A disillusioned patriot

I love our country - the diversity of its people, its unrivalled beauty, the fact that we are able to practice our respective religions unhindered. I cannot watch a documentary about our apartheid past without becoming really emotional - with sadness for all the lives lost or destroyed, but also with the most immense pride at everything we've overcome. I am so proud of the spirit of reconciliation (as opposed to revenge and violence) which characterised our revolution.



I don't understand the first thing about cricket, soccer or rugby, but, after asking everyone around me, "Who won that point?", I will leap about with demented happiness each time our respective teams play at major international events. I still choke back tears of pride, watching our teams sing our national anthem at World Cup events.

So, it is with reluctance that I am writing this post.

For the past two weeks, news headlines in our country have revealed shocking and devastating events. We are still reeling with shock at the brutality and lack of respect for life characterising the crimes perpetrated by our own people against one another.

And these are just the stories that made mainstream news headlines - one because of the horrifying savagery of the crime and the other because of the high profile nature of the accused.

The other day I picked up "The Voice", a community newspaper which reports on events in the Cape Flats (mainly on stories which do not reach the mainstream media). After reading stories about a father being killed for R1 (or some ridiculous amount like that), I hid the paper out of my kids' reach.

Most people I know have experienced crime to some extent - whether it's just a garden tap being ripped out of the ground and sold as scrap metal or more serious terrifying incidents.

We've been victims to theft (having our car broken into, goods stolen from our home etc ) so often that I cannot even keep count of the incidents - and that is no exaggeration. I've had a relative killed by shooting, one who was shot (and survived) and one who survived an attempted hijacking at the hands of two knife-wielding thugs.

We've had people trying to force their way into our home. Once, when I was pregnant with Aisha (3), Givemore - Mo's employee who works in our backyard - rushed inside saying that three men had been trying to force their way into our property. When he'd seen them, one had been trying to disable the security gate, the other was attempting to cut through a padlock of the door leading straight into our front room, and the third was busy breaking the garage door. When Givemore, who was arriving at work at the time, saw them, he yelled out loud, causing them to flee. I dread to think what would have happened had he come just a few minutes later, since the third guy had already managed to get a hole through the garage door, which would have allowed him entry into the yard and the house. I am filled with gratitude to the Almighty for placing such a brave and unselfish person at the right place at the right time.

Then there was the time, during the middle of the night, that some guys tried to force their way into the house, once again via the room with the padlocked door. Since the room has an inside door leading to the rest of the house, we were in immediate danger if they managed to get in. This inside door was closed, but unlocked. At one point, when the banging stopped, we had no idea whether they had managed to make their way into the room. We called the police (who are based about four blocks away), who promised they'd be there in a few minutes. It was about 12:15 am. We waited. And waited. We called again at 12:25 am. Again, we waited. That was about two years ago. We're still waiting.

Then, of course, there was this incident (which I'd prefer to forget).

Our latest incident happened at Canal Walk shopping mall on Saturday afternoon. Mo had just carried our food to our table (one of the long tables in McDonalds eating area), when his phone rang. After ending the call, he placed the phone in front of him. A few minutes later he realised that his phone was gone.

He headed straight for the security office, asking to see the security footage. They said that this was not possible since the camera footage at that spot belonged to McDonalds. So he and the security personnel rushed to McDonalds (aware that with every second wasted, the chances of catching the scumbags, were being diminished).

But they were not allowed to view the footage. Only McDonalds staff could do so. So the very cooperative McDonalds manager went inside to view the footage. The best she could do was to come and report to the mall security what and whom she had seen. Based on her description, the security officer then would have to radio his colleagues and describe to them what had been described to him. It was so preposterous - only my fury kept me from laughing out loud.

So McDonalds' manager described the following: Mo had placed his phone in front of him. We then proceeded to eat and chat, the way we do. At that point, three women got up from the neighbouring round tables and came to stand behind us. They appeared to be talking to the people at the long table behind us. While Mo chatted to us, one of them made her first attempt at taking the phone, but failed because the phone was too close to him. It was while he was listening to me chattering away that her friend positioned herself so as to block her actions from my view. At that point she succeeded in taking the phone. They were very very smooth.

We were informed that this happens often. These people would sit around watching people who were distracted - people like us who have many kids keeping them busy. They then move in as a group, snatching phones and handbags.

Mo was told to report it to Milnerton police. He'll probably never get his phone back, but these people need to be stopped. And the only description we have of these vile people are that they are "three plump black women - one with an orange top, one with a black top, and one dressed in white". Very helpful.

