Dear Diary

15^th February, 2016.

Dear Diary,

GRANDPARENTING IS NOT FOR SISSIES!!!!

I was so looking forward to having Matt and Julia for the Valentine’s weekend.   I started preparing early on the Friday morning by getting out all the old toys I had collected in my ‘granny’ basket and giving them a good clean.   Then I prepared ‘stations’ of different activities all around the house so that they would not get bored.   The idea was to pack away each ‘station’ as they got bored with them.   Ha! Ha!   Maybe in an ideal world!

By the time they arrived in the afternoon their beds were made up, their supper cooked and a lovely apple pie and custard waited for them on the kitchen island.   I WAS ALREADY FRAZZLED!

They hit Garlington running.   Matt joined the cricket game on the green that was already in full swing.   Julia grabbed the pram (bought at the SPCA shop for next to nothing and already a great hit) and made off onto the promenade to take her babies for a walk because ‘as you know, Nan, babies need to walk’.   In fact she so enjoyed the walk that it took a lot of persuasion to return to the house as it was getting dark.   Luckily Grandpa was home and was watching the cricket game.

It took much cajoling to get them into bed that night as they were both so excited.   Matt pushed the envelope even further when he declared he was starving!   Despite not eating any of the food prepared for him as he was ‘allergic’ to everything except the chips.   The apple pie went down like a ton of bricks ‘we don’t eat cooked apples!’ they cried but the custard was eaten.   Matt declared he had a ‘leaky’ tummy until I offered him ‘muti’ to help the affliction.

The next day was much the same as we were up at the crack of dawn and I found myself at the shops by 8 am to buy Valentine goodies for grandpa with grandchildren in tow.    I had prepared lots of red card and accessories for them to make Valentine cards for their mom and dad and for grandpa.   This took up a few hours of the day.  Julia was totally absorbed and wanted to ‘stick’ all day.

  After lunch and a rest we set off for the pool.   Lots of fun was had by all of us and by the time we got home the weather had turned.   The Valentine’s picnic on the green we had planned did not come about.   The wind howled and the rain spat at us every time we ventured outside.   What a damp squid!!!

Not to be thwarted we had a picnic on the front verandah and just enjoyed each other’s company.   It is not often that we get to spend time alone with them and they have quite strong personalities and are quite enchanting on their own.

Bedtime was easy that night as we were all exhausted!

The next morning, Valentine’s day, was very exciting and much chocolate was consumed before breakfast.   BIG MISTAKE!!

Grandpa had to go to work so I had taped ‘The cat in the hat’ for them to watch while I cleaned the house and started preparing a special lunch for their parents for Valentine’s Day.   The children were going to be my little helpers.

I went for a shower while they occupied themselves and while I was enjoying the peace and quiet in the steamy shower I thought I heard a noise but I could see nothing.   Afterwards as I was drying myself and listening out for any squabbling or crying something on the side of the shower glass caught my eye.   A bright red plastic bullet with a sucker on the end of it, one usually used for target practice from the el cheapo guns bought in the Chinese stores, was placed exactly at the height that my nether regions would have been.   A real easy target!    My peace and quiet had been violated!

When I was dressed and had my face on I went into the lounge and casually asked who ‘shot’ me.   There was much giggling.   ‘Not me’ ‘Not me’ but they both looked as guilty as hell.

The rest of the day deteriorated from there.   They were tired, bored and had eaten too many sweets and by the time mom and dad arrived full of the joys of spring they were met by two uncooperative hellions dressed in red trying to be coerced by a sweating Nan to play along and be the darling little helpers for Valentine’s Day.

Madiba's Circus

MADIBA’S CIRCUS

A True Story set in KZN

Written by

Marilyn Mills

For the

OPEN Category

of the The Witness Short Story Competition.

It was Madiba’s 75^th birthday year and the town of Pietermaritzburg was chosen as the venue for his party.    A circus had been hired and disabled children and their carers from previously disadvantaged communities had been invited to attend.

The venue decided upon was that of Hilton College and the circus was to be set up on their rugby fields.   I wanted to go!

Rumour had it that a friend of mine had won the contract to cater for the luncheon Madiba was hosting for 300 dignitaries before the circus performance.   Many dignitaries of the new government would be attending and I wanted to be there so badly.

Why?  

I wanted to catch a glimpse of the man I had grown up hearing was a terrible bad terrorist who led an army of monsters who would kill us white people at a drop of a hat.   This is what the media of the time tried to brainwash us with.   I wanted to see the man who had been released from prison after 27 years and preached forgiveness and reconciliation.  

I was lucky.   They needed waitresses to help on the day and I volunteered.

Wear black and white, I was told, and be there early.

The day dawned bright and chilly.   It was a July morning and the drive up the hill to Hilton, which has always held me in awe at the best of times, was a most memorable and exciting one.  My thoughts were all over the place.   My little ‘muk and druk’ camera was placed firmly in my handbag and I was on my way to a great adventure.

