Strange feelings

I'm starting to feel sick in my stomach.

Boarding-school training. Shove the emotions to the back of my mind.

I'm supposed to return home in 10 days time. To pack up the house.
And what.
And sell it?
Rent it?
What? The copper price has crashed. Noone has any money.
And what do we do with the servants and the dog? Seriously.
Just cast them aside?!?!

Last time we were home, we already had to tell dad's oldest employee that we didnt need him any longer. 47 years. I felt like a cad. Phiri stood there, jaw clenching, writhing the sinews in his temples. An old man, steeling the tears. His whole life was working for dad.
And now dad was gone..
I went to the bottom verandah afterwards and cried my eyes out. My soul wrenched from my chest as if I didnt deserve to own one.

Oh god. I feel sick.

This has been our home for over 50 years. Built by dad just 2 years after he started his own civil engineering company.
I'm African..
and yet I'm not. But I dont know why I'm not. And I dont know why I dont feel European. My mother is English, Scottish & Irish - my dad Scottish & Dutch Jewish blood, his mother born in South Africa and him too. What does that make me?

This is the only house I've known. I know every inch of it. I've hidden deep in the garden playing hide and seek, hidden so well that noone found me, until I got bored and came to find them.

Sat on the edge of the pool, no armbands, no minder, no-one about... and defying death, taught myself how to swim. I've surfaced beside a snake and experienced walking on water.
I've pushed my pet chicken around in my dolls pram.
Been through curfews, solar eclipses, one party states and new found democracy.
Been taught how to iron by the houseboy.
Watched him polish the floor, dancing with the brush under one foot and the cloth under the other.
Collected caterpillars for the garden boy
Heard sweet African songs long faded in my memory
Crawled deep inside the bougainvillea hedge,
careered high over the trees on my blue swing, made just for me.
Lips and feet black from mulberries.
Fed dreaded pawpaw to the dogs.
Listened to straw coloured fruit bats squabbling in the fig tree.
Come home to blood all over the house when dad was beaten to an inch of his life by bandits.
And woken by the sound of gunshots or sirens, or scary sounds in the dark night;
or slept solidly as my arm rested against the burglar wire, alarm blaring away.

Heard drums playing deep into the night
laughed at my dog catching flying ants in the kitchen
and laughed again each time I returned from boarding school to find the house had shrunk.
Had power cuts, and phone cuts, and water cuts,
Heard Comrade Mr President on the news
And sat in silence whilst dad listened to the BBC.

I've lived and breathed this house. It was the only place in the world where I felt I belonged.
Before the town she was in became this horrid, polluted, dishevelled place. A place noone wanted to be in. Full of uncouth miners paid disgusting salaries which they squirreled away. We sold the company houses and the office and the horses and the plane and the farm...

and now...?

Am I the only one who's heart is screaming?
The others seem nonchalant.
It makes me sick.

Just bring dad back. Thats the solution. Change time. Change it all.

The hidden side

Oh yes. Its been a long time. Its been a black time. Filled with demons.

Today, I acknowledged to myself that I am in deep grieving for my dad and its ok. Its ok to have pain deep inside my soul. Poor sad soul.

Now I feel better.

I had the most profound meditation during my yoga on Thursday. I was reaching up to heaven. Giving myself to my dad. He was reaching down. Light. The veil parted between reality and the place beyond. And then the moment was shattered by someone beside me snoring and the yoga teacher putting on some music. But the words were amazing - the song was all about little Angels surrounding me. I lay there, silent tears rolling down my cheeks. Man I miss him.

I've been revolting lately. Revolting to everyone. Revolting to my mother, revolting to myself. Looking out on the grey February days. Not winter. Not summer. Just blankness. Like my soul. The trees bare with tiny buds appearing..
But its not that great anticipation ... waiting for the rains.. waiting for the stark grey forests of Mopane to burst to life like magic one special morning, twinkling like tiny jewels. The colour of gold. Just fleetingly gone in a day when the leaves begin to turn green.
Or the harsh suffocating hiss of the cicadas invading your brain, consuming your thoughts. Intense. Unnatural.
Or the first short 2 noted call of the Paradise Flycatcher. You hear him before you see him. But you know he's outside there somewehre in the trees flicking his gorgeous flowing chestnut tail. Mango Madness time.
The rains. The rains.. They're coming!
That intense heat. Numbing. Everybody. Everything. Waits.

The change in the seasons here is so gentle by comparison, so unsurprising. So bloody boring. Where are your balls man!!!!

Its got to change. Me, not the seasons. My aura is affecting my interaction with people at work. Hah - at work - i work from home - but you know what i mean. Emails and phonecalls and meetings and stuff. Crankiness, insecurity doesnt equal success girl! I need to work at 120% not 80%.

But I've been trying hard. My dear poor soul needs tenderness. And since I'm not getting it from a lover it has to be self made.
Friday was blissful lesson number 4.
Made myself known by asking the owner of the Dance School if she worked there! Good one girl! I had got the hell in with my dance shoes and my long hunt to find a pair that fit. I'd even ordered two pairs on the web. Been to the opposing dance school and squeezed my toes into all sorts of shoes rather like the Ugly Sister. Walked out of the shop as the girl was disinterested and unhelpful. So finally - Friday came around, again, and again i had no dance shoes and now I was desperate.
Asking Sue (aka the woman who works there) to help me, I tried on the first pair and it fitted like a glove! Hooraaay! Finnnnnallleeeeee!

Note to self. Take photo of dance shoe. I will, I promise I will - I'm just feeling slack right now.... ok.. done :)

They have suede soles to stop you from slipping.. Ever knew that?! I didnt! Fancy pancy! I cant believe I can do the Jive in something with 2 1/2 inch heels and not break my neck! Having spent most of my life either barefoot or in "sensible" heels. Theres a hidden side to me indeed!

Ah. Time to end this blog before I ramble on too much. Man in Australia has stood me up on Skype or got the time wrong, again. So I'm off to bed. No doubt there will be some excuse ... though I'm tiring of it. He needs a wakeup. I'm sick of my biological clock ticking, telling me to hitch up with a mate asap. Why cant it just bugger off. Why cant I just have more time to choose, to decide. Then I wouldnt give a damn about some Aussie guy standing me up. Destiny. Life's strange and mysterious ways.