Growing up in Mountain View

Stability

1980-1997

After many years of constantly moving about, dad managed to get a loan from the bank to purchase a house in a suburb called Mountain-View. I was 6 years old at the time and of school-going age, so I started school at Bergsig primary (Bergsig is the Afrikaans for Mountain View). Mountain View was mostly a blue-collar Afrikaner suburb to the West of Pretoria.

The dividing class line in Pretoria exists to this day, dividing the East and West of Pretoria. White collar professionals, who are more affluent, predominantly make up the East, whilst the West of Pretoria is characterized by less affluent blue collar communities. One could say that my neighborhood was middle class, but those in the East would claim that it was less. The people were honest, hard-working folk with values who worked for their money. It was a strict conservative community with regards to both politics and religion, and devoid of snobbism.

My brother and I with my dad in our garden - My brother's first day of school

I had a very good childhood here. My parents stayed in the same house for 18 years and it provided stability in my life. I had a typical middle working class childhood. Looking back, these were some of the happiest times in my life. I went to one school, one church and had one group of friends. The constant moving about earlier on, was gone, and I was able to grow strong roots and cultivate deep relationships.

I met my first best friend, Johan Becker, with whom I am still friends, here. The first memory of Johan is when his mom brought him over to our house for my 7th birthday party in 1981. The theme for my party was cowboys and crooks, so we all had toy guns that we chased each other around with.

Cowboys & Crooks Birthday party: Left to right back row: Johan, Ian, me, Marcu & Zirk
Mountain View - 1981

Voortrekkers - good friends & adventures

Johan was a Voortrekker (an Afrikaner version of the Boy scouts), so it was inevitable that I would join too. In our age group, there were 5 boys, and we formed a troop, the Springbokke. Together, for the next 7 years of our primary school education, we formed a close bond, a ‘gang’ of boys that experienced many adventures.

The Voortrekkers held regular outdoor camping ‘retreats’ where one have learned survival skills, how to live in the outdoors, about the Afrikaner cultural heritage, about plants and animals, etc. However, boys being boys, we just looked for ways to escape the rigors of home life and have an adventure. There were girls in the Voortrekkers too, so we relished the opportunity for interaction with members of the opposite sex.

Our troop had a reputation of being difficult and naughty and we regularly received a new adult officer, due to the fact that the others quit all the time. Outdoor camping is, of course, the perfect breeding ground for pranks that we played on others. The Voortrekkers also did not believe in luxury camping or comfort. I remember countless cold nights spent in old army tents, which had enough ventilation to let an elephant slip through. The camps had a military ring and set up to it with strict discipline and hardships attached to it.

The Voortrekkers were the youth movement of Afrikaner Nationalism and idealism. It certainly was not inter-racial or inter-cultural. I don’t even think we had English speaking whites in our midst. The Afrikaner cultural identity that came along with the ‘Groot-Trek’ was imprinted onto our young minds. Like the Nazi’s we sang songs of Afrikaner historical suffrage and victory despite adversity. Afrikaner nationalism and pride were promoted. Even though it was a cultural society, it served as the breeding ground for right wing political ideology and Apartheid.

We wore uniforms, stood parade and learned to march like soldiers. We queued for food like soldiers and ate with outdoor utensils that we were responsible to clean ourselves, to avoid jippo guts. We slept on the ground in sleeping bags and had cold showers en-masse in ablution blocks. The structure and routine were good for me and prepared me to a certain extent for military service later in life.

I never joined or participated in its ideology. I was in it for the adventure, friendships, and camaraderie. Join the navy and see the world, they say. For an Afrikaner kid in the 80’s, this was my navy. Dad made me do gardening or other chores on Saturdays when there was not an Athletics meet at school, so if the Voortrekkers had a camp on a weekend, I would grasp at the opportunity to skip on these responsibilities.

Since the age of 6, mom paid for tennis lessons. I became quite good and the coach said that I had the potential to achieve provincial colors. I had to sacrifice my time in the Voortrekkers and friendships in order to do this. As I never had a competitive spirit, valuing friendship and relationships more, I chose the Voortrekkers. My brother, on the other hand, showed more potential and had a more competitive temperament. He achieved provincial colors not only in Tennis, but also in Athletics. He sang in youth choirs and competed in art and cultural competitions. He even did better at school than me. Friendships and adventure kept me happy. I was the one who wanted to help everyone to succeed.

