17 minutes. She gave me 17 minutes before uttering her token sentence "so het ons maar ons dinge" (unsure of how to translate this, perhaps a mixture between 'that's life' and 'everyone has their own problems') and hanging up. My grandmother usually manages a maximum of five minutes of telephone conversation. Usually she'll tell me what she has been up to and then end the call by asking when I'll be back.
Maybe I got 17 minutes because I had an answer. December. 3 months, no plans.
She tells be about all the cousins, their weddings and the birth of the first great-grandchild and her neighbour Oom Boet gardening with a cane and his wife having broken her hip and that trip in the 80s to Germany before the wall fell and my ouma's own flu at the moment. Nothing is repeated, she appears as always. At 85, she has lost the ability to recall what happened a few minutes ago, but not what happened decades ago. I am told about old trips with the grandfather I never met, about what her plans for the day are, about what we'll do for Christmas.
It's a phone call, nothing big really, but in times of uncertainty it's the small things.
So het ons maar ons dinge, ne.
Showing posts with label ouma. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ouma. Show all posts
Monday, 6 July 2015
Wednesday, 9 October 2013
Ouma
Waarheen jy ook al jou trëe rig,
Sorg that you hart in elke trëe is.
- My grandmother
My grandmother wrote that in a birthday card for me. Roughly translated it means "Wherever you may go, take care that your heart is in each step". I thought it was good advice.
I am now in Flensburg, have my own room overlooking the harbour, my roommate is supernice and everything is working out well. Now the university just has to start and I'll be a-for-away. Seems like I went in the right direction.
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| The view from my room this morning |
Wednesday, 27 March 2013
Call me, maybe
My sister lives in a different city now, my mom isn't home often, my friends lead separate lives which only cross mine on occasion and I don't work so I don't speak to colleagues. Therefore I have no one to talk to in the everyday. I'm looking after our neighbours dogs, so I talk to them. Or to the doves and hadedas in the garden. Well, I don't really talk to the birds, I kind of shout at them to stop shitting everywhere. And hadeda poop is this big black stripe in a sea of white which is really off-putting on your tablecloth or chairs or next to the pool.
On occasion I say "Hello" and "Cheque" and "Bye" to the lady at the gym or the lady behind the till somewhere. But conversation has become a thing of rarity, so when I get to speak to real people I want to flood them with words and hear sentences and things that are happening and listen and speak and have a voice that is heard by a human and not merely by animals.
Sure, my mom phones me and I text/whatsapp/email with others, but not really seeing people and interacting with them makes for quite a solitary existence.
Luckily, there is my grandmother. I am not sure if she is worried about me living alone, or if she has forgotten that she called me the previous day, but I have been receiving daily calls to hear how things are going and when I am coming to visit. Maybe she is afraid I will leave and then one of us will die and then, well, we won't have had the chance to speak in person again. I don't really care about the reason she is calling me, I just like hearing a voice which tells me about silly things like the weather or her garden and asks how I am doing. Dankie ouma :)
On occasion I say "Hello" and "Cheque" and "Bye" to the lady at the gym or the lady behind the till somewhere. But conversation has become a thing of rarity, so when I get to speak to real people I want to flood them with words and hear sentences and things that are happening and listen and speak and have a voice that is heard by a human and not merely by animals.
Sure, my mom phones me and I text/whatsapp/email with others, but not really seeing people and interacting with them makes for quite a solitary existence.
Luckily, there is my grandmother. I am not sure if she is worried about me living alone, or if she has forgotten that she called me the previous day, but I have been receiving daily calls to hear how things are going and when I am coming to visit. Maybe she is afraid I will leave and then one of us will die and then, well, we won't have had the chance to speak in person again. I don't really care about the reason she is calling me, I just like hearing a voice which tells me about silly things like the weather or her garden and asks how I am doing. Dankie ouma :)
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| Look at this cool cat. |
Thursday, 12 January 2012
Le mal(e)
On the farm, I wanted to pour everyone a glass of wine for dinner when my gran looked at me sternly and said that I should let my cousin do it because he is, after all, the man in the room. I have no problem with gentlemanly behavior, hell, I find it rather encouraging if people have nice manners and if men treat women like ladies. But if I've got the bottle already in my hand, if I am a second away from pouring, it is silly to me not to do it because I was born with a vagina.
It angers me incredibly when people tell me I cannot do something for the simple reason that I am female. To this day, I have not met many men that were not in some form or another a disappointment. Everyone is flawed, everyone makes mistakes, and these stupid gender rules that my grandmother and many others live by irritate me endlessly - I have grown up thinking that I could do anything, that my rights and my role in society was equal to every other person's, irrespective of race and gender and age and whatever else you could list as a reason to separate human from human.
Times change, mindsets adapt, but the old cling to their doctrines as though they were drowning in the thinking of the new age. I will also be old and frustrated and feel a sense of loss because I am being replaced by younger generations who ignore that their achievements could not have been accomplished without the foundations that their lineage laid down.
