FORGOTTEN DURBAN

Since a recent post in which I remembered the rickshaws of my childhood, little did I know that I was to come to learn far more about the history of the rickshaw and of Durban itself.

The years from 1910 to 1933. A Durban most of us never knew. A small town with houses and gardens, no high rises or streets inundated with traffic, road rage unheard of, a pace of life we cannot imagine.

In the year 1904 there were approximately 2 000 registered pullers. At first they were the Japanese type holding only one passenger and having a wooden wheel.

All Durban's steep roads had notices at the top stating "DANGEROUS TO RICKSHAWS". The signs were all red with white lettering so the illiterate knew what it meant.
 Residents needing transport would lift up an arm and yell "Shaw" and would attract the attention of all within hearing distance who would rush to his assistance.  Pretty much the same thing happens today, we raise our arm and yell "Taxi" and are flattened by at least 6 taxis who have this rather aggressive little man who jumps off before the taxi stops, in an attempt to collect as many passengers as he can before anyone else gets to you. He often goes so far as to wrestle you away from other bizarre little men in their own attempts to abduct you. Quite traumatic when one has cornered you and actually drags you by the arm. If you want to reduce your chances of this happening, never, never look for a taxi near the Workshop.

On the up side, I only have to walk out of my door and my taxi awaits to take me to where I want to go, and returns me to my front door.

Take a look at Smith Street. Don't even have to look both ways here, no danger of being knocked down.  No more Smith Street of course, or West,  Aliwal, Pine and others. Overnight some genius changed all the names and now the only people who know them are tourists who come to Africa armed with their "know how" books on the geography of Africa.

Here we have Addington Hospital. In this picture it looks like a country estate.  Today's reality of course is quite different. Queues fill the corridors, and NEVER get in the wrong queue, because after 3 hour in the wrong  queue you will have to start again in another queue ... for another 3 hours. The staff still don't recognise patients who have been going monthly for 15 years or more, they change the system every 2 months and lose your file every month, which is probably why they fail to recognise faithful, longstanding patients.

  Above is Florida Road and Musgrave Road. Florida Road is host to enormous New Years Eve parties every year. See the old bus which ran on tram lines

Albert Park and Berea Road have the rickshaws with their pullers waiting for passengers.

Unbelievable? Believe it!

Thank you for strolling back through time with me to a Durban forgotten, a Durban remembered by few. 

I would love to spend just one day with them.

                                                                           

RICKSHAWS AND CYPERSPACE

Growing up I was privileged  to experience yearly holidays from Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) to Durban. It was a three day journey by car.

Bearing in mind that this was a pre-technology era, no TV and certainly no cell phones or computers, we derived our entertainment by using our imaginations and worked with what we had. I had two great parents and two sisters who were much younger than I was and who were no fun to

be around whilst we were growing up, but who are great to be with now!

My dad was in the Air Force and we lived in Thornhill which was the married quarters.

To get to Durban we would travel to Beit Bridge, which is the border between Zimbabwe and South Africa. As we crossed the bridge going over the Limpopo River joining the two countries, the border is marked by a change of tar colour half way across, and it was with much excitement that we crossed this line and shrieked with joy as we debated who was first over the border. It would obviously be the ones sitting in the front!

L

Lovely, isn't it?

Our first stop was Pretoria where we would stay with my grandparents. We would spend Christmas with Uncles, Aunts and cousins. Us children would fill the lounge and dining room with mattresses, catching up with the cousins was huge fun.

Then onto Durban to more grandparents. They lived in Gilletts, just outside Durban. We would set out for the beach each day.  Traveling down Fields Hill towards the city, we would catch glimpses of the sea, and of course, we also had competitions as to who would see the sea  first!

My favourite, the RICKSHAW RIDES!! In those days they were everywhere and very glamorous with their enormous head dresses which were so colourful and spectacular adorned with beautiful beadwork, horns and whistles, together with the traditional Zulu atire, they would leap into the air and I would have ridden in them all day.... and in my child's mind there seemed to be hundreds of them lining  Durban's Beach Front.