Mom and dad spent a lot of energy and resources to support my brother. The focus on me to excel, shifted onto him. He became our family’s superstar, he was talented, gifted even, and he had the hunger and temperament. They supported him, encouraged him, and lived their dreams through him. He had training, coaching, and competitions all over the place, and they were all driven to make sure he succeeds. Later, when he was in grade 9, he developed Koksaki flu (Burn-out) and he had to give up most of these things. The point being, I feel that I never got their full affection or attention, as I did not have the same drive to excel at something.

Sometimes Dad took me fishing on a Saturday. He had this old blue truck with a canopy at the back. Sometimes we would even overnight at the fishing spots, sleeping in the back of this old truck. My friends went to movies, and I was stuck at a dam fishing with my dad. He enjoyed the quiet, but I being restless, grew easily bored. Sometimes we spent the whole day at a lake and catch nothing except a sunburn. I did not have the patience to cast a line and wait to hook a fish. Looking back I see the efforts made by my dad to connect with me, but gardening and fishing did not really speak to my heart, at least when I was a kid. Now a fishing expedition seems like bliss, but all I wanted to do was to hang out with my friends and see ET and the Karate Kid.

My brother and I at an airshow - Wonderboom

Friday nights I usually reserved to stay over at the Beckers, Johan’s family. He was one of three brothers. They had a VCR and Cable TV, things we did not. They were in the habit to eat takeaways on Friday night, usually Viennas and Chips.  My mum was at one stage a bit of a health fanatic and these delicacies came few and far between in our home. So many a Friday night I would sleep over at the Becker’s. Sometimes the rest of the troop would have a sleep-over at his house, where we would stay up the whole night to watch 80’s movies and eat sherbet. In comparison to the conservative home I grew up in, this was utopia.

Favoritism & Rejection

Weekends not spent at either the Voortrekkers, Athletics meets, or fishing with dad, were spent at the Bushveld farm where my grandmom still lives. It was never a true joy for my mom. She simply was not married to the right brother. My dad, upon arrival, would pick up his gun and would disappear into the veld to hunt….or as I later realized, fled the scene. My mom was left with us at the house with the rest of his family. She saw how my grandmom favored my father’s siblings and their children, and even though dad was the eldest, she experienced their rejection of him and his family. My brother excelled at sport, cultural activities, and academics. My grandmother simply would not acknowledge him or his achievements. At one stage, my two cousins were in the same school than we were. At an athletics meet, my grandmother attended, my brother, came first, my cousin only fifth. She cheered and made a big fuss of my cousin’s achievement, while simply not even congratulating my brother.

This favoritism was so obvious that everybody made jokes about it in the family. Of course, they were all laughing about it. We did not laugh as we were the victims of this rejection. Today, there is almost no relationship between my grandparents and my family. My dad only communicates with his mother out of respect, not out of a relationship. The rest of the family still regularly goes to the farm on weekends and holidays, but we no longer go. My grandmother has made it clear that we play no important part in her life.

The child my grandmother and step-grandfather adopted, became everything. When my great grandmother was still alive, she set the tone for high moral standards. My mom’s dad was an alcoholic to an extent, and he was never invited to visit the farm. After my great grandmother’s death, there was a moral decline. My adopted uncle had drinking parties in the veld with all his college buddies, they held paintball tournaments in the veld, for so-called charity. He even built himself a house in the bush, which in effect was only a glorified bar and pass-out facility for his college buddies. There is a giant heap of beer and liquor bottles on the farm as a testament to this decline.

There are a lot of double standards. My step-uncle, even though he is not a blood relation, was favored above my brother and me. Today my grandmother talks with such love of his little family, even though they are not blood relatives. She will come to Pretoria and visit my step-uncle and other uncle and their families, but would not inform us that she is coming. In my 43 years, she has visited us exclusively only twice. Yet she visits the rest of my family and stay-over at their homes on a very regular basis. She doesn’t even want to hide the fact that she is doing it. In this very difficult time that my wife and I are both unemployed for a prolonged period, she has not made one single effort to assist or to encourage us, yet she has such a passionate love for those who are not blood relatives.

My grandmother on the family farm - Doornfontein

I don’t have a problem with adopted family being equal to blood relations, but surely they are not to be favored above that of blood relatives. That has been the theme of my experience with my family, that even though you are the heir and son, you have to make way for the adopted one. Does this make sense? Will any real parent who loves his children, discard them in exchange for an adopted child. The right answer is surely that you will love them both equally. One may even understand that one may favor your blood over that of an adopted child. What cooks my noodle is how one favors an adopted child above that of your own flesh.