Mo asked for a printout of the images so that we could pass it on to the security offices of various malls (including that of Canal Walk itself, since they don't have access to the footage). These women had obviously done this before and would definitely do it again if not stopped. The response was that once the matter was reported, they could give it to us - AT OUR EXPENSE. Are they not interested in stopping people such as these from doing this to anyone else?

I know this was a minor incident compared to others happening around the country - or even compared to other incidents which we, ourselves, have experienced. But the feeling of frustration, helplessness and fury still cannot be avoided. And yes, I'm ashamed to admit - I've been battling intense feelings of hatred for these individuals. I hide this from the kids, but Nuha (8) kept on asking if Allah/God would punish these bad guys. I don't know how to respond. Despite the fact that stealing is a sin, how can I make such promises? So, I tell her that what those people did was bad and that their fate be left in God/Allah's hands. We should instead focus on how lucky we are that nobody got hurt in the commission of this crime. I'm not directing this gratitude at these awful people, but at God, who has thus far kept us protected.

The phone itself was VERY expensive, but, as is the case with all of the gadgets which were stolen from us over the years, the most significant loss is that of the family pictures and memorable moments captured. Mo, however, has also lost important notes which he'd recorded in meetings at work - I could not resist saying, " I told you so" , since I don't think that people are lining up to steal good old-fashioned notebooks, which, in my humble opinion, are therefore the best places in which to jot down one's valuable notes. But that is just my own old-fashioned opinion - and beside the point.

So, as I watch the developments in this morning's high profile matter, I say a prayer for the victims of crime and their families everywhere.

I pray that hearts filled with hatred and rage, are softened with love, tolerance and empathy. That respect for the lives, property and the dignity of others are as important to us as our own.

And I pray for the Almighty to keep us and our families safe from harm. إن شاء الله‎




　

An orange tree - a wintry blessing

Every winter the orange tree in our garden bursts with an abundance of bright yellow fruit - so yellow in fact, that for years we thought it was a lemon tree. And every year hungry passers-by either request to be allowed to pick fruit or just enter the garden and help themselves without permission.

 Thus, during winter, we have so much activity in our front garden, with people wandering in and out as if in a public park/garden. I really did not mind. The tree is popular and its produce bountiful.

I did not even mind when people came in, without permission, just to pick a few oranges and then left. Even when they ask for permission, I would agree and then go back inside, trusting that they will treat our property with respect.

Sadly though, many people have taken advantage of this freedom. A few years ago, the very youths whom I allowed to pick oranges, then decided to rip our garden tap out of the ground to sell it for scrap metal. When I returned outside to check up on them, they were dashing down the street laughing, leaving the water spouting wastefully about 3 meters into the air. Luckily Mo popped in from work a few minutes later and was able to stop the water by sealing the pipe.

There have also been incidents where people coming to ask for food steal from the premises while waiting for us to heat up their meals. Like the time a young man stole our plastic doorbell button. Why, I don't know. I cannot imagine any use this piece of plastic could be to him without the actual doorbell. On the other hand, losing this tiny object meant that we could not operate our doorbell.

Last month my kids were so upset when some children we'd allowed to pick oranges stole one of our goldfish from our pond as soon as our backs were turned. Each of my kids had had a fish - the fish they stole turned out to be Nuha (7)'s. She cried pitifully for more than an hour for her little friend, Marina. We comforted her, saying that we were certain that Marina would be well looked after and that we were sure that the children who took her were kind and caring (At which Shakeel (13) snorted cynically).

Every night we have people coming to the door for food or money. Usually they are the same people who return over and over. For the past few months, a certain gentleman has made it a habit to pop in late at night, bang on our security gate and scream loudly until we answer. Mo has, on numerous occasions, threatened not to give him anything if he did not stop carrying on in such a vulgar fashion; the man would then simply apologise, make off with his food/money and then return the following night to do exactly the same thing.

Last week, on Thursday night, he again banged on the gate and asked for money. He specified that he did not want food, but preferred the money. Since Mo was working late, I asked the gentleman to return at 14:00 the following day(Friday), since Mo would be returning from mosque at that time and could then give him whatever money he had to spare.

At 12:10 the following afternoon he returned. Not having expected this gentleman to return almost 2 hours earlier than agreed, I asked Elizabeth, the domestic worker, to answer the door and give whoever asked for assistance, the food which I'd set aside. Thinking that I was about to renege on our agreement of the night before, he became furious. He tore broken my little fence(surrounding my veg and herb patch) made of wooden logs and used one log to bang loudly (and frighteningly) on the security gate, screaming and cursing all the while.

