like no other

A few hours before the end of this year,I have the feeling that I need to close 2010 with something. Since my last,pre-Christmas post, things have taken a strange turn. I write this with some sadness, some melancholy and a lot of questions. It's a little weird to look back on what I wrote and to try and re-capture the feeling I had then...it was a moment when I was so close to my dream,a Christmas at home in Africa- til I landed. Well,to be fair, the turmoil started with the extreme weather conditions in Europe,which affected thousands of gypsies heading home for the festive season. Delays on flights,cancellations,rebookings,engine problems,lonely snacks in deserted airports in the middle of the night...I distinctly remember asking my dad if it was a sign that I wasn't meant to head back to SA. " No BCN,my dear - don't worry,come home". The Famous Last Words. After a nightmare journey, I arrived in Jo'burg - four hours late and looking forward to seeing my parents waiting for me at Arrivals. I finally got through, to find them looking grey and a little ill. I wondered how, in the middle of an African summer, they could look so empty. "I sent you a text to say I'd landed but no reply." " Oh,did you?" answered my dad. Odd. And that's when my mom said," We have something to tell you before we get home and you see the mess."My stomach turned and out it came. They'd been robbed at home, at gunpoint,just an hour before. Their lives on hold, their wrists and feet tied, guns at their heads while three..what do I call them...cleaned out the house. Everything of value taken in a mere 15 minutes. "We'll f####ing kill you, where is the safe? Where is the gun?"They smacked my mamma and my pops on the back of the head while they did their shop. I still have visions of my mom and dad tied up,face down on their bedroom floor, their home being emptied of all memories and sentimental value.

I still can't work out if I was lucky not to be here.

My flight had been delayed but my parents didn't know,so they came out to airport earlier. They went home. They were followed by those...timing...
If only they hadn't come then. But then, would we have been followed later? Would they still have slipped through our gate and walked through the front door as we unpacked the car? Would I have been tied up too? Would I be having nightmares forever? Should I be thankful my plane was late?

They put on a brave face for me, they said they were fine. My mom said she hadn't felt fear. Maybe not. Til the next day when she stared into space for hours without saying a word. Or woke up the day after that,in tears. For all that was lost,for the relief of survival. My dad,the strong one, a pillar of pride- anger from every pore and the need to go elsewhere.Anywhere,not here.

A mechanical day of policemen and forensics,of statements and storytelling,phone calls and dusting, clearing up and putting back together the bits that were left.

An African Christmas. Who would've thought.The tinsel is dull, the feeling numb.

I didn't feel the fear til the night after that. I couldn't get to sleep,the darkness was my jumpiness.But how could I even begin to tell my parents that I was afraid?

A Christmas to remember, a Christmas to forget.
And how do I leave knowing they are still here?

Four hours from the end of the year and the start of the New. I wish for the best,for always. Safety,love,peace and growth.
Everything Happens for a Reason.

Home is where...?

It'll be the first time in four years that I go home home for Christmas. May sound strange to most since it seems too obvious to make any sense. But for the Wanderer/Gypsy, this time of year is mostly an unknown.When I was younger and it was a given that the days would be spent at home with the parents and whatever 'oldie' they'd invited, I dreamed of being anywhere but there. I dreamed of the snow, the mountains lit up by fairy lights, the tinsel on real trees that shimmered with frost. Christmas shopping in the glitter, inhaling the scent of mulled wine and munching nougat.

Christmas in Africa is a season of its own.Summer holidays filled with braais and pool parties, turkey roasted on a fire in the garden, chilled white wine and beer, before the slothing in the hammock under the trees for digestion. A nap in the shade before getting up for cold turkey sandwiches made with homemade mayo and cold champagne to watch the sun go down.For those on their annual coastal holiday, down to the beach with the rest of the revellers. Sundowners, swims, boerewors and beer.Back home to the tinsel,the tree and the lights.Nothing is different, but it's not the same at all.

I've been lucky enough to have the best of both - but now, as an 'oldie' of sorts, being here, on my own in the cold,frosty Christmas of Europe, my home, I dream of being back there,with the parents and whatever other 'oldie' they've invited. Five more sleeps. Home is where the Christmas is. Isn't it?

Add-a-Venture

I'm here. Finally.
It's the one place I'd thought about visiting but didn't know the way. Today, I got the directions and was accompanied by a small support group. I've entered the world of Bloggers- or should I say Blaggers? Time will tell, I guess.

I've always been an Externaliser. I need to express what I feel, what I think, what I see.... Writing stories from pictures in my head, making pictures from words in my heart. Words are my release, in all their beauty or evil. It's me,all me - and you, all you. What can you see in there?