A few days ago I came across the first draft of 3000 + words. So I thought I would put it out here in the blogosphere and gets some comments, criticism, compliments...perhaps get some encouragement from other budding writers out there?
Introduction:
Cassiems Story:
I was born in the bo-kaap, in 1955. My Oemi (grandmother) was a boere tannie from Worcester – she always said she was a de Wet, or a de la Rey, I cant remember so lekker anymore. Oemi always told us stories of how she met boeya (grandpa). He was a coloured gentleman, and used to be a door to door salesman back in the days, she said. Boeya was a handsome bliksem, with his wet brylcream hair (the oil used to run down his head by the time he got there to Worcester). Boeya used to live in Paarl, on someone’s backyard, and used to collect his stuff in Cape Town. Boeya used to get a lift to Worcester and Oemi was the daughter of one of the farmers he used to go and sell his stuff to on a Saturday morning. Oemi said when she seen Boeya for the first time she knew he was the one, cause she always likes chocolate and not vanilla! Aai! Oemi was sieker 12 or 13 at the time.
She and Boeya had to run away, and Boeya couldn’t show his face there anymore after the skandaal hit the dorpie. Then the Imam didn’t want to perform the Nikkah cause Oemi was from the Dutch Reformed Church, and she had to first ‘’draai’’ and become a slamse woman. Oemi said the Iman was full of kak, but she had to do it, otherwise she couldn’t marry him. Anway, to cut a long story short, Oemi and Boeya eloped and got married, and soma a year later my mother was born. I never really know her, she just left one morning, and never came back. Someone later told me she got a lekker job on the docks, but I never knew what she did. She was a beautiful woman, and I think tha her looks sometimes caused her some trouble. I think my pa was also from somewhere far, and thats why I got the straight hair in the family.
Anyway, I was raised by Oemi, and she did it by hand – a lot of the time. Aai! That woman. A pillar of the local community, they used to call her motjie Boer. She had light color hair, and skin which was nice and brown from the time in the sun. I remember her hands, and her hair – it always smelled of coconut oil that came out of a can. Later, just before she died, I remember her hair was gray, and the smell of the oil was in her room for months afterwards.
I met Ghaliema in 1972. She came from a family of proper Malay people. Her mother and father were both Malays, and they had some family still in Malaysia, or so she said. Ghaliema was the oldest of the children, and had to look after the younger children when her Mummy got sick with the TB. Ghaliema, yoh! She could bake the whole day on that Defy stove that her Pappie gave us for the wedding present. I remember now…it was a yellow color, but faded from the sun. It ran on electric, and was very modern for the time. Ghaliema used bake in that oven! From the morning through the day and night. Toe se die mense soma da kom Ghaliema Tertjies…a nickname that stuck till today. My wife, Ghaliema tertjies …
We got married in 1975, when I turned 20. Then our people didn’t do the dating thing like today. You met the girl, you got married. No blerri nonsense like today. Now everyone is on Mixit and the laities don’t have time to do things right, or do the right things. Now I am glad the group areas kept us from the White people, with their funny habits and music and parties. ’76 was a tough year for us. The Black people were making a noise about our language and that it was not what they wanted to learn. They had some marches and some people got killed in a march somewhere. But for us here in Cape Town, we were very isolated from the rest of the country. We heard the stories, ma onse bruin mense wassie involved nie. It was a black vs white thing, and anyway, I was going to work for Mr Lipshitz at the law firm. Ja it was hard, I could have been a lawyer, but we never had the money so I had to settle to be a clerk for Mr Lipshitz. That guy was the Pa of the Mr Lipshitz who is now the baas here, but anyway, I am going to fill the gaps as I go along. Anyway, I got a job and got some money, so me and Ghaliema got married straightaway. The Imam from the Muir Street mosque married us and we had a small reception afterwards. My friend Andy came to fetch us in his mothers Mercedes – a 220 Avocado Green color car – that matched Ghaliemas dress. And there was place for the two bridesmaid also. We went to take photos in the Gardens, before the boere came and chased us out – I still have a photo with the one boere laaitie – shame, he just said he was doing his job, sorry to disturb, but can we please leave. Fanie or Fanus was his name on his badge. But ja, it was a nice day to get married – a sunny day in June…
But today I got a big problem, and I dunno how to figure this one out. I seen something, something I shouldn’t have seen. And very soon, this thing is going to explode, and I got to do something, and quick, or the kak is going to hit the fan…
I was born in the bo-kaap, in 1955. My Oemi (grandmother) was a boere tannie from Worcester – she always said she was a de Wet, or a de la Rey, I cant remember so lekker anymore. Oemi always told us stories of how she met boeya (grandpa). He was a coloured gentleman, and used to be a door to door salesman back in the days, she said. Boeya was a handsome bliksem, with his wet brylcream hair (the oil used to run down his head by the time he got there to Worcester). Boeya used to live in Paarl, on someone’s backyard, and used to collect his stuff in Cape Town. Boeya used to get a lift to Worcester and Oemi was the daughter of one of the farmers he used to go and sell his stuff to on a Saturday morning. Oemi said when she seen Boeya for the first time she knew he was the one, cause she always likes chocolate and not vanilla! Aai! Oemi was sieker 12 or 13 at the time.
