A dramatic morning - Tharaa heads off to camp and Shakeel's morning of forgetfulness

Every year the 3 senior grades at my kids' primary school venture out into the world, leaving their yearning, aching, grieving mommies behind. Or perhaps that's just my reaction to my kids going on school camp.

Today was, once again, Tharaa (11)'s turn. She had been talking about it for the past 2 weeks - though not as happily as one might expect, because unfortunately she seems to take after her clingy mother and was therefore dreading leaving the family behind.

So, selfishly, I left her to make her own arrangements while I carried on, happily in denial. 

Until yesterday, when I realised that the day I'd been dreading was nearly upon us and that I'd been so wrapped up in my own issues that I'd left my poor baby to do her own planning and packing. So, to assuage my guilt, I set about baking cupcakes - loads and loads of them, as if burying her in cupcakes would compensate for my selfishness.

So, as expected, this morning was a crazy rush. The bus was due to leave at 07:30 a.m. , which meant that we had to leave here by 07:10. But, by 07:20 I was still, after 30 minutes of negotiating, screaming and yelling, trying to get Aisha (3) dressed. It was also round about that time that I discovered that Tharaa had only packed one pair of shoes, no long sleeved tops, no socks and neither a toothbrush nor soap. 

And then, as we headed out the door, Nuha (8) spotted Shakeel (14)'s Social Science (History and Geography) notebook on the table along with his pencil case. I felt ill - my son had forgotten his study notes and stationery on the morning of such an important exam!! I debated whether I should greet Tharaa there and then (sending her off with her dad) and then rush off to Shakeel's school OR just let him suffer the consequences of his negligence.

But I had no time to waste by thinking about it - so I packed his stuff into the car and undertook to deal with that (or not) once Tharaa was safely on the bus. 

The drive to the school was torturous, with Aisha screaming and yelling that she did not want to be strapped into the car seat. Despite the fact that I'd conceded to her wearing her tattered (and I mean completely punctured with holes) pink tights to school, she remained in a bad mood because of the stressful start to the day.

I felt sorry for Tharaa. Before we left home, she'd walked into our room and then become all teary as she embraced Mo and me. In the car, she sat worrying about the very real possibility that she might miss the bus. Then, to make matters worse, just as we headed into town, a bus - exactly like the one they were to take - drove toward us in the opposite direction. I silently prayed that we had not caused her to miss her camp. Instead of the takeaway meal Mo promised he'd buy for her on our way to school, he only had time to grab a small pie.  But I don't think she'll starve - although she only took half the cupcakes, she still has enough with her to feed a small army. 

The goodbyes were not as difficult this year. I promised her that I would not embarrass her by crying and I hardly shed a tear, but focused on being happy for her instead. Maybe I'm growing up. Even she seemed happy and excited. Maybe she's happy that I'm growing up.

Tharaa - right in front wearing the pink scarf

After kissing  and hugging her and then running after her to kiss her and hug her again - and again - they finally headed off. And naturally, this was when Aisha started to cry for her sister. By that time I'd had enough of her nagging and tears and, for the first time, I was actually relieved at the prospect of dropping her off at school.

And then I was left with the decision as to what to do about Shakeel's notebook and pencil case. Mo felt that I should just leave him to suffer the consequences of his negligence, which I would probably have done had the consequences been him having to suffer punishment by missing a break or detention. But, what if the notebook meant the difference between him getting 70% or 80% or, heaven forbid, passing or failing! And with that thought, I jumped into the car and dashed to school to ensure that my child got his hands on this potentially life-changing notebook. 

Arriving at the school, I wondered whether this was really necessary or if I was just making an arse of myself - after all, the notebook contained very few pages of written work, since most of his studying was probably done from his textbook, which I was certain he had with him. But, then deciding that there might just be a vitally important paragraph in the notebook which could make all the difference, I headed into the school.

When I got back home, I heaved a huge sigh of relief as I walked through the door. I was alone, with a stressful morning of averted crises safely behind me. I started to tidy up, when - on Shakeel's bed - I saw his Social Science text book.

" #$%^  it, " I told myself, " that kid's on his own."

And I sat down to enjoy the remaining pile of cupcakes.

Tharaa, the train bearer

On Saturday Tharaa (10) was the train-bearer for the granddaughter of my parents'-in-laws' best friends.

