“Light tomorrow with today!” Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Another Five Minute Friday.

Prompt: Light

When we first decided to move to Cape Town, people warned me about the weather. About how cold and wet and dank and miserable winter in the Mother City can be. So of course we decided to move just in time for winter. Well, it’s not quite winter yet. More like autumn. But the wet weather has certainly started.

In fact, there have been quite a few days of wet, wintry, windy (ye Gods, the wind!) weather. Dark mornings saturated with cold and drizzle.

And yet all I feel is light. It’s like bright, beautiful, yellow, early-morning sun shining into my consciousness.

Light. Weightless. Like a huge burden has been lifted from my shoulders.

Light, lit from within, a fire and passion for life – for love – rekindled.

Because for the first time in many years, I feel safe. And welcome. And like I am a part of something greater than myself – a community.

No matter that it hasn’t been easy to make a move of this magnitude. No matter that I miss my friends and family every day. No matter that I’m realising how much I loved the house I left behind, and how hard it is to rent.

Because even though this is hard – so hard – and should threaten to drop me into the subterranean darkness of all-too-familiar depression, I still feel so much lighter than I did in Joburg. In every possible way.  And I can feel a change in our family. Somehow, we have more time. For each other, for ourselves, for those around us.

I would hate to be one of the naysayers to leave a city and then spout negativity about it, especially since I think that Joburg still has something going for it.

So all I will say is this: I think they call it the Mother City for a reason, because I already feel nurtured here. It’s like the soft beach soil that clings to my son’s feet holds some nutrient that I didn’t know that we needed or were missing until we got here.  So as I find the strength to slough off the skin of jadedness, insularity and distrust that I managed to acquire in almost 15 years in the City of Gold, I welcome the new (old) me.

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.”

― Martin Luther King Jr., A Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings and Speeches

Desperate times, desperate protesters

I was in tears today as I watched the TV coverage and looked at these images of today’s ANC Youth League demonstration outside Luthuli House in Johannesburg. The visuals of attacks on media, riot police, water cannons and stun grenades are so reminiscent of the very bad old days that I am filled with despair.

For some time I have been seriously concerned about the political and economic future of the country that I love. I am no politician, nor am I an economist, but as an ordinary South African citizen it is plain to me that the country is becoming increasingly divided as our “leaders” either ignore or exacerbate the problem.

It is undeniable that there are massive social problems that we need to address as a nation. If I, as a middle class and comparatively privileged South African, have reached the end of my financial and emotional tethers; how much worse must it be for the truly poor and disenfranchised? We are all the victims of the poor service delivery. We are all victims of the ever-increasing crime. And unfortunately, we can’t all move to the supposedly greener grass of “developed” nations.

So as despicable as I often find Malema and his methods, I have to concede that he does represent a large number of South Africans. As much as I may disagree with his methods, I must recognise that the problems he seeks to address are legitimate.

But Malema himself does not scare me. To my mind, he is a shrewd and greedy man who has been lucky enough to make a space for himself in a country beset by division. It is his supporters, who appear willing to engage in whatever violent  action occurs to them when the mob mentality hits, that truly frighten me. Not because of their tactics – which I think we can all agree are morally reprehensible – but because, to me, they represent a people pushed to desperation. A people pushed to the very limits of poverty. A people unheeded by their president and government representatives. These are fellow South Africans so desperate to find an enemy that they are willing to turn on the party that spawned them. And people desperate for an enemy are dangerous.

Today’s demonstrations scared me more than the countless break-ins and crime, more than the seemingly endless upward spiral in the cost of living. They scared me because of the attitudes and desperation that they highlighted. Perhaps the most frightening thing of all is that a large part of me understands. While I could never condone violence against anyone, I have a tiny inkling of how it feels to believe that things are not getting better. I know what it is like to fear that they never will. I understand the hopelessness. I get it. I too am tired of feeling like – despite my best efforts – the realities of living in South Africa are engineered to keep me financially and emotionally fragile.

