Wise Women (and Dr Spock)

I have had quite a woman's week. It started and ended with two of Cathy Eden’s Midlife Matters workshops, exploring the concerns, challenges and strategies of being an aging woman in our society. We all threw up our arms in protest at the idea that we could possibly be “wise women”. Perhaps we have images of old crones bent over bubbling pots and can't quite face that yet. 

On Monday evening I had the almost surreal experience of attending the first in a series of antenatal classes with a friend who has asked me to be her birth partner. There I sat in a circle with 12 sets of prospective parents – all first time and about half my age. One of the exercises that they had to do was to list all their birthing and parenting concerns.

Well, the session was indicative of one of the challenges that we face in this 21^st century – too much information and too little knowledge. People had lists that filled A4 pages - I couldn't believe how worried they were about everything - postnatal depression, choosing between natural birth and a Caesar, breastfeeding, routine, and balancing work and parenting in general. All valid I suppose, but I wanted to shout, “All your baby needs is you!” The internet has become their enemy because they suddenly are faced with the worst-case scenarios of every aspect of what is essentially one of the most natural stages of life.

I had to sit on my hands to keep myself from jumping up and responding to each one. It wasn't appropriate for me since I was there in a different role and didn't want to step onto the toes of the facilitator. But I realized that I could have dealt with each of those concerns through the experience that I have as mother, occupational therapist, yoga teacher and traveler. It was especially hard to keep quiet when one of the future dads said spontaneous weekends and travel were soon to be thing of the past. I wanted to wave my hands in the air and say, “Look at me, we've travelled the world with our children!” I’ll have to tell him that during the tea break next time.

It was an unexpected reminder of how much I've learned; without being aware of it, life has made us wiser and we still have a role to play in a society challenged by the technology revolution, climate change disasters, wars and conflict, and all the anxiety that this brings to giving birth and raising children. As Dr Benjamin Spock said way back in the 1940s, "You know more than you think you do." (The Common Sense Book of Baby and Childcare)

Yesterday I attended a talk with another wise woman Dr Azila Reisinberger, who officiated at the Mezcla of a Wedding I attended little while ago. She is Head of the Hebrew Department at UCT, a champion of women’s rights and gender equality, acting rabbi and member of MENSA. She spoke about women in the bible, which was fascinating and entertaining and appealed to the Christian, Muslim and Jewish woman in the audience. Her real gift is her ability to highlight the traditions and beliefs which are common to different people and cultures and bring them together in a celebration of humanity. Wise Women of the World, Unite!

You can't teach them anything....

You can’t protect them from everything, I have realised. I heaved a sigh of relief when my son chose hockey over rugby. Every time I hear about broken forearms and collar bones or horror of horrors, neck injuries and concussion, I thank my lucky stars that I don’t have to worry about that. And then he does a 100m sprint and next thing, something “pops” in his hip.

Orthopaedic surgeon, X-rays, MRI scan, ice and physiotherapy later, we now face two months of no sport (any suggestions for channelling the energy of a 15 year old welcome).  He has been on crutches for the last two weeks and I can see him getting fed up. They are a hindrance when he quickly wants to do something or go somewhere.  My reminders about preventing problems later by being patient now, fall on deaf ears.

I suggested to him that sometimes things happen for a reason. “You are probably going to tell me the reason,” he replied. I thought that perhaps the lesson to be learnt is that he should be more flexible, take time to stretch, rather than to be in dogged pursuit of the goal. He rolled his eyes in response. You reach the stage where you can’t teach them anything either. 

420s and Spinnaker Poles

I was just getting my head around words like Hobie, Laser, Dabchick, Oppie and Dragoon, when suddenly I was on the phone trying to find a spinnaker pole. After a few calls (because everything shuts down in Cape Town early December) I finally managed to get hold of one. The woman on the other side of the phone was asking me how I would be collecting it. I opened and shut my mouth a few times not knowing what exactly she was asking me and then risked showing my ignorance by asking, “What exactly do you mean by that?” imagining having to hire a trailer to transport this pole.

All she meant was that she was in Zeekoevlei and that the pole was needed in Hermanus which was a good hour and a half away. That was the least of my worries. Talk about things we do for our kids? I was being “ground crew” to Angelique’s managing role. Our sons, after barely a few months of sailing (a 420), had decided to enter the SA Youth Nationals which was taking place over the first week of the holidays. 

