Monday 30 May 2011

My South Africa


This my love letter to South Africa. Love letters can be sad. But they are still love letters.

I sometimes fear that loving South Africa will break my heart. But I remain helpless in the face of this fear, as I suppose one remains helpless in the face of any fear. But yet I choose to live here. Here, in my South Africa. Here in the land of my birth. And I do so with hope and faith. Fear. Faith. Hope. A staccato rhythm that beats in my chest; fear –faith-hope. Fear-faith-hope. And I taste it in my mouth; this bitter-sweet taste of fear-faith-hope.

My South Africa is the spicy bite of pickled fish, the saltiness of bokkoms, the distinctive taste of smoorsnoek, the vinegary comfort of a parcel of hake and slap chips.

On my morning walks through my neighbourhood I always look out for Josef, the sad-eyed man of indeterminate age with the beautiful smile. He wears long-sleeves and a knitted cap pulled down low over his forehead, trying to show as little skin as possible. But his hands belie his prison past, they have the bruised-blue tracings of prison tattoos. And underneath his eyes, trailing over his sunken cheekbones are the tattooed tears of a man who has seen too much, done too much. He always playfully rubs my dog’s ears and calls him ‘Oubaas se honne’. While me, despite my protestations, he calls ‘Nonnatjie.’ One morning he tells me that he is ashamed of his markings. I tell him that they are but skin deep. But in my South Africa, skin deep has always been the problem. He tells me he lives alone, distanced from his old friends. Far away from the old habits. That he mostly keeps to himself. That he believes in a compassionate God. As do I. Perhaps we are not so different after all. Fear-faith-hope.

My South Africa is a cheesy braaibroodjie seasoned with white pepper. It is boerewors and Mrs Balls chutney. Karoo lamb. Waterblommetjiebredie. Pap and fiery chakalaka.

Recently while rushing to deliver some documents, I passed through several security check-points in a building in the city. It was hot and I was late and irritable. It was nobody’s fault but my own. In my haste, I hooked my handbag on the turnstile causing me to falter and angrily swear under my breath. ‘Easy now, Sisi’, the security guard gently admonished me. And I was shamed by my own unnecessary annoyance. ‘Sister’, this man has called me, thus implying an intimacy our shared history had previously denied. And then he smiled. And I did too. Because we are closer to one another than we could ever have dreamed of. Fear-faith-hope.

My South Africa is the taste of cinnamon melkkos, custardy milk tart, of Cape Malay koesisters. Of sweet, luridly-coloured Bashews cooldrink. Of milky Frisco and sweet rooibos tea. Of Wicky-Wax and Chappies bubble gum. Red jelly and Ultramel. Canned fruit and Ideal Milk

Down the road from where we live, there is a ramshackle urban farm with chickens, and geese, and sheep and pigs. The ladies who lunch and recycle drop their old vegetable and fruit peels off there. This is where Andre and his extended family live. He is soft-spoken, wears kakis, goes barefoot and sports a long beard. He has kind blue eyes. He looks like a farmer. The forgotten children find their way to him. ‘God knows,’ he will tell you, ‘I never chose to do this, but they came my way and someone must take care of them.’ ‘So you take care of street children?’ I ask, to be sure. ‘No’, he denied emphatically, ‘these are not street children. They once lived on the streets, but they are not street children.’ And then a little girl runs up to him, laughing happily, for a quick hug before darting off to go and play again. Her dark skin and bright eyes are a sharp contrast to his weathered face and caring eyes. ‘The damaged souls take care of one another.’ He says after a while, apropos of nothing, while cradling a small newly hatched chick gently in his large hand. Fear-faith-hope.

My South Africa is the mince samoosa, the bunny chow, the prego roll. Samp and beans. Dried apricots.

These are the flavours that define me. These are the moments that both heal and break my heart. Fear-faith-hope.

THIS FIRST APPEARED IN THE MAY 2011 ISSUE OF MANGO JUICE

20 comments:

  1. This is the most wonderful SA love letter.Beautiful thank you. We will put a link to it on our African Relish Facebook if you do not mind. And come visit us in the Karoo. lisa

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  2. Thank you Lisa. And of course I don't mind if you post a link on your FB page. And will most certainly pop in when next we're in the Karoo. Great excitement , my counin has just bough a farm there and I'm hoping they'll plant fig trees.

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  3. what beautiful words! I live in faith and hope :)

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  4. This is wonderful. I am not South African, but I feel more at home here in this beautiful country than I have anywhere else. My mum grew up here and so I grew up with hers and my grandads stories. I keep my fingers crossed everyday for a bright future for everyone here :) Great blog too :)

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  5. I can't tell you how delighted I am that you are blogging... I'm a huge fan.
    Robyn

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  6. I am new to your blog and what a find it is too!
    I am a very proud South African living in London and this resonates through cyberspace to touch my heartstrings.

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  7. So beautiful. Thank you.

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  8. @Koek! Robyn! Thank you for you lovely comment on my blog. I've always loved yours. Impressed how, unlike me, you can obviously cook and write well!

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  9. @Maryon. Thank you. And I know so well how one can love London and long for South Africa at the same time. Take care of yourself.

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  10. @sciencesightseeingandsustenance. I'm so glad that you feel at home here in the land of your forefathers. may you always be happy here.

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  11. @Tandy. You are such a lovely supportive cyberfoodiefriend. Thank you, as always.

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  12. @Rosie. Thank you for finding meaning in this. Take care.

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  13. Thank you. In London too. Thanks for the beautiful observations. A tug on the heartstrings this post. Cinnamon pancakes at the Milnerton market on a Southeaster Saturday...

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  14. Thank you, that is so beautifully written and meaningful to me on many levels. (It also made me hungry).

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  15. Ag Ja, how this sits in my heart as a South African living in Dubai, soon Australia. I love South Africa, and I too go about with the fear, hope, faith chant in my heart. Although South Africa is now just a holiday destination my family and my heart are still there, probably always will be.

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  16. In this love letter, you have converted my emotions and thoughts into words. I was reading this in bed this morning and it actually made me cry. Not tears of sadness but of adoration and love for my country.Such nostalgic images. You can almost smell them:) Paradise comes with a price (fear-faith-hope) but this is where my deep roots lie and I will never truely be happy anywhere else. Thank you for the beautiful words

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  17. Wow, I really felt your words! I was in SA for a month last year. I came away with such mixed emotions and love for such a beautiful country.

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  18. Hi Sam. Today I was treated to a tour on one of our many winelands routes; a beautiful day. And we chatted about this life of privilege, and it's tastes and the other side too, and the responsibilities that go hand in hand with being blessed with such privilege. Fear-faith-hope and I'd like to add kindness of heart. Nothing less than beautiful- thank you for sharing your love letter with us.

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  19. Hi Sam! So lovely to meet you at Marais wedding! This is the article that made me cry before I even knew somehow we knew the same people. Your blog is beautiful and I feel happy to have discovered it. Lx

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    1. Hi Leonie, it was so lovely meeting you too (and your fabulously clever husband). It's a small world, isn't it? I like the interconnectedness of life. Take care x

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