I came out and when I saw that it was him, I am ashamed to say, I really lost my cool. He screamed that we'd had an agreement, to which I replied that I had not been expecting him at 12:10. Mo was not even home yet. I had no money to give him. He then tried to hurl the log at me through the metal bars, and threatened to harm me should he ever get me outside (This he obviously said in the most colourful language imaginable).

He then started bashing our dirt bin, which was outside for garbage collection. Cursing , swearing and threatening me, he walked off.

A few days later he returned for food. Deciding that he was probably sorry for what had happened, I warmed him some leftovers and then locked the gate behind him as he left the garden. He then proceeded to plonk himself down in our driveway to enjoy his meal. I did not mind. An hour later he finished his lunch, fumbled around a bit, then - after struggling to get to his feet - tried to toss his litter through the fence into our garden! Since he caught me glaring at him, he then opted to simply toss all his litter in our driveway and walk off.

I undertook not to deal with him again. I would only open for him if Mo was home. Two nights later I heard a loud banging at the security gate of our porch. I called for Mo, but the time he had taken to arrive must have been too long for the person waiting outside, because when we opened the gate, we saw that someone had kicked/bashed broken our garden tap once again, leaving the water to flood the half of the garden.

　

I was almost certain that the same guy was responsible. As stupid as this sounds, I was truly hurt. And disillusioned. Every time I'd opened my heart to this man (and many others) they've ended up disrespecting me and abusing my trust.

But despite advice from family members that I should just lock our outside gate and keep these people from entering altogether, I can't help but feel that doing so would be punishing deserving people for the deeds of others.

And I cannot help but wonder if my petty feelings of selfish hurt should perhaps take a back-seat to the needs of the people who approach us for assistance; especially in the light of the weather we've been experiencing now recently.

Two nights ago I lay awake guiltily, thinking of that man and others like him. I shuddered at the thought of having to emerge from beneath my warm bedcovers, so how on earth was he surviving? What keeps these people from succumbing to the effects of hypothermia?

I don't remember ever having experienced such a cold winter in my life. I am not the only one - many people have been saying that this is the coldest Cape Town winter they had ever experienced. And, like me, these people have solid secure homes, access to warm food and drink and the means to keep themselves warm (like heaters, warm showers, electric blankets etc).

I pray for God to provide some means of shelter, warmth and comfort to everyone this winter. And, that those of us who are by the means, find it in our hearts to assist these unfortunate souls in whatever way possible.

It is very easy to become annoyed at them 'bothering' us at the most inopportune times; at their ill-timed pleas for assistance disturbing us snuggling beneath our warm blankets.  And this is perhaps when we must remember that  ''there, but for the grace of God, go I''.

And, when I consider the adage that ''those who give selflessly are blessed'', suddenly my perspective changes and I realise that this bothersome orange tree is, in fact, our blessing.

Wanted to have a bit of a moan, but on second thought....

As a reader of this blog, you will have noticed that I am all about gratitude, living in the moment and appreciating the here and now. I even changed my blog name to reflect the savouring and appreciation of the moment.

That having been said, I have to admit - I don't think I can handle this cold weather for one more minute. I just don't think I'm built for it. On days that other people are wearing flimsy T-shirts, I need a jersey. So just try to imagine how I'm feeling today - it's a mere 15 degrees Celsius. Whether outside or indoors, I experience no relief from the cold. I've been sipping on green tea and coffee all morning - I'm shaking from what I assume is a combination of caffeine and coldness.

I go to bed wearing 3 long-sleeved tops underneath the thickest pyjamas I can find in my cupboard. Very sexy. (I guess I can take a break from contraception this winter).

I know I shouldn't be such a baby - there are people living very nearby - in poorly constructed shacks. I do think about them all the time - if I'm feeling like this, I just cannot imagine how they are able to tolerate the cold.

Which again brings me to - gratitude. I started this post just wanting to have a moan, but now I realise I really really shouldn't - I have way too much for which I can be grateful.

In fact I think it would be a good idea to head off to Pep Stores some time to find out the price of blankets. I'm certain it will help them - even just a bit. It is heartbreaking to think about all the kids who are forced to live in those flimsy structures, which provide very little protection from the elements.

So I guess it's time to man up, stop being such a wuss and start walking the walk.

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