Remembering our Comrade 674

June 9, 2018 / Christina B / 12 Comments

Tomorrow almost 20,000 runners will once again gather at the start line in the dark early Pietermaritzburg morning to run the roughly 89km of the Ultimate Human Race.

The Comrades marathon was probably the biggest event on my husband’s exercise/events calendar and even though he’d added Ironman and the Rottnest Channel Swim to his calendar in more recent years and completed countless other marathons and races, the Comrades was always in his blood. It is totally captivating to those who’d run it as well as many others.

Since I can remember it’s always been the race that stops the (South African) nation, and also brings the nation together. Brave runners from all walks of life come together from near and far and display the true spirit of camaraderie while spectators from all walks of life line the 89km long route to cheer, admire and support them and the imaginations of thousands more at home are captured. I’ve always had the utmost respect for Comrades runners and endurance athletes, it takes something special to do this.

In 2012 our beloved Ironman completed his 10^th Comrades marathon and in doing so gained himself a prized green (permanent) number. We were living in Australia by then and the kids and I were in Albany for the long weekend. After doing the traditional Elleker 10km race that morning we rushed back to our cabin to be there for the start of the Comrades in South Africa and live track our Ironman. We were listening to Shosholoza and Chariots of Fire on repeat in the car, emotional music, picturing him on the start line with all his brave fellow runners.

He made his way past the Comrades Wall of Honour where he’d had a plaque installed in honour of his dad who’d run the Comrades in 1959 and had passed away a couple of years prior. Little did we know that the 10th would also turn out to be his last Comrades. On Sunday I will be live streaming and watching the race as we’d done for years, but for the first time I will do it without him. I’ll be listening to Shosholoza and Chariots of Fire and I’ll be reflecting on all the times he’d stood on the start line as these songs were being played, and gritted his way to the finish, from the silver medals of his youth to the slower times in later years. I’ll be following the runners as they make their way along the route and past the Wall of Honour where there is now a plaque in his honour as well.

I’ll never get the chance to cheer him on at the start line together with thousands of other runners as Shosholoza and Chariots of Fire are being played and then make my way to the finish line to welcome him there wearing his green number, as we’d hoped to be able to do one day, but I will always honour his memory on this remarkable day especially. His indomitable spirit was that of a true comrade and he was such an incredible ambassador for every race and event through his energy, enthusiasm, passion and devotion to all events, to friends and strangers alike, but with races the Comrades was his first love.

Through Comrades many friendships have been forged over the years, in South Africa, Dubai and Australia. One of these good and long standing friends went to the Wall of Honour the other day and kindly sent me some photos of Ironman’s plaque. I’ll be cheering all the runners tomorrow, I admire you immensely, and for those who knew our Comrade and Ironman please wear the Comrades beadies he loved so much. I’ll be wearing his.

Verandering

June 23, 2016June 26, 2016 / Christina B / 11 Comments

Geskryf in opdrag van Scrapydo2 se Toeka-Tokkel: Verandering.

(Apologies to non-Afrikaans readers.)

Ek het nog nooit baie gehou van verandering nie. Ek weet nie of dit iets te doen het met die feit dat as kind, ons nooit getrek het nie. Ek het in een huis grootgeword, na een laerskool en een hoërskool gegaan. Wat wonderlike stabiliteit was as kind, het my moontlik avers gemaak vir verandering later in my lewe – wie sal ooit weet.

Ek raak tuis in my gemaksone en sien dan geen rede om enigiets daaraan te verander nie. Maar hierdie karaktertrek het ek eers met die verloop van tyd in myself herken. Ander mense is baie meer avontuurlustig en pak sommer maklik ‘n nuwe uitdaging aan. So het ek lang trane gehuil toe ek besef het my man was ernstig oor trek uit Suid-Afrika. Vanuit my (gemaksone) oogpunt het ek net nie dieselfe dringendheid ervaar nie. Op die ou end het hy my oorgehaal met ‘n avontuur in Dubai vir ‘n paar jaar.

Steeds was dit nie vir my maklik nie – die agterlaat van ‘n lewe wat opgebou is oor jare, familie, vriende en alles wat daarmee saamgaan – maar die gedagte dat dit nie permanent sou wees nie het die verandering draaglik gemaak. Dit het uitgedraai in ‘n wonderlike avontuur, al het ons vir minder as ‘n jaar daar gebly (of miskien juis vir daai rede, iets waaroor ek soms wonder. Miskien was dit juis so interressant, eksoties en anders omdat ons weer weggetrek het voordat enigiets kon alledaags raak.)

