South Africa

This past May marks 20 years since I and my family emigrated from South Africa.

Hard to believe that it has been that long. Perhaps it was my dad and brother's recent trip to South Africa that has prompted this quest to know the country of my birth but that would not be entirely true. I have been desiring to know more about South Africa for a couple of years now. I have felt gypped since I moved from there before I really understood the complexities of the country's history but I have also felt gypped here in Canada and the lack of knowledge I possess about this country's history. My quest is to get to know the country of my birth and the country I now call home.

My dad and brother's recent trip to SA (South Africa will be abbreviated for the rest of this post) sparked a small measure of jealously but a whole lot of admiration as my brother, though he was born there, was too young when we left to remember much. I was glad for him to be able to experience a trip back to the "homeland" with my dad but it also continues to wind the mysterious tale of the man and his exodus from his country that is my dad. Though it continues to be a mystery to me, as I read and explore and discover more about the complicated and conflicted history, SA is still the land of my birth and I know so little about it. I am finding that the rumors I have heard about it's not so glamorous history might actually be true.

I was very young in age and in mind when we left and I have asked the question, "Why didn't I know? Why didn't I understand?" Looking back on the scenario now, I doubt that my 11 year old mind would have been able to grasp the magnitude of the events going on around me. I knew that there were differences between white people and black people...I went to a segregated school, whites only. I knew that I was confused by what I was being taught in school and the efforts my parents were making to try and teach us to treat everyone, no matter the color of their skin, with respect. I remember being fascinated with language and when it came time to learn the local tribal language, Zulu, in school, I was thrilled. But I also can remember hearing either from my teacher or my classmates that we were learning the black's language simply to be able to insult them further, in their own language no less as if insulting them in our own language and actions was not enough.

A while ago, my dad loaned me a book, an autobiography of a young black man who grew up in some the worst living conditions in SA. I started reading this book with the naive anticipation of learning more about my birth country from another perspective. Another perspective is certainly what I got! I am both deeply disturbed and intrigued at this young man's story. The more I read, the more I realize that the experiences he recounts where basically happening right in my back yard but I knew nothing about it. What would I have done, at 11 years old, with knowledge of such deplorable conditions?! Perhaps my innocent ignorance saved my sanity.

The Tails of Katie & Seamus

Aha! See? Look, Seamus...I figured out how to make it work!

Katie, are you sure you know how to use that thing?

No...but it's not making any crazy noises...I'm just having fun chasing the things on the screen! Ooooh, almost got that one....almost got that one too...

Won't Girl-People be mad and spray us with the waterbottle?

Oh, Seamus, live a little...besides you get sprayed every other day for something.

I do not...okay...maybe I do...but I can't help that she doesn't get up when she's supposed to. We have to be fed when we're ready to be fed, ya know?

Very true...and you do such a good job of getting her up. How do you do it?

Well, I start by jumping up on the bed and walk all the way up until I reach her head...

Yes? Then what?

Then I start nudging under her chin like I want to be petted...we cats can never have too much loving. She usually pushes me away (I think my whiskers might tickle her nose) and says something about it's not time for breakfast or it's not time for her to get up. But I just keep coming back until she gets up.

Who does she think she is?! The boss of the house? She should know by now that we rule the house.

I know. She's a good girl-people but hasn't yet figured out that we make the rules. Anyway, if she doesn't get up right away when I want her to, then I start climbing up on the window ledge in the bedroom and knock the lamp over while I'm at it (that usually makes her spray me with water).

But sometimes, she still doesn't get up. Then what?

Then I go back to the nudging and meowing and she will keep pushing me away and usually has sprayed me a few times by then. Eventually, she gets up but I wait by the foot of the bed to make sure she's actually getting up.

Doesn't she step on you?

Sometimes she trips over me but it's worth it because once she's up, we get fed!

Mmmm....food....I'm hungry...when Girl-People getting home anyway? Oh, wait...I think I hear...something outside the door...maybe it's...oooop! Gotta go! She's home! Food!

Life Imitates Art

When life imitates art, sometimes it makes you wonder what art people are imitating.

I saw a guy strolling through our neighbourhood who was decked out in a top hat with bright green hair and a loud burgundy suit. If his sole goal was to be noticed, he surely achieved that! I remember seeing that same guy coming into the coffee shop where I work and he was wearing the same wildly crazy outfit. He's been sighted at various bus stops wearing his top hat but a fairly normal suit to go with it. Really makes you wonder what goes through people's heads when they buy such outfits and really seem to think they look good. It's a bit on par with the talent shows on TV these days where contestants are shocked when they are rejected after their embarrassingly bad audition, "But my friends all say I'm a great singer/dancer/whatever-the-talent-might-be! You don't know talent when you see it!" And they almost always storm off in tears or the waterworks start shortly after leaving the stage. There is something to be said for friends who are able to be honest and tell you that you look ridiculous when you try to leave the house with bright green hair, wearing a top hat and a burgundy suit. If I ever try to do anything that crazy, I probably need to be institutionalized. "Okay, it's time for you to go and see the nice people in white suits. They'll give you an I-hug-me jacket and you'll have a padded room to play in. Everything's going to be just fine. Then, when you're feeling better, they're going to show you a better style with no top hats and loud hair and suits that clash." I can understand eclectic or retro or hippie styles; I'm not trying to squelch this man's expression of his personality through his clothing but in our culture, some things are weird and I'm afraid, that is just plain weird. In the words of Undercover Brother... "I'm a firm believer that everyone should do their own thing, but that boy should never do his own thing!"