MY SOUTH AFRICA - Memory Vignettes

Nkele, the young woman who cleans our house, brings her 2-year-old daughter to visit at least once a week; she is a precious little one, vivacious and spirited. I love the way she calls me “Auntie”, a sweet juxtaposition of respect and intimacy towards me, a complete stranger, really. I will find it strange not to be able to know the outcome of Nkele’s life … her marital problems, her humble insecurities, how her little daughter, Maritza, and her older son, Elbert, turn out.

They will have better opportunities, I am hoping, but will they?

When we first arrived we were included at an intimate multi-ethnic party given by another embassy employee.  Because of Apartheid, such a gathering could only be held in private homes, typically those of foreign diplomats. Upon our entering, hosts and guests welcomed us with singing the traditional African Anthem “Nkosi Sikelele Africa” -"God, Please Help Africa ". As we came into the room they took our hands as they all sang. The melody was so genuinely felt by everyone, I was brought to tears, deeply moved by the sentiment of pride, warmth and love that united us all; it was magical. That evening was perfect to articulate and open up honest dialogue about racism. An informal dinner, wine, candles: perfect for guests to relax and break into small groups. It was an experience I will never forget."

The thorny acacia trees on the front lawn are a striking symbol of Africa.  Just as in the desert, most trees in sub- Saharan Africa have spines and thorns, an adaptation defense mechanism, I assume, to protect themselves from large animals. ‘My’ acacia trees have gracefully gnarled branches, very large thorns and wonderful spring blooms. I wonder if the family of egrets  will continue to fly into the trees in the early dawn as I listen to the crickets, the calming rain and the rustling of the leaves in the wind?  Who will leave water and bird seed for them when I’m gone?  I wish I had taken more snapshots of amazing South Africa, its flora and fauna, its architecture, stores, its population!

But, alas, not everything was simple when we first arrived. For long weeks I was in culture shock. Although everything was gorgeous, the weather perfect … South Africa wasn’t Boulder or Washington. Everything was different: the pavement in the streets, the traffic flowing in the opposite direction; fish-fed chicken in the supermarket (!), seasoned chicken livers in plastic tubs, an innumerable array of sausages …I miss peanut butter and Oreo cookies, but I’m learning to love the Russian sausages, biltong, and All-Gold Tomato and onions.

Once I embraced South Africa, my new favorites became Marmite and butter on crumpets, ‘pap’ (warm maize meal with sauce) and of course … a perfect braai.

The smells of South Africa are imprinted in my subconscious. Arriving in September, we experienced the whole area from Johannesburg into Pretoria having the scent of campfires; smoke plumes along either side of the N1 (intercity highway) rose in the distance over grassland fires. Spring brings the moistness of rain and sweet pea flowers; the jacarandas perfume their way into summer as they blanket the streets like a carpet of purple snow. Rain falls again in midseason, when temperatures climb steadily... I love to listen to it as it taps on our shingled roof, I have seen a couple of owls nesting near the Chimney right above the family room!