Op pad na ons avontuur in Dubai met Emirates

Dit was in 2004. Die werksaanbod vanuit Perth het gekom drie maande nadat ons in Dubai ingetrek het. Ek het net begin aanpas by linkerhandstuur, bestuur aan die regterkant van die pad, vreemde winkels en produkte, nuwe vriende, skole en lewenstyl toe ek besef die Perth ding is ‘n werklikheid wat ek nie kon ignoreer nie. Dit was ‘n aanbod wat ons eenvoudig nie van die hand kon wys nie. Na baie sielewroeging (ek het net begin tuis voel in Dubai) het ek besef dat nog verandering en trek na ‘n derde kontinent in ‘n kwessie van 10 maande, onvermydelik is.

Noudat ek terugdink wonder ek watter verandering die grootste was – Stellenbosch na Dubai of Dubai na Perth – en dis moeilik om te sê. Stellenbosch na Dubai was ‘n groot kulturele aanpassing, maar vir dieselfde rede ook baie pret. Dit was die eerste groot verandering waarby ek myself moes belê. Bygesê, in my agterkop was dit altyd net tydelik. Om die tweede groot (en hierdie keer permanente) verandering so kort na die eerste te maak was nie maklik nie.

Maar miskien was dit die lewe se manier om my te leer dat dit moontlik is om êrens anders gelukkig te wees. Dat sodra ek die besluit gemaak het wat ek geweet het die beste sal wees vir my familie op die langtermyn, ek dit sal maak werk. Dat ek eintlik enige plek kon woon, solank my familie gesond en veilig was. Dat ‘n lewe anders as wat ek tot 13 jaar gelede vir myself ingedink het beter kan wees. Ek moes net leer (op die harde manier vir my) om oop te wees vir ander moontlikhede.

Tyd het gelukkig ‘n manier om aan te stap en ons het kort voor lank gewoond geraak aan Perth as ons huis, en Perth het gewoond geraak aan ons. Ons is nou so tuis en gelukkig hier dat ons lewe in Stellenbosch voel soos ‘n veraf herinnering. Hierdie is nou ons lewe en realiteit en ek is so dankbaar dat ek die veranderings deurgemaak het wat ek het.

Tyd het my ook geleer dat verandering ‘n gegewe is in die lewe. Soms gebeur daai veranderings net meer geleidelik as ander kere en dis eers wanneer jy besig is om die verandering te beleef dat jy daarvan bewus word. So het ons kinders grootgeword en van die drie is nou net een nog op skool. Kinders op universiteit wat motors bestuur is weer iets anders om aan gewoond te raak. En net soos ek dink ek het hierdie fase onder die knie sal die volgende fase my seker in die gesig staar. Ek hoop die veranderings oor die jare het my darem ook gevorm en help groei as mens.

V…

April 26, 2016April 25, 2016 / Christina B / 7 Comments

V is for Victoria street in Stellenbosch, South Africa. Lined with oak and plane trees, it’s probably my favourite street there. In spring and early summer it’s at its most beautiful full of new green leaves. The street still has furrows next to it, a throwback from the town’s early days when the furrows served as the main water system.

Victoria Street, Stellenbosch, South Africa

V is also for Voyager Estate, a wine estate in south west Australia. It’s famous for having been built in the Cape Dutch building style, something the (Australian) owner really liked when he visited South Africa. To us it’s a piece of our old home in our new home.

Voyager Estate near Margaret River, south west Australia

The rose gardens at Voyager Estate

Voyager Estate near Margaret River in south west Australia

S…

April 22, 2016April 17, 2016 / Christina B / 11 Comments

S is for Stellenbosch, the winelands town rich in Cape Dutch history about 35 minutes’ drive from Cape Town where we used to live. My husband and I both went to university there, found work after finishing our studies and settled there. We met and got married in Stellenbosch and lived there for a number of years. S is also for Simonsberg, the mountain in Stellenbosch our house looked onto.

Simonsberg and some vineyards in spring

Simonsberg taken from Fairview wine & cheese farm

Simonsberg taken from the Helshoogte Pass

S also stands for the Swan river which snakes through Perth, Sorrento, our local beach, and sunset.

Swan River with Perth in the background to the right

Swan River and South Perth taken from Kings Park

Sunset at Sorrento beach north of Perth

Sunset on a warm summer’s eve at Sorrento beach north of Perth

A warm evening at the beach

How Our Lollipop Lady Helped Us Settle In

March 11, 2016 / Christina B / 7 Comments

I bent down to take a coffee mug out of the cupboard this morning and the first one my hand found was one given to us by our Lollipop Lady more than ten years ago. Suddenly lots of memories came flooding back. We’d never heard of someone being called a “Lollipop Lady” until we moved to Perth in 2005.

A Lollipop Lady is a lady who is employed to help children cross the roads close to schools. Gentlemen also do this job but the name originated in the UK where a lady would stand in the middle of the road holding a big circular (lollipop looking) sign to stop traffic so children can safely cross the road.

