Coming of age was an important time in a South African's life. It was especially significant for me. I was working, earning a salary, and living with some friends in a shared flat. Unfortunately, the lady who held the lease for our flat died. So, my friend and I had to move out. That same year, my dad also passed away, and my mother relocated to a nearby city, so I went to stay with her for a few months.

 

Reflecting on that time, I distinctly remember one night when I heard some noise outside. I looked through the window from the second floor and saw two white men beating up a black man. It happened quickly, but it was the first time I witnessed the brutal reality of Apartheid. Growing up, I had been somewhat sheltered from what was happening beyond my front door. I remember seeing that scene and, in my heart, saying, "This is not right, and I don’t like it."

 

Politically, my dad was quite a 'left-winger.' Unfortunately, we never had the privilege of meaningful talks with him. So, we never knew his true thoughts and feelings. This is something I find very sad. His closest friend was Costa, a Greek man who owned a café and corner store that my dad often visited. He was the only one who had deep conversations with my dad. I recall one time, during an election, my dad had leaflets printed. They asked people to vote for him. He sent my siblings and me out to distribute these leaflets by placing them in people's mailboxes.

 

That election year, I was still in primary school. My brothers warned me not to use the big gate, which all the kids used. They told me the big gate was reserved for the NAT’s (the old National Party). Larger boys stood guard at the gate, ensuring that none of us SAP (South African Party) kids could get through. They said everyone knew our dad, the Deputy Headmaster. They knew he was SAP. Not fully understanding the situation, I decided to climb over the fence instead. However, one lesson I remember clearly is that my dad taught and demonstrated to us to treat every person with respect.

 

My mum rarely spoke about or showed her emotions regarding politics. At times, her dressmaking orders became overwhelming. She needed help. I have very fond memories of the women who came to assist her, especially a large woman named Êny.

 

I think I appreciated her presence because I was at an age when I longed for my mother’s embrace. I remember being carried around on Êny‘s back as she worked. I thank God for that memory of her softness and being held by her. I particularly enjoyed being on her back while she scrubbed the floors on her knees (in the days before mops). That gentle rocking motion was so soothing.

 

One thing my mum always did, however, was to keep the cutlery and crockery for the wonderful women she employed, in a separate space under the kitchen sink. When I got my own house, my mum visited me for a few days. I had a lady named Gladys who came in once a week to do all my housework, including washing and ironing my clothes.

 

I remember that week during lunchtime when Gladys came in; I made us all lunch, and we sat down around the table to eat. I could sense my mother’s discomfort. Later that day, she confronted me and questioned me about it. I told her that this is my home and this is how I live my life. I then asked her why she always kept the crockery of the ladies that worked for her separate. “Don’t you use the same soap and water to wash all the plates? Have you ever thought about it?”

While I stayed with my mum for a few months, my 21st birthday came around. I was kind of hoping she would organize something special for me, even just taking me out for a meal. Of course, I was being naïve. She gave me a set of two suitcases. I took the hint and decided it was time to move out. But first, I wanted to take control of my life. 

 

I organized a birthday party for myself in Johannesburg with all my friends. First, I needed a car to get there. I had a stable job and money in the bank, so why not? The only problem was that I needed a driver’s license, and I couldn’t even drive a car.

 

Two weeks before I had to pick up the car, I contacted a driving school. I told the instructor that I needed lessons to help me get my license. She laughed at me and said it wouldn’t happen. But the joke was soon to be on her. After taking a written test, I had my driving test booked. During the written test, I was allowed three mistakes, and I had already used all three chances.

 

The inspector asked me another question, and I knew I didn’t know the answer. I remembered a picture of the road sign in my book. But, I thought they would likely not ask about it, as I'd never seen it on the road. Alas, what was I to do?

I am ashamed to admit it: I told the inspector, “That sign isn’t in my book.” Of course, I knew it was. I even went as far as to bet him it wasn’t, and he fell for it. I managed to divert his attention away from my fourth wrong answer, and I got my license.

I bought him a bar of chocolates right after leaving his office. I knew he was right. Or, maybe he knew but just saw my will to get my license. Some may call it ‘shrewdness’ or ‘lying’, but I call it ‘manipulation’. My apologies Lord.

The driving school instructor was waiting for me in the car park with a camera. Suddenly, I became an ad for how good she was as a driving instructor. Oh dear! I don’t handle fame well.

 

I went to collect my brand-new little green car from the garage. They handed me the key and told me I could drive my car out of the showroom. I had never felt so nervous before. I had just learned to drive. Now, I was getting into a car I had never driven before. I had to try to avoid hitting all the new cars and the big glass doors in the showroom.

 

I switched on the car and had a few tries to get it into the correct gear. As I pulled away, the car jerked a couple of times. I saw the salesman in my mirror, covering his eyes in fear. He was too scared to see the outcome. But soon, I was through the doors and out on the road in my brand-new 21st birthday present.

 

Happy Birthday Leonie!