Surfer Babe (A Lesson in Prejudice)

I was watching a woman surf. She was on fire, showing all those blonde hunks dust.

 

When I saw her get out of the water, I admired her frame. So strong and healthy.

 

People started to gather around her and I went closer to see what the fuss was.  Was it Angelina Jolie, I thought, as I edged closer.

 

She was about 75 years old.  Yes, the hot surfer babe was 75 years old.

 

I could not stop talking about her. For days, I fantasised about where she lives, how she spends her days, what she eats, whether her sex life was hot. With a body like that, it would be the saddest thing if her husband was a fat, old, cynical bloke, I thought.

 

One morning, after my 5am gratitude meditation on the beach, I was enjoying a spot of people watching. The hotel staff were busy setting up for breakfast and I snuck in some coffee. I saw an old lady in rugged blue overalls, walking around the hotel, giving instructions to the staff in fluent Zulu – a language clearly not her own. Her blonde hair was nearly all grey, her blue eyes looked tired.

 

Again, I started to fantasise about where she lives, how often she eats stewed prunes and when she stopped having sex. I guessed that her false teeth were probably still good and wondered when she would finally throw in the towel and stop working. She was ancient. 

 

Mid breakfast, I saw some action down on the beach again. I ran towards it, still thinking that it could well be Angelina Jolie, this time.

 

I got there just in time to see the old grey lady remove her rugged blue overalls and put on her superhero cape: a surf suit!  Yes, the ancient janitor-like Zulu speaking blonde granny and the healthy, vibrant, energetic, hotttttt surfer girl were the very same person!

 

I had egg on my face. And it was not just from my half eaten eggs Benedict.

 

Aluta continua, as they say! The road to letting go of judgements is still a long(for me).

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

Childhood Innocence & The Power of Names

It was a beautiful day.

We had taken the kids out into the countryside. We stopped at a market along the way. The smell of meat on the open fire drew us in.

I felt so happy!

My kids ran off towards the makeshift playground. There was a slippy-slide; just a guy with a hosepipe and some washing-up liquid dishing up happiness. I knew that I stood no chance in trying to convince my kids that I didn’t want them wet. They were stripped down to their undies and laughing all the way down the slide in seconds.

That childhood innocence was beautiful to watch. Gratitude filled my heart.

There were families everywhere. Every now and then a kid would run up to their parents to grab a bite, give a kiss and run off again.

I spotted a 2 year old playing alone. She really stood out.  She had long white blonde hair with curly ends. She sprayed water all over my son and he burst out crying. An old lady came over and shouted at her. The girl didn’t flinch.

I assumed that the old lady was her granny but she started talking to me “IT is very naughty, you know.”

Yes, she referred to the girl as “IT”.

My kids were burning in the heat. The family sitting on the striped blanket under the Jacaranda next to us offered to share their sunscreen. In return, I offered some of our watermelon. It felt like summer.

I noticed all the other kids sharing sunscreen too. The blonde child called “IT” was very burnt but no one seemed to mind. I also noticed that her diaper was soiled and she didn’t have anything to drink for 2 hours.

I asked the old lady if anyone knew who her mother was. She pointed her out to me. She was the drunk lady in miniskirt, pouring drinks for a group of men in the band in the distance. The old lady said “She doesn’t care about IT, so why should anyone else? Mark my words. IT will end up just like her sorry excuse for a mother.” 

I was about to scream at granny-zilla “No! You are wrong!  She is the victim of shit circumstances, for sure, but that doesn’t mean she CAN NOT and WILL NOT rise! F%#%ing idiot!” but it was just then that a storm broke out and we all ran to our cars.

I blamed the rain for my mascara stained cheeks.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Stuck in the Mud

My car was stuck.

In the mud.

Yes, stuck in the mud and it was not a game.

 

I had to get to an important meeting.

I still had to get dressed for the important meeting.

My clothes were at home. I was 5km away from home.

I had no power at home. My clothes still needed ironing.

The clever part of me thought that perhaps I could go and buy some new clothes, to get to the meeting…but I was stuck.

 

I tried reversing.

I tried going forward.

My wheels were spinning and all that happened as I tried to “fix” the situation, was that the mud got deeper and deeper and my car said “No! You are stuck!”

 

Now, on another morning I would have laughed this off. But, this Friday morning was part of a whole week of feeling “stuck”. You know?  One of those weeks when deadlines come and go, decisions stall, your bank freezes your account, your car keys go AWOL, and someone parks you in?  All of those things had happened to me in just ONE week!

 

Stuck.

 

And now mud.

 

To top it all, I was feeling a bit hung over, hungry and grumpy. I should have known better than to have 3 BIG glasses of wine on a school night, but yes, that’s a story for another day.  I should also have known better than to trust the person who told me that eating 4 huge cloves of garlic would not give me bad breath (because it was roasted and not raw).

 

So, hugely paranoid about my breath, I jumped out of my car in the pouring rain to run across a field to find someone to help me. Yes, I could have just called someone.  Yes, indeed I could have done that if I had my phone with me.  You see, that’s what happens when you are stuck.

 

My story does not have a happy ending but I can tell you that I made it to the meeting on time. I can also tell you that when 4pm finally rolled around and my son ran into my arms (via a muddy puddle), I was soooo over the word STUCK.

 

Trying hard not to scream, I removed his little white sneakers and thought:  My guardian angels must surely have hearing problems. They probably misunderstand me all week as I said my other favourite word, which happens to rhyme with STUCK over and over again. 

 

Aluta continua, as they say. The road to CLARITY is long.

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

 

Defining Moments (A Lesson from a Father)

I was eavesdropping and what I heard made my heart sink.

 

The father said to his son “No, you can’t go and play. Remember what I told you…”

 

I was expecting him to say “….you need to do your chores first.”

 

My kids & I were on our way to the park but I was desperate that they not interrupt my listening pleasure, so I threw their ball as far as I could. They bolted towards it.

 

The man continued “…I told you. YOU have to work twice as hard as the other kids because WE don’t want you to end up like me!”

 

For good measure, he added “Do you understand me?”

 

 

I understood him but I wonder how much of that POWERFUL LESSON in inequality, social standing, class, responsibility, regret, hierarchy, dreams, resentment, balance, diversity, education, priority, motivation, sacrifice, politics, psychology that child understood.

 

I absorbed the lesson (including its dark side) and said a prayer of gratitude as I walked away.

 

I have no doubt that that will be a defining moment in the child’s life. The only question left to ponder is how exactly he will define the moment, or how exactly the moment will define him.

 

Aluta continua, as they say. The road is long (for us all).

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

 

Think Before You Speak

We were talking about, pregnancy, babies, stretch marks and labour. Stories were flying thick and fast. I had lots to say!

 

In a moment of sheer excitement, I turned to the woman sitting next to me and said “Right?! Did you also suffer from morning sickness with your two?! Blahhh”

 

She laughed. I cringed.

She laughed some more. I cringed some more.

 

I had known her for many years. I knew her kids too.  I knew that they were adopted. I knew the whole beautiful story of how that came to be.

 

You can only imagine my embarrassment when I realised I had asked her how it felt to have been pregnant with them!

She handled it graciously.  She said that she loved the way my heart leads me. (She found it endearing that I didn’t see them as her “adoptive” kids and that I made no distinction in my heart between her and the other moms around the table).

 

I quite liked that description.  So, I went along with it.   I walked away from there telling myself that I was all-heart (and only half blonde).

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2016

 

P.S. Do allow me to wish you well as you try and think before you speak.  Aluta continua, as they say. The road is still long for me….

 

 

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.