The house we rented at the time was about half a kilometre from school and so I walked the kids to school in the mornings and walked to fetch them in the afternoons. Since Child No 3 was only in Kindy (Kindergarten) at the time she only went to school twice per week and therefor did a great deal of walking with me. Subsequently she also got to know the Lollipop Lady quite well.

Our Lollipop Lady was a caring, friendly and warm person. She always had a smile on her face, come rain, hail or shine. And there were some bad weather days – some 40 degree ones and some wet, cold and miserable ones. It didn’t matter what the conditions were, she was always upbeat and interested in what was happening in everyone’s lives. She knew everybody in the area so when this new family walked up on the first day of school and greeted her with a strange accent she was naturally curious about where we came from. She was the first person who taught me what a “sook” is and so my introduction to Aussie sayings commenced. (A sook is someone who is not very brave). She was in awe of the fact that we’d packed up our house on a different continent, got on a plane with a suitcase each and started a new life somewhere else. She said: “I could never do that Love, I’m way too much of a sook.” I replied that it was all the friendly people in the community that helped us to settle in. She was so lovely and welcoming and always had time for a chat. In the afternoons she’d ask the kids each in turn how their day had been. It was almost like having a caring surrogate aunt when we had no close family around. For our first Christmas in Australia she gave us a set of four coffee mugs. It was such a lovely gesture – there was no way she’d be able to give each family who crossed the road under her watch every day a Christmas present.

I still remember how, one morning when my husband walked the kids to school, four year old Child No 3 rushed up to her, bursting with excitement. “Mrs Jones! Mrs Jones!” she called. “Yes, Love?” Mrs Jones replied. “My dad got me a trampoline at the dump!” Child No 3 exclaimed. I’m not sure what Mrs Jones’ reply was but my husband said that she was genuinely very interested in the trampoline but he could still hear her giggling as they walked off. In Perth, the local councils do bulk verge refuge collections about once a year. There are limits to what one can throw out but a great deal of unwanted items end up on verges, some in better condition than others. We can also throw out garden waste (which helps when you do a lot of pruning). The day before my husband had spotted a little mini one person trampoline that someone had put out on their verge as part of their collection. It was still in good condition so he picked it up and brought it home for Child No 3, who was over the moon about it and couldn’t wait to tell everyone about this treasure.

The park close to the kids’ primary school

After about a year and a half we bought our house in the neighbouring suburb. The kids still went to the same school but I now drove them to school and so we didn’t get to chat to our Lollipop Lady daily any more. Sometimes I parked the car at the park where she worked and walked up to school and we’d have a quick chat. A few years later she retired and some parents organised a little farewell for her in the park. We went to say goodbye and thank her for all the times she helped the kids but also for the way she welcomed us into the community. I haven’t seen her for some time now and I wonder if she’ll remember us but I’ll always remember her and how positive an influence she was when we first moved to Perth. I doubt she has any idea how her caring and kindness just made us feel like we belonged but we still have the coffee mugs that bring back some very fond memories.

The park close to where our Lollipop Lady worked every school day

A magical day at the Rottnest Channel Swim

February 28, 2016February 28, 2016 / Christina B / 16 Comments

Yesterday my husband and son (Child No 1) did the Rottnest Swim as a duo. The Rottnest Channel Swim is an annual 19.7 kilometre swim from Cottesloe Beach near Perth to Rottnest Island. It can be swum solo, as a duo or a team of four. Each team or solo swimmer has to have a support boat and paddler which assists them on the day providing sustenance, making sure they follow the course and they don’t get hypothermia. Team swimmers are only allowed on the boat once they’ve tagged the next swimmer in the water, whose been waiting on the boat in the meantime. Solo swimmers aren’t allowed on their support boats at all. No swimmers are allowed to touch the kayak.

The conditions were absolutely perfect for the swim yesterday. There was hardly any wind for the most part and the sea looked like a dam, which made for an easy crossing. (I say easy with the utmost respect and admiration to all the swimmers who were out there yesterday, knowing full well I will never be able to do it.) Last year when my husband did it as a solo swimmer the conditions were very tough and it was his first solo swim. It was nail biting, waiting for him on the island and watching him slow down on the tracker, worried about whether he’d make it, get hypothermia or simply run out of time. It would have been gut wrenching after all the hours of dedicated training for something to go wrong. (I wrote about last year’s swim here.)

