought that my adolescence was the single, most horrible event of my life thus far, but I had another thing coming: my THIRTIES!
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Auntie Uhm's funeral
Whenever I enter a room containing a casket, a soft halo of light seems to caress it. Thus I am usually pulled towards the coffin first (I blame my 16 years of belonging to the Anglican servers guild where death is an inconvenience you are exposed to at a young age). Satisfied that it is indeed Auntie Uhm in the coffin and that she is at peace, I offer her one final, fond smile and move on to console the close family.
My mother, convinced that Auntie Uhm's cause of death is murder by malpractice, pulls in a shaky breath at the sight of the coffin; faced for the first time with the frank reality of Auntie Uhm's passing. Barely able to take in the body, she gingerly touches the cold remains of Auntie Uhm. I understand that in small towns, this is done in order to accept the passing and to say your final goodbye. Having done this, she quickly embraces her cousin (Auntie Uhm's daughter who is strangely serene) and then jets off to an empty room. Following her there, I fold my arms around her body as her body is wracked with sobs; this is one of those times when the roles of mother and daughter are reversed. While I have found myself in this role many times, I still feel like a fish out of water at times and really wish that there is something wise that I could say at this time of bereavement.
And then there is a man called Martiens in an ill-fitting, mis-matched suit weeping over the opening of her coffin - unwilling, or unable, to accept that she is gone. This is what really draws my interest. Who is this man? Is it a close friend of hers? A lover maybe? Auntie Uhm was a widow, after all. No. "He was her man-servant, apparently," someone whispers behind a crumpled up tissue (and I think: "Man-servant? Do they still make those?").
So apparently, Martiens is someone who everyone looks down on and couldn't give two shits about. Auntie Uhm treated him as a person and fed him. In return he did odd jobs around the house for her and an unlikely friendship developed there as a result. I bet they knocked back a couple of beers on occasion. As good a person as she was, I was not blind to her vices; we all have them.
Looking at Martiens, I have to admit, I would not have spared him a second glance and probably wouldn't even notice him if I should ever bump into him in the street again. I would probably blatantly ignore him if he should ask me for bread in the street. That comes from growing up in urban Cape Town, I think. Some of your human empathy is stripped away from you unless you actually make an active effort to hold on to it. As revealed in the eulogy, Auntie Uhm did just that.
Auntie Uhm also expressed her unselfishness in other ways. She was well-known on one of the local radio stations as someone who constantly phoned in to intercede on behalf of the sick. Some of those radio personalities are present to give a testimony to her life. What a great woman she was...a great gossip probably, given the position of her house that conveniently looks down onto the small town, but she was so much more than that! I can only hope to touch as many lives as she did and that she, along with all the other relatives who have left in the past year, will intercede on my behalf there where it really matters.
My mother, convinced that Auntie Uhm's cause of death is murder by malpractice, pulls in a shaky breath at the sight of the coffin; faced for the first time with the frank reality of Auntie Uhm's passing. Barely able to take in the body, she gingerly touches the cold remains of Auntie Uhm. I understand that in small towns, this is done in order to accept the passing and to say your final goodbye. Having done this, she quickly embraces her cousin (Auntie Uhm's daughter who is strangely serene) and then jets off to an empty room. Following her there, I fold my arms around her body as her body is wracked with sobs; this is one of those times when the roles of mother and daughter are reversed. While I have found myself in this role many times, I still feel like a fish out of water at times and really wish that there is something wise that I could say at this time of bereavement.
And then there is a man called Martiens in an ill-fitting, mis-matched suit weeping over the opening of her coffin - unwilling, or unable, to accept that she is gone. This is what really draws my interest. Who is this man? Is it a close friend of hers? A lover maybe? Auntie Uhm was a widow, after all. No. "He was her man-servant, apparently," someone whispers behind a crumpled up tissue (and I think: "Man-servant? Do they still make those?").
