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The Great Fall

Posted on by Tuksie in Storytelling, Writer

My experience at Robben Island was both emotionally and physically draining. I had to find the balance in the beauty of mother nature. I appreciated the Island’s wealth in this essence. Completely surrounded by the sea, the lush fynbos plants, the countless seashells in the middle of the island that left me wondering how they got that far inland. The deer bouncing around the island, checking for vehicles and people before crossing the tarred roads. Waking up to the loud sounds of the birds and seagulls, which I simply could not ignore. I found much needed solace in the beautiful creation of the Creator.

The weekend was the hardest for me. It was a much needed reminder of my ‘why’. It impressed on my heart the need to jealously guard and protect our hard-gained freedom. Many people suffered a great deal of torment, and torture, for decades, on that Island. They sacrificed their lives so that we may enjoy the freedom we have today.

The trip opened my eyes to the reality that my generation has a different and unique purpose to fulfil. We have the responsibility to, not only protect the gains of thousands political prisoners and fighters who fought for our freedom; but more so, we have the responsibility to advance that freedom. It is incumbent on this generation, my generation, to develop ethical governance and leadership that advances our gained political freedom to all other spheres of our people’s social, political, and economic livelihoods.

This responsibility of the collective starts with the individual. It starts with me.
That led me to a deep introspection.

On the third day on Robben Island, we ‘walked’ from our allocated accommodation which used to house the prison guards; to the maximum security prison that housed the political prisoners. Samantha, my Carer, had the responsibility of assisting me navigate the wheelchair.

On the day of our departure to Robben Island, we rushed to catch the ferry on time. The footrests for the wheelchair were left behind. This made navigating these ‘walks’ as we toured the island a real leg workout session. My left leg had to lift my hemiplegic, weak, right leg, which has very little control and very little weight bearing. My legs’ muscles, particularly around the thigh area, were really feeling the pain from the lifting.

It took one split second, on a perfectly paved level path, rushing to the wheelchair side entrance to join the rest of the cohort that was entering the prison through the main entrance stairs, for my legs to give in. My feet touched the ground and caused me to go flying down. I fell forward – face first, leaving my wheelchair and Samantha behind. Fortunately, I was wearing a face shield. The hard, plastic, protective shield bore the brunt of the scratches that would have been on my face. My head was throbbing, and as I turned around to sit up, my entire body was in pain. My right leg felt numb. I slightly, and repeatedly, dragged it towards my chest with my left hand to see if I would regain feeling. I began to feel a progressively throbbing pain from my knee caused by the impact of the fall – I was relieved.

As I looked up, I realised that the rest of the cohort, the security guards and other tourists’ that were joining the tour, were now facing my direction, some gathered around me, all looking at the scene in absolute shock and horror. I can only imagine their trauma; witnessing a woman on a wheelchair fall off a wheelchair in the most dramatic fashion. Our maximum prison tour was spoilt before it even began.

I collected myself. As soon as my light-headedness subsided, I was assisted onto a different wheelchair, from the prison, that had footrests. One of the security guards kindly offered to drive the wheelchair and help me navigate the prison tour. I was grateful as he was familiar with the prison terrain. That afforded Samantha the opportunity to get over the shock of what had just happened.

The show continued. We resumed the prison tour. I wanted all that attention off me. My body was still in shock.

When I returned to my ‘cell’, the academy personnel had already arranged for the medical team to come examine me. They dressed my bruises and did general tests to make sure that all was well. I took painkillers and had some alone time as the rest of the group continued with the day’s schedule. I retired to my bed to rest and nurse my bruised body and heart.

My first reaction was to not cry over spilt milk and keep the show moving; to not disturb the schedule of the tour, and to ignore my aches and bruises. To keep on moving and to soldier on. As I was lying in bed, I recalled something from the book I was reading. It dealt with the importance of pursuing healing and allowing yourself to lead from a place of vulnerability.

At that moment I realised I had to make some adjustments. I could not just ignore the earlier ‘great fall’. I had to acknowledge that it happened. It happened to me. I had to acknowledge how it made me feel. With that came a flood of uncontrollable tears. I might not have much recollection of the car accident in 2017, but that great fall at Robben Island took me back there. Falling has been a huge trigger for me. It has always sparked my post trauma stress disorder (PTSD). This time it was a trigger and blessing that paved the way to a deeper healing process. Another layer of the onion was removed.

The trip brought enlightenment about the duty of the individual and the collective to guard the gains of the struggle for our country’s freedom. This coupled with my fall, my past, my acknowledged vulnerability and my now, ever changing present. The collective responsibility to protect and advance our democracy. My personal experience on the Island enlightened the importance of pursuing healing.