View towards the mainland from the ferry. Perth city is visible towards the right

This year Ironman wasn’t going to do the swim. My son and a friend were going to do it in a duo but our friend was offered a great opportunity in a gap year program which meant she wasn’t able to do the swim anymore. They deliberated for a little while who they could ask to take her place. It took my (relatively swimming unfit at that stage but always ready for a challenge) husband only about half an hour to decide that he’d step up and be our son’s teammate. With about 5 weeks to go before the swim he started swim training again rigorously and had to admit that he was actually quite excited about doing this duo swim with his son.

We left home at 4:30am to drop Child No 1 at the start while my husband made his way to where the support boat was being launched. The support boats have to wait for their swimmer about 1 kilometre from the start and the paddlers about 500 metres. After he’d registered and we’d lathered him with zinc against sunburn and sheep fat against stingers (stinging jellyfish) their wave started at 6:35am. The girls and I then made our way to the ferry to go across to the island and wait for them there.

Early morning at the start at Cottesloe beach

Paddlers and support boats waiting for their swimmers with Rottnest Island in the background

Taken at Cottesloe beach just after sunrise. The visibility was amazing with the island and one of the lighthouses clearly visible

Rottnest was at its best. It was hot and wind still but that meant the water was even clearer than we’re used to seeing it. It was packed with people waiting for their swimmers to arrive, as well as the usual tourists. We cycled to The Basin (a beach close to The Settlement where the finish line was and all the ferries arrive and depart from), and had a lovely refreshing swim before Child No 3 and I cycled to the little airport where we took a scenic flight over the island and the swimmers. It was breathtakingly beautiful. My amateur photos with reflections from the windows can’t do it justice but my memories of yesterday will always stand out. Even the pilot (who does that sort of flight daily and sometimes a few times per day) said: “It’s insane(ly beautiful).” I’m immensely grateful to call a place with such exquisite natural beauty home and for the opportunity to experience it the way we did.

Rottnest Island taken from the west. The mainland can be seen in the background.

Thomsons Bay and the eastern tip of the island.

View of the swimmers and support boats and kayaks. The mainland is in the background.

The swimmers, support boats and kayaks. Taken towards the island.

One of the last photos taken from the air. My camera was playing up at this stage and the trusty iphone did the trick.

Afterwards we made our way to the popular bakery and Child No 2 joined us for some lunch and all the while the poor swimmers were slogging it out. When we stood at the finish line waiting for our boys we watched all the different emotions of the finishers. Joy, elation, relief and pure exhaustion for some. I was once again in absolute awe of especially the solo swimmers whose feet had last felt anything solid underneath them 19.7 kilometres away on the mainland and who’d got themselves across the channel through hours of sheer hard work and determination to set foot proudly on the island after a gutsy effort. I take my hat off to all of them and I’m very proud of our boys.

The finishing channel

Lots of support kayaks at the finish line.

None of it would of course have been possible without the support crews who very generously gave up their time and helped the swimmers. Thanks guys, it’s much appreciated. And then there’s the volunteers as well, who help make the event happen and the day a success. At the end of a long day in the sun there was “debriefing” (ie sharing funny tales about the day) over a beer with the support team and a day like this wouldn’t be complete without the scene being set for the next challenge. Ironman and his triathlon and Rottnest swim mate are already challenging each other for the next event.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Alphabet

January 16, 2016 / Christina B / 16 Comments

In this week’s photo challenge we’re asked to let the alphabet be our inspiration. I realised I have heaps of photos of writing, letters and/or signs in one form or another and got a bit carried away with my gallery. Please feel free to click on the images and read the captions.

A sign in recognition of the engineering feats of CY O’Connor who also designed and oversaw the construction of a 500km long pipeline from Perth to the eastern goldfields to ensure a water supply for the towns. Sadly he never witnessed the completion. He had been the subject of criticism and derision by people saying it would never work. It’s still in operation today. This sign is in New Zealand (South Island) where he worked before moving to Australia.

Words of encouragement at the Busselton Ironman triathlon (3.8km swim, 180km bike ride plus 42.2km run) which my husband has completed twice.

Names of Australian soldiers who fought gallantly during World War 2. Photo taken at the Australian War Memorial in Canberra.

Tropic of Capricorn sign in the Namib desert, Namibia.

Memorial for West Australian soldiers who have served in different wars. Kings Park, Perth.

Imperative to follow these instructions at Aus in Etosha National Park, Namibia.

Chapmans Peak Drive, Cape Town, South Africa

Cool crisp wine at a picnic at Boschendal wine farm (est. 1685) near Cape Town in South Africa.

Probably my husband’s favourite mug. Taken at Mount Trio bush camp, southwestern Australia.

An old stone bridge in Tasmania, Australia.

Finish of the Australian Three Peaks Race

Last running leg of the Australian Three Peaks Race which my husband and a friend did: up and back down Mount Wellington, completing 131km of running in three days (and 335 nautical miles of sailing).

Taken at Port Arthur, first penal colony in Australia.