This means of transport was brought to South Africa in the late 19th century by sugar magnate Sir Marshall Campbell and was imported from Japan. These Zulu men were very proud to be the owner of a Rickshaw.


Today our children have very different forms of entertainment, cell phones that do everything except eat, computers which are a wonderful playground for everyone, including myself! It its own way, gives us as much fun and entertainment as the Rickshaws of my childhood.


How full my life has been, I have experienced the best of both worlds, and wouldn't have it any other way.

THOSE DREADFUL SHAWARM A'S!!!!!!!!!

It is an age since I blogged, or even visited my blog, or visited anyone else's for that matter. The reason? I have a full time job and there are literally not enough hours in the day.

I miss it greatly, but I MADE IT TODAY.

I manage a Shawarma shop. Shawarma's to take away or customers can sit at a counter where they attempt to eat them before they fall out of the wrapping, as it is an art you see, the wrapping of it and the eating of it. Quite a skill, very messy skill.

I soon learned that I had to educate myself a bit re the dreaded shawarma. Soon after starting, I was asked where they came from. I stared  blankly at the customer and tried desperately to search my mind for an intelligent answer.  Alas, none came to mind and the customer went off thinking they came from Italy. That night I googled Shawarma...  

                                                   ARABIA!!

Now I know and so do all of you.

Having had that experience I went about educating myself on the other foodstuffs and drinks we sell. I noticed the colours of the Vitamin drinks was significant, for example : c's and b's (vitamins of course) was murky white, D+quarana was yellow, and A-zinc was white etc, so to avoid telling some analyst coming in and asking what they are all for, I will have a more intelligent answer to give them than "dunno but its good for you". 

It would of couse be easier if they just bought coke, the whole world knows what a coke is, or a Coke Zero, Sprite Zero and other Zero's. They are for diabetics which I know as I am married to a diabetic, who is very strict about buying the zero's as it is good for him  being diabetic, {as he washes a chocolate down with it).

I sound like the local MD.

Then there are the really  bad things to buy, the  best things of all, like fried everything....chips, chicken and fish nuggets etc.  We also sell "Pap and Wors" .......yuk..... sorry Pap lovers.

On a more serious note, far too many people  live well below the breadline.  The number of people who live on the streets has never been brought home to me more strongly than now. People are coming into the shop looking for work, food or money daily. Far too many people are unemployed and there are not enough jobs available. When hungry people come into the shop asking for food, it is  very hard to turn them away when I look poverty and hunger in the face.

There but for the Grace of God go I............

LEST WE FORGET

The Holocaust Kingdom. life in the Warsaw Ghetto, I come to the last page and I close the  book. I had shed many tears throughout the reading of this true story of a family of 3 who survived for 6 years in World War II, who were separated  yet miraculously found one another at the end of the war.

Parents, knowing that the old, young and sick were to be exterminated, made alternative arrangements for their children outside the Ghetto Walls, in the free sector.

Those who survived Ghetto life with its food shortages and lack of medical supplies were then faced with the first resettlement program. People were chosen randomly and sent to different POW camps in cattle trucks. Some never made it.

The walls were re-designed to make it smaller. Life continued for a while until the second resettlement program got under way. Young, sick and old were shot, and the walls were once again changed to make the ghetto smaller still, less than half the original number were living there at this point.

During this time, the Jews knew that life for them was only going to get worse and the realisation that total extermination  of the Jews had been the plan all along and  they had been living in false hope of ever escaping. The youth formed an underground movement and planned an uprising.  So the remaining residents made tunnels interleading from one apartment to another, until they could move from block to block without being seen or going outside.

It took l week for the Jews to be flushed out of their "warren" and this was done by setting the Ghetto on fire. 

The last of them were sent to POW camps and the Warsaw Ghetto lay deserted.

Their war was an unbearable war of survival, they lived in fear, many feared death and many  prayed for it.

The above photos are taken of the Warsaw Ghetto at the time of the uprising. See the little girl above with her arms up and the soldier in the background. I wonder what life she had, if any.

