Past

A footpath through the fynbos
I follow you before the  low tide
to get mussels for supper
the past is not another country
it is portrayed in the taste left behind swallowing  the present
visual maps filed behind in the mind
behind the low tide
below the swept in sand where once, there was a footpath.

Moment

She closes her eyes
waits to see behind her mind
the disappearing vapour breath of the earth

Mind Maps

Down the strip road
there are sparse blue lines
signalling the recent map
this mind is shaded with tight red lines
a melting place
bordering on oppressive
the legend states
health and efficiency
suffer
the rivers of this mind
overflow in the dry season
floating with carcass memories
a discomfort belt of thought
not fit for anyone's habitation

Elements

in a field
a breeze blows
in a room
a fire burns
as our collective grief
breathes
like a dog in the afternoon heat
slowly
passively
consistently.

Mirage

Frozen stiff in sweating
caught between the dust
one backward glance could mean the trick of heat
the trick of light, of belonging
of a swept away under the mistaken water life
a displaced image of a girl running to me
wearing her boots, laughing
of a wattle forest,
  under these trees two sisters,  a hair salon in this forest
looking up at imaginary snowflakes
combing my hair
this world is this moment
larger, above any backward glance on a shimmering road
revealing nothing.

Watching you begin again

Where do you catch the fishes of your dreams?

in the classroom of faces and paint

where do you put your face up to hear the wind breathe? 

in the playground of the unknown others

You walk alone, shoulders down behind them

the skip of my heart reflects in your eyes

you don't skip anymore

the curtain has been drawn 

life is beginning again

on a Monday morning

and you have to leave behind the happy shadows

to learn a new way to walk, 

keeping your secret dreaming strength high.

Post Feminism meets the Clan

We are living in the so called era  of post feminism.  Growing up I never felt I had to prove something by virtue of my gender.  I knew the world was open with choices, not that I necessarily made the best ones, but the point is that I was not hampered by the idea that a woman has to work twice as hard or align herself to the frames constructed by the male psyche.  Realistically, this was probably largely due to be cultural and economic pocket.  I am aware that in large parts of this world, even today there are women who not do have the time or space to consider there position in society.  They live traditionally, but many times on the brink of a seeming miracle of survival. Their needs are to feed their families, to escape civil war, to make a life in deep poverty.  Women live daily ducking abuse, hoping that their children or siblings will stay at school, or find a school, or stay alive.  This is reality of our third worlds.

But I write personally, as I always do.  I have seen these families all my life in the rural north west province, and in the cities and towns of Africa I have made my home for months, years.  There language is not of the discourse of feminism, of the rights of women, women's equality.  But what I did see in these communities, most often than not, is just that...a community. A shoulder to lean on.   Traditionally there is a sisterhood, against the odds, a unity among women to raise children together.  This is a generalization, but the majority of mothers pulled together to form a child raising community.  A group effort.

As much as my schooling gave me independence, lack of male competition, close friendships with my school friends (I attended a wonderful all girls school) and a very late interest in the opposite sex, almost a by product of all the other exciting parts of a school girl life, it also gave me entrance into a very surreal world.

A world in which in order to 'survive', the mantra is every nuclear family unto itself.  Until I became a school mom myself, it did not permeate my skin.  But as a mother, I believe in the traditional  almost archaic cultural day to day life of men being hunters, women being gatherers (in a larger metaphorical sense of course), and the village of women, young, and old, sick and healthy, standing together in the raising and supporting of the new generation.  There is no fierce competition between us mothers, us women, the term feminism or even post feminism seems redundant in my world view.  Because the natural human unity between us is paramount.

I chatted on and on to the fellow mothers at my children school and was met with distrust.  It is dichotomous, this modern role of the mother at school.  On the one hand, we don't discuss ourselves or our careers, we are mostly extensions of our offspring.  On the other hand, there is a brutal competition to see who we all are.  Who is she?  Is she prettier, thinner, more glamorous, than I am?  (Smarter doesn't even feature primarily).  Is she going to flirt with my husband?  Is she going to make me look like a less than perfect mum?

There is a such a paranoia and isolation that it make take months to break down.  But I was surprised.  In my world, mothers stick together, we have enough other worries.  Let's not compete.  Forget your kids for a moment, much as you love them.  They will most likely be fine in life.  Even more so if they see an example of women leaning on each other, turning to each other.  So let's talk about ourselves, let our guards down, complain together, laugh together, take an interest in our lives instead of our children's, and have a a glass of wine together.  To toast the the enormously difficult job of raising children in a society where we as mothers don't seem to have the chance to ask for, or receive, a little help.  Again, general rule, there are wonderful exceptions.