TOASTED CHEESE: The service was fulfilling. The preacher was in form. The choir was angelic. It was good to be attending a Catholic service after many years. I was surprised I still could sing the Hymns and the Liturgy, especially in English. It has been a while since I last attended a Catholic Holy Communion service. The last time was in this very Catholic private school when I was attending a pre exam Mass/Communion just before my daughter wrote her Matric exams. On that day the sermon was somehow flat. But last night the service felt more profound. Some twelve learners were being confirmed as full members of the catholic church and Faith. One of them is a brother to my daughters person. The family had invited us to attend the service and later share dinner with them at their home. The dinner itself did not disappoint. It was a huge feast. A lot to eat and to drink. Luckily me and daughter did not take much, otherwise we would have slept at the police station awaiting to be bailed out. You see, we met a huge road block on our way home, the peninsula police have been hard at work for the last 3 weekends. They are stopping cars right, left and centre , and they are breathelizing most drivers. Luckily we were sober like Judges, and we eventually escaped free. We reached home after 1pm, and I struggled to fall asleep still. Now today being Saturday, I still woke up at 7 am to prep myself and trod downstairs, and I find the scullery littered with dishes. The dishwasher is half full, and so is the sink. Spinned Laundry is still in the machine, and the drier is empty and ajar. I curse under my breath, Clear the sink, :run the dishwasher and the drier, and load the other laundry into the washing machine, then settle down for a cup of coffee and some toasted cheese sandwich. As I take the first bite, I remember as I always do without fail whenever I have toasted cheese sandwich, how I suffered as a self supporting student when I trained to be a teacher. You see I came from a black middle - class family, but I was politically active, and so I faced the wrath of my father, who gave me almost nothing for my higher education, as he was punishing me for my political activities. He used to send me a R2 note in a two - sentenced letter which read.We are doing well at home, hope you are well too. Receive R2 for your pocket money. Your Father, S. So I never was given any pocket money other than R2. So I began to do projects and assignments for my fellow students at a fee. In that way I could afford to buy myself toasted cheese sandwich at the cafeteria twice a week. That was the only delicacy I could have when I was far away in Pretoria and in the East Rand studying to be a teacher. Most break times I designed pamplets/ posters or wrote articles for the underground Voice of the Voiceless student magazine that I had founded. This was to de-focus my attention from the hunger pangs that were part of my daily life at college then.. Now each time I have a toasted cheese sandwich, I think of the hardship I endured in order to stand for what I believed in. I take a bite and thank God that I stood by my beliefs through thick and thin. And as my kids wake up at 12 midday on this Saturday, I look at them with eyes of pity, pity that they dont know what real hardship is. Pity that they fail to load a dishwasher and a washing machine just because they slept late. And I wonder and pray. Nkosi sikeleka iAfrika, Bless her children too, so that they too can rise against adversity, like we, their parents did. Sikekeka Nkosi, give them wisdom and courage, so that they can work hard each day of their lives, so that they can eventually continue to have toasted cheese sandwich as an option, and not as a twice-a- week delicacy, long after I have ceased to exist. Amen.
Posted on: Sat, 23 Aug 2014 11:18:30 +0000
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