I dream of Africa

God can never do God justice. We always want what we don`t have-once we have it we don`t want it. Basic human nature-same with everything  in life, including relationships. But- this time is not about relationships-it`s about South Africa. We are never happy, for we are always chasing an other dream, which is really impossible as dreams are simply what we create in our heads and think what we really want. I always longed to leave South Africa, now I am longing to go back. How cruel this is.

I dream of South Africa, I am so very homesick for -the awesome lilac haze of  Jacarandas, the shimmering yellow blossomed  Mimosa trees, the sudden violent electric storms that take your breath away, the azure sky, the smell of the veld after a torrential rain, the red, cracked  sun burnt soil and the flat umbrella trees of the Highveld. The magnificent various species of brilliant hues of aloes, giant pink Proteas and vibrant multicoloured Bougainvilleas are South Africa`s  crowning glory.  The gigantic pink, blue and white crystal quartz rocks decorate the kopjes everywhere-as does the deep indigo nights with the sky filled myriads of twinkling stars . The breathtaking fiery red sunsets  are a wonder of the world,  as are the majestic Drakensberg Mountains.

Different sounds infusing the night air with the music of Africa itself-land of the Zulu and the Xhosas and a number of other nations and tribes; Bantu was the general name of the natives- and they speak  a funny general language called; fanegalo, plus their own. On weekends the sound of the natives playing the concertina went on incessantly, their loud happy laughs reverberating on the rocks as they partied all night behind our house on the kopje, often playing old 78 vinyl records on their old windup  record players getting drunk on ”kaffirbeer”.

They were magical nights and days. Christmas in the middle of summer, school staring at the end of January.  Kids in grade school got bottle of milk and a banana at lunch break- from the sisters. There were 2 grades and 10 Standards(Std) which was matric-where Std really meant Standard not something else. We went to school on double decker red trams, and  red double decker buses. 

We spoke a funny Dutch dialect called Afrikaans perfectly- had to, it is one of the official languages. We wore school uniforms-black in winter, white shirt and red and black striped tie with a matching blazer-with a crest and  school motto-"Quid retribuam"?( What shall I render?) and a black beret. Beige was the summer colour of dress with red buttons, white red striped socks, with a white panama hat; black shoes were for all season-had to shine like a mirror or there was serious detention. The nuns had no mercy when it came to shoes or not wearing the hat. A small suitcases carried our books, that was great also to sit on when waiting for the bus.

The summers were endless fun in the sun from end of  November till mid January- from morning till night we hung out at  at "Ellis Park swimming baths" the whole "in crowd"-often looking  like red lobsters from the sun; soon we were just as dark as  the natives. We would take lunch and just bake in the sun all day, way back by the brick wall.In the summer everybody would suddenly become  a blond from the natural bleach of the sun- as well as the chlorine. Skin cancer? What cancer?-the word was unheard of.

As for sports-we played netball and tennis frequently- and I did fencing-French foil very seriously for many years.  Won many competitions, lost very few- got the medals to prove it and trophies. I had grand dreams , but sadly-for many years  South Africa was banned from the Olympics, so my dreams turned to ashes. 
Below Ellis Park- our favourite was the diving pool with the platform

We had "dance sessions" every Friday night with a live band. This was  later when I was a teenager that everybody would attend- have fun, dance and have a "Fanta"; never alcohol. What alcohol? What cigarettes? We had dozens of friends-no TV was watched, no being on the  phone for hours, no late nights, no hanky-panky- simple one to one friendly,wholesome relationships talking about boys or listening to the latest records-of Elvis or Cliff. And attending many parties. Or going to the matinee at the "bioscope "Saturday mornings-the film was always a surprise as we never bothered to check what was showing-often some old cowboy film with Gene Autry and a weekly serial before the main show. There we would also "swap" our weekly comics before the show- everybody had about 40 or so comics to their name-some of them were in really sorry state; but on went the swapping till they were in pieces.

Below my school-Holy Family Convent.

The natives lived in what were called  “locations” outside of the city and their buses were green. Cinemas were called-bioscopes, and the staple national food was “mielie pap en boerewors”, corn meal and farmer`s sausage. We never heard of barbecue, only “braaivleis” on weekend and “koeksisters” for desert-something like an intertwined donuts.

 We drank FG  coffee and Joko tea- and drank wine that came in huge glass gallons, and bought ice-cream from the “ice cream boy” on a bicycle with a refrigerated bucket filled with frozen goodies.  He rang a bell and kept hollering-“suckers, Eskimo Pie, suckers” as he pedalled along. 

I even remember when I was about 10 and moved from one flat to an other –the moving vehicle was an old horse and cart with rubber wheels. All the furniture was packed onto it in a huge heap- and my dad followed it with our little white Austin. I have to say Johannesburg was already a very modern city, but still  moving with a horse was cheaper. 
Below -the iceream boys.

Everything that was good we would describe as “lekker”….and things bad we would say ”sistog”-Afrikaans version of yuk, and when we were sorry for something or about someone we would say ”ag jammer”-oh sorry. Even the water in the sink went down in the opposite spiral as that of the northern hemisphere. Everything was safe, no crime, and the doors were always open-the weather was always great.

There was the constant humming of crickets at night fall, the croaking of frogs in chorus in our lotus lily covered fish pond, dogs  always barking in the distance-they were allowed to bark then. Everybody had a dog, nobody ever owned a cat. I grew up with an Airedale terrier named-Tinike; my soulmate, from the age of 10. Every summer she would get a summer haircut from me with the assistance of a huge pair of scissors she would look like a badly sheared sheep. When she was hot in the summer she would plow into the water lily-pond and stand in the water with the goldfish for at least 20 minutes, just standing there in water to her chest,-cooling herself-scaring the fish to death. 

She never left my side, we spoke the same language; her and, she knew what I was thinking. Her favourite game was hide and seek-she would sit wait till I hid; then I would call her and she would come looking for me. She was terrified of loud noises especially thunder-she would run like a racehorse to my grandfather`s house when she was outside, it was about 3 miles away-we would always find her safe there. She even emigrated with us to Canada, lived here for 3 more years-she died when I was 25. She`s buried under the huge maple tree in the garden in Montreal.

Then there was strange sound of rain on the roof of our house; -oh what magic it all conjures up in my heart. But even the name has changed since we left- the province of  Johannesburg  used to be Transvaal- because of the Vaal River, now it is Gauteng; whatever that may mean.  At least the name of the city of gold has not changed.

 Our house in Johannesburg.
I revisit our old  house ever more frequently these days in  my mind-, the pillars of the veranda and the red stoep that always shone like marble from all the polishing every morning. The garden filled with scores of blue Agapanthas that bloomed every spring as well as the dozens of giant blue and pink Hydrangeas, and two old fig trees in the back that were laden to the brim with their fruit by end of summer.The birds adored it as well as my mother.

I know every crack, nook and every cranny even the pattern on the ceiling of my bedroom in detail of this old house. Strange thing memory for as as time goes by it becomes more and more vivid. I can hear the wooden windows as it creaks open and the sweet scent of the white Angel Trumpets below my bedroom room window flow in- , its scent filling and infusing even the walls. 

I reminisce of those days with love, as the memories become more and more the present-those were good days, those wonderful days of youth, of those great days in the sun, days filled with love, peace and friendship -it lives in me forever....memories of Johannesburg, of my parents and of grandparents and of my childhood. 
NO it`s not Toronto and the CN  Tower, or Rogers Stadium- it is the Hertzhog FM Tower in Hillbrow on the far left in the distance and Johannesburg.