Much to my dismay, I had discovered (via Angelique) that we were expected to accompany them. I had just about caught my breath after matric exams and was facing a very busy silly season week. The last thing I needed was to spend a week away from home. Luckily, Angelique was prepared to stay there with me coming and going when I could. We had realised that this would be a make or break week for them and sailing ...either they were going to be put off or this would be the start of a lifelong love affair.

It was not an easy week. There were two days of howling winds and one day of sailing had to be cancelled, but our sons battled on.  It was on one of those bad-weather days (when most competitors had opted out) that they had capsized the boat and lost the pole. At the end of the week, sporting sunburn and minor injuries, they came in 12^th out of 14 boats in their section. Tired, but proud, they declared: “At least we didn’t come last!” So it looks like we’ll soon be pencilling in the dates for next year’s race...

Surviving 14 or Grunting through grade 8

I have just been deleted as a contact on my son’s BlackBerry Messenger because I was making comments on his status. I am not sure what I have done wrong – isn’t that what you are supposed to do?

My 14 year old son has, in a very short while, become the tallest in the family. I remember I spent his first two years comparing him to his older sister (she didn’t climb the burglar bars or do a back flip off the top of the couch) before I accepted that he was different. But now I am back to comparing...

About two years ago, I became “untouchable” – any public displays of affection suddenly and without warning, stopped – no hugs, certainly no kisses and a display of indifference as to whether or not I was watching games (although I know that last one is all an act when he asks “Did you see me score the goal?”). Now I have to suffer being picked up, mauled or nearly bowled over, in a display of manliness. It reminds me of the Golden Labrador we had when he was two years old – it was a six month old puppy in a dog’s body.

Doors are being slammed and pointedly locked – this from someone who once streaked from our chalet at a resort in Mauritius, all the way down to the water. He seems to have lost the power of speech and only speaks in monosyllables or grunts. SMS is no better – ‘Y’ (why) and ‘K’ (okay). At the same time I now strangely seem to have lost my hearing, in my "old age". I am also not as clever as I used to be, and when I sing along to a song on the radio, it must be a remix from “my day”.

He does manage a full sentence - as in “What’s to eat?” – spoken in a very low growl. I swear he is eating us out of house and home. Which brings me to all the shopping over the last 6 months - we have replaced his entire wardrobe including school uniforms, sports kit and shoes. He is now making noises about nothing fitting him – if you are not careful, you could be bankrupted in the process. 

And talking about clothes – in the last week I have sewn buttons on shirts, shorts and blazer more times than I care to count – I have mental images of boys swinging each other around by their clothes, buttons popping off. Or maybe there is a Hulk-like conversion taking place?

So, if you are a mother to sons, I wish for you a secret trust fund, a large fridge, a wallop of patience and a thick skin. 

Part of the Group

A little while ago I chatted to one of the hockey mums who commented that she did not see me at the matches. My son has been telling me that I didn’t need to come and watch. So off I went a few weeks ago and to my surprise, found a little supporters group of parents who have been valiantly cheering them on all season. (Kind of like the feeling at varsity when everyone assures you that they are not studying and you find them all in the library!).

 It was freezing cold at 800 yesterday morning, watching the last under-14 hockey match of the season, huddled up with other parents on a stand which the sun failed to reach. It was a good game and the opponents were evenly matched.

It felt good to be part of the group as I find that in high school one seems to lose the contact with other parents. I seem to only fetch and drop. It was the same with my daughter, perhaps more difficult since she went to a different high school and he has stayed with the same group of boys from his Prep school.

I am not sure if this is part of his separation from my protective wing, which started with not being kissed goodbye in the mornings, way back in grade 4 or 5. He did the same with the Eisteddfod last term. He was playing his clarinet, and also told me it was not necessary for me to come. I was very glad that I did decide to go and witnessed the atmosphere at the school.  Since he came back from Sweden, I have felt the independence.

Once again I marvel at how differently boys and girls seem to grow up. My daughter has no qualms about kissing me in a busy mall, outside the movies or wherever it is I am dropping her. I hear that it is part of becoming a man and then they come closer again. I guess he is going to have to get used to having me around for another little while longer! I am not quite ready for this empty nest!

Future Choices

It may seem like there is only yoga happening at home at the moment but we are writing Matric, and note I say “we”!  This is such a defining time in a young person’s life and there are so many decisions to be made that will affect their futures. Of course, there is also the pressure of the exams. Our mantra is “a healthy body in a healthy mind” and she has already started to balance the work with yoga, gym and shiatsu.

