Joel

A TRUE STORY SET IN KZN

WRITTEN BY

MARILYN MILLS

FOR THE

WITNESS SHORT STORY COMPETITION

SNAP SHOT CATEGORY.

JOEL

Madiba had just been released.   South Africa was on the brink of a whole new era and the tension and excitement was palpable.

This is when I met Joel.

I worked at a school for ‘previously disadvantaged’ pupils, which was only in its third year of existence.   He was a qualified teacher who had just graduated from Edgewood Teacher’s Training College and was looking for a job.   We had mutual friends who asked for help to secure a teaching post for him.   Our Headmaster at the time welcomed him with open arms and created a post for him.    This is when the Joel –impact started.

He was a small man in his late twenties.   Impish is the word I would use to describe him.   He was given the post of Zulu teacher but because of his sporting prowess and love of soccer he soon became a great force within the extra mural activities of the school.   He loved basketball and was also an athlete.

Joel had an incredible impact on the life of our school.   He was passionate about his culture and was worried that the children would lose their knowledge of the Zulu culture as they gradually turned toward everything Western.   He taught us many things and helped to close the great divide that had grown between Blacks and Whites.   He often pushed us out of our comfort zones.

Joel ran Zulu lesson for the staff and other outsiders.    He also taught the Zulu staff to speak English.   He was a gifted teacher loved by everybody.

Joel never had money because he was always bailing his family out of debt or buying them things they insisted they needed.   I realize now that it is called ‘Black Taxes’.   If someone in your family does well then it is expected that he/she would look after their family’s material wellbeing and even that of the community.   Joel had a wife and had a son.   We all grew to love them.

It was a sad day when Joel’s wife died.   Their son was already attending the school and proving to be a bright little button.   Joel mourned her deeply but then again pressure was brought to bear on him.   Often he would visit my office and ask for advice.   What advice can a middle aged white woman give a Zulu man when she knows nothing about what he was experiencing?

Then Joel fell ill.   He tried to fight the disease but it eventually took its toll.   He shriveled into a small old man.   The day before he died I visited him in his flat on the campus and he was asleep.   Someone had rolled him in a blanket and he was just the size of a small child.   My heart broke.

Joel had overcome many obstacles in his life.   He had made sure he had an education despite all odds.   He had run away from umKhonto we Sizwe when they recruited soldiers from the high schools in Kwa Zulu Natal.   He had been abducted but when they got to the border he had made a duck and found his way back to his school in Imbali.   During the terrible war between the IFP and the ANC pupils often had to hide in the bushes to escape the crossfire between the two factions.  He knew he could not help his people without education.

Joel had to face many prejudices.   Often he was called a ‘coconut’ by his own people because they thought he was fraternizing too much with whites.   Often he had to endure the racial prejudices of those whites who refused to change their attitudes.   Joel’s biggest worry was how he was to secure a proper education for his son and find someone to care for him as he knew he was not long for this world.

Joel had made such an impression on the school community that one of the staff members opened her heart and her home to Joel’s son and when Joel died he knew that he would be well cared for.

Joel’s funeral was held at the Cathedral of the Holy Nativity in Church Street.   It was packed to capacity.   Glowing tributes about him abounded but what really impressed me were the tributes by the High School pupils.   They wrote poems about him, they sang songs, they spoke about him with anger at a wonderful life lost too young and with love at a role model gone too soon.

Joel’s spirit still lives on in our school but more than that his friendship is a shining gem in my life. 

(Semi finalist in the Witness True Stories Competition 2015)  

NUN SENSE!

A true story based in Kwa Zulu Natal

Written by

Marilyn Mills

For the Open Category of the Witness

True Stories of Kwa Zulu Natal Competition

2014.

Nun Sense!

It was that time of day when all the children had gone back to their classes after the last break.   The corridors were quiet at last and the school settled back into rhythm after a very hectic break.   It was lunch time.

In the office where I worked the school break was always a very busy time of the day as we took money, sorted out queries, gave out headache tablets, had children phoning parents with changed timetables or sports clothes that were left behind, chatted to teachers and generally tried not to have a nervous breakdown.   A school office is not a place for’ sissies’!   One has to be strong and resourceful.