But I think it is stupid to say that you cannot change the old, that "because they are old" you cannot have a discussion with an elderly person. I love my grandmother, but I cannot stand to hear her speak of the k*****s, of the "anderskleuriges" ( people of a different colour) as though we were not all the same. And she should know better : she speaks fluent Sotho ( one of the 11 national languages), she built a school for the black children on the farm, she always treated the workers on the farm with dignity. Also, she says that the best time in her life was when she worked as a teacher before she got married, and her biggest regret is not doing it for longer. In a life filled to the brim with more fantastic experiences and a great family, I cannot understand why she fixated on those two years of independence,but tells me that I should submit more to a patriarchal way of thinking.
I like hearing old stories and asking questions that only my grandmother can answer since she has lived the longest. She should be wise and I should learn from her, I should be able to take her life and mould mine accordingly, but all I want to do is shake her and say that for 60 years, she has believed wrongly,that she is ignorant and foolish and keeps making these errors without accepting any blame, without taking any responsibility. I want to say, "Ouma, skrik wakker, wees in beheer van jou lewe, en hou op om die heeltyd so flippen die moer in die wees. Alles was jou keuses" ( Gran, wake up, be in control of your own life and stop being so damn angry. Everything was your own choice). Instead, I ask her if she wants more coffee, listen to every story and complaint 20 times because she forgets she has told them before, and forgive her for not being what I imagined a grandmother should be.
It angers me incredibly when people tell me I cannot do something for the simple reason that I am female. To this day, I have not met many men that were not in some form or another a disappointment. Everyone is flawed, everyone makes mistakes, and these stupid gender rules that my grandmother and many others live by irritate me endlessly - I have grown up thinking that I could do anything, that my rights and my role in society was equal to every other person's, irrespective of race and gender and age and whatever else you could list as a reason to separate human from human.
Times change, mindsets adapt, but the old cling to their doctrines as though they were drowning in the thinking of the new age. I will also be old and frustrated and feel a sense of loss because I am being replaced by younger generations who ignore that their achievements could not have been accomplished without the foundations that their lineage laid down.
But I think it is stupid to say that you cannot change the old, that "because they are old" you cannot have a discussion with an elderly person. I love my grandmother, but I cannot stand to hear her speak of the k*****s, of the "anderskleuriges" ( people of a different colour) as though we were not all the same. And she should know better : she speaks fluent Sotho ( one of the 11 national languages), she built a school for the black children on the farm, she always treated the workers on the farm with dignity. Also, she says that the best time in her life was when she worked as a teacher before she got married, and her biggest regret is not doing it for longer. In a life filled to the brim with more fantastic experiences and a great family, I cannot understand why she fixated on those two years of independence,but tells me that I should submit more to a patriarchal way of thinking.
I like hearing old stories and asking questions that only my grandmother can answer since she has lived the longest. She should be wise and I should learn from her, I should be able to take her life and mould mine accordingly, but all I want to do is shake her and say that for 60 years, she has believed wrongly,that she is ignorant and foolish and keeps making these errors without accepting any blame, without taking any responsibility. I want to say, "Ouma, skrik wakker, wees in beheer van jou lewe, en hou op om die heeltyd so flippen die moer in die wees. Alles was jou keuses" ( Gran, wake up, be in control of your own life and stop being so damn angry. Everything was your own choice). Instead, I ask her if she wants more coffee, listen to every story and complaint 20 times because she forgets she has told them before, and forgive her for not being what I imagined a grandmother should be.
Monday, 2 May 2011
Family
My grandmother has come for a visit. I do love her, but after about 500000 cups of tea and her mood swings, I start to despise her. Misery and pessimism seep into the air you breathe when she sits down. You feel disheartened. If she is what I'll end up as, why live at all? If this is the reward for living, what is the point? There is no dying happily, embraced by your better half. There is no pain-free end. Life is not celluloid.
I have to remind myself : she is 82 ( I think). I should be nice. I should kill her with kindness. By becoming so old, she deserves my respect. I am nothing without her. But it irritates me to have to keep my mouth shut and my opinions to myself, out of fear of offending her. The old are fragile. Do not try to change them. You cannot teach an old dog new tricks.
No, you can't. But hell, the world evolves. Even if you don't like it, you must acknowledge that you cannot stay stuck in a mindset not suited to a modern era.
My grandmother proves you can. Many people seem to not want to adapt to any change. I presume it is out of fear. The young can face hardship. The young can suffer for longer. However, when you are old, how much more can you take? How many more aches? How many disappointments?
I forget that you were young once. I forget that you were me, 60 years ago.
Then I look at you again. Sunken skin. Match-stick legs. A slight hunch. Crooked hands. Two holes in the bottom row of teeth. You almost died last year. I thought you would.
We are driving and I have been disappointed in you for 200 km. I feel you are not a movie-grandmother. I believe you do not try to feel anything positive any more. I feel you have forgotten what happiness is.
A hand is touching my shoulder. A peeled slice of apple lies in your hands, reaching in between the two front seats. That is all I need to forgive you for being like this now. That is all I need to acknowledge your own suffering: it must be hard not to be able to remember where you placed your toothbrush. Or that you should pack warm clothes. Or that we just had tea.
Ouma. Moenie worry nie. Eintlik weet ek jy's meer as wat jy nou wys.
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