We hit a little wobbly about a week ago when she was filling in university application forms and realised that maybe what she had been thinking about doing next year was not really what she wanted to do. Problem is she hasn’t thought about anything else and is a little overwhelmed by the choices. There is such a wide range, with degrees that never even existed five years ago, and she is the queen of procrastination.

I find that in our desire to help out and offer advice it so easy to impose our own ideas and desires onto our children. Perhaps we see them in a different space to the one they have in their minds. I was reminded a little while ago about how we sometimes overlook their strengths, because we are so busy trying to make everything perfect.

At a dinner, someone was talking about the reaction we have to a school report where for example the child might be doing really well in History and not so well in Maths. Our first response is that they should get extra Maths, try to get the mark up, etc. What about if we said: “Wow, look at your History – you are really good at that!” and then focussed on giving them more opportunity to develop the very subject that they love.

And that is what they need to learn for themselves too. It is all about learning to play to our strengths - which reminded me about a quote by Albert Einstein, I saw recently:

“...if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will spend its whole life believing that it is stupid.”

To all the matriculants (and their mothers) – good luck, and may you find your bliss!

Building Cathedrals

This morning I had to remind myself that I was “building cathedrals”. My son has been involved with the school music concert which was held in the City Hall over the last two nights. Including the rehearsal the night before, he has had three long days and late nights. This morning it was a tough job getting him up and off to school – grumpiness all around. Talking to him, I felt like I was on one of those overseas calls where there is a time delay on the response. He seemed to be moving in slow motion.

“Nice mom” was being understanding and trying to make it easy on him by helping to get ready, grabbing the hockey kit, and all but attempting to carry him to the car (yeah, right!). But “bad mom” was thinking that half the school was probably feeling the same and he should just get up and go already! There it is again, trying to find the balance between nurturing and kicking out of the nest, so that they can fly.

But to come back to the cathedrals: a while ago there was an email doing the rounds which compared being a mother to the cathedral-builders of long ago. These people toiled for many years, sometimes working on cathedrals which would only be completed long after they had died. But the attention to detail and the craftsmanship was of a very high standard. Nobody may remember the names of those who did the work, but they laid the foundations for great buildings in the same way that mothers quietly lay the foundations for great lives.

So with Women’s Day coming up, here’s a salute to all the mothers out there. When the going gets tough, think of all the “cathedrals” you are building.  

A Traveling Rite of Passage

As I write this my daughter is on a bus to the Eastern Cape on a school trip and my son is flying back from Sweden, where he has been on holiday on his own, for the last two weeks. Just over a year ago, I was on the back of an elephant in the jungle of the Golden Triangle, in the north of Thailand when it occurred to me that family holidays as we knew them were coming to an end. My daughter had been reluctant to come away with us then. She had been on exchange to Canada earlier that year and had a taste for hitting out on her own. My son was bemoaning the fact that there would probably not be anyone his age on that holiday. All in all, though, it turned out to be a great holiday. Besides the elephant trekking, we visited the Tiger Temple, and all got our PADI open-water diving licences.

And so here we are with them taking turns to leave the nest and giving me the opportunity to bond with one and then the other (or so I thought).  While my daughter has her exchange to Canada and her service trip to Thailand behind her, it is the first time that my son has been so far away from home by himself, for this length of time.  I think in many ways this trip has been a rite of passage for him. He has changed so much physically and emotionally over the past year, that it feels appropriate that we should mark it somehow.

He had to deal with the disappointment of not leaving as planned when we arrived at the check-in counter to discover that the UK visa he had would not allow him to travel without one of his parents, even though he would only be in transit. There was nothing for us to do but return home with the hope that we would be able to make a plan in the morning. He put on a brave face but I could see the disappointment.  

Thankfully we managed to get him onto another flight via Amsterdam the next night (and he didn't need a visa to use their airport!). As it happened, it did work out for the best (as mother said it would) as the KLM flight was more convenient.

By all accounts he seems to have had a wonderful time. It is hard to tell how much he has missed us since his communication is limited to one word, and at times one letter: ‘Y’ (why) or ‘K’ (okay). Our children have been travelling since they were babies and I believe that after every trip they have grown from the stimulation, the exposure to different cultures and the opportunity to leave home comforts and deal with change. I am hoping for a more detailed account and eager to see what difference this trip has made.

Who's your auntie?

