Big things
"You can keep on doing this for 20
minutes and we have only done it for 3,5 minutes!" our yoga teacher exclaims
cheerfully.
We are busy doing an exercise swinging
our arms, while we are doing squats at the same time. It resembles a collective
take off. And it’s not only my imagination. I see it proven in the reflection
in the mirror next to me.
I don’t make fun of it, and I do not
even whisper to my neighbor saying,
"look in the mirror and see how ridiculous
we actually look”, because Yoga is a serious activity.
Maybe it’s because of this sombre
atmosphere that my friend and I afterwards discuss whether or not we believe in
something Bigger than ourselves.
We firstly exchange initial
perceptions like: "I can’t believe in something without any scientific
basis" and "Religion is the cause of every war.”
We conclude that it would be nice if something
bigger than us does exist.
Reincarnation for example.
Then friend B says: "I try at
least to live by the 10 commandments. But I never succeed. Well, I do manage
not to murder."
"Yes”, I say.
To continue: "No, I lie (oh no, that’s
just great!). I kill at least 28 ants every day and everything else that moves around
and is larger than an ant, such as spiders, etc. are DOOMed to die as well."
"And what if that spider is the
reincarnation of your deceased grandmother?" she asks.
It reminds me of the census volunteer.
One day he stood at my door, in full regalia, red hat and a clipboard with many
forms on it. He didn’t look as if he was very important, rather dull. Like he
wanted to say: "Well, I can’t help it, I just have to do this. I actually
couldn’t care less how many of you live here.”
While those forms are all about the
number of people living in a household. A snapshot is taken of the current situation,
to gain insight into the number of people living in South Africa and their
gender, age, living conditions, access to facilities etc.
It feels strange to fill out forms regarding
your personal circumstances in a country where you will live only temporarily.
You are the passer-by, the one making
statements from the sideline as if you know it all:
"No, it's nothing now, it will
take generations before the aftermath of apartheid has died. It will definitely
take a while to outgrow this period. Of course, I would like to do something,
but that is almost impossible. Why? Well, the insecurity. Yes, it really is a
balancing act that this country is performing.”
I tend to fill out the form as quickly
as possible. But then I become engrossed in the form because the questions give
me an insight into vital issues.
I tick that all three of my kids are
alive. That indeed, I’m their mother and their father is their father. No,
there are no other children living in with me. Yes, my parents are still alive,
and I emulate my mother when I touch wood three times after every answered
question, followed by: "Oh, this is really testing the Gods."
Anyway, reincarnation into a spider.
So I say: "Firstly, I am not a huge
fan of any relatives - not being immediate family - living cheek by jowel with
you. And secondly, my grandmother always said she wanted to return as a brain
surgeon or as an elephant, so I think I would do her a big favor if I’d ended
this spider suffering as quickly as possible.
------------------------------------------------
Cosmetic change
At four o’ clock (in the morning),
the phone rings. It is not our phone, it is the phone that belongs to one of
the maids. She has forgotten to take it with her. The man who employs her on
Tuesday and Friday was supposed to come and collect it for her. But he didn’t.
I sigh. Because I knew this would
happen. Therefore I wanted to drop the phone off at the other address myself.
But I lost the debate with my husband, who gave me concise reason not to.
J: It's an old retired man who has nothing
on his hands all day. He will do it.
Me: It's a grumpy old conservative
man. He will never collect a cellphone that belongs to his maid.
J: He will.
I: He won’t.
J: He will.
I: He won’t.
J: He will.
I: No, he won’t. And than I sigh
followed by: Whatever.
I sigh so much here in South Africa,
that I sometimes think that this sighing thing replaces normal breathing. And
that others notice this.
‘Why are you sighing all the time’, I
imagine they are thinking.
But I can’t help it. I suppose it’s ‘the
new way of breathing’.
Firstly the trend was ‘the new herring’.
And then suddenly ‘the new 30’ popped
up. According to everyone between 39 and 44 years old, 40 IS the new 30. This is of course one viewpoint. My Dutch
spellchecker constantly changes "kutterdekut” (fuckerdefuck) to literatuur
(literature) when I type the word in. I find that funny in a way, but I do not
think fuckerdefuck IS the latest literary catch-phrase. Even if my spellchecker
keeps on telling me that it is the catch-phrase, I see clearly that it isn’t.
