Aunty Gail's After Church Tea & Pastries
My great-grandmother (MA) would make a stop by her daughter, Gail, after church down the road. After attending the early 7:30AM service, Aunty Gail would have tea and doughnut pastries dusted with coconut flakes, known as koeksisters, ready. My mom would pick either my granny up or both of us and make our way through to the waterfront side, listening to the radio. The channel, Heart104.9, forever engrained played old songs from Patti Labella to Ashanti, to sometimes new hits by Sam Smith. A small gesture, but three generations of women were jiving to good music and soaking in the sun and company of one another.My grandmother's sister, Gail, has lived at Muska place for as long as I can remember and always knew how to entertain. Even though my mom, granny, and I moved to the United States, we still treat 19 Muska Place like home when we visit.Northpine was known as the garden city and derives from the many pine trees that used to stand tall in the northern suburbs of Cape Town. During apartheid, this area adopted the "best practice" of garden cities or suburbanization for colored people. Most of my family, starting from my grandfather and grandmother, purchased a house here because it was one of the limited options they had, even though they worked in the city center (about 45 minutes away). Their occupations, along with Aunty Gail's, included education and healthcare jobs that required Grade 8 plus two years of high school. When we stop by Aunty Gail's place it is filled with memories and history of the good times of familly bonding and the worst. I am grateful for Aunty Gail being a bonding ageny of the family and always keeping the contact between the cousins, aunty's uncles, and children.
Picture Perfect Table Mountain View
My mom brought us to this spot for as long as I can remember. Rain or shine, Table Mountain stands tall and beautiful amidst any problems in the household or on the political spectrum. A moment away from everyday norms, going to school, buying groceries, and listening to the radio. We would sit in the car, usually after church or lunch, sure to grab a soft-serve ice cream along the way (my favorite was the chocolate-vanilla mix). On a sunny day, I would get out of the car, set up a towel with a bowl of watermelon, and enjoy the sounds of the waves, running in and out of the water, dodging the barreling waves. I would join my mom for a walk along the beach, walking toward the mountain and witnessing the kitesurfers with large tankers in the background. In awe of their courage to fly in unpredictable water, I later came to appreciate their stillness and discipline in the water so that it may guide their actions and enjoy the fun the ocean had to offer. This spot is now known as Blaauwberg, from Dutch meaning Blaau-blue Berg-mountain, and a popular destination for expatriates and wealthy foreigners. Many South Africans did not get to enjoy these beaches because communities of color, specially colored and black communities, were pushed back into industrial towns. Most of Cape Town was inhabited by the Khoi-San people, an umbrella term for the nomadic people of southwestern Africa combined with the bushmen (San). Khoi-San people were pushed into reservations after violent captures by the Dutch colonialists and transferred authority to British control.Most Khoi-San speaks Afrikaans, a language native to South Africa, combining Xhosa, Dutch, German, and English. I am proud and honored to have learned Afrikaans and speak to my great-grandmother in Afrikaans at least once a week. Every chance I get home, this spot grounds me and reminds me where I come from. No matter how far out I travel, the mountain unchanging and the view everlasting, this spot ties together family drives and happy memories and encourages me to explore the world curiously and cautiously. I do not feel foreign at this spot. I am at home, with my memories in the sand, history in the mountain, and dreams in the water, and my mother by my side.
Sunday Lunch and Relaxation
Kevi's Good Food & Garden
My grandfather's house was the community house, anyone could stop by, and there was always a plate of food for them. The Google Maps picture does not do the "garden" justice, as it may have been a transitional period. In the front yard, he would plant his prettiest flowers, and in the back was the vegetable garden and a few fruits, such as the banana tree and lemon tree.His neighbor, Mrs. VanBoom, had an avocado tree that I helped myself to when the branches drooped low. Mrs. VanBoom was an elderly lady and, last I remember, quite strict when she caught me. Kevin, my grandfather, also had a papaya tree, but I have never been a fan of papaya or honeydew.My grandfather lived alone and was my mother's rock when she had me at 19. I grew up, quite literally, in these closets and came to enjoy the holiness my grandfather always had. From teaching me how to cook after a Sunday out with my mother, we would always stop by and say hello.My grandfather's house taught me lessons about what it means to have a community outside the family. The train tracks were one street down, and boys would sneak into the neighborhood and get involved with drugs and drug mules in the squatter camps nearby. My grandfather was a tiny man, towering at 5'6 ft, and knowing that these boys were involved with criminal activities saw their need for food, shelter, and love. He would let these boys stay with him, feed them, and provide them with resources to explore job activities since he worked as an English moderator for the Education Department. And if academics did not work, he would connect them with vocational training such as welding, landscaping, and gardening.
Best Hello & Hardest Goodbye
Like most airports, it is both exciting and sad to see my family come and go. Since my grandmother moved to the United States in 2006 and makes annual trips, it has been a place filled with excitement to see what she brought back. After moving to the United States, my cousins and uncles slowly made their way to us in the United States. Ma is 93 but will make it her mission to go to every airport event, whether it is seeing family off or welcoming them in.Cape Town International Airport is situated near the poverty-stricken Bishop Lavis, a previously forced-segregated colored community. My great-grandmother raised her four children near this airport on her own Bishop Lavis is constantly beaten down by the corrupt government, lack of resources, and profuse drugs and crimes. It is a hard truth that reveals the struggles of the people of Cape Town. Yet the resilience of the children, filled with laughter playing marbles on the street as their parents sell miscellaneous items.Cape Town's airport has become my "see you later" whether I am saying goodbye to Ma and my family or calling my granny and friends in the United States to let them know I have made it home safely. A gateway into a home where I assume my role of making tea for all the aunties and find my childhood curiosity and joy in exploring any challenges near or far.
