I’m reading Joanne Fedler’s book When Hungry, Eat at the moment, and it’s like reading parts of my own life. Except for the being Jewish bit, although some of that, especially the food, is familiar, since I had Jewish family by marriage, and have been to a good few Shabbas dinners and High Holy Day celebrations. She talks about loss, the loss of leaving the country of your birth, and how it’s tempting to fill an emptiness we can’t quite name with food. I did that in my 20′s. It didn’t work out incredibly well for me…
I was born in Zimbabwe when it was still Rhodesia, and before my fifth birthday my family had left with not much more than a few suitcases, bound for Namibia (when it was still South West Africa). Less than a year later, we fetched up in South Africa.
Now I live in Australia, and the marriage I thought would provide continuity through that move is long over. I totally understand what Joanne means by emptiness. It’s the hole that is usually filled by family. By old friends. By people who can say: I knew you when you were a baby.
I knew you when you were just a little girl, playing in an African river in an old tyre inner tube (thanks Jen for this pic).
I knew you when you were a gauche teenager, and when you were a young woman, discovering Europe for the first time (thanks Ryan for this pic). Notice the countdown on the Eiffel Tower? 402 days till the Millenium!
I knew you when you lived in England, I knew you when you returned to South Africa. I knew you when you got engaged, and when you got married.
I knew you when you started practicing yoga, and when you went to India the first time, and the second:
I knew you when you first moved to Melbourne and you had nothing familiar with you because everything you owned was on a ship in the middle of the ocean.
I knew you as you were then, and I know you as you are now. I know you as you will probably become, because I see every version of you.
The people who can say this of me exist, but they are in South Africa. They are not here, now, with me.
Sometimes, I think of all that has been lost: the stability of a life lived near my extended family, the financial security I enjoyed in South Africa, the comfort and happiness of all those old friendships, the hopes I held for my future, and I wonder. Was it worth it? Sometimes, I am not sure.
But this I know: at home here in Melbourne, I feel safe. I feel free. And, for the first time in my life, I don’t feel guilty for having white skin. If you are African you will understand what I mean. If you don’t, it’s probably worth reading Joanne’s book: she expresses it very well.
I have a very wise friend, another member of the African diaspora. And make no mistake, it IS a diaspora. She compares change to brewing coffee (this was in an email, she is awfully complimentary on how I’ve dealt with the last few years):
Change brings either the best or the worst out in people. For you, it brought out the best, like a good coffee, it matured you and made your soul well rounded and a heady concoction to be enjoyed at leisure and with care. You needed that boiling water (emigration, questioning of oneself, losing home and friends etc) to emerge a top quality fresh brewed coffee on the other side.
Some people let the boiling water stagnate and sit and burn and the result is acidic, distateful and bitter…..happens when you do not dance and swirl with the change. Yet both start in the same state: a good ground coffee.
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My friend, how I love everything about you!
I’ve struggled with this my whole life. I have the guilt sooo bad I think I should be Jewish! And I do say that with respect, especailly having loads of Jewish South African friends (double-whammy for them!), and living in St Kilda, the heart of Jewish Melbourne…I cannot escape it
I left South Africa by choice, because I had a choice. That alone has associated guilt though – given my wonderful mother is Australian, I was lucky enough to have citizenship. But that ‘easy’ transition had it’s downside too, a long story though.
You know my story is long and convoluted, but I think there’s one part that’s particularly relevant to this thread:
I have an Aussie mom, South African dad. For that I am eternally grateful – they have taught my brother and I respect for all cultures and people. They did it not by words or orders, but by their own actions.
We immigrated to Australia twice when I was a small child. Both times my parents decided to return to South Africa. This was in the early ’80′s, a time of relative unrest and uncertainty – especially in comparison to the stability Australia offered. I know my folks struggled with the decision because they knew that the safety Australia assured was a hard thing to pass up. Nevertheless, we returned.
So, why would they make a reckless decision that could put us all in a perceived harm’s way?
They wanted us to grow up experiencing what apartheid was, how ruthlessly unfair and ignorant the philosophy was. My folks were openly vocal about how they disagreed with the government’s policies and they believed they could do more in SA than overseas. I will always admire their strength and resilience.
A seldomly explored aspect of living in South Africa in the 80′s is the faction of white South African’s who were – by action, not mere words – against apartheid. It sometimes has severe repurcussions. It was one thing for a black man to refute the government, a very different thing for a white man to do so – that was treason. I am humbled by the fact that my folks didn’t care about that aspcet. My dad is a strong man – I could only wish for a man of such conviction. And my mom is a stronger woman for leaving her own country to support him.
