A Childhood Lost
A childhood lost
The story of a Zimbabwean refugee
This story is about one of the most resilient and intelligent women I know. A woman, whose childhood was stolen by circumstances and uncaring adults. This is the story of an African girl, who overcame challenges that no young child should ever be confronted with and found her dignity and herself in the process.
Felicitas is the very best person to tell her story, so here it is :
I am going write about my journey, as much as I can remember.
My name is Felicitas.
Early childhood
I was born in the rural areas. we lived in the area called Zhombe which near Kwekwe Zimbabwe. My mother was 7 months pregnant when she went into labour while fishing at the river. She gave birth to me at 7 months and that makes me a pre-term baby. I was born in 1985 on the 25th of August into a family of 4. My brother, Nelson, is 7 years older than me. I was told my mother was sick after giving birth to my brother, which explains that big gap. In that time a two-year gap between children was the norm. Later I had two sisters, namely Mercy, who came after me and Nyasha, the baby of the family. We could have been 5 children, as I heard that my mother was pregnant at her time of death.
My Parents
My mother’s name was Catherine she was a first child in a family of 6. My father’s name was Lawrence. He was the first child in his mother’s house and they were only two children. He came from a polygamous home. Our grandfather had more than one wife. It is believed that my grandfather from my father’s side left Zimbabwe a long time ago to work on the mines in South Africa and never came back. I never met him. My father’s mother died in a bus accident while both my father and aunt were still young. When my father and mother got married, they decided to settle in the area where my mother came from, as her parents were there. I had an opportunity to meet my grandparents from my mother’s side, but they passed away when we were still young. There were a few relatives living in the same village as we grew up, both from my mother and father’s side.
From the left : Felicitas, her father, her mother, her father’s sister Front : her cousin , her brother
Our homestead
We lived with our mother most of the time. Mother was always with us while our father would go and work in far-away places. Sometimes he would be gone for a year before coming back. Mother was the one responsible for taking care of our cattle, goats, chickens, fields, children and all other things that needed attention at home. My father was a great builder. He built schools, shops, houses and a whole lot of structures. He would bring us beautiful clothes, shoes, jerseys and beautiful dresses for mother when he finally came home for a holiday.
My Early schooling
In the time I started school in 1991, children would go to school when they were turning 7 years. I however went to school when I was 5 years old turning 6 in August of 1991. All my friends were going to school and I wanted to go with them, because there wasn’t anyone to play with at home. I cried and cried until mother took me to school. My first teacher, Mrs Tevera, accepted me in her class and said I will stay in the class at the end of the year when the others move to grade 2. To her surprise I was top of the class at the end of the year. There was therefore no reason to keep me back, so I moved to grade 2 with the others. My father loved me, because I always had good marks at school.
From the left : Felicitas, her father, Sister, older brother
The death of my mother
Mother was very strong. She was always sickly, but she would continue with her duties in and around the home. Her health was up and down, but she hated hospitals and she never wanted to be in an ambulance. The mission hospital was also very far away. It would take her half of the day to get there. As time passed, mother got pregnant with her 4th baby. As soon as she had given birth to this child, her condition became worse. She became severely ill and couldn’t cope with her responsibilities. She was not even able to look after the baby. As the oldest daughter I had to take over all of my mother’s responsibilities, taking care of my siblings especially the baby, cooking, laundry, field work, basically taking care of the household. I was 8 years old. This was the end of my childhood. Things got worse and worse and father did not come home. Mother asked my brother to write a telegram to father telling him that she was dead, in the hope that he would come home. But still father did not come home. Mother got worse by the day. When she could not walk anymore, she was taken to the hospital by an ox-drawn cart. This was the last time that we saw our mother. Upon arriving at the Mission hospital mother was referred to the big hospital in Kwekwe, as her condition was too serious. She was transferred to Kwekwe general hospital, where she remained until she died. Sadly, I do not have dates of when she died. It must have been late 1993 or early in 1994. They brought mother in beautiful coffin. Father was also there. We were not allowed to see her body, as they felt that we were too young.
Felicitas with an aunt and uncle
The death of my Father
After mother was buried, father did not go back to work. He was too weak to work, he was also sick. My aunt took the baby, my youngest sister Nyasha. I stayed home to look after my father, my younger sister and my older brother. After a while my aunt came back carrying Nyasha on her back. She told us that Nyasha had died in Harare, where my aunt lived. As she could not afford to pay for a funeral, she carried the dead baby on her back, pretending that the baby was just sleeping all the way (a journey that takes more than 12 hours). Nyasha, the sister that I looked after since birth, was buried in our village. Then my aunt took Mercy, my younger sister, along to Harare. Mercy only stayed a short while before coming back to the village. I could not go, as I needed to look after my father, who was very ill. Mercy came back to start school. I had to take her to school to look for a place for her at school, although I was only 2 years older than her. It was the happiest time of my life. I was just so happy that Mercy was back with me. We stayed like this for a while until father died. By the time he died, he had sold all the cattle we had for his upkeep. He did not even have a decent coffin for his burial. He was buried wrapped in blankets. That is how the poorest people are buried in our village.