The moment the children had gone into their classrooms sanity prevailed.    Peacefulness transcended the school and we could get down to our duties.

My first thought was to make a ‘well deserved’ cup of coffee.   I often had to stop for a ‘well deserved cup of coffee’!   As I waited for the kettle to boil I glanced out of the window into what used to be Loop Street in Pietermaritzburg and now called Jabu Ndlovu Street.   It never failed to amaze me, all the coming and the going and the toing and froing of the people as they made their way to Imbali and Edendale, the biggest suburbs of Pietermaritzburg or Msunduzi as it is now called.   There was a never ending stream of taxis and buses, hooting and shouting for fares.   There was a constant supply of delivery trucks and every now and again we heard the sirens of traffic police and ambulances as they made their way to some dastardly accident (and there were many of those).

That window had witnessed many of the changes that have taken place in our City and in our country.   It saw the first non-racial intake of pupils when it opened its doors in 1990.   It witnessed the angry mobs that walked into town on the day after Chris Hani was murdered and was a recipient of the many rocks and stones thrown at it in anger and defiance on their return to Edendale.

It was witness to the crocodile of children who walked to the City Hall before the momentous voting day to celebrate a Peace Concert in 1994 with many other school children in the area.

It also saw the faces of the excited children as they came back from lining the streets when President Mandela was given the Freedom of our City in 1997 and the choir children who had sung the National Anthem at the historic Kwanula Inauguration where Tata, King Zwelitini and Chief Buthelezi shared a stage and where President Mandela sang and danced with the Choir children while wearing one of their school caps.

What memories!

I looked out at the beautiful trees lining the pavement and the many cars belonging to the staff of the school parked under the trees.   I looked across the road to check if my car was still there nestling in the shade of a huge tree,   I am still not sure what kind of trees they are but they provided wonderful shade for our cars in the heat of the summer.    If there was an almighty storm, which Kwa Zulu-Natal is noted for, then they could be a potential danger as many trees, like the magnificent Jacarandas around the school, could lose their branches and then damage the cars. 

All these thoughts were going around in my brain while I waited for that kettle to boil - when all hell broke loose!

As I watched, a car came hurtling through the intersection.   Straight through a red robot!   It miraculously missed cars in the intersection and it started spinning. It collided with all the cars on my side of the pavement causing untold damage to each one.   Then it spun into the middle of the road heading directly towards my car sitting so safely in the shade of the tree.

‘Oh no’ I groaned.   My heart was racing.   Just a minute ago there was peace and quiet but that had been shattered and mayhem was in its wake!

I held my breath while I watched the car spin and spin crabbing its way towards my car.   Then miracle of all miracles it stopped right opposite my passenger door!

I started breathing again.   Then the enormity of the situation hit me as people came running from every direction.   Black people, White people, Indian people, Coloured people, children and adults they were all there.   Someone opened the driver’s door of the errant car and out climbed an elderly lady with grey hair and very old fashioned dowdy clothes.   She was as white as a sheet but did not seem to be hurt in anyway.

Then they opened the back door of the car and I could see a pair of legs.  Grey flannelled legs.   A man was lying on the back seat.

He must be badly hurt I thought.   Then we went into action.

An ambulance was called and the traffic police were phoned.

Teachers and staff filtered out of their classrooms and offices to check out the damage to their cars.   All the cars on the school side of Jabu Ndlovu Street were badly damaged.   As I said mayhem ensued.

I could not leave the office as I was on switchboard duty but I got a running commentary from all the staff as they came back in to phone their respective spouses, insurance agents etc.   Nobody had cellphones in those days!

Speculation as to what happened was rife. 

How did she manage not to hit anyone in the intersection?

Why did the car go through the red robot?

Where did she come from?

What happened to the man on the back seat?

By this stage Jabu Ndlovu Street had been blocked off and a huge crowd had gathered to view the accident.   There was major congestion at the robot as the traffic had to be redirected into West Street and then into Burger Street.   There was much hooting and yelling going on.