I’m so lucky to have friends here who knew me in South Africa. It’s part of the reason I feel more at home than I ever did. And then you meet new people who just cement that even more.
South Africa will always be where my heart is and I often miss it with a desperation that even a braai and a Nederburg can’t satiate.
But, as you know, Melbourne is my home and I love every moment here.
Hi Nadine,
This is a beautiful post and one I can relate to in so many ways. Firstly being far from the land I was born in (I left when I was 8), so far that few people apart from my parents and my sister could now hold those childhood memories of me. Childhood friends all lost to the transience of time. Secondly because as an expat living in a non-white country, I can of course relate to some elements of what you call white guilt. Not historically specific in my case, but the general guilt that comes from being in a life of privilege when so many have next to nothing. In my case I work through it by living here and trying to so something that contributes to the greater good.
Touching, moving and beautiful post. Thanks as always for sharing.
Tales of healing. Remind me again why I have never found the words to express this stuff before? Bless me. Bless us all, actually.
Hey Nadine,
Its Jo here. I love your post. And I enjoyed reading the comments. It was lovely to see you when you visited SA. And I love your writing and honesty. It bouys me up.
I felt I must respond to this post because its close to my heart too. I support your decision to leave SA. I understand it and will always welcome you home when you visit. This is your home still. I have also struggled with this white guilt. For me, living here and interacting so intimately with all the races and cultures on a daily basis has been an opportunity to process that guilt and release it. I work very closely with a director here called Dumisani. He is a wonderful mix of sophistication – he can communicate with any person across the world, income group, class, style. You name it – he charms them. He achieved many awards for a documentary he did called “Don’t fuck with me I have 51 brothers and sisters”. A true story. Beautifully told and touches anyone who watches it. It offers an insight into the South African family system and culture that in my opinion is unprecedented. He is currently building a cinema in his mothers house in soweto and teaches street kids in soweto the art of film making. All the while building a commercial career second to none.
Dumi and I circled each other when we first met. Each unsure of the other. Clinging to our respective fears and prejudices of each other based on race, type, gender, culture, you name it, we clung to it. But over time, mutual respect, understanding, my dogged protection of his career, his unfailing talent and intelligence, a shared sense of humour and passion for life, we came to understand each other. Now, we love each other. We hold each others opinions so highly. And now when I find my self going through a hard time with my sisters illness, he is the one that calls me at night to find out how I am. And only through this natural process have we both let go of our constructs of each other. And so when I search my heart for this guilt and shame that i once felt so keenly, it has disapeared. Because I know I am not defined by that time, place or society. And in fact I am a very part of the transformation itself – even in this small way.
I can tell you as a friend, as someone who knows you, who has had the experiences I have had in this beautiful country alongside people who are redifining humanity and forgiveness – you are also not defined by the past. You can release this guilt because you are not that person from that time and that society. Your very writing of the above post shows it.
Lots of Love
Jo x
I am constantly amazed and feel privilidged to be given the opportunity to read your thoughts Nadine. I really don’t know how to comment in relation to the post but to simply say thank you for sharing. I feel like I need to learn more about South Africa now.
And I need to learn more about Australia so we are evens, Miss Mary! Thank you for this luverly comment xx
that concept is very interesting, nadine….have been researching it. thanks for a great post because a blog post of my own is simmering….you should stop by as I wrote two posts on my day with Mark W.
You never cease to amaze me with your beautiful writing.
awesome post, nadine!
maybe it’s because of my age….and I’m so much older than you!….
maybe it’s because of how things went down in India during this last trip….traveling outside South India for the first time, the Mela, etc…..
but I feel a closing in instead of expansion, but not a “closing in” in a negative way….hard to explain….my yoga practice has DEFINITELY changed since I have come back….again, hard to explain…I have given up all my classes except my private ones out of my house and I can’t believe how content I am to not be so “public”….
this certainly rates a blog post on….much to think about….
metta to you.
Hey Linda!
That’s really interesting. In the book, Joanne talks about the Kabbalistic concept of Tzimtzum which means Divine Contraction. The thinking is that if God is infinite, he would have to draw in and so make a void into which creation can come… I’ve definitely experienced that before, maybe that’s what’s going on for you, too?
And so I wish for all of us!