How we all got separated
After father’s burial, my aunt took my sister Mercy again. I went to stay with our relatives in the same village. My brother, now about 17, stayed at our homestead. Some months later we were told that my sister had passed away from a German measles infection.
Thinking back, I wonder if my parents where infected with HIV and died of Aids. It could explain why they were both ill and also why both my younger sisters died. It is likely that they had been infected at birth.
My relatives did not treat me well at all. After a while my aunt wanted to take me with her, but relatives from my mother’s side did not want me to go with my aunt. They decided to send me to stay with my uncle instead. My uncle used to be a ZUPCO bus conductor. Then he started his own business. He had a shop and a big well-built homestead. He stayed in rural Gokwe and had 5 children at that time. When I arrived at my uncle’s house, my uncle’s wife did not want me to stay with them, so they sent me back to our village. Upon arriving back in our village, I was sent back to my uncle’s house again, as the people there did not want me to stay with them either. I ended up staying with my uncle, but life was really tough. I would stay alone at their homestead, with the boy who herded their cattle, while they stayed at the shop with the children. In Gokwe I worked really hard. Harder than I had ever worked before and that I ever worked thereafter. I must have been 11 years old at the time. It was like being a real slave. I worked in the cotton fields. I would walk more than 10kms in the morning, barefoot, to go and clean the shop, fetch the water before I could go to school. I did not have a school uniform nor the basic necessities. I wore my late mother’s clothes. I had only 1 panty. At times I had to go to school without any underwear.
Highway between Gokwe and KweKwe
How I was fostered
In spite of the hardship, I had gotten used to my life in Gokwe. I remember having embarrassing moments of lice coming out of my hair at the school assembly. One day my brother arrived in Gokwe. I was beyond happy to see him after so long. I had lost hair on the middle of my head from carrying water with the water tin. My brother brought the best news ever. He told us that I was supposed to go somewhere. I was just too happy to leave the place I was. I got a dress from one of the cousins and a panty too. Since I was going to board a bus, I needed decent clothes. We went back to our village. I was told that there was a certain lady who wanted to take me as her child. Apparently, Social Welfare went to our rural areas looking for all the children who were orphans in our village. This must have been due to the Aids pandemic. They collected our information including school reports and took it with them to the City of Kwekwe where a Magistrate was to process all the legal documents, which were needed for the children to go to the children’s homes. In the process she saw my school report. She saw that my school marks were really good, and then she decided that she wanted to foster me.
My Foster Mum
My foster mum’s name is Lynette. She was born into a family of 5 children, she being the second born. Her mother died when she was a teen and her father was still alive, married to a second wife. My foster mum and her step mother were not on good terms. Her older sister, Stella, was a teacher and her other siblings were still at school. Mum Lynette was married with two children at that time. Her husband was a Maths and Computer Teacher, who had studied in Cuba. He also came from a very big family, so both of them had huge responsibilities.
Life as a foster child
Fostering or adopting a non-relative or a stranger was so foreign and still is in the African culture. My foster mum got a lot of discouragement from her family. They did not like the fact that she took a child from outside of the family, while they also have orphans in their family. Her husband was against the idea. Everyone around her did not approve. After some few months she lost her job. That made things very bad for me, as she was now dependant on her husband, who was a teacher at a Mission School in Masvingo. She then asked her older sister, Stella, to take me in, where she was teaching in Chiredzi. I went and stayed with her sister. The sister was not happy about this arrangement. She told me that my foster mum wasn’t sending money for my upkeep, so she was sending me back. Instead of going back to my Mum Lynn’s house, she asked her father and step-mother to take me in. Her father was a Headmaster and had a good heart, however the step-mother was not the loving kind. I stayed with the grandparents for a while in the Save region of Zimbabwe. It was very remote. We would walk long distances to get to the shops. We also used to plant sorghum, cotton and rapoko in the fields. One day my Mum Lynn visited us and found out that the room I was sleeping in, was the same room they were storing all the crops from the fields. She wasn’t happy, packed my stuff and asked me to go with her. She did not have a choice, but to take me back to her sister. She begged her to take me back and promised that since she was now working, she would send her money for my upkeep. Mum Stella took me back. I stayed with her for a while, until she started complaining again that mum Lynn wasn’t sending money.