It happened while I was standing in a dessert buffet queue at a wedding. The young man in front of me, pointed to one of the desserts in front of us and asked, "Do you think that is ice-cream or mousse, Auntie?" It took a few seconds for me to realise that this grown up MAN was talking to me. Calling me auntie. Did I even know him? When did that happen - strange young men, calling me auntie? I don't deny the passage of time, but really...?

I have been contemplating the grey streaks which have appeared as natural highlights in my hair and have decided that I plan on aging gracefully. Apart from some of the creaky bits that have made themselves felt, I think that I am enjoying getting older. The past few years have been interesting, I have learned much through courses and travel, and had fun along the way.

Now that my children are more independent, I find numerous possibilities surfacing to occupy my time. I am relishing the time to pursue interests that nourish me, like writing and photography. I also enjoy the more "mature' attitude that I now have to studying - I spent so many years getting into a neurotic state over exams that it is a treat to be able to attend courses and make the most of the opportunity without performance anxiety. 

I believe that I am embracing the process although don't for one moment think that I plan on being frumpy! I'll be wearing purple with a red hat that doesn't go, as the poem by Jenny Joseph goes. I think that there is a lot to be said for not being 'mutton dressed as lamb'. I shudder when I see women of a certain age trying to cling onto youth at all costs, literally and figuratively. As for the sexily-clad moms one sometimes sees in the car park, they put so much pressure on young girls to look a certain way. After all, unless you have Demi Moore as a mother, you would like to at least look younger than your mom.

Listen to Jenny Joseph read her poem here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8cACbzanitg

Chalk and Cheese

I find it fascinating how children who are birthed from the same parents, who grow up in the same house with the same circumstances turn out so differently. I guess when you throw two different adults together and make a baby; you take potluck with how they are likely to turn out.

Sailing and horse riding are sports with a certain genteelness that I certainly did not grow up with. My son is a fan of both and it matters little to him that no one in the family shares that passion. Similarly, he plays the clarinet. Although we all love music, none of us play an instrument. My daughter briefly played the recorder in grade one, as a requirement of the syllabus but dropped it with little further interest. She did not even try out for the school choir, dismissing it as being for children who needed to learn how to sing.

She sleeps like a log, since an early age has invited all she meets to come round and visit and leaves everything till the last minute because she “works best under pressure”. She's travelled like a dream since she was nine months old. My son on the other hand does not mind his own company (choosing solitary interests to occupy himself) sleeps like a flea and is more focused and conscientious about his work. If it wasn’t for the fact that he looks like me and shares other characteristics too, I would be inclined to believe my daughter’s assertion that he was swopped at birth.

I spent the first two and a half years of his life comparing him to his sister before I accepted that this little boy had his own agenda and was blazing his own trail. Now that adolescence has dawned I find myself comparing them again. My daughter breezed her way through but it seems like it may be pay-back time with my son. 

Both of them have enriched my life in so many ways, teaching me so much and often pushing me out of my comfort zone (like when I decided to take horse riding lessons). If sailing proves to be a lasting passion, I might have to take to the water soon.

On Turning 18

My daughter turned 18 two days ago. She is in her final year of school and the world is her oyster. Over the years she has put together quite an impressive CV. She has met queens and presidents, dug trenches in rural villages, been interviewed on television and the radio, and travelled to some of the most exotic places in the world. She is excited about registering to vote and getting her driver's licence. She has decisions to make about what and where she wants to study.  Someone asked me if I remember what it was like when I turned 18. It was nothing like that.

At 18 I had completed school (in those days we started school a year earlier) and was embarking on a very different voyage. In the apartheid days it was no easy feat being accepted to the mainly "white" University of Cape Town and I needed to acquire a permit. 

Entering university was such a cultural onslaught - I might as well have been in a different country. The campus was huge - I think my school could have fitted into the Jagger Hall. There were lecture halls and sports centres,  different campuses, buses shuttling back and forth, and more "white" people than I had ever seen in my life. And I was able to sit next to them in class, on the bus and in the library.  There were students from all over the country and beyond its borders. Read more about that experience by clicking on this link -  http://saaray-livinginsa.blogspot.com/2010/09/of-black-alumni-and-other-apartheid.html.

I caught buses and trains to campus, wrote out assignments (which I researched in the library in BOOKS!) by hand (or typed them on my dad's typewriter; and no, it was not electric). I could not register to vote. My identity book classified me by race. Overseas travel was some far off fantasy (in fact, I was almost thirty before I went overseas for the first time).

But how exciting to have lived in an era where there have been so many changes. How fortunate to be able to see our children have opportunities and privileges we only dreamt of. And how blessed to have children who use those opportunities and privileges to make a difference. 

