Discovering the Past

I recently summoned up all the will in my reluctant frame and headed over to my childhood home to gather and collect all my parents’ personal effects that my otherwise disinterested sibling had thus far ignored. I lost both my parents in the last five years and only now was able to face them, and their lives without breaking down in a puddle of tears. My little girl’s memory of her granny, though limited to a span of merely two years of her 7 year old life, is still as fresh as ever, and her squeals of delighted at recognising bits and pieces of Nana and Nani was enough to convince me that my visit was a long time coming.

I have only managed in the past few days to go through approximately a 16th of the hoard Tom, Sophie and I lugged home that night so there will definitely be more posts to come. I discovered too late that my memory of my mother as domestic goddess, chef supreme, queen nurturer and fierce lioness was limited to say the least as I’m discovering more of her everyday.

This stylish image was taken in Botanic Gardens, Durban, 1960 when my mum was 25 years old. I would love to do a “then and now” shoot but fear that my mug will pale in comparison!

I still remember how proficient she was at everything she undertook. I suppose it came from a life of working hard to get what she wanted. Having lost her father when she was 16, my mother left school and ventured out to work to support her family of 9. Yes, they did make them in large numbers back then. In the space of a few short years, she accomplished the following:

• Enrolled in night school to complete her matric (or Grade 12 as it is now called)
• Got a diploma in bookkeeping
• Landed a decent, if not well paid job as a bookkeeper for a prestigious retail group
• Sent her mother to India, Saudia Arabia and Goa 3 times on all expenses paid trips
• Supported her family
• Managed to look gorgeous through it all

The most hilarious feat though, was avoiding my dad’s advances for four years until she eventually gave in and married the poor man in 1970. He loved telling us that story. Look at that grin!

My favourite photo so far is this one and this is how I remember her till the day she died (that’s me she holding). See that look and smile on her face? She always had it on. Even after anger and much yelling (like me, she was a yeller), there was always that face lurking just around the corner, waiting to be delivered with a warm hug and the soft smell of perfume. Rabia Hussain. What a legendary, beautiful soul. My journey of discovery has just begun. And I retract. It’s not too late. Love you mum.