Looking into the eyes of these demonstrators, I can’t help but wonder what will happen when we truly reach the end of our collective rope. There is so much rage and hate, so much fear and desperation; that I am no longer confident that we can overcome the sins of the past. Or the sins of the present.

Like oil and water, I fear that South Africa’s many factions will never mix without an enormous amount of agitation. I fear that Malema will get his revolution. Because what other option has been left to the millions of South African’s struggling to endure an insufferable situation?

Can big girls be beautiful?

A recent Twitter conversation got me thinking about the impact of how we, as a society, judge people based on how they look. If you’re ‘too thin’ the thinking seems to be that you’re shallow and overly concerned with how you look, emotionally damaged and anorexic, and something of a control freak. If you’re ‘too fat’ you’re clearly lazy and undisciplined, emotionally damaged and a comfort eater, and have no control to speak of.

While I’m willing to concede that this type of prejudice is just as hard for skinny girls to deal with as it is for those of us who tip the other end of the scale, I find it hard to believe that the ‘too thin’ crowd is forced to deal with the same sort of all-embracing limitations as big girls.

For big girls, it isn’t just a matter of being judged for our size. We are also forced to look unfashionable and like our clothes were made for geriatric elephants. Apparently it is impossible for bigger women to look sexy, so why bother making anything that would make them feel it.

As a larger women in South Africa, you can pretty much forget about finding anything fashionable in your size. It doesn’t really matter how much you’re willing to pay. In fact, the more expensive and exclusive the boutique, the more likely they are to only stock things for women who look like clothes hangers. And we’re talking wire hangers here, not the good and chunky wooden kind.

While YDE may stock a fabulous selection of hot and trendy pieces by equally hot and trendy local designers, know that this store is not for you if you wear anything bigger than a size 12. Since very very few of the local boutiques or designers* will stock your size, you will be forced to shop in places like Woolworths (but not the designer ranges). Here you will find things in which your grandmother would feel frumpy and staid. Expect shapeless dresses and shirts, gathered everything and elastic in places that elastic just shouldn’t be. Now and then you will find flat-fronted pants in a cut that doesn’t turn your thighs into sausages. However, they will gape so badly at the waist that everyone will be able to see your plus-size knickers. (More on that later.)

If you have read a single fashion magazine or watched a single TV show about looking your best, you know that everyone from Oprah to Gok Wan will tell you that your underwear is the most important part of your outfit. Unfortunately, if you’re on the larger end of the market in South Africa, you will find it close to impossible to find attractive, comfortable underwear of good quality at a reasonable price. If you’d like your undergarments to be beautiful as well as functional, you may as well start a savings fund simply to be able to buy a few good pieces every few years. If you’re lucky. Otherwise, be prepared for underwear that has the sex appeal of a large beige military tent.

Do not look for lace or silk underwear that fits well. It is hopeless. Apparently, large woman only want to wear ugly ‘shaper’ knickers in shiny synthetic beige and black fabrics. Never fear though – you’ll definitely be able to find an ugly firm-support bra to match. (Perhaps the assumption is that this is all we Should wear: things that try to make us look thinner. Who cares if we’re hellishly uncomfortable?)

If you’re willing to shell out R300 and upwards for a pretty bra, you might (and I say Might) be able to find something at one of the underwear chain stores like La Senza. I don’t even know whether the seriously expensive boutiques stock larger sizes because I can’t afford to spend R1000 on a bra and prefer to avoid torturing myself by browsing beautiful things that I can’t have.

To add even more insult to injury, it would seem that all South African stores believe that if you’re large, you must be tall. Apparently, the existence of a short and heavy person is inconceivable. If, like me, you are under 2 metres tall and wear something larger than a size 10, prepare to spend a lot of money getting alterations made to everything from skirts and dresses to pants. I have bought many a pair of pants that have had to have 20 centimetres chopped off at the hem. Go into a Levi store and try to get a 38 waist, with a 30 length. I challenge you. While you’re in there, try to get a pair of jeans in a size 40. No can do. Unless you want to wear something from the ‘Eva’ range, which consists of about 4 styles that all look the same and for some inexplicable reason have shiny embroidery all over the back pockets. Because if you’re a big size with a big bum, you really want to draw attention to it. Obviously.