You can try all sorts of things to change this. You could apply cosmetic changes,
shout out - preferably all together - that this is the new reality (really!),
but eventually this will only increase our level of irritation, however not the
credibility.
And so the only remedy is: sighing
acceptance.
Furthermore, I sigh because it's hot,
because the children will insist on fighting till the house seems to small, and
I sigh when I stand up. Which in fact has everything to do with the aging
proces. Everything is related to everything you know. Soon you start thinking
that this is because of mysterious forces.
But that would just be a way to explain
it. Hello?! It's just the pull of gravity. And I realise that I can rid myself
of the habit of sighing.
Anyway, I say 'Whatever', and I do
nothing. Well, I do do one thing and it is: getting angry wit J. Perhaps this
is to do with the cellphone issue, perhaps it’s unresolved or ‘in the air’.
That you look up at the stars, you see the Southern Cross and you can only think:
If you don’t concur with me now, I'll hit you on your head with that damn cross.
But it doesn’t make any sense at all, for it is early in the morning and there’s
not a single star up in the sky.
So, I say to the maid:
"You know what happened? Your
phone rang at about four o’ clock in the morning.”
You try to be calm and collected.
Because honestly, who wants to be woken up by a telephone at any time, let
alone by someone else’s phone at four o’clock in the morning?!
"No ma'am, that's my alarm."
"That early?"
"Yes, I have to boil water for
my bath, prepare lunch bags for the kids, wake the kids up (two of her own, one
of her sister’s who passed away a few years ago) and than at five o’clock I
leave."
"Aha", I sigh. Because the
idea alone tires me out.
-------------------------------
It wasn’t me
At the gym’s website, I booked a
place on a bike for the next Spinning class. This is in itself an exercise,
needing quite a bit of time; time I can really ill-afford. I don’t mind where I
“Spin” als long as it isn’t the very front. Where I hail from pre-determining
your exact bike before the lesson begins is not required. The outcome of my
ignorance, is that I am forever changing bikes because it is not long after I
start that I am interrupted by a: “Sorry ma’am, I think I booked this bike?”
You mumble under your breath “Oh yes,
of course, I should actually make a reservation next time.”
Thereafter you try to negotiate
yourself through the narrow spaces, looking out for the next available bike,
greeting your fellow sufferer and try and get going again.
What a hassle.
Never before I had logged on to the
gym’s website and I notice a little thumbnail of a lady who, I presume, is the
Manager in charge of spinning. More than likely employed to inform us that the
gym is not responsible for any mishap and probably you may be at fault. There
is a lot to say about South Africans but they are always blameless. If a
problem arises it is never their fault, but someone else, something else or an
unforeseen circumstance responsible for this misunderstanding.
It sometimes leads to a bizarre situation.
Me: Do you have tomato juice?
Waiter: Uhmmmm, we do have tomato
cocktail?
Me: Is that the same as tomato juice?
Waiter: Well, I have seen them
drinking it. They put Maggi in, and stir it. (He looks as if tomato juice is
the stalest drink ever.)
Me: Who are 'they'?
Waiter: Customers.
Suppose the drink doesn’t meet my
expectations, and I share my point of view with him: "Hey waiter, what kind
of oddish tomato juice did you serve me?"
Then he most likely replies: "No
no no no, not my fault. THEY liked it, you wanted it. "
In other words: ‘Yo bitch, YOU wanted
tomato juice (stale) other people drink it, I have no clue why they drink it,
but it is certainly not my fault that YOU don’t like it, because I did not say
that it tastes good. Here's the bill!’
The Spinning manager would probably
do the same. When I’d ask her why I failed to be allocated a bike, she would
state that it’s caused by my computer / login code / password / the weather /
this particular time. It certainly is not her or the Gym’s fault. I take a look
at the picture of this lady who I just labeled as typically South African. My
age, kind face, hair tied in a neat ponytail, not ugly, not pretty, somewhere in
between.
And then I take a good look.
It’s me.
Oh no! In the few seconds that I looked
at myself as if I was someone else, I described myself as a typically South
African lady with an ordinary appearance. What a nonsense!
