Posted in story of me

Happy Independence day!

My older sister and I

Having grown up in Africa I was never made aware of American Independence Day,
until I found out my sister was born on the 4th of July.
It almost made her more noble in my eyes.
I still have a sketchy knowledge of American Independence;
we learnt English history at school.
My parents were of British descent and never really talked about it.
My mother did however talk about the *GI brides she met during the war,
and the provision of significant military supplies and other assistance
to the Allies made by the United states.

As a child I grew up watching Hollywood movies and series’ and this gave me
a great love for America and her people.
A friend of mine was an exchange student in Denver for a year
and when she came back, she had an American accent.
I was so jealous and tried to copy it, I’ve always had a kind of
romantic attachment.

I feel united through this global community and I’m grateful to have found
many amazing American friends through my blog.
I would love to be there to celebrate with fireworks and see the parades,
but perhaps one day.

I am endeavoring to learn more about different cultures and practices
and I want to remain open to the light within every human on this planet.

*GI Brides…More than 60,000 women wed by American servicemen during World War II hoped to leave their old homes behind and rejoin their husbands for a new life in the United States. However, for these “War Brides” restrictive American immigrations policies posed a major challenge.

Posted in story of me

Beyond myself…

I go beyond myself
to a place
I can’t conceive,
a spiritual moment
a presence
I believe,
beyond borders,
on the other side of time,
I feel
a rhythm
a movement
that’s sublime…
where grace exists
and love is all I know,
it’s a wonder
where joy overflows,
and I can’t explain
how I came
to reside in peace,
it’s a location where
doubt is being released…
And the knowing
is built into my bones
a place
I can’t forget,
a depiction
of home… 


Posted in story of me

A Sonnet to the Easter Bunny…

lindt easter bunny

How do I love thee, let me count the ways,
on Sundays and Mondays, and holidays?

I love thee to the depth my taste buds can reach,
even when I’m out and when I’m under siege!

I love thee with the intensity of hazelnut and fudge,
in candlelight I love thee because you never judge…

I love thee purely and crunchy too,
in the late afternoons,
and when I’m blue!

In my dusty cupboards, you hide away,
I munch you with a passion that I cannot explain!

These old cravings and childish fantasies,
I love thee infinitely, with such capacity!

With Joy and laughter, I know I should eat grapes,
I love thee even though you’ve changed my shape…


Posted in story of me, Throwback Thursday

A child of Nature’s wonderment…

“I knew who I was this morning, but I’ve changed a few times since then.”
― Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass

dance 2

I found my bliss in Bulawayo,
surrounded by a gaggle of ducks,
some noisy bantams and a dog named Judy…
Somehow, I knew from an early age that I was different,
a dreamer, an artist, a seer of visions.
(not recommended in a household of intellectuals)…

I was a child of nature’s wonderment
and spent many happy hours outdoors.
I clearly remember the first time I planted seeds
in my own corner of the garden,
the utter joy at seeing them sprout
from the hard-dry earth.
Everything seemed like a miracle back then,
alive with possibility…

The night skies were spectacular in Bulawayo
and I would lie on the crisp yellow grass
in the evenings watching the stars.
I had a sense that I was not alone in the vastness of everything
and a loving presence was always with me…

I was not popular in school, just a shy, dull and not very bright little girl
or that’s what I told myself…

I recall picking daisies and wild grasses in the garden
and putting them in a jar to decorate my room.
I loved climbing the giant tree outside our kitchen,
riding my bike to school in the rain
and listening to the latest pop records
while my brother played DJ in the next room.
I fell in love with all my brothers’ friends
but sadly it was unrequited…

Living in this magical Universe, I was untouched by the harsh realities of the world.

Though I deeply desired to be famous,
I shrunk away from too much attention,
actually feeling like a lost child, misplaced, and really quite odd!

I took up ballet when I was a little older,
I loved to dance, but I gave it up because
the other girls were prettier and slimmer than I was,
and I felt thoroughly out of place…

I loved tea parties with lashings of cake, Sunday lunches,
and lying next to the pool day-dreaming.
We were only allowed to drink coca-cola on weekends.
I still love the sweet, fizzy taste on a hot afternoon,
it elicits memories of a time when life was less complicated…

We had a kind, gentle man who cleaned our house,
he made the beds and did all the domestic chores.
His quiet, humble presence made me love him like a Father.
When I got home from school
he would make marmite and egg sandwiches
and we would listen to the radio together.

Though it was forbidden, I remember sneaking
into his room just to take a peek.
It was cold and bare with dark walls and a spring bed.
There was a prima stove on a tiny table in the corner.

I couldn’t comprehend why we lived in relative comfort
while he lived in an impoverished setting
drinking his tea from a jam jar…
(it makes me cry just thinking about it)
I was just a child unaware of the atrocities of that time,
and yet he was one of the most beautiful, grateful, humble human beings I have ever met…

We had to leave Bulawayo abruptly when I was about fifteen,
but my heart is still buried there, in the dusty earth…



Posted in story of me

Lost in the City

I’m writing a Memoir to my son….this is an excerpt…

merciless city

It was a Friday,
just one week after my son’s passing,
and we were unable to find
the Master of the High Court,
the purveyor of closure.
Ghastly paperwork was needed.
to untangle
some of
the nightmare we were living..

I found myself standing outside a trendy Coffee Shop,
somewhere in the City,
in the blazing hot sun,
afraid of a future without my youngest son,
trying to fathom out where I was
and how I got there.

Right in front of me,
sitting at the alfresco Coffee Bar
were about a dozen young guys,
drinking coffee and laughing,
living life the way it is supposed to be lived…

and this was me, a broken-hearted Mother,
whose son had just died,
spinning out of control,
hardly able to keep it together,
sobbing in the street,
tears gushing forth unashamedly,
my grief too severe to care who was watching!

In that moment
all I wanted was to shout out,
“I just lost my son, and there you are, carrying on like nothing happened,
shouldn’t the World have stopped moving,
fallen off its axis,
or at the very least been a little gentler with me today?”
What would they have thought,
would they have taken a moment
to care?
Or was this just another day in the City,
a desperate woman
ranting in the hot sun,
being hooted at by passing traffic!

A City where suffering lurks on every corner,
sometimes wrapped up in a bottle of booze.

The Staff at the Coffee Shop asked my eldest son what was wrong,
and he told them about his brother.
I saw their eyes fill with intense pity
and it washed over me like a channeled kind of healing.
It was a knowing,
that somehow they understood.
There were no words,
no condolences,
just a silent gesture
a wave to sit down
and drink my coffee,
all would be okay…