Even shirts will be made infinitely longer as the size goes up. This means that all shaping that is meant to happen around the waist will sit somewhere around your hips. This is a lovely look. My suggestion is to invest in lots of belts. However, if you want a wide belt that clasps instead of buckles, be prepared to give up on the dream or wear one that cuts off circulation to the lower half of your body and creates a delightful muffin-top effect.

If you don’t believe me and think that shopping for larger sizes in South Africa is anything other than an exercise in futility and frustration; go into a store – any store will do, but those that stock designer labels (imports are the worst) are particular winners – and have a look at the available sizes. You will find plenty in the super-small to large range. If you’re lucky you’ll find a few things in an extra-large. If you want anything bigger than that you’re screwed.

I just don’t understand this. Do South African stores get sent the tiny sizes that don’t sell elsewhere? Surely there are people in other countries wearing Diesel and Benetton** who are bigger than a size 10? Surely?! Or are local buyers stupid enough to think that only thin chicks want to wear designer togs/have cash/care about how they look?

Now I know what many of you are going to say – anyone with dedication and commitment can diet and spend hours at the gym, whittling themselves down to an acceptable size.

But what if I don’t want to.

Maybe, just maybe, I am comfortable with being a big women. Maybe I don’t think that my worth, beauty, sexiness or ability to look fashionable should be linked to the size on the back of my pants. Maybe I don’t want it to be 10 times harder for me to look good than it is for thin people.

I want to buy clothes that fit – and fit well. I want to buy clothes that make me feel sexy and attractive. I want shopping to be easy. Most of all, I want to stop being forced to shop in shitty stores where I am treated like a second class citizen just because I want something bigger than a size 12.

* My apologies to Amanda Laird Cherry and Stoned Cherry. Two of the few SA labels that make bigger sizes and – more importantly – cuts that suit larger figures.

** Diesel and Benetton are at the top of my shit list when it comes to importing a variety of sizes. Benetton doesn’t stock anything bigger than a large. And their large is a normal person’s Barbie Doll. And I am yet to find anything bigger than a size 10 in a Diesel store.

Is crime damaging my child? Cos its sure damaging me!

At about 5h00 this morning our house alarm went off. J got up to switch it off and make sure that everything was OK. As it turns out, everything was not OK.

Some nasty little frakker had broken into our home and stolen both our mobile phones and J’s MacBook. As soon as he realised that the stuff was gone, J charged out of the house and ran down the street to look for the scum and/or the private security company. In his underpants. Which would be funny if it wasn’t so downright scary.

I keep thinking about what would have happened if he Had found the guy. Would I be dealing with even more trauma right now? He didn’t find the culprit, but he did find one of the local security companies’ patrol cars. He notified them of the burglary and asked them to search the area for the guy, which they did. No luck though.

This is not the first time that this has happened, so we were prepared and familiar with the process that then started. About 15 minutes after the alarm, our security company arrived (with big guns) and searched the property to make sure that the criminal was no longer on the premises. They examined the criminal’s access point, took a statement and called the cops.

Standard procedure for our security company is to call after they receive an alarm signal to find out what the problem is. Because our phones were stolen, they were unable to reach us. So they called J’s mom and told her that our alarm had gone off and they couldn’t contact us or gain access to the property. I cannot imagine how scary it must have been to receive that phone call. Obviously, she freaked out and rushed straight over.

A while (about 3 hours) later the police arrived. With even bigger guns. They then searched the property, examined the site of the break in and took statements.

Thankfully, E slept through all of this and didn’t have to witness the parade of security personnel with large firearms. This time. He has been witness to this before though. More than once.