Then I went to stay with mum Lynn and her husband. He did not want me to stay with them. I stayed there for a long time without going to school, as I could not get a place at the mission school, as the husband wasn’t willing to help. Mum Lynn started her own Law firm and also had another baby. Things started looking up, because she could get me a place at one of the schools in town. I started going to school again. It was great. I finished my grade 7 and passed well enough to get a place at a boarding school. I started Form 1 at the Boarding school. It was nice, but also very stressful. Mum Lynn would fail to buy the necessities and pay the school fees most of the time. I had to leave the boarding school. The following year I started my Form 2 at a day school in Masvingo town. We would walk to school but life was a lot better. At least there was no embarrassments of not being able to pay the Boarding Fees and other things that the other children from rich families would have at the boarding school.
Mum Lynn moved to UK
My foster mum then moved to UK. She left me with her sister. I again lived with Aunt Stella for a while. Life was tough. Getting into school, getting uniforms, clothes, basic necessities like food, toiletries and stationery was a challenge. I however finished my O Levels. I could not go further onto A Levels, as I was unable to pay school fees. I also could not enrol at a college for the same reason. I ended up staying at home for a while and finally got a place at a college through the Social Welfare. I went on to study Information Technology as it was the only option I had. I passed the National Certificate level but I could not continue with my studies due to the Social Welfare not settling my Fees. Therefore, I could not collect my results either. Instead, I went on to look for a job. I was employed as a receptionist at a Law firm in Harare. I worked there for a few years. They gave me the money to collect my results. I realised that I had passed, but I was now working and could not go back to school.
Decision to leave my foster family
During my school days, I met a lady who was teaching us during holidays. She asked me about my family, but I did not know much. Then later I realised that the lady was actually my sister-in laws’ older sister. In another province, my brother was sent to a children’s home and stayed there until he was old enough to leave. He left, tried to get back into a normal life. It wasn’t easy for him, he later told me. He got married and they were blessed with two children. In all these years we didn’t see each other. So this lady told my brother about me and he came looking for me. We met in 2002, 8 years after we last saw each other. My brother was now working and had his own life and family. Living with Aunt Stella became more difficult, as I wanted to further my education, but she was not supportive. I then told her I was leaving, so that I can stay with my brother. I was hoping my brother would help me finish my education, but unfortunately this didn’t happen. My brother lived in the town of Kwekwe and I was studying in Harare. I went back to Harare not knowing where I was going to stay. I arrived in Harare and stayed with friends from church. I stayed with them while I went to school and started working. They helped me mainly because I was dating their brother. Their brother had other girlfriends and broke up with me. I still needed accommodation, so I stayed with them even after that, pretending nothing ever happened. After some time, they also told me they could not have me staying with them any longer, as their relatives worry that I might die and it may become complicated. Complicated, as I had no parents or relatives and who would then bury me. This would be a problem both in terms of cost and ancestor worship rituals. I then went to live with my then Pastor and his family. I lived there until I came to South Africa.
My Journey to South Africa
I was 23 when I came to South Africa. During the time I was in college I met my friend Patience. We were really good friends. Patience would sometimes lie to her sister that she needed money for this and that, whilst she wanted to help me pay for things at school. She came from a Pastor’s home (her parents are both Pastors). After school our friendship continued. We would still visit one another and catch up each time. Then Patience got married and moved to South Africa. She later invited me to come and work in South Africa. I made an effort to get a visa and follow her to South Africa.
It wasn’t easy to get a Visa, however I managed to get one with the help of a friend. There were some issues after the Visas were issued so the passports were not released in time. I only got my passport two weeks before my Visa was to expire. I did not have money for bus fare as I didn’t have work. Another friend of mine, Martha bought the bus ticket for me and she prepared and gifted me everything that I needed to travel. I left Zimbabwe on the 25th of August 2008, the day I turned 23 years old. It was exciting, nerve wracking and all. One moment I was so scared of the big country that I had heard good and bad things about and then I was so happy, that finally I was leaving the struggles of Zimbabwe and going to the land of milk and honey, as some called it. In all of this, I only had my friend’s cell phone number. I trusted her that she wasn’t going to let me down and just ignore my calls and fetch me in the big city of Johannesburg. I had heard lots of stories of people who would come to South Africa only to be ignored or let down by the people they came to. That they started living on the streets doing anything to survive in South Africa. My case was different. The guy I sat next to in the bus was kind and he was already living in SA. He allowed me to use his phone to let my friend know where the bus was just after we left the Beitbridge Border Post on route to Johannesburg. My friend said she was going to wait for me and she did. As soon as the bus arrived at the biggest station in South Africa, the Joburg Park Station, I got off the bus. As I got off the bus, I saw my heavily pregnant friend waiting for me. She was tired, as she had waited since the morning.