My country needs to find healing and restoration if we are to step into a better tomorrow. To be intentional in charting a moral and ethical developmental society. To rid our public and private sector of the perpetual injustice and social ills festering in our country, such as corruption. It undermines the efforts to build a better South Africa and further advances the divide between the rich and the poor. It is tipping the scale towards poverty for our people. It is an injustice that cannot be left to self-correct. We have a responsibility to correct it. Together.

The Alcohol Ban

Posted on by Tuksie in Storytelling, Writer

It is day 19 of the lockdown in South Africa. Our government declared a state of disaster which came into effect on 27 March 2020. To enforce the lockdown, a number of regulations were brought into play to support the call to ‘stay at home’. These included the very unpopular ban of alcohol and tobacco sales during the lockdown. This state of disaster reminded of my own ‘disaster’ in 2005.

Our minister of police, Minister Bheki Cele has led the ban against alcohol with so much vigor and passion. I have truly enjoyed his demonstrated absolute commitment and resolution, against many pleas to relax the ban. There have been liquor stores that were broken into, vandalized and looted, as a demonstration of resilience against this ban. However, the minister has remained adamant that there will be no alcohol sold during this time. The strong hand of leadership perhaps.

I found myself reminiscent of the time when I was campaigning for votes that would secure me a spot in the Student Representation Council (SRC) in 2005 at the Stellenbosch University (SU). I was completing the second year of my degree. I was in the worship team at church. Now that I think of it, I probably went to audition because my roommate could sing. I was there simply to make a joyful noise to the Lord. It was still service.

I served in the executive committees of the ANCYL, the Black Students Association (BSA), and was a member of the newly established South African Student Congress (SASCO) in SU. I remember sitting in the food area in the Neelsie, at a table that had become our meeting spot. We affectionately named it the ‘ freedom table’ as the comrades. I remember us finalizing SASCO’s constitution so that SASCO would be registered, and recognized as one of the student forums in SU. In conclusion, I was one of those students who were mostly at the library for a meeting in one of the meeting rooms.

Earlier that year, I had been chosen as one of the students to go on a student leaders’ diversity tour to a number of universities across the United States of America. The group consisted of a wonderful group of student activists, thought leaders and change agents led by the dynamic Professor Edna Van Harte. We returned home from the States with our invisible superhero capes, ready to change not only SU, but the world. We represented different races, genders, all types of boxes you can think of. We were not only representing them, but we were going to make a difference.

As the third quarter began, the SRC campaigns commerced. I do not quiet recall who nomited me to run, however it sparked something inside of me. Another platform to effect change. The superwoman in me rose to the challenge. Nervous and scared out of my wits, I surged on. There had only been ONE African woman in that student body before me. ONE! I was terrified to give the campaign my best shot and fail. It was so much bigger than just me!

At the time when I ran for SRC, the university had 5% black students. That was the overall black student population across all four compusses. There was the main campus in Stellenbosch, the medical campus in Tygerburg, the Military Academy in Saldanah, as well as the Elsenburg Agricultural Training Institute. As an African female student, who’s Afrikaans speaking ability was laughable at most, I hoped opening my mouth and doing a general, very basic greeting ‘in die taal’ would warm up people’s hearts and they would give me an ear. I also knew I had to get most of that 5% black students to go to the voting polls and vote for change.

Initially I reckoned I had a great advantage, I was already serving in the executive committees of the two biggest student forums which that student population belonged to. I was very wrong. The comrades took a decision that no black student should run for SRC. They would not forward nor support any candidate to run. The strategy was not to be represented in the SRC, as a form of protest and defiance. A position that I strongly disagreed with, but I respected it nonetheless. It made very little sense to me. Up until then, there had been no representation from these forums that I knew of in the biggest student body, with the largest budget to drive student programs. The defiance would only reinforce the status quo, and further alienate black students and their needs. I did not see how we could effect change from the outside. Fortunately, I had been nominated to run as an independent candidate. My campaign strategy just had to be smart.

It was that trying to be smart, that produced my Bheki Cele moment of disaster. The Military Academy accounted for most of the 5% black student population. I knew I had to work hard to get them to cast their vote for change. I was so busy focussing on my strategy that I failed to study the student culture at the Military Academy. When we went to campaign in Saldanah, during my campaign speech, I too DENOUNCED the use of alcohol. Up until that moment, my speech was going well. I could see in the student captain’s face that I had messed up big time. Why did I even go there, I wondered. I could kick myself.