All Grown Up

In spite of me bearing witness (with my camera in tow) to the transformation of the past few days (hair, make up and so on) when she put on that dress, the young woman in front of me took me by surprise. 

Of course we were running late and when she came down the stairs all the family and friends who had come to wish her well, swarmed around with camera lights flashing. She looked as overwhelmed as I felt. All I wanted to do was to freeze the moment and allow flashbacks of her taking her first tentative steps or her first day at school or even that picture after she lost her front teeth, to roll before my eyes. All too soon she was off to the pre-party and from there to school, where the dance was being held.

True to the unpretentious school tradition, the matriculants arrived to cheering and clapping on bikes with sidecars, vintage cars, on boats (yes, being skilfully steered by a jeep from behind) and in our yellow beetle decorated to look like a bug, complete with black spots and eyes. The parents were allowed a peek into the "Night in Venice" hall and then it was time to say goodbye. Time to hand her over to her partner, time to let go for the first all-nighter to come, time to trust that she would have fun and be safe.

sneak preview

So here we are the day after - we have survived the matric dance, the pre- and post-parties and life can go back to normal. We have moved onto a new stage, the 18th birthday looms as does the driving test and then, before we know it, final exams. I am steadfast in my resolve that it would be best to send me a "Just Married" postcard.

Good Schools

My kids are both at good schools. It took a lot of thought, research and decision-making. We even bought a house based on the fact that there were good schools in the area. Of course, we then chose to send my daughter further afield for high school, but we are still on the doorstep to my son's school and remain quite central.

The woman who has been working for us for a number of years has a son the same age as ours. She herself, did not have the opportunity to get very far in school but is dedicated to giving her children all the opportunities that were denied her. Last year we tried in vain to get him into a high school closer to our home. He then subsequently got accepted at a school in one of the oldest townships in SA.

It is a well-known school and has been around since the 60's. Over the years it has earned recognition for academic as well as sport and cultural achievement. They also teach English and in hindsight, perhaps it is a good transition school for him if we do still want him to come to a school on this side of town.

This morning I was chatting to her and checking up on how he was settling in. I knew that she had been disappointed that he did not get accepted to the schools which were first on her list so I wanted to show her the school's website and reassure her that it was a good school.

She agreed with me and then carried on to explain why she thought it was good. It had nothing to do with the factors I had been looking at, at all. She thought it was good simply because the school was fenced in and the children remained on the school property during break times, thereby being kept safe from harm and out of temptation. Where I was thinking A's and B's she was having to think about his safety during the school day. It reminded me once again how different our perspectives are based on culture, enforced separation and social and economic circumstances. We also take so much for granted once we are in a fortunate place. 

School Choices

School certainly started with a bang last week, with my son doing 11- and 12-hour days. He has had to be at school for athletics practice at 05h45 (which was rather a rude awakening, but makes sense given the hot summer days we have been experiencing). And then of course he needs to try everything out - so had tennis one day and sailing on another. Needless to say he has been coming home, eating and passing out. I have a feeling that I am not going to be seeing too much of him for the next while.

While he is starting out at high school, my daughter is at the other end of the spectrum - finishing off. so she has been doing much the same as he has, but from the perspective of helping the new ones to fit in - so there are many grade 8-12 functions happening in this family at the moment. 

New stages mean choices. My son has already had to decide between taking Afrikaans and Xhosa and also whether he would like to do Music as a subject. I don't know many 14 or 15 year olds who know what they are going to do post-matric yet they are required to choose subjects at this stage which will determine career paths at university or college and beyond at this stage. At the end of Grade 9 my daughter had to make similar choices. She loves French and History and so it seemed natural for her to continue with those subjects. It seems likely, given her interests in community work and children's rights that she could well do something in the field of international relations, human rights or politics. 


But she is not sure and we tried to help her make decisions that would keep as many options open as possible. Her teacher advised her to carry on with Physics which seems to have become the wonder subject - the one that will keep all doors open to Medicine and Health Sciences. Since she already had her two favourites, it seemed reasonable that she could do one that she did not like. However on the eve of her entry into grade 10 she decided that there was no way she was going to be spending the next three years doing a subject she hated and has settled for Biology which keeps the Science door ajar. We reasoned that if she did get to matric and decided on a career path that needed Science she would be sufficiently motivated to do a catch up.