Someone else had this sign up as encouragement for their dad at the finish line of the Two Oceans Marathon in Cape Town, South Africa. Taken while we were waiting for my husband to finish his 18th Two Oceans marathon.

Road train, a common sight on outback Australian roads. Taken at Minilya roadhouse, about 100km from Coral Bay in northwestern Australia.

Brandberg White Lady Lodge and bush camp, Namibia. Home of desert elephants and age old rock paintings.

“Lest We Forget”. Taken at the National ANZAC (Australia and New Zealand Army Corps) Centre in Albany, southwestern Australia. (The Anzacs departed from Albany in November 1914 and fought courageously at Gallipoli during 1915.)

Voyager Estate, southwestern Australia. It has special meaning for me as it was built in the Cape Dutch style, used extensively in South Africa by early Dutch and French immigrants. “Werf” means yard in Afrikaans.

The old York flour mill (in the wheatbelt east of Perth).

Kings Park & Botanic Garden overlooking the Swan river, Perth, Australia.

Kings Park & Botanic Garden, Perth, Australia.

Belly Dancing for Book Club

January 6, 2016January 8, 2016 / Christina B / 6 Comments

Our book club has been running for nearly 11 years now. Once a month we meet at someone’s house, enjoy some nibbles and a glass or two of wine and catch up on what’s been happening in each other’s lives. Just before we get ready to go home, we talk about books and end up only going home about an hour and a half later. We don’t all read the same book – it’s the hostess’s choice which books she buys that month. This means we have a large variety of books and there’s always something for everyone. We’ve ended up with over 700 books in total and regularly have to “cull” and take older ones out.

A small selection of current and old book club books

We have a list of books (with numbers) that gets updated monthly and a book (the blue book) in which everyone writes down the numbers of the books they’ve taken for that month. Usually by the time we start talking about books the blue book does the rounds with nobody in particular putting their hand up to take it because the scribe of the blue book for the night is the person making sure all the books get returned for that month (which usually requires some stern throat clearing because conversation inevitably takes over and we digress) but the person on whose lap the book eventually settles also usually gets teased quite a bit for having to be solemn. All of this done in the best of humour, of course.

Over the years some of our book clubbers have started wearing reading glasses and if someone happened to forget theirs there’s always another pair handy, but not without a few of us taking the mickey out of them. There is always much laughter. Over the years some have left and others have joined but the core group has been unchanged for many years. Most of us are immigrants but we’ve managed to hang on to one Aussie member and taught her some Afrikaans – she says “Nommer asseblief” (Number please) beautifully when it’s her turn to check off book numbers in the blue book – and one of our English members loves her rooibos tea (a South African tea).

When we started this book club all of our children were still in primary school or younger. Now none of us have kids in primary school anymore and some of our kids have left school. We’ve literally seen each other’s kids grow up and lived through all the ups and downs of daily life with its struggles and joys. We’ve shared challenges and jokes and never pass by an opportunity for some banter. Our taste in books vary and it’s great to have lively discussions, different opinions and perspectives and also not be forced to read something you may not like. Some months we read so much that we forget what the books were about and sometimes a month will go by where someone hasn’t read a single book.

We’ve had end-of-year dinners, picnics, celebrated milestone birthdays and partied well into the night and after only one year in book club we were brave enough to do a belly dancing class (something none of us had ever done before). It was inspired by Liz Byrski’s “Belly Dancing for Beginners” because at the time that book was newly in circulation in our book club. Some of us were better at it than others – I was hopelessly uncoordinated – but we had lots of fun.

Photo courtesy of http://www.bellydancecris.com/ (our lovely belly dance instructor)

And now one of our founder members is moving away from Perth and leaving a massive hole behind. It’s just not going to be the same without her, and I know we all feel the same way. We’ll miss our cheerful reader-of-magazines-only (as she was 11 years ago) and now reader of several books every month with her great sense of humour, beautiful smile and loyal friendship. From her and her family’s point of view it’s so much harder of course, having to uproot themselves again from the life they’ve built over the past 11 years. Kids have to go to a new school in a different country, they have to get to know a different culture, build new relationships and settle again.

Since so many of us are immigrants our close friends have become like family in Perth and after having moved here, made new friendships and formed close bonds it’s so hard to farewell one of those dear friends again. We had a bit of time to get used to the idea but somehow I managed to avoid thinking about it too much until it was time to face reality. The morning I received her text message saying her husband’s visa had come through and he’ll be leaving in a week’s time the reality hit hard. It felt like a close family member was moving away. Our life as we know it was about to change again.

Meanwhile life had to go on with her having to also deal with the logistics of winding up their life in Perth and preparing for a new life in the Middle East. I felt terribly inept at trying to support her.