                              

The man in the picture above is my father. He fought in the Korean War in 1951/52.  I do not know this young man, but he was a young man on an adventure, for I truly feel he did not believe he knew the full horror of what could have been his fate. and I quote:

"Although it happened 56 years ago, it seems like yesterday that we all set off with such boyish zest." Taken from the book FLYING CHEETAHS IN KOREA.

He married my mother and they moved to Rhodesia where he joined the Rhodesian Air Force, and was just in time  to face the war there

It had now become my mother's war.

I still see the worry on her face while he was out clocking up flying hours, night flying, circuits and bumps, and as we lived near the Air Force base, they were flying right above us.  I close my eyes, I see my mom curled up in her chair wearing her red gown, she looks pale and she says "I worry every time he is up there." I was 10 years old and I had been introduced to fear and the knowledge that my parents could  be taken from me. I just never imagined that parents could do that. Loss had not touched me yet. He always came home, but the seed had  been planted in my mind.

I grew up and yes, would you believe it, I married a policeman in the British South Africa Police,

It had now become my war. 

For seven years we lived with call ups of 6 weeks home, six weeks border duty. Worry dogged my every step, life for me trying to raise small children was not as it should be. In fact, it would be correct to say that my mom and I raised them a lot of the time. 

Will my children know their father? Will he walk the girls down the isle? or will we be among the many broken lives left in the wake of wars gone before us, and will the politicians even know we existed?

                                  Pictures of the Rhodesian Bush War               

 Bonds for survival are forged in times of war. Soldier to soldier as they watch one another's backs, wives to wives as they draw towards one another for strength, support and comfort, they become mom and dad to their children, become independent as learn to change plugs, change car tyres and make important decisions on their own.

Whether you have entered into combat. survived years in a POW camp, been a housewife keeping the home fires burning, or a child with no father, you are still a soldier in your own right.

So, take a bow soldiers worldwide, who fought your own wars, winning some, losing some, they  will be with you forever.

They have left their mark on all the little people, the ones who had no voice at all.                                                     

                                                                                    

DISABLED - BUT NOT STUPID

Know someone who is deaf? Blind? or otherwise disabled?

They may be all of these things, and you may try to avoid being in their company, but don't, the next time you find yourself in the company of a disabled person, go to them, turn a blind eye to their disability and see a whole person, a normal, functioning person, treat them with respect, as an equal, for they may be disabled, but they are not stupid, and their feelings can be deeply hurt by insensitive treatment.

In the picture above are deaf children of 5 years old.  They were the pre-school class I taught at a school  which was in Bophuthaswana (now renamed) just outside Rustenburg on the way to Sun City.

As a teacher of children WITHOUT encumberances of any sort, this little group gave me tremendous insight as to the ability these children have, and how they learn.

I taught them spacial development, eye-hand, eye-foot co-ordination, colours and sizes, shapes and all the same perceptive development skills that hearing children learn, but through a different medium.

They had "face names", for example, the little boy holding my son (the white child), his name was "Doctor" called by others by placing 2 fingers across their foreheads. When he was a baby he had a drip in his head and it left a scar. I would catch the eye of someone, put 2 fingers on my forehead, and the message was well understood, about 3 or 4 children would run to him and turn him to face me! So it was with them all.

One day I noticed one little girl with a toy tambourine held to her ear. She was beating a 3/4 (waltz time) beat, her feet kept in time with the tapping on the tambourine and I remember thinking " how does she even KNOW what a beat is and how to dance keeping the correct rhythm. 

Below is a picture of all the children, I had 8, one was absent on this day, and there sits my son amongst them all!

Meal times. Each in his world of silence. They were easy to control and quiet most of the time.

We took them to Pick 'n Pay one day on an outing.  I did not know what to expect - bedlam I think, but was very pleasantly surprised. We all climbed into the back of what looked like a cattle truck, it had a green tarpaulin over it, and the children all ducked their heads underneath to see what the world looked like outside of the school grounds!

