Memories of sunshine and swimming

 

Conversations sometimes bring back memories of the time I spent in my childhood in Durban, South Africa. I lived there for two and a half years until I was twelve. It was the mid 70’s, a time when apartheid was still in place. There was segregation everywhere. Buses, park benches, public toilets, even the beaches had signs saying ‘Whites only’ or ‘ Blacks or Coloreds Only’.

I’d been brought up to treat adults with respect and to see children of my age and younger being disrespectful to black adults made me feel really uncomfortable. At the age of ten, I couldn’t have articulated that feeling but I can recognize it for what it was today. It was a truly beautiful but alien environment in many ways for me.

All the white families that we knew, including ourselves, had a live-in black maid (male or female). When I say live-in, actually they lived in a small flat roofed building called a kaiya. These were usually at the bottom of the yard. The structure comprised of a single room and a toilet. The maid cooked, ate and slept in that one room.

Having a maid wasn’t unusual at all. It was commonplace and not the province of the rich as you would imagine. The maids worked in the white areas of town and sent money home to support their families living in the ‘townships’. These segregated areas were on the outskirts, far away from the white residential areas. It’s hard to imagine that these days but that was the reality back then.

I remember my new friend Carin’s family. They were Afrikaaners and had a man as their ‘houseboy’. He was probably around 30. I liked him very much. I liked my friend very much too but I hated the way she spoke to him. Her tone was always deprecating even at that tender age. We learn from our parents it has been said many times. She was doing what she saw them doing and was never chastised for it. To her, that was just the way it was. To me, it was very rude. A child just didn’t talk to an adult in that manner.

We had a lady called Pauline that worked for us. She was probably around mid 50’s (maybe younger, hard to judge age when you’re only wee) and very quiet and shy. Tall and slender, she carried herself gracefully. Poor Pauline had to try to understand the Scots accent as well as get used to her new employers. I remember her as clearly as if it was yesterday and with great affection.

When she first came to work for us, Pauline wouldn’t look anyone in the eye, including us children. She was so quiet around the house she was like a ghost sometimes, just gliding through the rooms as she went about her business of the day.

Since my Dad was at work most of the day, my Mum interacted most with Pauline. I know she paid her more than the other maids got. I think maybe Mum felt the wages were unfair for what was expected of them. She gave Pauline days off at the weekend and holidays, which very few maids got then. Nor did she expect Pauline to work from dawn till dusk as many did.

I remember one day my Mum was trying to help Pauline make our beds. Pauline was trying to tell her not to do it and that there was no need. My Mum wanted to help though. I think she felt uncomfortable sitting around while Pauline worked around her and of course she knew how much work there was in running a home with four kids in it. I can also remember my Mum inviting Pauline to join us when we were having a bbq. Both times Pauline got flustered and said no, she wasn’t supposed to.

The day of the bbq she retired to her kaiya and cooked for herself on her little propane stove. All she had in that one room was a single light bulb and a bed permeated by the smell of the ‘mealy meal’ Pauline used to cook. I can remember how dark and bare it was inside on the rare occasions I was in there. It must have been a lonely life too, being away from your family.

I think looking back now that my Mum’s efforts to treat Pauline as an equal human being of value confused her because she had not had that before from previous employers. The little girl’s father I spoke of earlier said to me there was no need to give ‘them’ holidays or time off. My Mum was none too happy about his attitude when I told her what he’d said.

As time passed, Pauline got more comfortable with us and came out of her shell. She would smile more and laugh. She would joke around with us, and enjoy sitting and chatting a bit. I can remember when they introduced learning Zulu to the school system. I raced around when I got home, trying to find her. I was desperate to try out my new found skill on Pauline! How she clapped and laughed at my efforts at my very first words in her language.

We all grew to love her, especially my Mum. Each of us shed heartfelt tears when we were coming back to Scotland about leaving her. I can remember my Mum saying to Pauline she wished she could come with us. Pauline was in tears too. She had become as much as part of our family as any of my siblings were.

I’m smiling thinking about those days. They were so happy for me, memories of sunshine and swimming, bananas and avocados growing in the yard – all the new and exciting things that come with being a stranger in a strange land. These days I realize that it was more than that though.

I think that we all learned something from our time there. That you do not have to treat someone a certain way, just because everyone else does. That everyone deserves respect and equality. That extending kindness and friendship to another, despite the fact that you’re going against the norm, is an action that is within us all. That it will always be a matter of personal choice that we will make for ourselves, based on our own values.

Yes, we do learn from our parents and perhaps there is no stronger reinforcement than seeing the rules you have been taught in life by them being exemplified by their deeds.

Not all our lessons from our parents are ones that we would wish to change.

I’m so proud of my Mum and I love her very much for teaching me those things and a whole lot more. Thank you (((Mum)))). May you feel the love that I’m sending to you as I share these words.

Kay