The other girls in the bridal party were much younger than she is, so their parents accompanied them for the whole day's proceedings. I knew my daughter would be nervous about being alone, so I thought I'd remind her of her important duty, i.e. to guard, lift and protect the bridal train with her life.

And she did such a good job.

At 11:00 am Mo dropped her off at the hotel, which acted as the base for the bride's preparations. Nuha (7) and Aisha (2) hung about the hotel with their sister, while she waited for the bride to get dressed.

 

Hanging with Maama (Mo's mum)

 

Earnestly performing her duties

 

 

As expected, Aisha (2) cried for her sister as Mo drove away, leaving Tharaa to fulfil her important duties.

 

We then dropped the other kids off by my mother so that we could prepare for the wedding (after spending a few rare and blissful child-free hours alone).

The reception took place at the hotel too. I sat waiting nervously for my daughter to make her entrance - I couldn't have been more nervous if she, herself, had been the bride.

As the bridal party entered the reception room I, embarrassingly (and predictably), had to fight back tears. My baby looked so grown up *sniff*. She wore an earnest expression, as she ensured that the train did not touch the floor; handling it carefully - like a sensitive explosive device which would blow the entire venue to smithereens should it touch the ground. I was so proud of her.

 

Fussing around the bride like a mother hen

 
After prayers and emotional, but funny speeches, the supper buffet was opened. Oh my goodness, what a spread! We had experienced this hotel's buffet before and were always very impressed with the food and venue. But this time the staff had really outdone themselves (to be expected, I suppose, since they were hosting the wedding of the granddaughter of the hotel owner - their employer).

And then there were the desserts. I seriously wished I could tip the bowl of whatever mousse I was eating, into my handbag to take home. (Don't worry I didn't).

By the end of dinner Tharaa was lying against me, begging to be taken home. The poor thing was so exhausted.


Before the speeches

And...after

 

 

Maama, looking spiffy as always

 

 

 

At the end of the evening, when we arrived outside, Tharaa seemed to be energised by the crisp evening air.

She treated us to a performance during which she lit up like a fairy / alien.

 

I was so proud of my baby. I thought she'd be nervous and unsure of herself (like her mother is in most social situations), but according to all accounts, she was a very dutiful little assistant to the bride. By the end of the night I was overflowing with love and pride - until we got into the car and she started bitching that ''They '' (meaning her siblings) '' had more fun than I did, didn't they? Where did you take them?''

And within seconds she was transformed from a mature, elegant princess, into the whiny disgruntled child I'd missed all day. 
　

Tharaa - Netball Player of the Tournament

On Saturday morning 10 year old Tharaa participated in her first netball tournament in which six schools played each other in a round robin format.

She was incredibly nervous. Being one of the tiniest on her own team has never bothered her. But seeing the size of their competitors had her completely panicked. Many of them towered head and shoulders above her. Next to them she looked so tiny and vulnerable - I was so worried that my little baby (because that's what she looked like next to them) would get trampled.

But she held her own - beautifully. One of the other parents nicknamed her ''Glue-fingers'' because no matter how the ball was passed to her, she managed to catch (and hold onto it) effortlessly. She was also responsible for one of her school's very few goals.

Which is probably why her school's coach chose her to be their school's Player of the tournament. (Each school coach selected one player from her own team to receive this award).

Being awarded her prize

And no one was prouder than her sister.

With a proud and gushing Nuha (7)

Congratulations Tharaa. We are really really proud of you!

Tired, frustrated and just plain g^tvol

Finally the end of the kids' exams and formal assessments are in sight. Tomorrow afternoon life returns to normal.


I cannot describe how happy I'll be when it is all over. With Shakeel (13) writing his first full-scale exam (as opposed to formal assessments comprising of class tests and projects), my stress levels have been through the ceiling. Combine that with the drama/ trauma of his high school applications and you'll realise why I feel like downing an entire bottle of Rescue Remedy right now.


I have been explaining, drafting questions, studying and memorising alongside them, trying all the while to keep them motivated and prevent them from being distracted. I've screamed, threatened, begged and bribed. I've pinched and punched and threatened to inflict serious bodily harm. I'm exhausted.


It would be easier for me to write all their tests/ exams myself, instead of trying to persuade them to study. Really, it would.


