Читать книгу To Khaya With Love - Samara Jr. Zimmel - Страница 5

My father was a police man; he worked in central Durban Police Station.

I remember as a child my mother and us (how many of us she could bring at one time) would go visit my father from the farm for a couple months at a time. Oh that was, that was the most exciting time for us kids, it was really something to look forward to in a year. We would live there, play, and we could have anything we wished. He always treated us children as precious people in his life.

When dad was coming home for holidays I would have sleepless nights of joy. We would prepare a big party for his welcome, our neighbours would come home, and what a joy we had! We would always have some animal slaughtered, whether goat, sheep or cow. Talk of excitement!

Our family was pretty well off. We had a farm with cattle, sheep, chickens, goats, pigs, you name it. Our land was huge, we planted big fields and we never lacked food. My mother, Maria, was a fashion designer. She used to buy bales of fabric and made us beautiful dresses. They will all be same pattern six, different sizes. I tell you we were so proud of our attires as for in church on Sunday we had so many compliments. Believe you me, we look good. If you know anything about the Victoria style we were like princesses. Mom was a qualified teacher by profession but when she married dad she became a full-time mom. Those days it was not a practice for a married woman to work outside the home. So mom was home when we came from school. It was really great, and with the seven of us we never knew what loneliness is.

As a family we never missed church, it was a highlight of the week. Every family would be dressed up, but my mother was the best dressed of all the ladies. She was a beautiful woman of short stature, well-proportioned and well-figured. She walked with confidence next to my dad with the seven of us children around them. Dad used to wear three-piece suites and a tie when going to church. Talk of a good-looking family! In the church there were nuns, priests and brothers. We children sat in the front and big people behind us, but in between the big people and us there were nuns. If we made noise or misbehaved in any way, woe unto us—the nuns! They would deal with us even before our parents reached us. Simply we learnt to behave in church, period.

One day, I must have been five years or so because I had not started school yet (those days you started school at seven), we went to church and they started singing. I didn’t know the hymn so I started my own. In my mind I thought, fine, everybody is having a wonderful time, why should I miss out? I must have been quite loud because the whole congregation stopped in the middle of their hymn and joined mine. I was so stunned that all the idea of fun was suddenly replaced with awe—so I shut my mouth. Meantime the congregation sang my hymn heartily and were really enjoying themselves. I am talking about the church of about 100 or more (in my eyes! I really don’t know how many parishioners there were). Man! that was the last time I ever started my own song during the church service. After church everybody congratulated my parents. As for the nuns, they were so pleased, they gave me a slice of an orange. They said I was a good girl that day.

You must be wondering what song I was singing. It was a hymn in Zulu. It says:

“Zwana mphefumulo nant’iLizwi”

This means:

“Hear, oh soul, here is the Word

Trust in the Lord Almighty

Lucky is that person who trusts always

He will be protected and blessed

Here on earth and in heaven”

My dad sang tenor so well that people would be turning their heads in church when he really engaged himself into it. Mom would even congratulate him, saying, “That was some good singing.” I used to be very proud when people applauded my dad. Oh, he had a voice alright!

He was precious.

One thing about him, he looked after us. We had to have fresh meat, fresh vegetables; and of course we had an orchard, so fruits were no problem. He always wanted the best for us. When we were at table he refused for us to stand up until we had finished eating—no interruptions for his roses (that’s how he called us).

Now let me tell you about my parents’ generosity. When I grew up there were three families living on our yard and I never knew that they were not my family. I discovered that when I was in the intermediate school. When someone was destitute my parents would take them under their wings, give them a house just outside our yard (we had a few of those). They would then give them a cow for milk, a few chickens and a field, plus seeds to plant food for themselves. Children from our neighborhood would come and eat with us and could even sleep in our house. We had a big house. Since I grew up seeing this happening, I accepted it as normal, but looking back I can see what generous parents I had. I was blessed to be their daughter. God chose the best parents to bring me into the world. Glory be to His Name forever!

As I said earlier, we lived on the farm; well, mom was always home. So when we would come back from church we had to take off our church clothes. We were not allowed to touch church clothes except on Sundays. You see we had different sets of clothes. You could touch any clothes you liked, but do yourself a favour, stay away from church clothes if you know what’s good for you. Only mom and my big sister were ok to touch them during the week, but not us young ones, you got that?

Then Monday comes; we all had to do our chores, and you better complete it or else! We learnt to do our duties pretty fast, and I will tell you why. If you ever came late to school the principal will meet you at the gate not with the drum majorettes but to switch your legs good with the willow stick. That’s sore man! Try it sometimes. You found yourself promising that you’ll never ever come late to school again in your life! However the very following day you’ll be doing it again. Childhood pains! When you walk into the classroom you start singing your timetables. Those things we could recite in our sleep, that was when you would not be found dead with a calculator if you were unfortunate enough to lay your hands on one. You would wish you never had those hands. Of course you wouldn’t tell your parents about those things especially if you knew you were at fault. Those were the wonderful times. We had no bills to pay; ours was to be successful end of the year and to respect teachers.