I could just see the little old lady’s head through the crowd nodding as she answered questions by the traffic police while they waited for the ambulance to arrive.

I thought she was a very lucky lady to be alive.   Little did I know!

Eventually the ambulance arrived and they got the gentleman off the back seat and into the ambulance with little effort and away they went with the little old lady in tow.   The car was moved to the side of the road and within an hour everything was cleared and sorted.

One of our staff who had been outside helping all the time eventually made his way in and we crowded around him to find out what exactly had happened.

Apparently a nun from the convent down the road from the school had very kindly offered to take a sick priest to hospital.   They managed to get the priest into the car and off she went.   As she entered into Jabu Ndlovu Street she tried to put her foot on the brake but instead she pressed the accelerator very hard. 

 She took off like a rocket!
 

 The nun drove straight into the road hitting a truck carrying bricks.   She ricocheted off the truck and still with her foot firmly planted on the accelerator she sped off through the red robot in West Street.   By this time she had found the brake and hitting it hard set the car spinning in every direction.   She slammed into all the cars parked on the side of the road and then spun off into the middle of the road where she came to a halt.   It was a complete miracle that nobody was severely injured.

We never heard the outcome of the episode, how the priest fared or who paid for the car to be towed away and repaired.    All I know is that it cost a lot of our staff a good portion of their salaries to have their cars fixed and it cost the school money as they then had to provide staff parking at the back of the building.   This meant many months of construction at a huge expense.

Often afterwards I would think of that nun and the poor sick priest.   I could picture the face of the priest lying on the back seat of the car.   Terror, bewilderment, puzzlement, acceptance of certain death and almost certainly praying fervently!

A miracle had surely ensued.   No one had been badly injured.

I wondered if he ever drove with a nun again.

Or maybe that is just nun sense!

THE END

MY OPINION

OPINION PIECE

WRITTEN BY

MARILYN MILLS

3 FORTH CLOSE, GARLINGTON,

HILTON 3201

TEL: 0825572801

 ‘Better a white’s fake smile’ by Ace Moloi in the Witness on the 28^th August, 2014.

Ace Moloi bemoans the attitude he has encountered amongst his Black brethren when it comes to customer service and would prefer to take his business elsewhere even prepared to put up with ‘fake smiles’ from white woman ‘at least there’s a recognition of your presence in the building unlike the “just get to the point” expression our own sisters put on’

Mr Moloi, you are not alone in your concerns.   We all feel the same way except not all our white sisters even bother to put on ‘fake’ smiles!

Customer service seems to be a thing of the past.   I cringe at the thought of having to go to any municipal department to query an account, pay a bill or ask for help in anyway.   A recent visit to SARS, who are ultra efficient , left me quivering nervously unless I happened to miss my number being called.  I witnessed an old man being sent back to the end of the queue because he failed to make it to the assistant’s desk in two seconds.   This was not a Black Assistant!

Customer service is a taught attitude.   It does not come naturally.   All businesses, municipal departments, supermarkets and all service delivery organisations should send their frontline staff on Customer Care Courses.

Your frontline staff is the face of your business and if they do not know how to deal courteously and professionally with your customer they will lose business for you.   Your customer pays their salaries so they should be treated with kid gloves.

Unfortunately Municipal departments have adopted a ‘take it or leave it’ attitude knowing full well that they have the monopoly but the Municipality would do us all a favour by sending all their telephonists, receptionists, tellers and frontline staff on Customer Care Courses and have inhouse competitions running on the best Customer Care Staff member of the month.   This will reinforce a pleasant and helpful attitude from the ground up.

2.

I have been in Public Relations and Marketing most of my working life and I have seen the benefits companies can reap when their frontline staff is well equipped with the skills to enhance their businesses.

Their staff needs to know the following:

·         How to answer the telephone courteously and coherently

·         How to greet customers properly

·         Everything about the company and their products

·         How to dress appropriately and professionally

·         How to conduct themselves while dealing with customers especially when the customer is irate.

I know that as a consumer my rand is worth a lot to the businesses I support therefore I can choose the ones that give me good service.   I am empowered by this knowledge.