Tharaa (10) has surprised me with her ability to grasp difficult concepts and memorise them. However her playfulness is making me feel like I need to separate myself from her for a bit - before I give her a kick in the arse. Earlier I watched her fake-sobbing while answering the Economic and Management Sciences revision sheet I drafted for her. Before that I caused her to burst into heartbroken tears when I interrupted the game she invented - tipping her chair upside-down and then letting her stationery (pens and erasers) slide down its back one by one. Then, while we read through her notes on " The iron and steel industry in SA" she tensed her body and writhed in frustration because she could not join in the game Nuha (7) and Aisha (2) were playing. I cannot wait for her bedtime.


Shakeel (13) is writing Natural Science and Economic and Management Sciences tomorrow. He is complaining about being bored of studying the same work over and over, since he had finished studying for these subjects a while back. I'm concerned that his over-confidence could result in him making stupid mistakes. But I'm washing my hands of this problem and (perhaps stupidly) trusting in his judgement.


Tharaa still has to complete an entire section of work - and then revise. But she's on her own with that - there is no way I'm missing Isidingo (a popular local soapie) tonight - [what with Calvin being exonerated tonight and Rodney very likely being exposed as being Charlie's rapist. I'm soooo excited!!!] Don't judge - I've been trying to get her to study and revise all day - it's not my fault that she's only waking up to the urgency of her situation now.


Tomorrow this time exams/ formal assessments will be over. The mere thought has me giddy with joy.

[Later edited to add: Isidingo turned out to be a total anti-climax]

Tick tock - a cry baby's countdown

Last week Tharaa (10) reminded me of something I'd been trying to forget. ''Mommy, I'm so excited for my school camp next week''.

Oh no. I am such a wimp about my kids spending time away from me. I pine, I weep and feel sorry for myself. Shakeel (13) has been on two of these school camps already. I remember his first time two years ago - I'd stared after the departing bus, eyes brimming with tears, lip quivering uncontrollably, snot suspended threateningly, trying desperately not to start bawling in front of the other parents, who calmly waved to their kids and then proceeded to chat to one another as if it were just any other day. I'd waited until I got into the car before bawling like a baby, sobbing madly at the cruelty of the school for ripping my baby out of the arms of his needy clingy adoring mother.

Then Tharaa asked, ''Mommy, will you cry for me the way you did for Shakeel?'' Yes, the fact that I'd been avoiding the thought of her leaving was an indication of how I felt. But suddenly I felt pressured. What if the morning of her departure arrived and I couldn't cry? What if I felt sad, but only burst into tears once she'd left - would she feel unloved? What if I had grown emotionally since Shakeel's last camp - and am now a normal well-adjusted mommy, no longer emotionally dependent on her kids? (And now I'm trying to ignore the rude laughter in my head).

But I needn't have worried. In fact, my concern should have been that I'd, once again, be threatening to embarrass myself and my daughter. Each time I looked at her as she excitedly queued and chatted with her little friends, I had to clench my jaw and pinch my thigh to distract myself from my threatening tears. ''Stop being such a baby,'' I rebuked myself, but the wimp in me ignored the reprimand and proceeded to tear up, smiling bravely at my daughter, who I am sure, no longer wished for her mommy to express her love through her tears, but by not embarrassing her.

Eventually the bus left. I swallowed the lump in my throat and smiled at parents' jocular comments to one another. ''Be normal,'' I warned myself sharply, '' for just a little while longer''. This time the wuss in me complied, docile and defeated. Resigning myself to the fact that my kids are growing up and embarking upon their own adventures without me. Trying to be happy for them so that they needn't feel guilty for abandoning me. And counting down the hours until the return of my baby - and the restoration of my incomplete and temporarily dismembered family.

Tharaa gets dealt the race card

Shakeel (13) has always been the type to have a best friend - he's always wanted or needed to have a special friend, to whom he'd show undying loyalty. Tharaa (10), on the other hand, has always been the type to flit from friend to friend, clique to clique - as the fancy took her. She's been this way since creche and I must admit that this has worried me in the past - would she be able to commit, show loyalty or receive the benefits that come with having a deep friendship?

So, when the kids started madrassah (islamic school) a few weeks ago, there was no reason this should change. Tharaa chatted to one girl / group of girls the one day and then moved on to the next the following day - just as the fancy took her.

