Life will never be the same again
In 2002, on the east coast of South Africa, in the city of Durban, our universes joined forces, and life as I knew it would never be the same again - thank goodness for that. My son chose me to be his mom!
As this journey began, it became clear to me that my preconceived notions of success in life were just a fantasy. The things that were instilled in me growing up, the benchmarks, the milestones I was trying to reach, meant nothing. I have a son who needs guidance in an environment that is not so receptive. My time is now.
My stereotypical upbringing in a leafy suburb of lily-white middle-class Cape Town, with its teachings (and indoctrination), would all have to be erased. I need to begin to form a new basis for our lives, a mixed-race family in a country that is consumed with race and racism that rears its ugly head ad nauseum.
I started to look at nature, and beyond to find fulfillment and purpose. Gone is the illusion of dad, mom, two and a half kids, a dog, a cat, and a white picket fence (or in our case a huge wall with electric fencing). Gone is chasing the ideals of the bigger the better, the more we own the better we are, these aspirations were not holding any water for me. It was time to move out of my comfort zone and open my mind to life as it should be lived. Home is not bricks and mortar, it’s not a structure on a piece of land, it doesn’t have a fence around it. Home is where you are, where you feel safe, and where you can be yourself without fear of being judged or ridiculed. It’s our safe place, together, free to think as we will, we needed to be a family, together experiencing this life to its fullest.
Color, differences, and prejudice reared their ugly head far too early. It was difficult to sit down with a toddler and try to explain racism and why we were being verbally attacked from all sides.
Black academia claimed I was diluting my son’s culture, right-leaning whites threw racist comments implying there is “them” and “us”. Standing in line I have had to endure the uncomfortable situation where a white middle-aged person, huffs, and puffs wanting me to agree with them that the black person at the counter, “them” are not efficient, competent, or capable, and “they” are trying to take over. The internal dilemma is whether to ignore or defend “them”, after all, it is my son that is being disparaged. Ah, hello, them is us and we are them, get over it! My son doesn’t get it much easier, getting labeled a coconut, Oreo, and is not white or not black enough. Really, come on, he is a person, a valuable member of the human race and he is my son and I’m damn proud of that!
One thing I can say about our skin, is it’s become thicker!
It soon became apparent that prejudice against my son because of his skin colour prompted an explanation of what apartheid was, this in turn answered his question, “Mom, why do people act rude to me but when they see you they act different?” The passing of Nelson Mandela in 2013 will be a momentous moment for us. Sitting on the couch with tears in our eyes, realising that Madiba’s release in 1993 paved the way for us to be mom and son.
My son attended a Model C junior school, (a formerly whites-only school) and endured passive racism regularly. To “level the playing fields” bursaries and scholarships were introduced to “previously disadvantaged” children but is my son “previously disadvantaged”? What are the criteria that the recipient is judged on? Colour? Colour of the child? Colour of child and parent? Colour and economic situation? Again, he is not black enough, not white enough, just not enough for this discriminatory environment. In divided and prejudiced South Africa and you’re slightly left of center, you cannot fit in.
I raised my son to speak English, which he is proficient in, so the cherry on the top was when someone asked me, “Did he come with that accent?” You’ve got to be kidding!
Time to put on my big girl panties and make a change.
So off we go to South Africa’s most cosmopolitan city, Johannesburg, a city that is a melting pot of races and nationalities. A city where the people don’t care where you come from, what or who you are, or where you’re going. The largest city in South Africa has the energy of a fast-paced city anywhere in the world but there is no mistaking you are in Africa. Yeah, scenic-wise,, there are more beautiful places in South Africa, there’s Table Mountain, the Garden Route, the Drakensberg, game farms, pristine beach, and more, but the accepting and friendly people, make this a wonderful place to live. Bonus, it has a lower crime rate than Cape Town!
It’s time to decompress and get on with life in this new city. Find a home, find a job and get into the rhythm of this new city, but sadly the honeymoon was soon over.
I started a job in the affluent northern suburbs of Johannesburg that was still rather white. I worked behind a counter and had to endure customers rhetoric about “them” and how “they” are taking over, and are so incompetent, blah blah blah. Rather uncomfortable for me, again, do I reply? If I don’t, do they think I agree with them? Some afternoons, my son would pop in to see me, and if a customer was at the counter, they would clutch their bag, only relaxing when he said, “Hi, mom.” This response became known to us as the “clutch your purse” reaction. Unfortunately, it follows him in South Africa. Later, we moved to a fairly affluent area in the southern suburbs of Cape Town, where we got a gym membership. When my son approached the treadmill the person next to him (95% white membership) would pull their belongings closer, like really?
South Africa’s city of gold may have business opportunities and some really accepting people but navigating it as a mixed-race adoptive family post-apartheid is not for the faint-hearted. Fortunately, an opportunity to move to East Africa presented itself. We took it with both hands.
Time to sell, store and give away belongings, pack up and with our three dogs, head out and experience a new environment. Change, not a problem, bring it on, it’s about time!