I hate guns. I hate the look of them. I hate what they do and I hate the fear that they inspire. I really hate that they seem to be a necessary evil. More than anything, I hate that when the men with big guns arrive, I feel safer. Most of all I hate the fact that guns, and the big guys in bullet-proof jackets that carry them, are a fundamental part of my son’s reality at only 3 years old.

I was one of Those parents. You know the ones that won’t even allow toy guns into their homes? But how do I maintain this ban on weaponry in the home, when E has seen men with the real deal tramping through my house in the early hours of the morning on more than one occasion? I don’t think I can, because weaponry in some form is becoming a part of our every-day lives. Like a friend said this morning, I can keep him away from the movies and video games. I can keep him away from the violent TV shows. But, short of drugging him when we have a ‘security incident’, I can’t keep him away from the harsh realities of life in South Africa. I am so angry about this.

It would appear that I’m angry about a lot of things.

While I’m extremely grateful that he is safe, I am angry with hubby for running out of the house and risking actually finding the guy. I am angry at our government and police for not making sure that I am safe in my own home. I am angry with myself for not being able to protect my son and for feeling so helpless. I am angry that that he has to grow up in a world where the bad guys can actually come into your home, take your stuff and get away with it. This sort of anger can’t be healthy to carry around.

More than that, I’m afraid. So very very afraid. Once the police left, J had to go out to get the phones sorted. I was too afraid to be left at home alone. I recognise that this is a slightly paranoid reaction, but the fact is that my sanctuary has been violated for the umpteenth time and I simply do not feel safe in it.

Each time we have a break in (and this is about the 5th time in the 2 and half years that we’ve been in this house) I feel less and less safe. I feel more stressed and paranoid. And I have no idea what to do to feel safe again.

My electric fence is not enough. My alarm system and private security company are not enough. My dog (who kept E company and slept through the experience) is not enough. The padlocks and burglar bars are not enough. What is? What do I have to do to sleep soundly at night?

Every time this happens, for at least a few weeks after the event, J and I have trouble sleeping and startle at every little sound. We just got E out of our bed and I have been so pleased about that. But I know from experience that for the next few weeks – perhaps months – I will want him in my room because I will be completely paranoid about someone breaking in, but coming through His room. I am constantly running through various possible scenarios and what I would do in each eventuality to ensure that my family and I stay safe. I am becoming increasingly distrustful and jaded. I am afraid to let my son out of my sight for even a moment. I obsessively check that doors are locked and the alarm is armed. Not that this seems to make any difference whatsoever.

I know that it was just stuff that was taken (well, that and all the IP and data stored on the devices) and, as is the norm in South Africa, we have had the usual stream of messages saying “At least no-one was harmed”, “At least you didn’t get held up/stabbed/shot/beaten” etc. I appreciate the sentiment and that people want to make us feel better. But I can’t help wondering and worrying about how many ‘free’ passes we get before someone Is hurt.

Besides, the fact is that I WAS harmed. The stress and emotional distress of having this happen on a regular basis is starting to take its toll on me. How is it that, as South Africans, we have become so good at down-playing the trauma of having someone invade and brutalize our personal space.

I’m really beginning to believe that this ongoing exposure to crime and the threat/fear of it becoming violent is causing me to experience some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

Wikipedia sites the diagnostic symptoms for PTSD as:
“re-experiencing the original trauma(s) through flashbacks or nightmares, avoidance of stimuli associated with the trauma, and increased arousal – such as difficulty falling or staying asleep, anger, and hypervigilance. Formal diagnostic criteria require that the symptoms last more than one month and cause significant impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning.” (http://tiny.cc/jycvp)

Pretty much all of those apply to how I live my life. I don’t think that I am naturally a paranoid person, but I do feel as though I am being forced to be. I have been told (by people older and wiser than me) that I get to choose my reaction to this situation and I believe that to be true, to a certain extent. But I also know that because it has happened so often, I feel incredibly dis-empowered so it is difficult to feel in control enough to choose a positive approach to the stress.

And if this is how I, as an adult react to crime, what sort of impact is it having on my 3 year old son? I don’t know the answer to this question, but the possible answers terrify me.