Life in Johannesburg
I stayed in Joburg for 10 days, from the 26th of August to the 05th of September 2008. I stayed with my friend and her husband. She was on maternity leave expecting their first baby. It was really uncomfortable as we stayed in 1 x room. She wanted me to take over her job when she went on maternity leave, however the timing wasn’t right. Due to the delays with my passport, I couldn’t get to Johannesburg in time. So, I started getting myself busy, as the one thing I hate in life is to be a burden to those who are trying to help me. I started plaiting. It is something I had done for fun before, but at this stage I was doing it to earn some money. I plaited day and night, because there was a shortage of people who could plait fellow Zimbabwean’s hair. Patience’s sister then asked me to come and work in Cape Town. She said there was a lot of work that side, little did I know the kind of work she was talking about. I didn’t care too much. All I wanted was to be independent. Patience did not like the idea, she knew her sister better than me, and she knew it wouldn’t be good for me. I begged her to let me come to Cape Town. I managed to raise some money from the plaiting, enough to pay for my train ticket. I used the Shosholoza Meryl to come to Cape Town. The journey was long, tiring and unpleasant, but it wasn’t anything compared to where I was coming from.
Life in Cape Town
In the train I met a girl who was also coming from Zimbabwe but her case was different. She was coming to stay with her boyfriend. We chatted about almost everything, as the journey was the longest journey I had ever had in my life. Her boyfriend was waiting for her at the station when we arrived. I arrived in Cape Town on Sunday 6 September 2008. My first challenge as I arrived at the Bellville Station was to find my way to get to Strand, as there wasn’t anyone waiting for me there. My new friend’s boyfriend then gave me this specific instruction that is still written inside my heart. He said to me “you must wait for the train which goes to Strand the train number must start with 32**”. He also said never ever to get in a train which does not start with that number. I was terrified. I was scared. All the bad things I had heard about South Africa came into my mind. It was just after the 2008 Xenophobia, dubbed to be the worst to ever happen in SA so far. I could not speak their language. I was told that if you speak English they will know who you are – that you are a foreigner. In the situation I was, there were no other option except to wait for the train to go to Strand, where my friend’s sister lived. My new friend and her boyfriend went to Kraaifontein, of which I knew nothing except that their train started with the numbers 34**. I waited and waited for my train. Trains came all with different numbers until the Strand one came after a very long wait. I did not have a cell phone, so I had phoned my hostess before the friends had left. I had used the boyfriend’s phone and she explained to him how I was supposed to travel. He then wrote it down for me on a piece of paper. I was supposed to exit the train at the Somerset West train station. I got off at that station and from there took a taxi to Zola township. I had to get off at a certain bus stop – just to tell the driver where I wanted to get off almost had me pee in my pants, as I was too scared to speak in English and I did not know any local languages.
I got off at the bus stop called Lovers and waited for the sister to come. She came and fetched me from there to her house. I arrived at her house around 7 pm. I took a bath in a big dish which was a huge surprise to me. I was used to bathing in a proper tub or showering in a shower, but South Africa was different. Having to bath in a dish like we used to do in rural Zimbabwe was definitely not what I was expecting. Anyway, everything was different from what I expected. Two families were sharing a house which they have divided with some old curtains, no proper kitchen, no proper toilet, no proper bedrooms. This is the South Africa nobody spoke about in Zimbabwe. However, I was just too happy that I was now inside and I didn’t have to speak to anyone in English anymore. We ate and went to bed straight away.
The following morning I was supposed to start working. I was taken to the guy who was going to go with me to work. The work was going to be picking strawberries at the Strawberry Farm. We went to the pick-up point (where to meet the transport to the farm). Unfortunately, on that day, the Bus did not come. A bakkie came instead and it was only transporting the people who were already working there, not the new ones. I had to go back home and wait for next week as they only employed people on a Monday. When I got home, I was told that I would need to sort my papers out, as my Visa was expiring. I did not waste time. I thought, since I was going to be home for a week, let me go to the Home Affairs and apply for the Refugee Papers. I left on a Wednesday afternoon with my food and a blanket. I was going to sleep there, so that I would be helped on the Thursday morning. I had to find my way there, as everyone was working and no-one could take me there. It was a challenge getting to the Train station, then taking a Taxi from Bellville to Nyanga. I got lost, but in the end I finally arrived at the Refugee Centre, which was in Nyanga at the time.
