Apartheid, rugby and all that jazz...

Sorry, it has been a while since my last post. I've been working like a slave horse on a project which has kept me - well ... exhausted. But its all worth it - I've achieved something quite astounding and that feeling - man, its a rush!

Weirdly, at the same time, I picked up a book I had purchased in December and hadn't had time to read yet - "Playing The Enemy" a book on which the film "Invictus" was based. The combination of the two experiences has made me a very emotional little Saffa.. and here's why...

So..the book first. Its a wonderful story - not only because its personal to me, as a South African, not because its about Mandela, whom I love and admire, not because its about the greatest Rugby game in history, but ... because its message is universal - there is hope, there are ways to overcome the odds and one person can make a difference. Its solid gold.

So I am also a victim of apartheid - I am white, I'm an eighties baby, I'm English, well-educated and moderate. I never voted for the National Party - in fact, the first time I was able to vote was in the first "democratically free and fair elections" and guess what, I didn't. At 18, I didn't know what the f*** was going on. All I knew, was that it was complex and scary. So I didn't do anything. Man, all I wanted to do was see a decent band!

Biggest plus for me about Mandela being freed was that finally we could start engaging with the rest of the world. The Afrikaner right, was as alien to me as the black left (or "swaart gevaar") I just didn't get it. Terreblanche on a horse with swastikas was as weird to me as the "africans" necklacing each other (this involved putting a burning tyre around someone's neck and burning them to death) - had I HAD TO CHOOSE, I think I would've chosen the fat drunk white guys on horses....understandably so?

I had grown up in a climate I despised. I was a teenager, who wanted to meet boys, go to concerts, travel, shop, listen to music, and be normal - with normal opportunities. I detested authority and I hated my country. I wanted to live - I was, to put it bluntly, just plain sick of politics. I didn't like the "dutchmen" and I didn't like the "terrorists". I just wanted to live a normal life. I look back and smile at this younger version of myself - but you have to understand, we did not know any better. And were my desires so weird?

I grew up in such an isolated and insulated world - my parents (who were moderately liberal - aka PFP as it was called then) did try explain things to me - but I was sick of it and didn't want to hear. I hated the fact that we had bomb threats - I didn't feel comfortable with my maid living in a small room - I had been bullied by Afrikaners for being a "rooinek" - which means "red neck" not in the US way, but a term that was created for my type - the anglo-saxons, who burnt badly in the African sun. I was mocked about my very bloody English name and for being - well - middle class and English. But, I , and my parents, were born in Africa - we knew no other home. I was neither "African" nor "Afrikaner", I was a rooinek, an "Engelse" or a daughter of a nice "madam" depending on which side you looked at me from. But - I was, undoubtedly, a victim of apartheid and more importantly, a South African. At the same time I was despised internationally for being a white South African - and I'm going HUH? I did not vote or choose this shit, and I'm tired of apologising. As the Arabs say - Kalaas!

I didn't realise it at the time, but I was part of the "integration" experiment - at the age of about 14, some black kids joined our school. It was no biggie - they were a little different to us - but hey - we had Jews (Jewish), Porras (Portuguese), Greeks, Dutchmen (Afrikaners), coloureds (a uniquely South African "classification"), indians - you name it - we had it and it was fine! So my Jewish friends didn't like to mix milk and meat and I was like - bummer - no cheese burgers? I did do a few shabbat dinners and liked them - still adore candles - and - I don't eat meat... so my "African" friends liked hip hop and wearing converse (both of which I approved - definitely cool) and my porra & lebo (lebanese) friends had the best lunch boxes - by far! But so what - it made no impact in terms of how I saw them as people - and such is the beauty of the very young.

You may, justifiably so, at this point, question the well-educated thing - but we were taught a very weird version of world history - basically it involved Voortrekkers in weird outfits and a whole lot of oxen... and some scary black guy called Dingaan and lots of guys in loin cloths with spears who "could NOT BE TRUSTED" and corrupt English people, who "could NOT BE TRUSTED"... And we learnt this version of history every year - and it was - given our broader education system - highly BORING! If I have one regret (other than my passport and visa issues) of being South African, is the fact that I was denied so much information.

I also had a very brief flirtation with religions other than Christianity - it involved 4 slides in one day (in those days on a projector) on all these way-out religions like Judaism, Islam and Buddhism. At the same time, and here we get to the nub of the complexity in South Africa, I had Jewish Lebo, Porra & Muslim friends and, to some extent, "African" friends- as us useless moderates used to call them. And weirdly, the only one that spoke up about this obvious "contraction" in our "other world religions" syllabus was me - it got me kicked out of class - something I was not all that opposed to as it meant I could openly bunk class instead of sitting there listening to something, I knew in my very stinted way, was flawed. One thing I admire about the young is their absolute respect for honesty.

The "Africans" were cool kids too - the way many things are with the youth. Yeah there were some of the jocks that joked about the "k***irs" but I didn't like the jocks anyway. They seemed dull and quite stupid. Oh and they used to bully me too... And I so DID NOT GET the rugby thing. My Mum - bless her - tried to explain the significance of the 1995 game, but for me - it was all the same shite - politics and ugh, stinky rugby! Boere and politics - so NOT my thing...

So... that "game" in 1995 flipped my world. As naive and ignorant as I was, I could not help but be drawn into the fever that enveloped my country after the rugby world cup. I, had decided at a very young age, to not watch rugby - thats what those "bastard afrikaner, meat eating, fat, racist" bullies did. Yes, I admit at my age, it was all quite simple - everyone fitted into a neat box. The "others". My ambivalence was my stance.

I have to admit I only watched the second half of the game, I saw Joel's drop kick and I sat, like many other South Africans, in a sheer state of tension - not because this was a game that would unite our nation - but because - after years and years and years of being denied the opportunity to compete on an international stage, we were finally getting the opportunity to do so. And me, the uncompromising "hater of rugby" all of a sudden fell in love, with the game and more importantly, my new president and my country. The "street scenes" after the game, destroyed my ambivalence - as it did millions of South Africans. These largely artificial boundaries started to crumble - I started to realise it wasn't because I was lucky that I met "cool" black guys and "cool" afrikaans people - there were cool people everywhere - and all of us, by chance, circumstance, sheer shitty luck or perhaps, blessing - were "South African" And a new "me" was born.

Nelson Mandela, with his cheeky grin, buttoned up rugby shirt and his obvious joy, was somebody, I, like countless other South Africans could finally identify with. And all of a sudden, I got "gees" - an Afrikaans term for spirit or soul.

Will we survive when Madiba dies - yes, we will. His legend lives on in our hearts, in our soul, in our beautiful country and in the youth he managed to influence.

So this post doesn't answer any questions - and it possibly raises many - I'm trying, as honestly as I can, explain the complexity that exists and how very, very special and how very tentative our experiment in "collaboration" is. Nkosi sikelel' iAfrika. O se boloke, o se boloke - Uit die blou and ringing out from our blue heavens and all that Jazz!