I find that there are so many choices open to children today and there are career paths which did not exist a few years ago. It is so difficult to choose wisely at this stage unless you have a burning passion to be a doctor, a lawyer or have a flair for business or computers. I have just made an appointment for my daughter to do a careers assessment for some guidance as to the next stage in her life. 


I can only hope that at the end of the day, we have given them both the best we can and that they will use all the opportunities and privileges to have a great life, no matter what they do.  

Lavender, Travel Stamps and a Potjie: Part 2

So although I have not yet visited the lavender fields of Provence, we have done quite a bit of travel. After a late start (I was 29 before I travelled outside SA for the first time) we have since travelled from Greenland to India, Cuba to Thailand, Canada to Egypt and a few more. We have immersed ourselves in cultures, preferring to get to know the locals, returning home richer for the experience.

Swedish bicycle

When my daughter was born it seemed like the most natural thing to carry on in spite of the prophets of doom who would have us believe that having children meant it was time to hang up the travel boots. She was nine months old when we took her to Mauritius and not quite three when she accompanied us on a 2-month long visit to India and Nepal. She travelled like a pro, charmed the locals and was the only one not to get sick. She was comfortable sleeping and eating anywhere although she did refuse to use any “squatting toilets”. The bladder strength she built has stood her in good stead for later travel.

Italian bicycle

By the time her brother was born we thought we had the travel thing down pat. He proved to be more of a challenge, though as he was more resistant to change and disruptions to his routine. Once we established that he needed rest days in between and that he needed to know exactly how many days we would be away and what we would be doing on those days, he was fine. It took until age seven though before he shocked us by asking if we could go back to Florence if we missed the plane home from Milan. Italy has remained a favourite.

Thai bicycle

We subscribe to Mark Twain’s assertion that travel is fatal to narrow-mindedness and bigotry. So we have only ourselves to blame that our daughter, aged 17, has not only spent two months in Toronto , Canada, on exchange but has also just returned from a remote, hill-tribe village in Thailand where she has been helping to build a water storage tank. In both countries she has immersed herself locally and though she has missed home, has had a ball of a time. Each time she returned, I noticed how she has grown up and become more independent. I have little doubt that she will fly the nest soon. And we are proud of having given her the wings. 

Saving the World in Thailand

My daughter is back from her "expoitition and adventure" in Thailand. She is tanned and fit and her bed and bathroom have never looked this good to her. Digging trenches, breaking up rocks and building a water storage tank is not the average holiday pastime of 16 and 17 year olds but that is exactly what she and 14 other teenagers did this December. After a selection process that looked at community involvement and leadership skills, she was chosen for the project in Thailand. 

I was confident that she would be well looked after, judging from the very good organisation and preparation involved but made sure that she was prepared with medicines for diarrhoea, nausea, pain and fever and Wetwipes ... I had no idea that you could get so many wetwipes - wetwipes for outdoors and for feminine hygiene, wetwipes in lieu of  toilet paper, wetwipes with mosquito repellent and wetwipes for sensitive skin! And then there was the Tabard candle to burn to keep mozzies away, plus the cream and a little battery-operated gadget that was supposed to do the same. Satisfied that we had covered most medical emergencies, we put her on the plane with warnings ringing in her ears not to leave her bag alone nor to carry parcels for other people and breathed a sigh of relief when she got safely to the village.

St Cyprian's School is part of Round Square (which suits her aim of saving the world very well). Round Square has four other service projects in Honduras, Kenya and India and six St Cyprian's girls were chosen to go and do their bit. They have lived and worked with villagers, met young people from around the world and experienced firsthand what it means to make a difference. 

Accommodation in the village - 4 hours drive from the nearest town, not a word of English and (luckily) a flushing loo installed the week before they arrived! This was not her first time away from home, but there's a world of difference between staying in boarding school in Toronto and a hut on stilts in the hills of the north of Thailand!   

Halfway there! Boulders collected from the river, smashed up to make concrete, learning to skim cement...talk about hard labour!

Proud as punch to have made a difference!
In front of the water storage tanks. 

The highlight of the trip for her, was standing in front of the water tank for a photograph, and hearing it fill up, knowing that the village would have fresh water when they left - what a wonderful opportunity for students and villagers alike. 

The Dress

We bought the dress today. The matric dance dress. I must say it was relatively painless and we are still friends, but it did take the better part of two days and we had to call in reinforcements in the shape of Auntie J.