This has never been a problem for her - until last week, when, instead of chatting to the same two girls from the previous day (let's call them X and Y), she started to spend time with Q. This is when X and Y levelled the accusation, which completely baffled, horrified and devastated Tharaa.

''You don't want to play with us anymore because we're black,'' they concluded.

No amount of explaining, defending or arguing could get the girls to change their minds. Tharaa got into the car close to tears.

To understand how bizarre that accusation was, one would need some background about my kids' exposure to race and racism.

During apartheid, public schools were racially exclusive - black children could only go to black schools, white kids to white schools, coloured kids to coloured schools - you get the picture.

Since the fall of apartheid, schools have opened up and admission criteria are no longer racially -based. They include instead criteria like affordability, area in which the learner resides, etc.

My kids attend a formerly whites-only school which is based in a formerly whites-only area. The school constitutes kids of all racial groupings - funnily enough, with white children now making up a tiny minority. (I have absolutely no idea where the residents of the area - who are still predominantly white - are enrolling their children).

Shakeel and Nuha (7) have been at this school since Grade 1, while Tharaa did her pre-school year at the school as well. They have had friends of all racial groupings since the beginning. It has been really interesting to observe how, compared to us (the products of apartheid) they are completely (racially) colour-blind.

I have always wanted to keep them this way - innocent and naive - when it came to the issue of race. However, I knew that I could not bury my (and their) head (s) in the sand and keep them in the dark about such issues. Doing so would deny our past, which would in turn, fail to honour those who had endured and sacrificed to enable our kids to enjoy the benefits which they do today. Denying/ignoring the past would also mean that the kids would not realise how far this country has come in such a short time - it is so important for them to appreciate what they have today and to realise that the rights they enjoy today, were born from much pain and sacrifice of the previous generations.

So, a few years ago, while watching a documentary on our apartheid past, I took the opportunity to explain to Shakeel the concept of apartheid and racism. He was baffled. Why did the bad guys (apartheid government) hurt people just for being a certain colour? Was he black?

I have to tell you - my heart broke, as I felt that with each bit of information, I was destroying his innocence bit by bit. By introducing the concept of race into his consciousness, I was effectively eradicating his colour-blindness and making him see beyond the person him/herself - but see their race. I doubted whether I was doing the right thing, but once it had been uttered, there was no turning back.

What amazed me was his question, ''Do we know any black people?'' I did not want to answer that question. I did not want to draw his attention to the race of some of his best friends.

Then came the question, '' Is Tharaa white?'', which necessitated a brief discussion on colonialism and how white people had ended up in South Africa, which naturally was followed by, ''Do we know any white people?'' This one was tricky - I was concerned that telling him that one of his close friends was white could make him view the child negatively in the light of the information with which I had just provided him. But he distinguished between the bad guys (the apartheid government) and the white children who were his friends. ( Thankfully, I did not have to get into a discussion about the supporters of apartheid who were not part of the apartheid government).

After that discussion I felt guilty; like I had tarnished the innocence of a child forever. Thankfully though my older two kids have this annoyingly superior attitude when it comes to comparing their youth with mine. It seems like telling them about issues which we had faced - like apartheid, corporal punishment etc, has led them to view their generation as more evolved than what we are. They do not think like us, I'm often told.

Questions like ''Was the girl who won the prize at your school black, coloured or white?'' (often posed by older members of the community, whose apartheid-scarred minds are sadly still unable to look beyond racial classifications) are met with horrified gasps by my kids.

To my kids, the apartheid government and racists are bad guys - akin to Lex Luthor in Superman, the Green Goblin in Spiderman. Thank God for the end of apartheid. Good riddance to bad rubbish. To them, the apartheid government and racists were evil - thank goodness they belong to a different time.

So, Tharaa being accused of not wanting to play with someone because of their race, had me filled with fury - because to my child, she had been likened to the vilest, most unlikeable bad guys - the kind who had actually existed, who had negatively affected the lives of her parents, grandparents and countless others.

''I told them I'm not that stupid,'' she kept repeating. Because to her racists are stupid - choosing to play / not to play with someone because of the colour of her skin is stupid. (For her, a more valid reason to dump one friend for another would be if the latter had a Tinkie).