We slept on the pavement. It wasn’t pleasant. People were fighting the whole night. The following morning, the officials came and we were taken inside. We made our applications to be recognised as refugees, as we were fleeing our country because of the unrest in our country. The Officer who assisted us came out around 3PM to announce that they would not be able to finalise our papers as the system was down. They asked us to come back the next day. I had to sleep there again, as I didn’t have money to go back home and then come back the following day. I slept there again. I did not have a phone and could not let the people at home know, that I was sleeping at the Home Affairs again. The following day, the Official who helped us came out side looked at me and called my name. I was shocked at the fact that he remembered me. He asked the 5 of us, who were in his group, to come in. Inside we sat awaiting our fate. A lot of people were being deported during that period. If you were lucky, you would be given a 3 or 6 months Visa, which you are expected to renew until they actually recognised you as a Refugee. The Officer called me and another girl. He said to us, that we were too young and that he could see we were desperate to be in a foreign land. He gave us the letter of Refugee recognition and a two year period to be in the Country. I was so happy. I could not believe it. I went back to Strand with a big smile; almost got lost again, but eventually I arrived home safely.
The following week, we went to the Farm pick-up point again. The bus was operating. On arrival we were told that the pickers were enough at that stage. They would only need people, who would work in the cold room, sorting out the strawberries and packing them for the shops. In order to get a job in the cold room, you were supposed to have an asylum paper or a valid Visa. Fortunately, I had just gotten my Refugee paper. I got the job. It was one the most difficult jobs I had to do in my whole life. It was new and the cold room was really cold. This was in September. It’s spring time in Cape Town, but for me it was really cold. I wasn’t used to the weather. I worked hard that week, because we were told that we will be paid according to the number of crates we work on. It was about emptying crates as fast as you can, but also doing the right job. There was no training. I did not have warm clothes. I wore slippers to work, as they were the warmest. After working for 5 full days, only taking a 30 minute break to eat your cold food, we got our wages. I was R152 for that week. I did not know how little it was at the time. Others were complaining. I went home and my friends at home said it was too little, that I must stop working. I stopped going to the Strawberry farm and started plaiting ladies’ hair. It gave me some money to advertise myself in the local newspaper (The District Mail). The first week I advertised my name did not appear in the paper. I went to them and queried it. They apologised. The following week I did not have the money to buy the District Mail, so I could not confirm whether my name was in or not. The confirmation came through a phone call from a lady, who had seen my name and wanted to offer me a job. She asked me to come to an interview.
I went to the interview with mixed feelings. Everything was strange for me, but the interview went well. She wanted someone to help in her daughter’s Jewellery workshop. In the same interview she asked me if I was employed and she also mentioned that since I had some qualification, that I might leave her for a better job. I certainly didn’t have such thought at the time. She then took the newspaper went through it and found someone who was looking for a cleaner. She then phoned the lady she even gave a reference for me and I got the job. At the end of the day I had two jobs that filled my whole week. Two days as a Jewellery maker and three days as a cleaner. I was more than happy with this.
I started working for both ladies. I had to learn to make the jewellery and to clean big houses. It was the first time that I worked in such a big house. The family I was cleaning for did not have small children. They had two sons. One of the sons was living on his own and the other one was living with the parents, although he was already working. It was not tough to clean the house, as the house was mostly clean and tidy. I worked for quite a few months, until my employer said that she actually wanted me for a full week, as she was opening a guest house and needed more help.
Working at the jewellery workshop was not great. I had to work with two Xhosa ladies and one coloured lady. They were constantly fighting over language issues and it also affected me, because the Xhosa ladies would not speak in English. The coloured lady was the same, she would not speak English either. They would expect me to speak their language, which I couldn’t. So when Maria offered me a full week position at her house, I was happy to take it. Maria was so nice and would call me every lunch time to eat the food she would have cooked. She would always say to me ‘People are dying in Zimbabwe, you are here, you must eat’. Maria was from Austria and she had a cat named Felicitas. Communication between Maria’s family and me wasn’t difficult since we were both using English and it wasn’t a first language for either of us. I worked for Maria for a couple of months. Maria then told me that she didn’t need me for 5 x days anymore, she only needed me 4 x days per week. So she got me a job for the other day and I was working 4 x days for her and 1 x day for another lady.