We started out yesterday and saw a stunning dress in the first shop we went to. She loved the way she looked in it but felt that a matric dress deserved more searching than simply buying the one in the first shop! Not sure of that logic as I couldn't see how finding the one, meant going to look at some other dresses in other shops. Anyway, it is a big deal and so I indulged her as we criss-crossed the street and mall, leaving possibilities at each shop to come back to the next day. For a change she loved trying on clothes. 

"We need someone", she said in front of the mirror in the change room. "I need Auntie J!" (Auntie J has an only son but has enjoyed being surrogate aunt over the years). "Tell her I need her". Auntie J happily obliged and rocked up at the mall this morning, wearing her flatties, ready to pound the pavement. So we criss-crossed the mall and street, checking up on all the possibilities, trying them all on again in front of hopeful sales assistants. Auntie J expanded the search to include after-party dresses and even a dress for me!

Time for coffee and decisions, we decided. We toasted to the matric dance with our cups and shared stories of our own dances with her. It certainly was a much more low-key affair, pre-American-television-inspired Proms. Auntie J had two matric dance dresses - one that her church-going mom thought was suitable and one that her fun-loving dad whisked her off to buy when he saw mom's contribution. Mom apparently prayed over that dress before she saw her off to the dance!

As for me, I got the sensible outfit that "could be worn again". I got dropped at the dance by my date's dad and I am sure we were back home before the Cinderella hour! Who had ever heard of an after-party never mind an after-party dress!

After coffee we went back to the first shop to buy the first dress. So now it is the hair and makeup, shoes and accessories, etc.  I can see why the school is having the dance so early in the year - no-one would be focusing on exams if it was later in the year. I had fun doing this with her and I say thank you for a daughter (and reinforcements!).

Love across the Line

Last night my son and I rented the movie Our Family Wedding - a story about a cross-cultural wedding and the difficulties the bridal couple endure. I didn’t expect it to be a good movie (it wasn't) but was curious to see Ugly Betty’s America Ferreira and maybe have a bit of a laugh.

It was interesting to see the levels of racism portrayed in the movie. It's the same issues which have been highlighted in many movies like My Big Fat Greek Wedding, and many others which portray love across the “line”. But this movie was quite explicit about the differences between the families, and even the workmen were making fun of the wedding between "Mexicanos" and "Negritos". It's one thing when the two families hold onto their traditions so fiercely that life becomes difficult for the bridal couple but quite another when a whole community is against the wedding. I know it's hardly the definitive word on the state of racism in the US but I believe that it's a close reflection of reality. It's certainly an issue here in South Africa.

I have written about racism in a previous blog but it is a topic I will probably keep coming back to as I battle to make sense of where we come from. I believe that we are not born racist. But we have this instinct to hold onto what is familiar and to protect our traditions to a level where we exclude others. It is such a limiting standpoint. We close ourselves off to new experiences and viewpoints that can only enrich our lives.

I had a very interesting chat to a woman at dinner the other night – she is Swiss-German, her husband Italian and they are living here temporarily. For a while French was their common language until they had children and then decided that they should speak Italian. The children went on to be educated in the UK. The daughter married a Brazilian who she met while working on a project in India. They now live in Australia. The son who was living in the US, not to be outdone by his sister, has a partner of Japanese and American origin and they live in Spain. I think I got that all right!

I find the lack of borders and artificial boundaries wonderful. The family is truly international. They have travelled and worked in different countries and been exposed to diverse people and cultures. They have rich experiences and I am sure that there has to be tolerance and respect for it to work. I am rubbing my hands in glee waiting to see how the grandchildren turn out!

Like Mark Twain said, travel is fatal to bigotry, prejudice and narrow-mindedness. But we don’t need to go far. We can travel to our neighbours and communities, read, watch movies and be open to different experiences. It comes down to respecting each other, embracing differences and understanding that our way is not the only way.

Horse-riding and other mid-life challenges

On Friday night I sat next to a show-jumper at dinner. He told me how riding had kept him out of mischief as a teenager when all his friends were going off clubbing, and doing other things that teenagers do. Horse-riding did not rank high on any list I might have had growing up in South Africa, when I did. Fortunately, I could contribute to the conversation since my son has been riding for a few years now. He has always loved animals and one day declared that he would like to go riding. I think I might have dismissed it as a passing phase. Many holiday trips found him longing to go riding. 

