Year 1994

Just a few things that came to mind when thinking of my 1994 in South Africa

My parents came to South Africa in 1991 and after the business and house was more settled, they fetched us in 1992, my sister and I.  When the parents were both at work, Alina the cleaning lady would also act as our nanny.  We attended a government primary school, a farm school, with the white kids.  It was the closest one to the town we stayed in; about 5km drive at 50km/h speed.  At school, we called the lady teachers “tannie”, meaning aunty in Afrikaans and the man teachers were “meneer”, meaning mister in Afrikaans. 

 

In 1994, I vaguely remember my dad watching the rugby world cup (which we won) and that was the year when Mr. Nelson Mandela became president, the first time black people came in power in South Africa.  Around election time, the kids were told that we will be going to “hideout” at an uncle’s house in Pretoria, one of the capitals 50km away from where we stayed. 

 

Before we could leave, my dad had to go with one of the workers (the few left that were still at work and not out toi-toi-ing) to the factory with the Isuzu bakkie to fetch the huge safe that was still at the office, containing important documents and some money (I guess?).  It was a massive (to me at the time) grey thing of about a meter high and a meter across.  As they exited from the main gate of the industrial park and took a left turn onto the main road, a bunch of people toi-toi-ing on the streets threw a rock through the window of the front passenger seat and the glass shattered all over inside.  My dad kept driving and didn’t stop until he got to the house.  A few minor cuts drawing slight blood from pieces of glass flying through, no major injuries.  Thinking back now, my dad was the bravest man to have done the trip back to the factory during that chaotic and unstable political time.  But then thinking back again, I might have also called it a stupid thing to do to risk your life for a business, for money.

 

Things settled and we came home, business continued and school resumed.  After a few months, new students were enrolled into our school, new black students.  We were anxious and a bit scared of their arrival.  The day before they arrived, one of my favourite teachers spoke to the class:

 

“I am sorry my children, but from tomorrow onwards, you may not call me tannie anymore.  I will not have these black kids calling me tannie, calling me aunty.  From tomorrow, please call me juffrou, teacher”.

 

I didn’t really know why she said that, all I knew was that it didn’t make sense to me.  Soon though, all the lady teachers became “juffrou”.

 

The black students came and their academics were very bad.  Their sports weren’t outstanding either and not surprising, the white and black kids did not mingle at break time.  I’m more of the in between, being neither black nor white, and I was the only Taiwanese student in the entire school after my sister finished primary school a year later.  I had good white friends but I also liked the black kids.  In fact, in my last year of primary school, I was completely head over heels for a black classmate called Kelvin.  Anyways.  I wanted to help the black kids with their studies, starting with some reading.  So we had the idea of starting a reading club but we needed to raise some money to buy books and t-shirts that would have “reading club” printed on them " that would be really cool.

 

I started a fund raising campaign asking classmates to bring in any spare change they have to support us.  After I started this campaign, all my white friends stopped talking to me, even one whom I considered my best friend, and that really hurt me a lot.  There was one particular girl who looked at me with hateful eyes, but I was determined to carry on. 

 

One morning during class, about four white girls came to my table with heavy looking bags in their hands.  They opened the bags and threw hundreds of one and two cent brown coins onto my table, it fell all over the floor as well and made a huge noise.  One girl said “here is all the change you want for your stupid book club”.  I honestly cannot remember how I reacted but a teacher must have come to sort the matter out as I recall a scene with us girls in the staff room.  I might have called the teacher though, unwilling as I am to say so, I think I am the annoying tell-tale kind of child.  Was I humiliated?  I don’t know.  Was I insulted?  I don’t know.  But I was definitely dumbstruck at what my white “friends” did.  Necessary or unnecessary, both parties would have their own say about it.

 

I just realised that when I say ”we”, I refer to the country and myself as South Africa and being a South African citizen.  I feel South African.  Times of year 1994 were chaotic and fortunate without a civil war outbreak, but for me at the young age of 10, that was as eventful as I can remember.