In 2009 – one of my friends told me of a Call Centre that was recruiting Inbound Call Centre Agents. The Call Centre was for an American mobile supplier T-Mobile. The Call centre was in Observatory, so I applied. I was called for an interview; I was interviewed and accepted for training. The training period was 3 months in which we were being paid. After the training you would be qualified to take calls and assist the clients. I finished my training and started working full time. I also moved from the Township I was staying to renting a flat in Strand. I shared the flat with some friends. Things seemed good and better until I realised that the job was Ok, but not good for me because it was too stressful. The working hours were 8pm – 4am because of the time difference between our continents. The clients were very rude and angry most of the time. We were paid per minute you work, so after you finish taking the call you would press the after-call button to make notes. If one takes too long the Supervisor will come to you and ask you to log in. Everything was monitored, break time, after call time, starting time, finishing time and you will be paid accordingly. I started getting migraine headaches and I decided to stop working.
After I left Maria I kept my other day that I was working for the other lady. I would work for her when I was off from my Call centre job. This lady was very nice. The first time I went to work for her, I thought I would never be able to work for her. Littledid know that she would in my “best buddies book” . I worked for Heide every second Thursday or when I would be off. She introduced me to her other friend, so I would work for her one week and the next I would go to her friend.She gave me lots of clothes and lots of household items. When I left the Call centre I continued working for her and Klaus (the friend). I had to find something to do to earn enough money to pay my bills. I wanted to open a Saloon; I got some people who seemed interested in funding me only to find out that it was a scam. I started desperately looking for a job as the bills were piling up. I spoke to Maria. Maria’s friend needed someone for her son’s shop. I got the job at the shop where he was selling patio furniture. I worked there for a few months and the shop had to close, as there was not enough business. When I got the message that the shop will be closing, I told Heide, who also started looking for a job for me. I paid my debt at the flat and moved out. I went back to the Township with one of my friends. I would walk from Zola to Somerset West and back every day. It wasn’t safe, but I didn’t have a choice. I needed to save some money. I remember one of the days there was a shoot-out on the bridge over the N2 close to Zola and a stray bullet landed next to me. I wasn’t hurt at all and I just continued walking. Then on another day someone tried to break into our house. It was very scary. We left the township a month after that happened and I never went back to live in the township again.
Meanwhile, Heide spoke to her neighbour, who had a small business operating at her residence. She asked if I could assist with cleaning, data capturing, coffee making and so on. I was interviewed and offered the job as Admin Assistant. I started working at Expostay in January 2010. The company had four older ladies (white ladies) already working there. I mention the race of the people working there, as that was the reason I did not think I would like this new job. I was now going to work with people of a totally different race and age group. I was so intimidated. I dreaded going to start working at this new company. Little did I know, that these white ladies were going to turn my life 180 degrees for the better. When I started working at Expostay, I was the youngest, I was in-experienced and above all the only black lady in the Office. Being the only black person made me very uncomfortable. It was not because of anything the other ladies did or said. The ladies were extra nice to me; my boss would offer me some food. The others offered a lot of help too, they were nothing but good. I was lost. I wasn’t sure of what I was doing but I got a lot of support. At this time, I was now squatting at my aunt’s place in Kraaifontein, since I had moved from the Township after the break-in incident. Staying in Kraaifontein and working in Heldervue was quite a challenge. I used to take the train and would still need to take a taxi to get home and to come to work, about a 2 hour journey each way, with a long walk to the train station. I didn’t have a place to stay close-by, so I continued like that for a month until I got my first salary. I got my first salary and I was going to pay for my Rental so that I could stay in Strand again. Unfortunately, the money was stolen on my way from Kraaifontein to Strand. I cried all day, even the following week I was still crying about losing the money. When I got to work that Monday, I told my colleagues (They all seemed more like bosses to me) – they were all so sorry for me.
On the same weekend I lost the money for the rental deposit, the tenants in my Boss’ flat decided to move out with immediate effect. The flat was available. My Boss offered for me to stay in the flat free of rental, until I was earning enough to be able to pay the rental. I felt so blessed. In a split of second, my life had changed in a positive manner for good. For the first time I had a place to call my own. I stayed in the flat with so much gratitude. The other ladies were really nice to me – offering me lifts to and from work. After working for another month things started looking great and beautiful at least on the financial side.