Once we arrived in Rustenburg, we all disembarked, arranged everyone in rows and set of on our big adventure. How amazing it was to discover that it was not unlike a trip with any other children, through the medium of signing we discussed the goods on the shelves, the colours, sizes of the containers, what everything was for etc. They were keen to learn rather than run up and down the isles, which is what I had been afraid of.

Most of the children at the school matriculated eventually, learning as much as hearing children, learning braille as they grew older, which of course enabled them to read, opening up a whole new world for them. They could lip read and speak out loud by the age of 10 - 18 years, and eventually many of them become contributing members of society.  Unfortunately, not all of them have the opportunity.

I often used to think "there but for the grace of God go I"

COINCIDENC ES............SO MANY?

Above are the grans, the baby is my eldest daughter Shirley

 

We have just come to the end of May.

May is the month that leaves me exhausted, I feel as though I have spent a month in "Las Vegas on steroids."

It is as though someone rolled 6 dice and only one number came up on them all.

When I have time to myself and am in a reflective mood, I mull over the people in my life, and when  I REALLY have nothing to do, I think of...... well..... useless information? It doesn't teach me anything, but I have a lot a fun with it.

These are some of the people who have left footprints on my memories as they have walked across my life.

The first picture above is one of the two grans (the baby is Shirley my eldest daughter). The gran on the left passed away in the month of May 30 years ago. Her husband, grandpa, lived one year to the month after her until he too passed away.

Then in May last year, their son, the father of my children, and their beloved father was taken from us all in a senseless car accident. Natalia is getting a hug from Grandpa. This photo was taken 5 months before the accident.

It happened in the same week that Mother's day fell, and was an exceptionally emotional time for the  family as we all gathered to pay our last respects, it was also the first time I had all my children with me at one time since they were in school.

The funeral party

That is a lot of emotional activity for one month, one I consciously need to prepare for, and one in which I need to be strong for my children, although I feel broken inside for them. I need much inner strength during  times of their heartaches, and there are many.   I think of  what my mom has been though in her life, and how, with strength and character, she has faced it, and put herself last, and I always knew she come through for me. She never let me down.

OTHER COINCIDENCES IN MAY

Eleven.

My eldest son in law is eleven  years younger than I am, and Shirley, my daughter and his wife is eleven years younger than he is.

 That would be Shirley in the picture above. This photo was taken at her dad's funeral last May.

Shirley was eleven when her brother Brian was born (really). He started class 1 in school when she started matric. 

Above is Brian, eleven years Shirley's junior, and he is holding his baby son Nathan, and would you believe that Shirley's eldest daughter was eleven when he was born!

So ya'll, whose next?

 

13?...An excellent number!!!!

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13. To be 13 was, to me, many years ago, like owning the keys  that would open as many doors as I wanted to.

                                                                  WRONG!!!!!

"I don't want ANY  teenage tantrums from you just because you are a teenager today." Those were the first words out of my mothers mouth before she wished me happy birthday. She could have said it yesterday it is that clear in my mind.

I used the same line on my children when they turned 13 but they did what they wanted to do anyway, however, they joined the human race around 20.

What a downer it was to me though.  Rebellion. (Sorry mom) That set the essence of my relationships with EVERYONE until I was 19 and engaged. By then I had realised that those keys I coveted at 13 were only mine to use when I turned 21, and despite the fact that I was soon to be a wife, I  STILL did not have them.

I did, however, feel very grown up, and that young girl is lurking in the recesses of my mind today as my first grandchild, Victoria-Leigh, turned 13 two days ago. I remember her clearly as she was in the first photo you see above, In the next picture, my favourite one of all, she is super gorgeous, and in the 3rd picture she has about a week to go before the big 13, and she has started her new life with her family in England. Spring over there, and we are going into winter!

I wish for her only good and wonderful things, I pray she will be wise and happy and make good choices in life, and that one day the story of her life with be like a beautiful tapestry, one fit for a King!!

Happy birthday my Angel, you are always in my heart and you are a blessing in our lives.