So apparently, Martiens is someone who everyone looks down on and couldn't give two shits about. Auntie Uhm treated him as a person and fed him. In return he did odd jobs around the house for her and an unlikely friendship developed there as a result. I bet they knocked back a couple of beers on occasion. As good a person as she was, I was not blind to her vices; we all have them.
Looking at Martiens, I have to admit, I would not have spared him a second glance and probably wouldn't even notice him if I should ever bump into him in the street again. I would probably blatantly ignore him if he should ask me for bread in the street. That comes from growing up in urban Cape Town, I think. Some of your human empathy is stripped away from you unless you actually make an active effort to hold on to it. As revealed in the eulogy, Auntie Uhm did just that.
Auntie Uhm also expressed her unselfishness in other ways. She was well-known on one of the local radio stations as someone who constantly phoned in to intercede on behalf of the sick. Some of those radio personalities are present to give a testimony to her life. What a great woman she was...a great gossip probably, given the position of her house that conveniently looks down onto the small town, but she was so much more than that! I can only hope to touch as many lives as she did and that she, along with all the other relatives who have left in the past year, will intercede on my behalf there where it really matters.
Monday, August 25, 2014
A tribute to Auntie Uhm
"Auntie Uhm has died." Four little words brightly illuminated on my phone. Just four little words and then it's all over.
Auntie Uhm...
Her house was situated in a part of Riversdal where you can literally see right into their little town. Auntie Uhm would be found in her livingroom, lying on her chaise lounge (the old body wasn't co-operating anymore) peering through the doorway. The only time her eyes would leave the outside world was when "7de Laan" was on. Due to the fact that her eyes were constantly focussed on what was happening in the world outside, she was often privy to information before the local tabloid could get hold of it (at least that was how it seemed through my eyes as I was growing up). I once walked away from Grandma's house (don't ask me what I was pissed about) and just went into a direction. Of course I don't know Riversdal very well and very predictably got very lost. Wandering through the streets, I just looked around for some kind of landmark to put me on the way again. And as I looked for my way, I saw this round little face peering at me from around the doorjamb. As I gravitated towards her like she was a beacon, she picked up the phone and without giving the other person the opportunity to speak, she simply said: " She just got here."And that image of her will forever prevail: that of Auntie Uhm keeping watch from her doorway, the world unable to pull a fast one in front of eyes.
RIP auntie Uhm...
Auntie Uhm...
Her house was situated in a part of Riversdal where you can literally see right into their little town. Auntie Uhm would be found in her livingroom, lying on her chaise lounge (the old body wasn't co-operating anymore) peering through the doorway. The only time her eyes would leave the outside world was when "7de Laan" was on. Due to the fact that her eyes were constantly focussed on what was happening in the world outside, she was often privy to information before the local tabloid could get hold of it (at least that was how it seemed through my eyes as I was growing up). I once walked away from Grandma's house (don't ask me what I was pissed about) and just went into a direction. Of course I don't know Riversdal very well and very predictably got very lost. Wandering through the streets, I just looked around for some kind of landmark to put me on the way again. And as I looked for my way, I saw this round little face peering at me from around the doorjamb. As I gravitated towards her like she was a beacon, she picked up the phone and without giving the other person the opportunity to speak, she simply said: " She just got here."And that image of her will forever prevail: that of Auntie Uhm keeping watch from her doorway, the world unable to pull a fast one in front of eyes.
RIP auntie Uhm...
Thursday, August 21, 2014
Train of thought
What is it that you think of on a two hour train journey? How often is it something so profound that you forgot that you forgot the minute the minute you got off the train? Do you notice anything about your fellow commuters? Notice that, no matter what class they are travelling, there are really more similarities between them than there are differences? What exactly is it that you do in tthe time that you commute to and from work? This is what this blog is about. Simply a platform for me to post what is happening in my head in that time before and after work and if you feel that I am addressing a point you agree with, a point you find interesting or entertaining, even if you disagree, by all means do comment or contribute. It will be much appreciated. Enjoy the journey and watch this space.
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