Okay, I really appreciate your thoughtful comments! I’m also glad you found a way to be happy, and I hope you can move past the pain you’ve felt through out your life!
Oh, okay I see what you’re saying. My knowledge on the whole apartheid thing is limited, I can understand the guilt you feel, but at least you can “escape” from your guilt while the native south Africans are mostly stuck there.
(This probably sounds a bit aggressive, sorry if I sound a bit rude.)
Well, it does sound a little aggressive, but it’s also true. That’s the quandary: I come from the priveledge of a middle-class ubringing. Because I am white. That upbringing allowed me to leave. The thing is this: the guilt was making me sick, and no matter what I do, I can’t change the colour of my skin. So I have decided to let go of it, so I can be a more useful person. And hopefully that will bring some small change into the world. Hopefully.
Oh, you guys! Thank you!
Produce, it’s the Apartheid guilt thing. That is specific to being part of the White minority in South Africa. It’s probably a bit like the guilt Germans carry for the Holocaust.
Emma, I have read ‘Don’t let’s go to the Dogs Tonight’. It broke my heart. I would love a reading list, but I would probably have to eke the bookes out as reading about these things is a bit like scratching a not-quite-healed scab.
And Kathleen, thank you for leading the way! This is the first of Joanne Fedler’s books that I’ve read actually. She’s so funny, even while dealing with the most difficult of topics.
Hi Nadine – thanks for this beautiful post – I relate on so many levels! After nearly 10 years in NZ I still have days when I long to stand on African soil and feel the South Easter blowing off the Indian Ocean as I walk along a beautiful Cape beach. It took me a long time to come to terms with leaving, for so long I felt torn in two. Now I remind myself that Home is less about where you live and more about Who You Are – and South Africa will always be a part of who I am, no matter where I live. Each year NZ is becoming a bigger part of who I am now too, and I am discovering that these two cultures/persona can co-exist quite peacefully. When I have a day of longing, I put on some Johnny Clegg and cook some bobotie(or other favourite SA meal), have a cup of rooibos tea, or sip a glass of Nederburg and transport myself back home in an instant.
I loved Joanne Fedler’s other books – I’m definitely going to read her latest!
x
oh my goodness, what a beautiful extraordinary post. thank you.
have you read, “dont lets go to the dogs tonight”? its about rhodesia and growing up there.
one of my mothers friends is a south african jewish woman who moved late in life to the us. she also worked in a book store, and always recommended books that were about diaspora and displacement. i should fwd you one of her epic recommendation lists
This is a beautiful post, I’m curious though, what made you feel guilty about your skin color, how has Australia made any difference? The experience of people of European descent in places that aren’t predominantly white must be what it’s like for other minorities living in places that are mostly populated by persons of European descent.
This is just a stunning post, so full of truth and beauty, Nadine. Just stunning.
I agree with Svasti — nothing is ever lost — and those scars? There is beauty even in them, if we allow for it.
Oh Nadine, thankyou for baring your soul so bravely in such an intimate portrait. it literally brought tears to my eyes. What a beautiful person you are! xxx
Wow Nadine – this is really, truly beautiful. Such precious thoughts to share. And love the pics! Though I’m not toooo far from home (South Australia) and I do have some friends from school here, I know exactly what you mean. It has been interesting that as we’ve been planning our wedding that I’ve gone back to those roots and realised that there are many people from the past who will always be important. Those people who like you say, know and accept who you are because they’ve known and seen you over so many years and will always be there for you. xx
What a WONDERFUL collection of photos! Your little curly headed self in the stream is easily recognisable.
I get what you mean about missing the continuity. I don’t have that either, even though Melbourne is my home town. But you’re wrong, you know. There is one person here who knows all of those versions of who you are – YOU.
I wonder if it’s all been worth it, too. Me with my gypsy life and plenty of big changes. Would I have been better off if I never did come back to Melbourne? Hard to say, because of course, I did come back. With all of the crap that’s happened here, Melbourne is also where I became a yoga teacher, and started blogging, and through others, met you and then Mark and other lovely people. We can never know what would have been, only what is.
And your friend’s email was spot on. We choose whether or not we are scarred. And then if we are scarred, we choose whether or not the scars remain.
Despite everything that’s happened in the last five years, I truly believe nothing is lost. Nothing. Not as long as I’m continuing to find ways to open my heart. That way lies bliss. The palimpsest is then just the variegated pathway to that place, which is no where, other than within us and everyone/everything we perceive.