Her and their kids’ turn to go was approaching fast. Next it came to the first friends to farewell at book club. My heart broke as I watched two of my close friends hug each other good-bye. That hug said so much that was unspoken. “Thank you for your loving friendship over many years. I’ll miss you. Your place in our lives will never change. We wish you all the best.” I couldn’t say a thing. Just felt a bit raw. I turned around and walked out, unable to face it yet.

And so my turn to say good-bye inevitably came around much quicker than I thought or was able to prepare myself for. All the emotions I managed to suppress came to the surface. Needless to say I didn’t cope well. Perth just won’t be the same without them. I feel so selfish feeling as I do, knowing that it’s much, much harder for them.

But all that aside, know, my dear friend, that we will miss you terribly, but this is about you, not us. We wish you only the best for your Arabian adventure. May this be a time of fun, exploring new places, making great new friends who will make you feel at home and having an adventure that you’ll look back on fondly one day. Know that your place in book club (and the blue book) will be waiting for you upon your return. Enjoy the sights and sounds and all the wonderful exotic things Arabia has to offer – fresh spices from the Souk (market), sunset tours in the desert, camel rides, Bedouin style dinners in the desert, learning about the culture and history, shopping for traditional artefacts or at Marks & Spencer, the endless cheese and olive selection at Carrefour (I still miss that), warm weather and belly dancing. And when you dance, dance freely and barefoot in the sand, happily and with your whole heart knowing we carry you in our hearts and thoughts, wish you the very best of happiness and will soon dance with you again.

With love from Book Club

A few shared memories

Bestuur

October 12, 2015October 21, 2015 / Christina B / 14 Comments

(Apologies to non-Afrikaans readers.)

Geskryf na aanleiding van Scrapydo se Toeka-Tokkel onderwerp vir die week: Bestuur. Ek het leer bestuur op ons kleinhoewe in die Kaap – enigiets van ons klein Isuzu Elf trokkie (dit was so stadig my pa het altyd gesê jy kan sommer uit tweede rat uit wegtrek) tot ons Kombi. Wanneer my pa die dag met my op die pad gaan ry het het hy besluit hy het ‘n sterker kreet as “Stop” nodig gehad wanneer ek nie gou genoeg gereageer het nie. Om die dringendheid van sommige situasies aan my oor te dra het hy besluit dat “Nood stop!”, “Nood stop!” die gewenste uitwerking sal hê. Vir ‘n tyd lank het dit mooi gewerk tot ek (met tipiese 17-jarige alwetendheid) eendag toe hy weer roep “Nood stop!” so skielik, so hard op die rem getrap het dat my arme pa se kop die truspiëeltjie voor teen die venster losgestamp het. Ek het darem geleer wat ek moes leer om my lisensie te kry die dag na my 18e verjaarsdag. Die verkeersbeampte het nogal gesê “Jy is gretig om jou lisensie te kry” toe hy na my ID kyk en sien ek is 18 jaar en 1 dag oud.

So het ek die Kaapse paaie vir die volgende veertien jaar gery tot ons Dubai toe getrek het in 2004. Gelukkig het ek nie nodig gehad om weer ‘n bestuurstoets daar te doen nie, maar ek het bitter vining hare op my tande gegroei toe ek op daai paaie begin bestuur het. Die eerste nuwe ding waaraan ek gewoond moes raak was linkerhandstuur en dan om te ry aan die regterkant van die pad. En niemand ry stadig op daai paaie nie. As jy nie selfgeldend bestuur en vir jouself ‘n plek neem nie bly jy agter. Die grootste verandering was om teen jou instink in eerste links te kyk en dan regs. Ek is aan die diep kant ingegooi want sommige dae moes ek die kinders by die skool gaan optel en die padwerke en verkeer tussen ons huis in Dubai en die skool in Sharjah (die volgende Emiritaat) was rof. Sit nou daarby die instruksies van ”as jy hier ry kyk uit vir die Dubai/Abu Dhabi teken, dan is dit 3 “interchanges” en dan neem jy daai afdraai. As jy soontoe gaan, moet jy die Ras al Khor afdraai neem, maar dit sê nie Ras al Khor op die borde totdat jy al klaar afgedraai het nie. (!!!!) Onthou altyd: Route 311 (Emirates Road) en Route 44.” Hoe onthou ‘n mens al hierdie goed die eerste keer sonder ‘n toetslopie terwyl karre verby jou ry en voor jou inry voordat jy nog ‘n kans gehad het om dit te registreer? Ek het dit darem gemaak tot by Sharjah maar die eerste keer wat ek uit die stad uit huis toe gery het, het ek reg verby ons woonbuurt se afdraai geskiet (alles lyk dieselfde in die woestyn) en kort voor lank was daar net sandduine in sig en manlief het net sy kop geskud “want hy het mos vir my instruksies gegee voor ons uit die stad weg is”.

