I guess we all think our lives as children were difficult, unfare and sometimes misunderstood. I guess my life was no different and if I had to compare it with the lives of others it might even come across as privilaged but none the less the only way you would be able to know for your self is if I gave you the information, right? My next few short stories will cover the stories of experiences I had as a child to the point where I left “Home” to fend for myself.
As explained in my previous story, my parents were divorced when I was still very young and needless to say it changed our lives dramatically. Thinking back though I can remember a lot of the incidents leading up to their seperation. My father had returned to the bank due to the family business struggling, as for my mother I can not remember exactly what line of work she was in at the time but I do know that she was the one left to look after us. My fathers work took him away from home alot and when he came home I can remember how they used to fight. I can remember hearing her cry and how they used to have screaming matches in the room thinking we could not hear them. As a child I obviously did not understand then exactly what was going on exept that mommy and daddy did not love each other anymore and that we had to move out and we would have two homes and two life styles.
It was our holiday to spend with my dad and we were packed and extremely excited to see him again as he was going to pick us up directly from boarding school. I was sitting on my suitcases at the front of the hostel when I saw the white Datsun Station wagon pulling in at the front gate. Dad loved buying new cars and as usual he would always be tying to keep up the image of succes. I noticed 2 people in the car and immediately thought it coild not be my dad as he would be alone. As the car drew closer I recognised his black rimmed glasses, his safari suit and the distinct hairstyle that I had become accustomed to. Next to him sat a woman with huge teased hair, immaculately dressed as if on her way to a function and make up that was noticable from a distance. This was definately not my mother and if first appearances were anything to go by, this was not somebody I was going to like. I guess from an early age I had learnt from my mother that it did not matter how you dressed that made you a better person but how you acted. The car stopped a few meters away from me and my father climbed out, all smiles but I could see there was something different, something in the way he was acting was not right. We went through the pleasantries of a hug and a customery father and son kiss hello, put the bags in the back and then I realised my sister in the back of the car.
As I climbed in, Michelle looked pretty excited but she was eating something out of a packet, my dad reached back handing me my road food as he said “I have a big surprise for you, we are going to a farm for the holidays and you are going to love it, oh sorry, I want you to meet Aunty Hazel, this is Sean,” as he gestured towards me, “And that is daddies little girl, Michelle.” What happened next is probably the act that influenced me the most. As if in slow motion it runs in slow motion everytime I think back to that meeting. Aunty Hazel turned around in her seat and swung her arm over towards us and smiled.” So glad to meet the two of you, your dad has told me so much about you.” and with that this absolute stranger reached out and pinched my inner thigh.
Who or what was this woman to me? What gave her the right to touch me let alone pinch me for no reason? Then came the bombshell every child from divorced parent dread to hear. “Daddy is going to marry Aunty Hazel then you will be lucky to have 2 mommies.” In my opinion those words combined with the pinch were the start of the decline in my relationship with my dad. AUNTY HAZEL was the woman my parents were arguing about when we were still a family, AUNTY HAZEL, was woman that my father chose to spend time with away from us and ultimately the reason why my sister ended up in boarding school. Now here we were on our way to her family farm in Umvuma to spend our holiday with people that we did not know and with the woman that I believed destroyed our family. I guess now looking back, I was a bit selfish but I had reason to be.
“Tex La Kai” the farm was about 2 and a half hours drive, which for a 6 year old was an extremely long time to be in a car with someone you did not like and eventually we saw the distinctive chimney which I would later know was the land mark that signaled our arrival in the one horse town of Umvuma.
A piece of information I have neglected to mention up until now was that Rhodesia was in the beginning phases of a war. A war which was aimed at targeting civilians and striking fear into the population. This was no more apparent than when we arrived at the huge gates to the farm house. There were two sets of fences approximately 4m apart each fence approximately 6ft high with serious barb wire on top of both the inner and outer fence and this was duplicated at the gates. My first thoughts were that this was, worse than even back at boarding school where we had only one layer of security grade fencing which I had always told myself was there to keep the children in. This fencing was definately not that type of fence and you knew immediately that this was to keep something extremely important out. This was no joke, suddenly even as a child the reality of the Terrorist war had hit home and I became afraid.
A huge framed man approached the gate, kakhi shorts and shirt, half boots and a hat covering his snow white hair. This was a man that immediately commanded respect as he roared with a billowing voice “I will get the gate.” Even though you could see he was no youngster, this man walked with purpose, his strides were enormous and even his dogs knew there place. My first reaction was undoubtedly one of awe and respect and when I eventually was introduced to GrandPa Jack Nelson, a veteran desert rat from the second world war, a key figure in the local community and the owner of the farm, I put my hand out to shake hands only to find that i might as well have tried to hold a frying pan in one hand. This man was in my eyes enormous, his fingers like bananas and as rough as sand paper. This was definitely not somebody that you wanted to get on the wrong side of because he could probably decapitate you with one swipe of his bear like hands. Granny Madge, who was not far behind him, was completely opposite, much smaller, and more suited to office work than working on a farm, although I was sure her husband could probably do everything himself including pulling the plow across the field if you could strap him into a harness. Our contradictory two lifestyles were about to begin. Luxury and status driven on the one side and the down to earth grounded lifestyle that my mother could offer us where we learnt the value of money and the experience of know when there was no money that it was not the end of the world. This was the start of a new education for me, the university of life was about to teach me the lessons and realities of life. Strap in as my story of Rhodesia unfolds
Bent but not Broken 