74 years later: Woman Rule

Earlier this month, on July 9^th, my mother turned 74 years old.

On the phone call I made to her, she bragged about how her 74 years didn’t just happen because “phela sidla kahle tsine lamakhaya, kudla sibili, namuhla nje ngipheke emahala” (Us ruralites eat good organic food out here, today I cooked emahala). Emahala are small plants that not only look, but taste like aloe. I know.

As I spoke to her I reflected on some of the lessons I’ve learnt from her.

“Ungaboyihawukela intfo lekhashane nawe” (Be realistic about your expectations, they should always be within reach).

These are my mother’s words that stuck with me from teenagehood.  But of course, as a teenager, I never wanted to give her the satisfaction that these words (or any other of her unsolicited counsels for that matter) made sense to me.

Mother and I on Table Mountain, Cape Town in 2008. I was studying toward  a second post-graducate degree and working at SABC TV at this time. It'd been 4years since dad had died and I just wanted her to get a breather, thank her, and for her to enjoy the fruits of her love and (hard-learned) lessons.

These words stuck and have become somewhat a rule to me. Firstly because it felt like she said them all-the-goddam-time to ONLY ME (teenage/last born problems).

Often times my teenage self hated being her last born. I resented her for the 7 year gap between my brother and I, because I thought, perhaps if I’d been born earlier, I’d be older and far away from her and Babe and their almost two dozen children.

Secondly, they stuck because each time these words rung in my head, I realized their meaning was varied.

Thirdly, ‘what does she mean there’s something out of MY reach?’ Me? I mos deserve to have everything…nogal everything handed to me in a silver platter. Listen to this.

Me: Ngicela kuya eshowini Make. Sicelele kuBabe. (Mom, please ask Babe if I can go to the Trade Fair?)

Mother: “Mntfwanami ungaboyihaw’kela intfo lekhashane nawe" (My child, be realistic about your expectations, they should always be within reach.)

Me: Well if you and your boyfriend hadn’t chosen for this hot rural place to be our home, then yeah, the Trade Fair would be down the road from our house in Manzini. (Obviously I said this inwardly. I wouldn’t dare. I simply disappeared from her face as she continued…)

Mother: When you’re older, DONE WITH SCHOOL AND UNIVERSITY (yup she said these particular words in capital letters), then you can go to the Trade Fair as much as you like.

Bleh!

She was telling me "Your father would have loved this place." I was tempted to reply "Ungaboy'hawukela intfo lekhashane nawe" LOL. Cape Town 2008

Even for what seemed the most basic of requests, my mother used those words on me. 

Me: Mother, please ask Babe, if he could buy me a new pair of sneakers for sports?

My mother knew that requests sent through her had already been rejected by Babe or that we hadn’t presented them to Babe since even we knew they were just not going to happen because “...khashane nawe”. 

My father was only prepared to by those white “North Stars” for sports. Ankle boot sneakers for what? Really he couldn’t be bothered that those boarders from rich Manzini and Mbabane families gave us (children of Big Bend farmers) peer pressure.

Mother: Did your father not buy you school uniform, including sports things? Do you not have all the books you need for school? You don’t go to school hungry, do you? Do you not have two school bags – one for books and one for sports uniform? Do you not have your school fees paid in full?

*pause*

[I trust you read the paragraph above in an Africa Magic movie Nigerian accent for effect.]

As if I was going to answer her really. That time I’m thinking “if only my parents were younger, and not in their 40s when they had me, they would verstaan these things”.

Mom: *continues* Go on, that hoe you have in your hand is for you to remove those weeds in front of you. 

We have to have the best yield of maize this year. *pause* Ungaboyihawukela intfo lekhashane nawe.

Me: But Make, surely, between you and Babe, there is an extra R100 for my sneakers. I mean, Babe always has money for his 6-pack of beers. Daily.

Mom: *mumbling as she carried on weeding, mindless to the weight of my woes*  Ungaboyihawukela intfo lekhashane nawe mntfwanami.

This time, with these words, she meant “Be grateful and don’t ever feel entitled to what is ours because we are your parents. Parents are there to provide the basics for their children.

I think I hated these words because I didn’t get why mother had to be so poetic about things. I mean…? It’s not like I said anything about going to Disney World like some of my classmates would blurt out at school after the holidays; “My dad took us to Disney world…again”, one classmate once said while rolling her eyes at the sheer annoyance of having to visit the same place for holiday. I know.

Anyway, my father had given me (and my siblings) the same message as my mother just had on many occasions but was quite blunt (as always) in doing so; “You ask me to buy you things on the day you need them because you see me buying my beers daily. Well good luck to you. This is money I know from pay day that I will use to indulge myself in beers and whatever else I want. It’s called budgeting. You should tell me what you need at least a month before you need it.” Underline NEED. Need equals food and school things only.

So reason number 3, of why my mother’s words stuck with me, is what has propelled me to do best in life. I deserve everything I want and I will make it happen – I will give me my own silver platter. No one owes me anything except me. That’s the power that this woman I call Mother gave me. As we approach women’s month, I hope we all dig into our power wells to refuel our purpose to ourselves and to humanity. Woman rule!