Daar was baie verkeerssirkels of “roundabouts” soos hulle daar genoem word, sommige met vier bane reg rondom met verkeer wat konstant van alle kante af insny. Op ‘n stadium het ons erge wind en sandstorms beleef en die lug was vaal en deinserig en ‘n mens kon min sien. Eendag het dit behoorlik gestorm en toe ek en die kinders verby Nad al Sheba (die Perde- en Kameelrenbaan) ry, sê ek vir die kinders ek is seker die kamele kan nie in ‘n sandstorm oefen nie. Elke keer wat ons daar verbygery het het ons die “canimals”, soos driejarige Kind Nr 3 hulle genoem het, sien oefen. Duidelik was die kamele en ruiters meer gehard as ons want daar was hulle: getrou soos altyd, selfs in die middel van ‘n sandstorm. Die kinders was gefassineer deur die kamele. Op die terugpad was een hele baan van Emirates Road naby Nad al Sheba toe onder die sand!

Die dag van Kind Nr 3 se eerste swemles by die Dubai Country Club moes ek vir die eerste keer self soontoe ry. Die eerste deel van die pad was op ‘n pad wat ek ken, maar dan was daar ‘n paar snaakse draaie. Om alles verder te kompliseer moes ek ‘n vrou ontmoet by die Country Club voor die swemles, oor ‘n moontlike gratis maand lidmaadskap maar eers moes ek wag tot die skoolbus vir Kind Nr 1 en Nr 2 afgelaai het. Alles het goed gegaan tot ek by die tweede snaakse draai reguit gery in plaas van afgedraai het. Die naaste afdraai wat ek toe kry bring my toe by Nad al Sheba (die Kameelrenbaan) se ingang! Die laaste plek waar ek wou wees! Manlief het gebel en gevra of ons al daar is. Ek sê nee ek het verkeerd gery maar ek sien hier is aanwysings na Emirates Road, ek sal my pad vind van daar af. Famous last words. By Emirates Road gekom neem ek dit toe verkeerde kant toe. Wat andersins nie ‘n groot probleem sou wees nie want jy neem mos net weer die volgende afrit en draai om. Die enigste probleem is dat die volgende afrit toe eers 20km verder is! Toe ek op die pad kom het ek geweet hier’s ‘n probleem, want dis dieselfde pad as die een wat ons Abu Dhabi toe geneem het! Ek wou nie Abu Dhabi toe gaan nie, dis 150km weg! Teen daai tyd was ek al so moedeloos ek het begin vra wat kan dan nou nog verkeerd loop. Toe gaan die petrol liggie aan! Terwyl dit alles aan die gang is sing James Brown oor die radio “I feel good!” Miskien jy James Brown, maar nie ek nie. Die uiteinde was dat ons heeltemaal laat was vir my afspraak en Kind Nr 3 se swemles. Die hele petalje (van waar ek verkeerd gery het tot terug by die huis, met nood aanwysings van manlief tussendeur per selfoon), het ‘n uur geduur en dit het my gekos by die huis swem met Kind Nr 3 omdat sy so hartseer was oor haar swemles wat sy gemis het. En dit op die eerste dag hier wat koel was, vries ek toe in die swembad vir my sondes.

Na ‘n paar maande daar het my selfvertroue darem bietjie beter geraak en naderhand het ek graag die pad Sharjah toe aangedurf om te gaan rondsnuffel by die bekende Blue Souk (mark). Een middag moes ek Kind Nr 2 dringend by die hospitaal kry nadat sy ‘n allergiese reaksie vir sekere medikasie ontwikkel het, en ek het soos ‘n wafferse wedrendrywer my hoofligte aangesit, in die vinninge baan in beweeg en my voet neergesit. Nood leer regtig bid. Later van tyd het ek selfs – na ek die padkaart mooi bestudeer het (dit was voor die tyd van “Google Maps”) – Dubai se middestad aangedurf om te gaan verken.

Na al daai adrenaliengevulde ondervindings op die paaie was Perth se paaie ‘n groot kontras want almal het mooi by die 100km/h spoedlimiet gehou op die snelweg. Net toe ek begin gewoond raak het aan Dubai se paaie het ons weer getrek en toe lees ek weer van voor af padkaart, maar gelukkig het alles rondom my aan die “regte” kant van die pad en teen ‘n respektabele spoed beweeg. Een deel van my Dubai-bestuurstyl het egter veroorsaak dat ek eendag nie lank na ons in Perth aangekom het nie, deur die polisie van die pad afgetrek is. Groot was my skok want ek hou daarvan om die regte ding te doen maar dit blyk toe dat U-draaie by verkeersligte hier in Perth onwettig is. Ek verduidelik toe mooi dat ek nie geweet het nie en dat dit in Dubai ‘n groot deel van die verkeerstelsel vorm. Hulle laat my toe maar gaan na ‘n waarskuwing.