I should really ask the people at the
Gym to take better pictures from now on.
Daily Bread
The only good thing about rain is the
fact that it’s wonderful that I don’t have
a dog. Even though I have no
intention of getting a dog in any case.
The same occurs just before Christmas,
when I always think
'Oh how wonderful it is that I do not work as a gift wrapper
at Toys R Us.’
Or occasionally, ‘Oh how wonderful it is that I do not decorate
pies.’
Which I did when I was 15. You slice open a cake, put whipped cream in
between, then put the two halves together and then put whipped cream and fruit
on top of it. Colleagues of mine at that time would probably stay there until
retirement. We talked about that (and life in
general). They said, as an example:
"Oh yes! Today we are baking
fruit cakes!"
And then I said something like:
"Oh, I think this is the
stupidest job I ever had, I do not think I will even make it through the week, will
you?"
Your ability to be sensitive is quite
underdeveloped when you're 15.
So, anyway, it rains, in the midst of
another holiday. One wonders whether children learn something here in South
Africa. Which is actually a fair question when you take into consideration that
only 12% of South African children have access to proper education.
That makes us a privileged minority
while in this country, but I never consciously applied to become 'Director of Entertainment’.
In fact, I would not even consider it, when certain conditions, required to
fulfill the function properly (such as a nice indoor swimming pool or playground) are absent. Or, because those two amenities might
cause me to put my nose in the air prudishly, the alternative is a museum with ‘fun
experiments for kids’.
Believe it or not, I got the job. To
my chagrin and after meeting with the CEO, who has bigger fish to fry, I
square my shoulders and start tentatively.
I carefully examine my three-man
team. They are all quite small, and I do not think they take to my introductory
talk very well: "Folks, we're stuck with each other, so let's make
something good out of this holiday.” They do not even seem to listen. Every
conversation ends in a shouting match and they do everything at hyperspeed. They
constantly ask: “What do we do next?” They never say ‘please’, self-reflection
is absent and their concentration is inadequate at every level. They fly into
each other and irritation becomes the latest pastime. It's not easy to manage,
before you know it, you start to scream! Very soon I'm sick of it all.
So what do I do? I first split a wooden
spoon in half on the sink and then I call the CEO, stating that I’m taking
early retirement starting now.
During this outburst of rage, the
maid walks in (it is indeed only 8.00 am).
Oh that’s right! We also have the
domestic staff!
"Hello, how are you?!" I
roar. You don’t step out of your role immediately
And she says: "Not so
good."
Her sister, who has been ill for some
time, passed away. She was only 37, has five children, of which the youngest is
only three years old. In a split second I see an extension of the team I just set
aside. But then she says the children will be cared for between sisters,
brothers and the daughter of the maid.
The reality of living in South Africa
strikes me forcibly. And besides that, the meaning of "having
children" takes on an entirely different meaning.
----------------------------------------------------
Welcoming back fat
What am I up to in South Africa? Uhm,
well we first have to settle in, and thereafter I might broaden my horizons by
studying further. Unfortunately it’s quite complicated getting a work permit.
But I would still like to do something meaningful. No, of course I will avoid
the “temptation” of resorting to settling for the expat lifestyle.
So, here I find myself eight months
later, sitting around a table accompanied by other middle-aged women, enjoying
a breakfast while being regaled by a fitness “guru”.
Our first speaker is a professional
bra fitter.
Since I have some leisure time on my
hands, I feel that studying to be a professional in something could be a worthwhile endeavour. But bra fitting never crossed
my mind. I just never have, nor ever had to suppress the intention to ascertain
a woman’s bra size but fondling her breasts.
However, there may be a world of
difference between professional and apprentice bra fitters. The latter would
never pass up an opportunity to master his skill, with a catastrophic Tom and
Jerry like chaos as a result.
It’s good that this profession
exists. And, satisfied with my own conclusion, I put another biscuit in my
mouth, while our expert starts a discussion on back-fat.
My own back-fat never concerned me, but
when I go to the toilet I do check, if and if so, how many rolls of back-fat I
drag along. You just have to do those things. The same occurs when you read
that the distance between your eyebrow and hairline is four fingers wide. I
immediately check to ensure that I am normal. What if mine is only three
fingers wide? Must be either my fringe leading to a skewed measurement, or I resemble
a Neanderthal after all.