One holiday we did a horse safari in Addo Elephant Park - I am not sure how I get talked into all these things. My husband assured me that he had told the guide that we were Absolute Beginners, so off we went. Things started off simply enough until we had to duck to go through a bridge under the highway. We had to wait our turn and the horses got a little restless, bumping into each other. It was my son's horse  which reared up and dumped him on his bottom. To our surprise, he stood up and got straight back on. This was not very confidence-inspiring in my daughter who was even less enchanted than I was at the prospect of being on a safari on an animal in an area where we knew lions roamed! However, there was no turning back and we spent the longest 2 hours of my life trying to enjoy the experience!

On our return home, my son reminded me again that I had not done anything about his earlier request for riding lessons. After a little research,  we were recommended to a riding school which had a waiting list of 9 months (which, I admit, I hoped would put him off). He waited patiently and, now, four years later, we are still taking weekly trips to the "mink-and-manure" side of the mountain. He loves riding and has changed his lesson to a Friday afternoon as it is "a good way to end the week."

Of course now that he can ride he is even more keen on tracking down places that offer riding when we are on holiday. I may add that he has dragged his similarly riding-challenged father off at dawn to ride Arabian horses in the desert of Sharm-el-Sheik! 


Last year we had quite the year of the animals - shark cage diving, whale watching, riding elephants and bottle-feeding tigers in Thailand. In between the adventures on the sea in Hermanus, my son dragged us off to do some horse riding – "gentle ponies that even you can ride mom!" After an hour in the saddle on Lukas, who had ideas of his own about whether he should in fact move, I needed to be prised off and was not sure whether I would ever be able to walk upright again. I spent the rest of the week sporting a John Wayne swagger from those Westerns we watched as children. 

After the Lukas experience, I decided that perhaps I should have a few lessons to get the hang of it since it seems like this riding thing was here to stay. At least I could learn to sit properly instead of being thrown around like a sack of potatoes. While the idea of riding (being outdoors, the graceful rhythm that seems almost meditative) is peculiarly appealing to me, I have to admit to a certain reservation about the whole business. 


I am so aware that this is an animal - bigger and stronger than I - with its own mind. And when the teacher says give him a whack - I mean what is that?  - an open invitation to fly over its head? Neither does riding a horse called Hercules conjure up visions of gentle canters through the forest. I bravely attended a term of lessons and would like to say that I am prepared for the next Lukas. Alas, the longer I went for lessons the more convinced I became that the odds of being thrown off were stacking up against me. Images of the late Christopher Reeve (aka Superman) started to appear in my dreams. I felt like I was playing Russian Roulette and decided to quit before I met my end. 


I have to admit I do feel just a little bit proud of stepping out of my comfort zone and adding riding to one of my mid-life challenges. But I can ride an elephant, and I did that bareback. 

So, do you work?

"So, do you work?" I have been thinking about this question over the last few days, since I attended a function with my husband. I usually brace myself for that question and wonder how I could answer it without appearing defensive. What exactly does work mean? If you do not have a paying job does that mean you do not work? Does that mean you are "living a life of luxury"? If you answer "No" does that mean the end of the conversation as you must be a "housewife" and therefore can have no meaningful contribution to the conversation or to society?

Answering no, does usually close off a conversation - doing voluntary work doesn't seem to count (since it does not involve money or climbing the corporate ladder) and seems to be regarded as not needing a commitment and therefore not important. Running a home and being a mother, supporting your husband's career, seems to be viewed with negativity. I am not sure if this is a SA viewpoint or a general global viewpoint. If you asked me if I was a feminist I would say yes - I believe in women's rights, in equality for women socially and culturally. But I think that people lose sight of the fact that the Feminist movement was about having the choice - the choice to stay at home with your kids or not, the choice to be single or married, the choice to build a career or not...

As a woman with a degree from a prestigious university and who worked in her career for a number of years, I feel fortunate to have been in the situation where I could choose to be a mother and "retire" from my previous career. And being a mother has certainly encompassed all the skills I learned at university and while working. What I did not know, I learned from workshops, books and from peers. On the job training is what is about; talk about immersion therapy! Certainly the hours have paid off and I have been well-rewarded along the way.

A friend joked that I could be the CEO of a "business" involving my role as mother. As they have grown older and spend more time at school and with other extra-mural activities, it seems that I have taken on the role of Personal Assistant. In many ways they need me less but even when they are not with me, I am planning and organising. I have to set time aside to do "admin" - plan schedules, make appointments, follow-up school-related issues. Recently, I have felt that I can start to reclaim my independence and start doing the things that I have put on hold.

But, yes, I have been working. Just not getting paid in hard currency.