There are many Customer Care Courses available just contact the PMB Chamber of Businesses for details.

'We ain't got no education!'

Recently I attended the Franschhoek Literary Festival and was privileged to listen to various debates and talks by respected authors.   The one I enjoyed the most was one named ‘We ain’t got no education!’

Prof. Jonathen Jansen, The Vice Chancellor of the Free State University,  Nicholas Spore a well know Education Activist who is doing his PhD in Education and Arthur Atwell from Book Dash who is an electronic book publisher, were grilled about the education in South Africa today.

Here are some interesting statistics.

One million children on average start Grade 1 every year.   Only 450,000 children matriculate every year and at least half of those children have been passed up each year despite the fact that they have not passed the grade.

By the end of Grade 3 children should be fluent in reading English and their mother tongue.   By Grade 4 they should be Reading to Learn not Learning to Read!

This is not happening.

60% of Primary Schools in South Africa have NO libraries.

6% of Primary Schools in South Africa have more than 5000 books.

Only 4% of all South African children are in Private Schools which have proper resources.   That leaves 96% of all South African children at a disadvantage.

There is a plan a move by the Department of Education to introduce a ‘one text book per subject’ in all High Schools hoping to level the playing fields.   However the educationalists such as Prof. Jansen disagree wholeheartedly with this.   In his article ‘A textbook case of bungling’ The Times May 23, 2015, he says ‘I cannot think of a more dangerous curricular decision – the state effectively decides what you must know’.   ‘Here comes another policy that, contrary to Utopian pronouncements of officials, will actually deepen the divide between the privileged schools and the disadvantaged schools.’

Prof Jansen has written a book called ‘How to fix Schools’ which is a resource for Principals.   It comes together with a video and is an invaluable tool to help educators to cope with today’s learners and the classroom situation.   He feels very strongly that a school that succeeds is a school where the Principal arrives before the children and only leaves when everybody else leaves.  

Accountability and Capacity building is lacking in our Education and the only way to solve it is to get other teachers to mentor teachers,   especially in the Foundation Phase.   Departmental audits should be done on a regular basis and when technology in going to be introduced into the classroom, which must happen, then teachers should be trained how to use it.

There should be a programme where those who have the skills to teach a subject at a level of confidence should use their skills to empower others.   He called these schools - ‘Master Schools’.

The knock on effect of a one text book policy would see small publishing houses folding and ‘government would save a lot of money for itself, and some authors with political connections are about to become filthy rich’ Prof J Jansen, the Times, 23 May 2015.

There is hope if the Department of Education acknowledges the crisis Education is in and takes a stand against SADTU and accepts help from retired teachers who care!

Written by Marilyn Mills

PHOENIX RISING

It is the New Year and what a whirlwind one it has been!   The practice has been sold.   The cottage has been sold and with it all there are huge amounts of paper work and hours and hours of bookkeeping.    Greg is working shorter hours and now spends more time at home.   It is a time of change for both of us.   He being around so much and me being used to very long hours on my own.   We have worked and planned for this for so long that now it is here it is going to take some time getting used to.  He will be working part time for the next year and thereafter we are on our own.

I have taken a leap of faith and resigned from the end of March.   I do not enjoy working at the practice and only did so to help Greg.   I must move on and start the stage of my life where I can do the things I enjoy.

I need to write.

I need to be available to my grandchildren.

I need to help my children when I can.

I need to do flowers when I want.

I need to work for the environment when I want. 

I need to do charitable outreach projects when I want.

This is now our time to enjoy our lives and enjoy our friends.

Our mundane day to day existance has now stopped and like the phoenix rising from the ashes we can go forward enjoying each day as they present themselves.

With God's strength and good health we will enjoy the next chapter together hand in hand.   

why he was late

A short story

Written by

Marilyn Mills

During the many years I worked at a school there were lots of hilarious moments and quite a few sad ones to boot.

One of the funniest moments happened early one morning sometime after the first bell had rung.    Most of the children were in the classroom and a quietness had settled over the School.