Meanwhile our fitness guru is telling
us the true life tales of fat celebrities who have gone on to shed buckets full
of fat and now represent the epitome of lithe, lean and sexy. What follows is
an exhaustive list of do’s and dont’s.
The guru concludes practically every
sentence with: Okay?
And then we all nod eagerly.
Of
course we all want that perfect body. And yes, to achieve that we will skate
across the living room, using two paper plates. In hotels we will run up and down
the stairs and jog through the lobby.
We promptly decide that things must
change!
Starting tomorrow.
For now we reach out for another
piece of cake and sip delicately on our cappuccino, trying to ignore the fact
that we just have been taught how bad coffee, milk, sugar and saturated fats
are. And during the break we draw everyone’s attention to how wasteful it would be to throw away cake.
To conclude the morning’s discussion,
we are addressed by a woman who is the reincarnation of Michael Jackson. We
soon see through her though as she never once “Moonwalks” or sings “Thriller”.
Than again, just how seriously would
we take Michael Jackson, when he would tell us about creams that are good for
your face.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Because
Lucie it's half past four, you still
need to sleep. No, mom and dad have no clue either why Bobbie is crying. Of course you’re not tired anymore, but we're all going back to bed again.
Hi princess, yes now you can get out of
your bed. Since it is already a quarter past five. Yes, it's a schoolday. No,
it's not yeeh, yeeh yeeh it's Friday yet. It's Thursday. Thursday, that's the
day before Friday.
Unfortunately, daddy is not home, he is
flying somewhere. In a plane indeed.
Hey my king, are you also already awake?
Oh, the girls screamed and woke you up.
I don’t know if it’s your turn to choose
which tv channel to watch. Who chose yesterday? Then Boris can choose today.
Guys, guys, it's only 5:30, it is still a little bit early to beat each others
brains out.
Yes, Lucie, I’m busy making you
porridge, and juice after that. Be a little bit patient though, because Bobbie gets
her milk first. And then indeed, you’ll get a sandwich Boris. Two sandwiches.
One with Nutella, and one with meat. No ham because you don’t like it. Sure,
you have told me that already a million times.
What day is it?! What do you have to
bring? Are you sure, because than we have to put a cake in he oven quickly. And
please, tell me a little bit earlier next time. Oh, it was written down in your
notebook. Yes, I should read it, you're right. Of course, dad bought two plants
yesterday to take to school. No, no seeds, just plants.
Lucie please take your bottle to the
kitchen yourself. What? Ah, you come just
now. Boris, what do you want on your bread to take to school? Peanut butter
and cheese? Ok. Because you are not allowed to take Nutella to school? Who in
particular told you, you can’t have Nutella on your sandwich? Mrs. Connel?
Well, ever since you started eating bread, you get one healthy, and one sweet
sandwich, tell your teacher that. And that cake in the oven, apparently you are
allowed to eat that? Ah, yes, of course, that's not for lunch. How logical.
Come on guys, get dressed quickly.
No, Lucie, you can not wear that. Yes, it's lovely, and yes, I know you like
it, but we just don’t. And no, those are your princess shoes, you are not
allowed to wear those to school either. And crying? You’d better do that in
your room, bye, bye Lucie. Yes indeed, I’m not your friend, I'm your mother.
Boris, your cricket stuff is in your
bag. Including your shoes, so please do wear those, ok? Hello, ok? Yes, I put your
socks in your bag as well. By the way guys, where is Bobbie? Oh Bobs, don’t
climb into the shower, now you’re soaking wet. Lucie, you can come out of your
room now.
Oh no, it's almost seven. Look,
there's Vivian already. Please say good morning. Yes, we always do that. Good
morning Vivian. Very good. Well, what else. We have to brush our teeth. Come on,
make it snappy please.
Oh shit Lucie, we haven’t made ponytails
yet. Yes, we do make ponytails, or we can pin it up, you may choose. No, not the
pins with the cows, those will fall out of your hair.
Because they are too heavy.
Because they are made of heavy
material.
Because people haven’t thought it
through.
Because thinking is too damn
complicated for them.
Why?
Lucie, just because.