So het ons gewoon en bestuur in Afrika met sy koedoe-, vlakvark- en olifantswaarskuwingsbordjies, toe in Dubai met kameelwaarskuwingsbordjies en nou in Australië met kangaroowaarskuwingsbordjies. En die tyd het vinning aangestap en ons moes al ons oudste twee kinders leer bestuur so ek het ‘n paar maal al gedink aan my pa se “Nood stop” kreet. Sommige dae wanneer ek langs die leerder-bestuurder gesit het kon ek letterlik voel hoe kry ek nog grys hare by die minuut en my hart het in my keel geklop en nou en dan skop my regtervoet onwillekeurig vorentoe vas om ‘n spookrempedaal in ‘n nood stop vas te trap, en dan moet ek myself herinner om asem te haal tot ons weer by die volgende situasie kom. Hoe het die tyd dan so vinning verbygegaan vandat ek leer bestuur het tot ek my kinders moet leer bestuur?

Koedoewaarskuwingsbordjie in Namibië

Vlakvarkwaarskuwingsbordjie in Namibië

‘n Kameelwaarskuwingsbord naby Dubai

‘n Hoofpad buite Dubai – net nadat ons die kameel waarskuwingsbord gesien het.

Teenagers and Casual Jobs

September 25, 2015September 25, 2015 / Christina B / 14 Comments

Child No 3 (our youngest) started at her first casual job the other day. It made me realise again how fortunate we are to live in a place where these opportunities are available to our kids. The daunting aspects of a first (or new) job are all the same and probably even more so for a 14-year old but without major responsibilities the consequences are usually limited to a level manageable by someone of that age. All three our kids have part-time jobs and it’s been so good for them.

It’s such a good learning school for them to apply for a job, type up a resumé, send it off or hand it in, go for an interview, learn how to present yourself in such a situation, know the importance of always being on time, how to work in a team and earn some pocket money at the same time. (I don’t think the significance of the word “earn” can ever be overestimated, in all facets of life.) It teaches them the value of money and the things they want to buy with it, as well as to appreciate those things. It teaches them that a job pays even though you might be doing something very repetitive and boring, like Child No 1 when he worked on the broiler for hamburger patties (or “birdy broiler” – compliments of Lion King quotes – as we called it) shift after shift at his first job. It teaches them time management and balance because even though it might only be a few hours a week it still has to fit in around school, homework, sport and their family and social life. It teaches them to work under pressure, something which will stand them in good stead throughout their lives. Since most of the jobs available to the young teenagers are in retail or fast food outlets it teaches them how to smile when a grumpy customer who is having a bad day decides to take it out on them.

It also teaches them resilience and how to stand up for themselves if they happen to find themselves in a difficult situation which can happen if management isn’t great. Hopefully it teaches them to care about their job, how they do it and to want to deliver work of a high standard, but also not to care about it too much so it makes them stressed out which is definitely not necessary at this age. It’s a hard balance to find, even I struggle with this at times.

Another great part of our society is the fact that the kids can use public transport to get to and from work which teaches them independence and saves fuel, even though we’ve always fetched all three kids from work if their shifts finished any time after dark. All in all it teaches them important life skills and helps them grow up in an environment where there’s still a “soft landing”. Where it doesn’t matter too much if they make a few mistakes.

When Child No 1 was in his first job my husband would go through the drive-through when we knew No 1 was going to work at drive-through that day, and order an ice-cream just for the sake of it. Child No 2 goes busking sometimes and Ironman then catches the bus from his work to go and see her and he’ll drop some money into her guitar case (while she keeps a straight face and keeps singing pretending she doesn’t know this generous person). Now that Child No 3 is working as well he came up with a reason to go buy something at drive-through there the other day. The day she had her second shift she was told that it’s company policy that all employees have to wear name tags but work hadn’t organised hers yet, so she was given a random name tag to wear that was lying around. The really funny part though is that it wasn’t even a girl’s name – it had once belonged to someone called Peter! For the whole of her six hour shift she worked at the drive-through window wearing a name tag that says “Peter” (which would have been way more confusing for customers than if she’d worn none, but that’s just my opinion). And for some reason it’s now become acceptable for (and expected of) her to keep wearing a name tag that quite clearly doesn’t belong to her, there’s no indication of a name tag with her own name being arranged for her, so Peter’s has now become her name tag, so what can she do but graciously wear it with a smile? We’re all having a good old chuckle and if you can’t beat them Peter – join them.