There wasn’t so much luck in my love relationship. I had disappointment after disappointment. Since the time I was in Zimbabwe I would be in a relationship and the next thing the guy would have moved on. I was the one to be left behind, cheated on and lied to. I did not know what the problem was as I considered myself a prayerful person and someone who was decent. So, even after I came to SA, it continued. Mind you, in our African culture, marriage is very important to a woman as it brings respect, belonging and protection. At 23, when I moved to SA, many of my peers were already married and had 1 or 2 children and I was still single. I wanted to get married to a God fearing, decent man, but when I moved here my hope was shattered. People would say that if you are single and in SA, then you won’t get married anymore. Most young men would go back home to find girls that they would marry. The girls from back home would be considered to be more decent than those of us who were here. Without hope, I ended up involving myself with the wrong people. I really wanted a family of my own. The journey was lonely. Yes, I had a job and people around me, who loved me so much. I couldn’t see all that, because all I wanted was my own family, to work hard and to belong. My social life was so boring and quiet. I tried to hang on to the wrong people in my search of fulfilment. Heike and Mare and their families (my new Bosses) did a lot of things to cheer me up. My then colleagues, did a lot for me to feel welcomed and at home. I celebrated my first birthday (that was the very first birthday to be celebrated in my life) at Expostay. It was the year I turned 25 on the 25th of August and it was in 2010. The ladies at work surprised me with such a beautiful party and told me the birthday was so special, as it was my crown birthday (a tradition in the local Cape community). Oh, up to this day I still remember exactly what they bought for me. They literally furnished my flat. We did a lot of fun stuff at work, but I would dodge some of the activities due to my insecurities. I was amazed when someone suggested that we do international food dishes and I had to cook Zimbabwean food. They all ate it, without cutlery and loved it ! It was like, wooow they are eating my food these people!!
After about four months of working at Expostay, I became a permanent employee and my salary was increased. I was now comfortable with what I was doing. On 20 May 2010, the bookkeeper absconded from the company under very dubious circumstances, without any notice or saying goodbyes. My Boss offered me one of my life’s ground-breaking opportunities. She asked me if I can do the books. Woow, what an offer to someone who didn’t have a certificate in the field. I was hesitant to take the offer, but like always all the ladies rallied behind me. They encouraged me to take on the challenge and yes I did. I took the job, an unexpected promotion, and started working hard trying to figure out what I was doing. I would come in on weekends sometimes, so that I could figure things out. I worked in my new position until I was quite confident in what I was doing.
The Expostay Team
Marriage
One day in January 2011 I decided to go to a church in Cape Town. I wanted to meet new friends. I wanted to lighten up my social life seeing that I was now doing so well in the other aspects of my life. I attended the church service, but after the church service I actually didn’t manage to speak to anyone. So I thought, oh well, maybe it is the wrong place. On my train journey home I saw this tall handsome gentleman sitting opposite me. I said to myself, this is the kind of a man I am looking for in my life. Little did I know, that the gentleman had the same thoughts. That is how I met my husband. Things didn’t happen instantly. We took our time. He proposed on 25 August 2011 and the following year we got married. It was such a journey with all the cultures and the different traditions. My Expostay family attended my wedding with their families. It was a wonderful day, with lots of tears for both sadness and joy.
The following year we were blessed with our first baby. We named her Adore (to love God) and Kupakwashe (a gift from God). Heike and Clint were the first visitors to see Adore in the hospital. She was and is so very loved, as she was born at a time when there were no other babies in my circle of friends and family. Three years later we were blessed with another baby girl, who we named Imela (Thank you Jesus) and Victory, for we felt that we had won against all negativity. We have decided that those two girls are enough and we would like to just give them the best in life. In our culture a male child is very important to carry the family name forward. We have thought about it and realised that one of the reasons why so many African families are in poverty is because of wanting more responsibility that they can actually handle. We want the best for our children whether a girl or boy. Our children are so loved. What I like most about their life is, apart from having their parents, that they have been fortunate to know that all human beings are the same. They know no race. They love every shade of a human being without reservations or questions.
Our future in South Africa
We are still struggling to get permanent residency in South Africa, which also is a challenge in that we cannot buy a house of our own. We also cannot invest with the fear of losing our money once our papers expire. We are happy with what we have, we would want to have peace of mind but at this stage, but it is a prayer still to be answered.
Extended Family
We have also supported our family in Zimbabwe. They look to us for help, as my husband is the only male child in his family and so he is expected to support the family in all respects. It is a continual challenge, but we have been managing to do what we can. Life in Zimbabwe is also very tough, that one has no choice except to help when you can.
The Journey continues ……………………..
At this time of my life, at the age of 37, I am managing to find my real self. I know it is late to find yourself, but I know it is important, for me and my girls. It is time for me to let go of relationships that are not good for me. To let people know that I am me and for me not to do things to please others and for acceptance.
I had lived in more than 10 households, with different families, before coming to South Africa. I am very grateful for all the people who crossed my path and who gave me a roof over my head. 8 of these households had people I would call a mother, as per our culture, anyone who is in charge of a household or looks after you, is a mother.