The big theme revealed to me, is that of rejection. I was rejected not only by my father’s family, but also my mom’s family. With the exception of one of my mother’s sisters, they have also rejected me. They will, of course, deny it at all cost, but being a sensitive person, actions, body language and facial expressions speak louder than words. People cannot lie to me. Their mouths may utter one thing, but their true intentions are as clear as daylight. Mom’s family did not really like my dad, and I, being his look-alike, was rejected.

I was accused of being a snob. Dad decided to put me in an Ivy League school, a posh fancy boarding school, one of the best in South Africa. It was their excuse to exclude me now, because I am better than them. They projected their thinking onto me. I was only a boy. I did not think I was better than them. In fact, during that time I needed my family the most. I distinctly recount things I told my mom, how much I desired a relationship with my family. I had the heart and desire to connect with them. They rejected me first and then had the audacity to pin the rejection on me. I have experienced this countlessly in my life, where people reject you, and then turns it around and blames you for their rejection of you.

It was then not surprising that I favored friends more than family. I made use of every opportunity to withdraw from family events and relationships, because I could not deal with the rejection, and secondly being blamed for their rejection of me. Voortrekkers became that vehicle in which I could escape. In that ‘family’ setting, I had real friends, who wanted to spend time with me, who made me feel wanted and special. Apart from its ideology, the Voortrekkers, gave me a childhood of friendships and adventures, which to this day remain some of my most memorable.

Primary School

Life in Bergsig Primary was very normal. I was a sensitive and gentle boy, who wanted to get along with everyone. It was not a school filled with kids from white-collar families. The socio-economic setting of the school almost ensured that there would be tough kids at school. I was not a small kid, but I was not very aggressive. This allowed for periods of bullying. Fortunately, I had my troop, and I was a very likable boy. I did not want to compete, I just wanted to love people and see that they succeed. I was also the class clown and a bit of a drama queen that entertained kids, so I was not targeted very often.

I recount the incident of twin boys, a couple of grades above me, who lived nearby. They walked the same route to school as I and they made a point to hurt me when they could. They were quite big physically, so it was traumatic. Not willing to play the victim role very long, I informed my mom. She took me by the hand, walked over to their home and spoke to their dad. They never bullied me again.

I had awesome caring teachers, and to this day, they stand out for me as the best teachers I ever had. There was Miss. Barnard my fifth-grade teacher, who made a huge impression on me, who did not try and discipline the dramatic sensitive side out of me, but taught me that it was okay. Instead, she harnessed my talents, and she picked me to play a leading role in a play in seventh grade. The play was in Sotho, a native South African language. I had to appear in only shorts, painted black from head to toe, to play the father of the boy who ran away. All the dialogue was in Sotho. The play was a huge success.

School photo of me - I guess I'm about 9 or 10

Mr. Voight, even though a very strict teacher, was an excellent English teacher, the best I ever had. He gave me a position of leadership in his class, making me a group leader. He would give each group five minutes to prepare for impromptu plays that we would perform during class time on the netball field. It was highly entertaining.

Then there was Miss Nell, my Afrikaans teacher, who did not take my class disrupting nonsense, but gave me structure. She would give me jobs of responsibility and purpose to keep me busy. I was responsible to usually go and fetch her toddler son from the kindergarten a couple of blocks away in the afternoons. Later they became house friends of ours.

These teachers weren’t teaching at the smart private schools, they gave their talents to kids in a less privileged community. They had the competence and ability, and I guess some even the opportunity to teach at ‘better’ schools, but the chose to stay, and provided us with a quality education. Later when I did attend the prestigious boarding school, I was in some respects ahead of my classmates who received a so-called first-class education.

 

My seventh-grade year was the highlight of my school career. I participated in most school activities, even excelling at some. I received a lot of awards for my academic performance, played in the first rugby team, was the number one tennis player, was relatively popular and had good friends. I was a big fish in a small pond. When I later had to leave this small pond for a much bigger pond, it was a big and humbling adjustment.

A good story always contains an element of love. I was smitten with a girl in the same grade as me, Elzabe Bezuidenhout. She had short golden hair and blue eyes the color of the Mediterranean Sea. She lived a couple of streets above us and she was in the Voortrekkers with me. She had a sort of arranged boyfriend, Hennie, in a grade above us. Their parents were in the military and the two families spent lots of time together. From grade 5 onwards, when I fell in love with her, there was no-one else. There were girls who liked me, but the one I loved, eluded me. On the very last day of primary school, when I was leaving that community to attend a boarding school away from home, she waited for me after school and told me that she liked me too. As I was probably never going to see her again, I told her I’m leaving and that nothing can come of it. I was not to attend the same high schools than all my classmates. I was the first one, and the only one to attend this prestigious boarding school, and her acceptance came far too late. She was the first love of my life and I was totally infatuated with her, but at that time I had no choice but to move on.