After that colossal mishap, I had to rely on the student captain and his student leaders in that campus to save the day. They did not disappoint. With all our combined efforts, two months later I was wearing my SRC blazer and sworn into office. However, what a colossal mishap it was, to tell our training military what they should and should not do in their spare time! This was no laughing matter. How could the girl coming from the Winelands tell other students to not drink. It is a joke I cannot live down even today, whenever I meet my comrades who were at the Military Academy that year.

Almost a decade later, I had established a wine distribution company. My company distributed wines to small and big businesses such as the Cape Town International Convertion Centre and South African Airways. I had dreams of owning the entire business of wine value chain from planting the vines, harvesting, grafting, wine making, bottling, labeling, sales, marketing, and distribution. The same girl from the Winelands had woken up to the opportunity and profitability of the liquor industry. I had woken up to the realization that all things should be done in moderation. I understood that all things are permissible, however not all things are beneficial.

Stay at home and be safe.

A Child-like Mind

Posted on by Tuksie in Storytelling, Writer

We are approaching the seventh day in lockdown in South Africa, an effort to combat the novel Coronavirus pandemic that has the world on its knees. Africa has just recently joined the war, preceded by economic world powers like China, the UK and the USA. Only essential services are permitted to work. With all the time that the ‘stay at home’ campaign has presented us, I could not help but to observe the different human reactions.

I recently came across a video that has gone viral on social media of a middle aged man, on his couch whilst paging through a magazine. As he turned the page, he would see something attractive on that page, he would proceed to ‘pick up’ this imaginery thing from the magazine page and place it in his mouth. Repeatedly he did this as he was paging. I call this doodling to pass time.

The video brought back chilhood memories when we would play a similar game. In my childhood version of this game, there would be two or three players. As we turned the page, we would claim items or objects contained in the magazine as ours. The first one to point at an object and claim it, owned it, there were no arguments there. There was no keeping score or declaring a winner. However, by the time you were finished turning pages of that magazine, you knew if you were walking away with most of your ‘imaginary possessions’ or if you needed to point and claim faster next time. You just knew.

The lockdown has blessed us with time. People are no longer used to the notion of free time, or being in their own company. Timelines on social media are filled with cooking, baking and exercise videos and pictures. There are new book clubs mushrooming everywhere. Some people are just doodling to pass time, whilst some are taking this time to do some introspection. Whichever it is, inboxes and direct messages are busier than usual.

It has been just under a week since we went into lockdown. It took a few days for one or two exes to come out of the woodworks. Coupled with a few suitors who fell victim to ‘the one that got away strategy’ for whatever reason. I have always maintained that ‘when in doubt, run’ and quiet a runner I have been. I digress.

These ‘Hi Kela’ or ‘Hi Beautiful’ messages reminded me of that middle aged man, on his couch, eating up all his ‘imaginary possessions’ that he is enticed with on each magazine page. The courage and bravery that it takes to draft that message, reaching out, very aware that the objects contained in that magazine are not within your reach, but reaching out anyway. The joys of being childlike, nothing is truly out of reach. The imagination is able to take you to a different reality where dreams are real, and reality is just a place to pursue those dreams. A place to make the ‘imagination’ the new reality.

Boredom is real. Use your free time wisely 😉

I have come to realise that wheelchair access is a novelty.

Posted on by Tuksie in Storytelling, Writer

I do not like to complain, however I need to vent. Hopefully this will be a call to action, to challenge the status quo!

It is shocking how businesses have no wheelchair access! I am disgusted and saddened!

I am a mother to two amazing boys, I call them my kings. Recently my kings were called in for a casting. They are under age therefore they must be accompanied by a parent or an adult. I enquired from the person from the agency if they have access for wheelchair (because I have learnt the hard way that I can not assume there is), and they do not! A studio that has been in existence for decades, credible, reputable modeling and talent agency! Zero wheelchair access! Shocking to me. So my babies had to go to the casting without their mother, because ‘unfortunately there’s no wheelchair access’.

Sadly this is not just about the agency. It’s a huge problem that we face in this country. In the almost two years that I have been on this chair, I choose not to go to the cinema, concerts, plays, we even order in most of the time.

Last time we had a movie date with the kings I was informed that I had to sit away from my family. Sadly I could not accept the suggested ‘naughty corner’ approach whilst paying the same as everyone else for the experience. I insisted that a plan must be made so that I can sit with my son. An old uncomfortable office chair was brought in. He spilt the cool drink and popcorn, because the office chair that we were given did not have a cooldrink and popcorn holder as we are accustomed to. Needless to say neither I nor my son enjoyed the experience. This is one of many stories I can tell.

When is this going to change? Do we need to create our own ‘Hello Peter’ to name and shame businesses who treat us as an after thought?