She and Boeya had to run away, and Boeya couldn’t show his face there anymore after the skandaal hit the dorpie. Then the Imam didn’t want to perform the Nikkah cause Oemi was from the Dutch Reformed Church, and she had to first ‘’draai’’ and become a slamse woman. Oemi said the Iman was full of kak, but she had to do it, otherwise she couldn’t marry him. Anway, to cut a long story short, Oemi and Boeya eloped and got married, and soma a year later my mother was born. I never really know her, she just left one morning, and never came back. Someone later told me she got a lekker job on the docks, but I never knew what she did. She was a beautiful woman, and I think tha her looks sometimes caused her some trouble. I think my pa was also from somewhere far, and thats why I got the straight hair in the family.
Anyway, I was raised by Oemi, and she did it by hand – a lot of the time. Aai! That woman. A pillar of the local community, they used to call her motjie Boer. She had light color hair, and skin which was nice and brown from the time in the sun. I remember her hands, and her hair – it always smelled of coconut oil that came out of a can. Later, just before she died, I remember her hair was gray, and the smell of the oil was in her room for months afterwards.
I met Ghaliema in 1972. She came from a family of proper Malay people. Her mother and father were both Malays, and they had some family still in Malaysia, or so she said. Ghaliema was the oldest of the children, and had to look after the younger children when her Mummy got sick with the TB. Ghaliema, yoh! She could bake the whole day on that Defy stove that her Pappie gave us for the wedding present. I remember now…it was a yellow color, but faded from the sun. It ran on electric, and was very modern for the time. Ghaliema used bake in that oven! From the morning through the day and night. Toe se die mense soma da kom Ghaliema Tertjies…a nickname that stuck till today. My wife, Ghaliema tertjies …
We got married in 1975, when I turned 20. Then our people didn’t do the dating thing like today. You met the girl, you got married. No blerri nonsense like today. Now everyone is on Mixit and the laities don’t have time to do things right, or do the right things. Now I am glad the group areas kept us from the White people, with their funny habits and music and parties. ’76 was a tough year for us. The Black people were making a noise about our language and that it was not what they wanted to learn. They had some marches and some people got killed in a march somewhere. But for us here in Cape Town, we were very isolated from the rest of the country. We heard the stories, ma onse bruin mense wassie involved nie. It was a black vs white thing, and anyway, I was going to work for Mr Lipshitz at the law firm. Ja it was hard, I could have been a lawyer, but we never had the money so I had to settle to be a clerk for Mr Lipshitz. That guy was the Pa of the Mr Lipshitz who is now the baas here, but anyway, I am going to fill the gaps as I go along. Anyway, I got a job and got some money, so me and Ghaliema got married straightaway. The Imam from the Muir Street mosque married us and we had a small reception afterwards. My friend Andy came to fetch us in his mothers Mercedes – a 220 Avocado Green color car – that matched Ghaliemas dress. And there was place for the two bridesmaid also. We went to take photos in the Gardens, before the boere came and chased us out – I still have a photo with the one boere laaitie – shame, he just said he was doing his job, sorry to disturb, but can we please leave. Fanie or Fanus was his name on his badge. But ja, it was a nice day to get married – a sunny day in June…
But today I got a big problem, and I dunno how to figure this one out. I seen something, something I shouldn’t have seen. And very soon, this thing is going to explode, and I got to do something, and quick, or the kak is going to hit the fan…
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