A middle aged white woman living in South Africa was about to experience an adventure of a lifetime!

There was not much activity when I arrived at the gates of the school even though such a high profile person would be arriving.     No stringent security checks were in place that I could see.  

I had expected to be frisked and my car checked but nothing like that happened.   Our little band of ladies was put to work setting tables, arranging flowers and helping set up for the luncheon.   We were all so excited and nervous at the same time.   Not knowing what to expect.

I remember going for a walk during a tea break and seeing the activities all around the circus tent which had been set up the previous day on the rugby fields.   Police had started arriving with the bomb squad and their sniffer dogs.   They searched the circus tent and surrounds then came down to the marquee where the luncheon was going to be held.   They searched in the kitchen and the surrounding clubhouse where we had set up serving stations. 

Then the buses full of singing children started arriving.   It seemed like hundreds of them.   The school fields were soon bumper to bumper with buses from far and near and children on crutches and in wheelchairs with their carers looking after them were milling all around.   The early morning solitude was quietly disappearing and the excitement and anticipation in the air was palpable.

Rumours circulated that Madiba was flying in by helicopter at 12 noon.   We all got ourselves spruced up and the wait began!

Huge pots of curried beef, breyani and chicken curry were bubbling on the industrial stoves together with pots of rice.    Salads and sambals were made and rolls buttered and covered.   The puddings were being prepared with just the last minute assembly to be done.    Everything was under control.

The shout went up ‘Madiba had landed!’

We all went outside to see if we could spot him.   Eventually after a long time a golf cart came trundling by and in it sat a formidable white woman and a stately old man.   My heart did a flip.   There he was in the flesh and although I was quite far away I could still see him clearly.   His body guards surrounded him which prevented people getting too close.  

The Pietermaritzburg contingent welcomed him and then he was led away by his secretary to rest for half an hour.    I was agog.   Imagine him having a white secretary and Afrikaans at that!

With that a murmur started circulating from the kitchen.   Disaster was happening.   The breyani had turned.   It was bubbling and frothing.   That is not what breyani should do!   My poor friend was as white as a sheet.   How was she going to be able to feed the 300 dignitaries?   We all offered her our support and love and said it was one of those things.   The instructions went out to serve sparingly.

Eventually the marquee started filling up.   There were so many people I had seen on TV and in the newspaper.   Madiba came out from the back of the clubhouse and as he walked down I tried to take a photo of him with my trusty camera but his bodyguards pushed me out of the way.   None to softly either I might add.   I had not realised that his eyesight had been affected by the work he had been forced to do in the quarry on Robben Island and that he suffered badly when flashes went off around him.   This was explained by the master of ceremonies when everybody was seated.

We were all waiting at our stations, ladles in hand ready to serve.

The speeches went on for a very long time and as I watched Madiba rise to deliver his speech I got quite emotional.   It was surreal.   Here was the man we had been told to be really afraid of and when he spoke he spoke so gently and what he said made so much sense.   Eventually the tears were running freely.   What an injustice had been done to so many.

After his speech things moved rapidly and I cannot remember much more of the events as there were only a few of us and a lot of them to feed.   Messages kept coming from the kitchen to dish sparingly in case we ran out of food.   We should not have been worried there was more than enough and lots left over.   Madiba’s eating habits were very frugal and simple.   He requested a banana and a bit of fruit salad as his pudding.   The lavish puddings and lashings of cream were left for his guests.

Eventually as the time drew near for Madiba to make his way to the circus where hundreds of excited children waited to greet him he started making his way back to the clubhouse for another rest.   He was helped by his secretary and surrounded by his bodyguards.   All of a sudden he broke ranks and started walking towards us as we stood behind our stations.

That great man stopped and spoke to each one of us, shook our hands and thanked us for the hard work we had put into making his luncheon such a memorable one.   I remember an almost electric shock went through my body as he took my hand.   I answered ‘It was a pleasure and thank you for being you.’   Madiba just smiled as our eyes met.

He ambled to the kitchen and there were screams of delight as the kitchen staff realised he had come to visit them and to shake their hands.  They broke into song and he did a little ‘Madiba’ shuffle with them.

The rest of the day was a blur as we cleaned up and packed away cutlery and crockery.   Each one of us was touched in such a way that we would never be the same again.   I could only imagine what fun those dear children had that day and the influence he had on them and their carers.

As we have reached 21 years of democracy we have seen many good things and a lot of lousy things in our rainbow nation.   We have been affected by so much and one often wonders where to from here?   I sometimes despair about our lost children and the education they have not received and wonder what Madiba would have to say but on the day of Madiba’s Circus the hope and the love that abounded in those school grounds was certainly a red letter day for me and the disabled children of Kwa Zulu Natal.

 (Semi finalist in the Witness True Stories Competition 2015)

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.