My classmates from this very small blue-collar class primary school resented me for going to this ‘snob’ school in the East of Pretoria. It was at that point that most of them severed their relationships with me, accusing me of being a snob. Little that they know that their rejection of me, would not be the only pain I would have to endure. As I was from Western Pretoria, I was never truly accepted by my newfound ‘friends’ in the new boarding school. Rejected by both sides, my high school career was not one of outstanding success and good memories.

Mom's studies

In my fifth grade, mom decided to get a college education. She was crazy about gardening and decided to study horticulture. She had to enroll full time and consequently could not earn an income. Dad had to be the sole breadwinner and we went through a financially challenging time, where there wasn’t much money for luxuries. My grandparents on the farm frequently gave milk and meat in order to help.

Mom, my grandparents, my step-uncle and my brother and I - Mountain View (1985)

Mom was a hard worker and a straight-A student. She put in a lot of hours, burning the candle sometimes through the night, in order to do well. The diploma she enrolled for consisted of an 18-month theoretical element and a consequent 18-month practical element, where she had to work for slave wages for landscaping companies and nurseries. I remember that she was under a lot of stress, there was only one chance to succeed, and she did.

During this time, she also had to deal with losing both her parents and her brother in the span of a year. My grandmother on mother side, the sweetest and kindest lady I ever knew, went first. My granddad developed some motor neuron disease shortly before her death. He could not speak and his mobility was limited. He had 10 children. Some were willing to look after him for a period of time. In his final year, however, he came to stay with us. After school, in the afternoons, I read him the newspaper. He became very aggressive due to his feigning powers. He could only make sounds, and Lettie, our maid, and I struggled to understand. So he used a note pad to communicate, but his handwriting was worse than that of a doctor, he would hit us with his cane out of frustration. Even though my mother never spoke of it, it became clear that he was physically abusive towards his wife and children. In later years my dad confirmed this fact, even telling me of an incident where my granddad attempted to assault him personally.

Lettie played a huge role in my life. She was my substitute mother when mom was at work. She brought us up with love and discipline; tough but fair. She was illiterate and uneducated, yet she was full of wisdom. She was a pillar in her community and someone people looked up to. She was always smiling and laughing, except for the times when she got really angry at us being naughty. If I really went too far she would take a wet washcloth and give me a hiding, like any mother, would do. She worked for my family for 30 years and became part of our family. In order to be at work at 7 am, she had to wake up at 3 am and board several buses and trains to get to work. In the Apartheid years of the ‘Struggle’ against white oppression, she had to endure intimidation and threats. Blacks who wanted to go to work were intimidated, had their houses burnt, and the trains and buses that took them to work, were set alight, to boycott the white regime. 

She faithfully, with great personal danger to her safety and sometimes at a cost, came to work for very little money to sustain her and her 5 kids. She saw us a lot more than her own children, yet she never resented us for it. Mom was kind to her and her little family, giving clothes and food when she could. She held a Christmas party for them every year. Lettie would bring all her kids and mom treated them with all the luxuries, treats and gifts, they as black kids, had very little of. To this day, she has never seen the ocean, and it is still my dream to one day take her. I have never seen her unhappy, she was content with very little and despite her hardships, always had a joyful and positive outlook.

Lettie took us to school every day. When my brother was small, she carried him on her back to Kindergarten, the same as black people do with their children. She made sure we had our meals until mom and dad would get home from work. She cooked the dinner for our family, she cleaned, did the laundry, ironed the laundry, and even did gardening at times. She took the initiative and did not wait for instructions from mom. When she saw the problem, she fixed it. It became her home and household; mom only had to ensure she had everything she needed to do her job and pay her at the end of the month. I think we were extremely blessed and fortunate to have her. 

Lettie - 2012

Many other white families struggled with getting and keeping maids that were reliable, competent and trustworthy. Then, on the other hand, many white families treated their servants with disdain, disrespect and a racist attitude. My mother and father treated Lettie with the utmost respect; it was a two-way street. Lettie, in her lifetime, never took anything from us that was not given to her. Mom and dad trusted her with our lives and well-being. My family owes her a big debt of gratitude.  Later her kids became my mom’s employees when she ran her own landscaping company. They were the best workers, honest and reliable; they had a mother who raised them with these values.