So everyone always asks me what I miss most about our life in South Africa. In broad strokes, it’s an easy list: family, friends, the lifestyle. But life is all about the detail, isn’t it? The minutia of the mundane is actually quite important. Small is significant. And for me, it’s the little things that I yearn for the most.
Hadedas. Bunny chow. Cape Fish Market sushi. Christmas beetles. Those nuisance Vervet Monkeys. Driveways. Remote control gates. Lilos. Sun-dried linen and towels. Vuvuzelas. Biltong. Wilson’s toffees. Swimming in the sea. Rock pools. Avo on toast at the Essenwood Market. Meandering the Meander. Our Labradors. Fishing frogs out of the swimming pool. Our swimming pool. H2H chlorine. The tick-tick sound of a creepy crawly. Spriggs breakfasts. Charcoal braais. Simonsig Kaapse Vonkel. Black Cat Chunky Peanut Butter. Ouma Rusks. Any rusks. Thunderstorms. The stately Pietermaritzburg City Hall. The Sharks. Beach walks. Lazy afternoons at Makaranga. Fruit sellers on the N2. The smell of burnt sugarcane. Warm summer evenings. Warm winter days. The Comrades Marathon. Picnics at the Botanical Garden. Our veggie patch. My husband’s earthworm farm. The tree my son climbed in our garden. A garden. The rockery our dogs lounged in to keep cool. Storage space. Space. Air-conditioning. Milktart. DSTV. The vibrant South African flag. The Drakensberg. Midmar Dam. The view of the Umgeni River from my in-law’s deck in Howick. The quirky little town of Howick. The toe-curling drop of the Howick Falls. The magnificent Michaelhouse Chapel. Numberplates that end in ZN. Baynesfield Estate. Haybo. Shosholoza. Hambe and Sahle Kahle. Ultramel Custard. The Springboks. The stray cats at Oribi Airport. Crisp salty samoosas.
Flipflop feet. Bare feet. Beacon Licorice ropes. Beaded jewellery. Flying ants after the rain. Lake Eland. Sally Williams Nougat. The misty troughs of Hilton. African women who baleta their children. Diemersfontein Pinotage. Wood-fired pizzas. Proteas. Archbishop Desmond Tutu. Car guards in parking lots. Parking lots. Naartjie clothing. Naartjie fruit. The smell as you walk into Woolworths. Derek Watts. Kauai wraps. Kauai. The Gandhi statue in Church Street. Gareth Cliff. Annique Rooibos baby shampoo. Giba Gorge. The Wavehouse at Gateway. Surfers. Surf culture. The Kloof village. Gambit and Frodo. Marie Biscuits. The Parlotones. Simba chips. Slap chips. Gumboot dancing. Van der Merwe jokes. Voetsak. Nando’s’ TV ads. Banana trees. The Tatham Art Gallery. The Jacaranda trees in the Epworth High School quad. The panoramic splendor of Pietermaritzburg from World’s View. Koeksisters. Friendly little geckos. Sarmies. Howzit, Bru and Howzit my Bru. Bafana Bafana. Boerewors. The Spur. Peel’s Honey. Hibiscus. The iconic Lighthouse in Umhlanga. Sunday night Mnet movies. Yellow sand beaches. Public holidays that represent a cause. Malva pudding. Piggly Wiggly cappuccinos. Carrol Boyes. The Stoker’s Arms. The Duzi Canoe Marathon. Johnny’s Rotis. Zapiro. Life from Stone Sauvignon Blanc. Shongololos. The sound and feeling of a stadium of people singing Nkosi Sikeleli iAfrika.
At any random pause in the chaos of my day, amidst the multitude of my thoughts that are usually directed at keeping my children alive, I’ll remember something from this list. And I'll savour the reflection that forms the fabric of who I am and where I come from. Because no matter how far I travel, or how many years I’ve been away, I will always be South African. And proudly so. With such an array of treasured memories in my heart, how could I possibly be anything else?
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| Happy memory - our 18 month old son Oliver getting into the spirit of 2010 Soccer World Cup. |