It is sad to think that none of them ever saw anything good in me or expected anything good to come from me. They saw a cleaner, a nanny, a helper (more of a slave actually) and an orphan with nowhere to go and no-one to look out for her. They never saw a child, who had experienced the loss of her parents and siblings, a child who had to do without the basic necessities and dignities of life, and a child in need of nurture and care. They saw no potential. The words they would say to me still have a negative impact on my life today.
Circumstances challenged me to keep going and stand up for myself. I then made a decision that I wasn’t looking back. The journey started. I became brave to make decisions which were not the norm for everyone and at a times even dangerous for me.
I arrived in a strange land and strange people gave me what I didn’t get from those closest to me. For the first time in my life, since the death of my mother, to my total amazement, I felt respected and valued as a person and for who I am. Here were people so different from me in every way, who were empathetic and cared about me and my well-being. I was nurtured, loved, cared for, inspired, empowered and mentored. I was given opportunities, supported and my worth and efforts were recognised.
I was shown that it is OK to be me. I was shown that I belong, by just being me.
Addendum :
I wish to add a little to the story of Felicitas’ life. A part of the story that I had the privilege of sharing. It is a part of the story that is told and interpreted by me from a different culture and value system. From the perspective of someone who cares for Felicitas and well-being of hr and her family.
All of a sudden, when word got out, that Felicitas was doing well, previously absent relatives made themselves heard, demanding money and purchases from her. The stream of demands was endless. School fees to be paid for the children of a brother, who had told her to prostitute herself if she needed money for school fees. The aunt who did not answer her phone when Felicitas got to Cape Town, now had demand after demand. And demands they were, not requests. They were always based on some concept of “in our culture”, a culture that was totally ignored when Felicitas was in dire need of assistance as a child. Then came the demands that she should send money so that a fitting funeral would be held for her father. Again, as the culture demands it and that it would otherwise cause her bad luck. Again, from relatives who had not deemed it necessary at the time of the father’s death to arrange a proper funeral. Surely it was the duty of the much older brother, if this duty existed. Yet, as the brother had no money to spare due to his life choices, the pressure was put on Felicitas.
We had many discussions about cultures and traditions, and also the impact of Christian beliefs on the ancestral traditional beliefs. I felt that many of the traditions in the village were very similar to the cultures and traditions in the small rural villages in Europe. To me the way the cultures and traditions were pulled out of the hat, felt very much like extortion. The traditions and beliefs were applied very haphazardly without any consistency. The money and assistance seemed to flow in one direction only. These were the same people professing to be concerned about Felicitas’ future, who had severely neglected and maltreated her as a child, when she truly needed them.
At the time of their marriage, these customs and traditions became a huge issue again. Talkmore, the eldest son of a traditional rural Zimbabwean family, had lost his father several years ago. He was now considered the head of the family and took this responsibility very seriously.
Now that Talkmore and Felicitas wanted to get married, the traditional practice of asking the head of the household for permission and agreeing on the price of roora (Lobola / dowry) came into play. The concept of roora is to compensate the parents of the bride for raising and educating their daughter. It is also meant to be used as a contribution for the wedding celebrations and traditions connected to it.
Felicitas’ brother was deemed to be the head of the household, although he had not fulfilled the responsibilities of this role, and needed to give his permission. It was also he, along with the uncles, who would decide on the amount of roora. Again, this felt like extortion to me. Here people who had done from nothing to very little for Felicitas wanted money for themselves only. Not a cent of roora paid went towards the wedding celebrations. In the end, it amounted to the equivalent of a large deposit on a small house. At no time was Felicitas’ well-being a concept in these discussions.
Virtually until the day of the wedding her brother withheld his permission. On the day of the wedding, he and the aunt arrived about 3 hours late for the wedding ceremony, knowing full well that the proceedings would not start without him. Felicitas was left sitting in her wedding car, in her beautiful dress, in the blazing sun, wondering whether he would arrive at all.
Her friends in the wedding party sang and danced around the car to make it bearable and keep her in good spirits. All the other guests just stayed and waited.
When her brother finally arrived, he seemed annoyed and agitated. There was no word of apology or explanation. Even in the traditional speech there was no redemption. It consisted of 3 sentences and nothing complementary was said about Felicitas or Talkmore. The rest of the wedding party made sure that it was a joyous and happy occasion however. A video of the colleagues dancing as a result of a traditional wedding dare still leads to roars of laughter today.
I was honoured to make a speech to toast the newly-wed couple and needed to bite my tongue severely not to state that “despite the brother and relatives” Felicitas had overcome every challenge to become a beautiful, competent, caring woman with admirable values.