So when she reluctantly returned to madrassah, she was surprised to find that the issue which had plagued her, had become a non- issue. Life at madrassah was continuing as normal. X and Y had forgotten what they had said to her. And this made me furious.

They had spoken those words so lightly and easily, even though it had been completely unsubstantiated. It had just been a convenient, easy explanation for why she did not want to play with them. Not for a second did they consider that there might be an alternative reason. They had jumped straight for the race card, with awful emotional consequences for my daughter.

As a Muslim person, I always become annoyed when some Muslim people regard any and every negative comment as Islamophobia. Sometimes the reason one does not get a job is that one was not qualified enough; or if someone did not smile at you, they may be having a bad day. Yes, Islamophobia and racism as a whole are very real - and sadly, are practised daily. But levelling accusations of either should be based on proof and not paranoia.

On the one hand, I am furious with X and Y for causing my daughter such grief. On the other, I feel sad that they have to be so defensive when it comes to their 'race'. Could this be a result of racism which they are actually experiencing from kids at school? It is so sad that this ugly concept has to be at the forefront of their consciousness - at such a young age.

Later, when I asked Tharaa why she didn't just tell them that one of her closest friends in her class is black, she asked ''Who?'' - she had not even registered what the race was of her friend, whom she just regards as 'the clever one'.

We drew a valuable lesson from this experience: how harmful it is to judge in the absence of evidence. This incident has also reiterated the importance of weighing one's words before uttering them and paying particular attention to how they will impact on others - once words have been uttered, they are impossible to recall and the resultant damage is often very difficult to undo.

Fight
in the silence

you wish to take

two steps back

inhale your words

(by award- winning poet Gabeba Baderoon from ''A hundred silences'')
Baderoon, Gabeba, ''Fight''. A hundred silences (Kwela/Snailpress 2006), pg 28
　

Girls afternoon out - special moments at Pepperazzi

As the parents of four kids, we sometimes find ourselves failing miserably in our attempt to balance the time and attention we spend on each respective child. Unfortunately it is often the child who is being the most difficult, or creating the most problems who ends up getting the most attention.
In our family, little Aisha (2) is most often the recipient of our energies and attention. While Shakeel (13) and Tharaa (10) are able to forcefully claim our attention by screaming or moaning loudly enough, it is 7 year old Nuha who fades into the background, unnoticed and unheard. We therefore have to make a conscious effort to set aside time for her whenever possible.
 
We realised that we had to consciously carve out time for each child. We’d do this by arranging for one of us to have one-on-one time with each one of them, while the other looks after the remaining three. We hoped to do this as often as possible.

A few months ago I took Tharaa out for a sushi lunch. We had fully intended this to be the first of many, once her siblings had had their turns. We do not include Aisha in this queue- for- attention because, as centre of the universe, she already owns all our time.

Since learning that the Avengers (2012) would be hitting the movie circuit this year, their dad, Mo has been using Shakeel as an excuse  planning to spend his one-on-one time with Shakeel by sharing this amazing movie experience with him. (Imagine, all these Marvel superheroes in one movie! I’m on the edge of my seat with barely-contained excitement *dripping with sarcasm* ). They planned to attend this life –changing event this past weekend.

As usual, Nuha has thus far been the one to fall through the cracks. So, this weekend I was to take her to lunch. But cowards that we are, Mo and I could not bear Tharaa’s nagging, so (I’m ashamed to say) we decided to include her in Nuha’s one-on-one lunch.

We headed to Pepperazzi in Canal Walk. There was a slight wait for our orders to arrive, because the place was absolutely packed. The girls passed the time playing games and bickering.

I ordered an avocado and pineapple steak burger. Either I was really hungry by the time the food arrived, or this was one of the most satisfying restaurant meals I’ve had in a long time.

 Nuha ordered a simple kiddies beef burger and chips
  

  

Tharaa ordered the kiddies ribs and chips. 

Tharaa had us wishing that we'd ordered the ribs too

A picture's worth a thousand words

  
Although they enjoyed our little outing, I cannot in good conscience count this as Nuha's one-on-one time with me. I am really looking forward to spending some 'alone-time' with my deserving little daughter.

Despite their bickering during our outing, I will always cherish the wonderful moments we shared on our outing and am looking forward to doing it again.