Children start arriving from around 6.30 a.m.at the school and the few hours before the bell rings are quite chaotic.   The Secretary and I had greeted students, taken money for fees, given headache pills and throat lozenges, fixed scraped knees and joked and chatted with staff members.   We were settling down to our usual cup of coffee and a hard day’s work.

Suddenly the front door bell rang.

The Secretary, being very English and not abiding’ tardiness’, unlocked the door from her desk and waited to pounce on the very late comer.

‘Why are you so late, you know school starts at 7.40 and that the gate closes promptly at 8am.   It is not right that you should come so late.’   The tirade began!

I looked up and saw the little student standing looking into the secretary’s office from the foyer with huge round eyes.  His mouth hung open in amazement and he looked like a little guppy.   He tried to get a word in edgeways but the tirade continued.

Eventually the question was asked.

‘Why are you late?’

The child looked beseechingly toward the front door where, unbeknown to us, the father was still standing.

A voice answered ‘The car eet is fxxxd!’ (the actual word came out loud and clear)

A deathly hush descended on the front office.

Now you have to appreciate the Secretary is really very English despite having gone to finishing school in Switzerland and living in Zimbabwe for many years. She is a founder staff member of the school and is completely dedicated to her job.  She prides herself on her English heritage and is quite proper – at times!

‘Oh, ok then.  You better hurry to your classroom, my boy’ she spluttered in her clipped English accent.

The child ran back to the father for a quick hug then set off smiling to his classroom.   We heard the front door latch close as the father walked away.

I hung my head and smothered my mirth but after a minute or two a huge guffaw emanated from the Headmaster’s office and we all collapsed in a heap of laughter.

Talk about the day starting with a bang!  

How is that for an excuse for being late?    After that when children came late the secretary made quite sure that the parents were not still standing in the foyer before asking that dreaded question -

 ‘Why are you so late?

THE STORY OF TWO DOGS

THE STORY OF TWO DOGS!

Written by

Marilyn Mills

We  were sitting down to a much needed cup of tea during our lunch break at the Veterinary Surgery when the receptionist came into the office with a very worried look on her face.

‘The police are on the phone and they insist on talking to you ‘she told my husband who is the vet ‘ it is most urgent.’ she explained.

I could see my husband’s face.   He was perplexed.   Working with the police was always heart breaking as the police dogs were first in the firing line and by the time they were brought to the vet the injuries they had endured were usually very extensive and traumatic.

 He picked up the receiver reluctantly.

‘Hello Sergeant, how can I help you?’ he asked.

He nodded and agreed as he listened to the policeman talk.   He shook his head silently and then said

‘Bring them in right away and let me see what I can do.’

I looked at my husband and saw that he was distraught.

‘What is it?   Has another police dog been shot or stabbed or even poisoned?’

‘No’ he answered.    ‘I have never had to deal with this situation before in my entire professional career.   It seems that a toddler has drowned in a swimming pool in the suburbs and when they pulled her out she was missing a hand.’

I was shocked.    ‘Missing a hand?   How terrible!’

‘Yes, the child’s Gogo was hanging up the washing and the child was happily playing in the garden with the two large dogs who reside there.   The Gogo said after a while she heard the dogs barking frantically and when she went to look for the child she saw the dogs at the side of the pool looking into the water.  

The policeman says when she eventually managed to pull the child out of the water.   She noticed that the child’s nappy had been removed and the hand was missing.’

‘The police want me to operate on the dogs to check the contents of their stomachs to rule out the fact that one of them may have bitten the child otherwise they may have to treat this case as a Muti Murder!’

Both of us were horrified at the thought.

Ever the more practical one, my husband asked me to go and buy some re-sealable plastic bags from the local shop.   He explained that it would not be necessary to operate on the dogs but that he would induce vomiting and collect the contents.

 Not being the most hardened vet’s wife, I battled to keep the contents of my stomach down as I raced off to buy the necessary articles.

What a tragedy was unfolding.

Moving along the aisles in the supermarket everything felt surreal.   All the people going about their business as usual whilst elsewhere a Gogo was mourning her grandchild, a mother mourning her child and homeowners distraught at the tragedy of what had happened at their home.

I marvelled at the complexity of life.

