Post-Plett Rage

For the last few days we have had a semi-comatose post-Plett-Rager lying around on her bed or on the couch in front of the TV. In fact, anywhere that she could drape her body and settle down to catch 40 winks. In between she has been coughing and sputtering as a result of the “Plett Plague” that has afflicted a number of them. The “real” food I made on Sunday, was also very much appreciated as an alternative to the “Provitas-and-cheese” diet she has been on.

But in spite of the after-effects, she has had so much fun. It seems like they slept and partied, slept and partied to the sounds of Goldfish, Jack Parow and many more. The “Rage” was well-organised; there was ample security, as well as taxis and concerned community members looking out for the thousands of post-matrics who descended onto the beaches and surrounds of Plettenberg Bay.

I admit to being more worried about Plett-Rage than about sending her off to build water tanks in the hills of northern Thailand. But this has been as much of a rite of passage - letting her hair down, partying up a storm with her friends and saying goodbye to school books, uniforms and bells. I am glad that she is safe. I had to smile quietly when I read her sms towards the end of last week - "feeling green from eating junk, not enough sleep and too much partying". That was something she had to find out for herself!

Plett Rage

One more matric exam to go – and so ends 13 years of formal schooling. The exams have gone well as far as stress levels are concerned. It has been a bit of a military operation with the mocks being the practice run. We have combined modern medicine and complementary health approaches with good diet and exercise. Yoga and Boot Camp have been useful when she felt like knocking her brother over the head (or me). But, as someone commented last week, for someone who has been writing exams for weeks, she is looking damn good!

And now looms another rite of passage – the dreaded Plett Rage. Traditionally after the final exams, the matrics from all over the country hit the beaches for one big party. In the Western Cape it’s off to Plettenberg Bay. This is a newish tradition, certainly not one that was around when I was doing matric. Every maternal instinct is screaming out against it – I keep thinking of hundreds of teenagers, newly empowered with driving licences and legally able to imbibe alcohol, wanting to shake off 13 years of institutionalised learning – sounds like a lethal mix to me.

But everyone is going. Everyone. I know there are other parents who are concerned, especially about getting to Plett which is 5 hours drive away. I have made one rule, which is that she is not driving up in a car operated by a teenager or someone who recently passed their driver’s licence test.

There appears to be structures in place and activities seem to be organised in so far as they can be. I guess this is the part where I have to trust that she can go out there and have a good time while holding onto all that she has learnt at home. And hope that she will be safe.