When I got back to the veterinary hospital I saw that the police had arrived.  Squad cars were parked all over the car park.    Inside the waiting room with several policemen was a very distraught woman holding onto two of the most magnificent chocolate brown Labradors I have ever seen. One was very definitely the male as his head was twice the size of the other one.   The dogs were both agitated and strained at their leads as they struggled to understand what was happening.   They sensed something was very wrong.

After I had given the plastic bags to my husband, who was in the process of getting the theatre ready, I went to sit with the owner in the reception room.   The police were bustling about.   Cell phones were ringing.   Voices were raised!   In general the quiet waiting room had turned into a disaster zone.

Taking the distraught woman’s hand I guided her into the sanctuary of the office to try and get her details in a quiet and dignified way.

Slowly the story unfolded.

The owner of the house where the toddler had drowned had been happy for her domestic worker, who  had worked with her for many years, to bring her grandchild to work as she felt it was safer than leaving the little girl at home in the township.   It had been a regular occurrence and the dogs happily played with the little girl while she tottered around following her Gogo while she did her work.

Nobody knew what had actually happened.   The Gogo wasn’t even aware that the child had wandered off until the dogs had started barking.   Now the police were blaming her dogs and talking about putting them down.    Yet there was a lot of confusion.   Maybe it was a Muti Murder!

They had found the baby’s nappy lying at the side of the pool.

A post mortem had to be done.

The dogs were each put into a newspaper lined kennel.   My husband explained to the two sergeants what he was going to do and that they were to wait for his diagnosis.

The team began the procedure.   They took the male Labrador first. He was the bigger of the two and the definite leader of the pack.   Out of the two of them he would have been the most likely to have done the deed.

The medication was given and the dog put back into his kennel.   Then they waited.

Luckily the medication worked quite quickly and before long he had emptied the contents of his stomach onto the newspaper.   The assistant then moved him to another kennel and my husband was able to bag the contents into the plastic re-sealable bag.

He could not believe his eyes.   There before him, mixed with the normal things you would expect to find in the stomach of a large dog were tiny little fingers.   His heart sank.

He looked at the dogs.   There was no aggression in either of them.   They both looked back at him with eager eyes as if to say – ‘ You will have to talk for us. You will have to tell the story’.

My husband went back to the police and the owner in the waiting room and invited them into the office.

He showed them the contents of the pack.

The police started shouting that they would have to put the dog down.   The owner cried out in disbelief!

He calmed them all down and explained what he thought had happened.

‘The hand was definitely ingested by the large male Labrador’ he said, ‘but I do not think the dog bit the child intentionally.   My theory is that the child fell into the pool and the dog tried to get it out.   First it tried to hold onto the nappy and that came off in his mouth.   Then he tried to grab the flailing arm to try and pull the child out and the hand came away from the body.   At no time, in my opinion, did the dog take an aggressive stand.    I have worked with these dogs all my life and I have owned six of them myself over the years and never would one of them deliberately cause such an injury to a child.’

The police stared at the vet wide eyed.

The owner cried softly.

‘Do you not think it is necessary to put the dog down’ asked the one policeman.

‘No definitely not’ said my husband.   ‘He was trying to save the little girl.   Of that I am sure.’

The policemen were not really convinced.   They asked if the evidence could be kept in the freezer until they had spoken to their superiors.   They had decisions to make.

The policemen asked him to write out a full statement as soon as possible and they would collect it together with the evidence in due course.

The owner left with her two precious dogs.   Tears of gratitude were pouring down her face. 

The following morning early my husband let himself out of the front door quietly to collect the morning newspaper.   We had not slept very well and thought constantly on the fate of the poor male Labrador.    The story had made the front pages of The Witness.  

The headlines read ‘Labradors hailed as heroes!’    They were the toast of the town as they had tried to save a baby from drowning in a local swimming pool.   Photos of the two dogs took centre stage on the front page.

He hurried in to show me the headlines.   We both breathed a sigh of relief.

We were so glad that yet another tragedy had been averted.

The statement and the contents of the bag were duly collected a couple of weeks later and to date we have heard nothing more.

All in a day’s work at a local veterinary practice!