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Weight is not just a number

18 months ago I weighed over 160kg and my blood sugar was 27. Today I’m 40kg lighter.

Earlier today I posted a progress photo on Facebook after losing 40kg. Within minutes my inbox exploded with questions: How did you do it? What diet are you on? Is it even possible?

Instead of answering everyone individually, I thought it might be easier to share my story in a blog post.

Please keep in mind that this blog post reflects my own journey, decisions and research and in no way should replace consultations with your medical practitioner.

About a year and a half ago I got a wake-up call around my blood sugar. It tested at 27, and my doctor advised extreme and urgent measures. Against my wishes I started taking medication, but I’ve always believed medication doesn’t treat root causes – it tends to treat symptoms.

My weight was hovering just above 160kg. I was morbidly obese. My aim was simple: to lose at least 60kg in the healthiest and most sustainable way possible. I considered many solutions, and realised the first step would have to adjust my mind. Mindset is everything and determines results in everything we do.

I had a very bad fall a number of years ago which severely impacted my mobility. It impacted my quality of life and I fought an increasing depression and weight gain. The weight gain again worsened my mobility even further, so it became a vicious spiral. Also, I am fifty years old. My doctor told me that weight loss after forty is very difficult for women, and almost impossible to successfully achieve.

When I was diagnosed with Diabetes Type 2, my twins were just 8 years old. I found it inconceivable that my health would negatively impact their future. The thought of not being there for them not only terrified me, but catapulted me into action. I am a voracious reader, and knuckled down to research. Most research pointed to exercise for weight loss, but due to my injuries I could not do any exercises.

I discovered that exercise isn’t the only driver of weight loss. For me, nutrition and calorie control mattered far more—especially because my injuries limited my ability to exercise. In fact, the more you exercise, the hungrier you get and the more you want to eat. Which is great for already active people. However, for people who are significantly overweight, managing hunger cravings can be one of the biggest challenges when starting a lifestyle change.

If you are heavily and morbidly obese like myself, the first step is to calculate what would be a calorie deficit. Then get a calorie tracker and relentlessly record everything that goes into your mouth. Cut out all refined carbs, sugar, sodas, etc. Fat is not your enemy at all. Healthy fats are good for you and not only assist with weight loss, but keep you fuller for longer, curbing your appetite.

My calorie tracker is MyFitnessPal. It offers both free and paid solutions, and either works fine. There are a number of alternatives that can be downloaded and used. A calorie tracker makes it much easier to actually track your food and see where you can make alternative choices. It also helps you stay within your calorie count so that you can mindfully make choices around what to eat.

The biggest problem in eating less is that hunger cravings become a challenge. We are often told that fat is bad for us, so we shy away from fats and eat food that is in no way sustainable or manages to keep us fuller for longer. My research took me to explore more about the Carnivore eating plan, which is really fascinating with regards to how much better healthy proteins and fats are from a health perspective.

For myself, I found the pure Carnivore eating plan very restrictive and also expensive and difficult to maintain. Please understand that this was my personal preference, and in no way reflects any guidance for anyone else. What I found effective for me, and which is still a great and sustainable way for me to plan my meals, is to follow more of a Carnivore-Keto eating plan. I combine healthier vegetable choices with protein and good fats, which means I get to stay fuller for longer.

In addition to changing my meal planning around Carnivore-Keto and maintaining my calorie-deficit, I also fast for 17 hours a day. My first meal of the day is at 12, and my last meal at 5pm. Intermittent fasting helped me curb calories and encourage my body to use stored fat for energy. Starting out, one should consider a shorter cycle, and work your way up to longer hours.

All these changes sound difficult to do, and yes, I am not going to lie – they are. But it comes down to a choice: do you want to eat junk, or do you want to live? How much is that spoonful of sugar in your coffee or tea really worth in the long run? Is it worth your health and wellbeing?

Everything starts with your mindset. Making healthy choices is not just about knowledge, it is about having the willpower to persist. I am not yet at my goal weight, but I am over halfway there. This hasn’t been an easy journey at all. I am an emotional eater, and I struggle with depression and stress. My age and my injuries all counted against me, as well as most people saying it cannot be done.

This has been a time of getting to know myself better, of what triggers my bad habits, and of not obsessing over the numbers. My weight loss started off well, and then I had a really bad wobble which I struggled to get out of. I got myself into a pattern of dropping a bit, but climbing more, like one step forward and two steps back. It took a good talking to myself to get my head back in the game.

This journey hasn’t been perfect. There have been setbacks, plateaus, and moments where I felt like giving up. But I’ve learned something important: progress matters more than perfection. So far I’m 40kg down, and still a long way to go.

Please be kind to yourself. If you fall off the bus, it doesn’t mean the journey is over. It simply means you climb back on and keep going.

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Another trip around the sun

I was woken up this morning by twins throwing themselves at me like puppies, all wriggly and demanding hugs and kisses. I treasure these mornings, as they are growing up way too fast and all too soon I won’t be allowed to hug or kiss either of them. And usually it is me having to wake them up – my daughter takes a single call, my son sometimes have to be dragged out of bed. But today is special and they are excited: it’s my birthday and they’ve been talking about it all week.

Our trusty local weather service claimed a whopping 4 degrees Celsius. A trip to the shower confirmed that today would be a “no water” day – for some reason the back-up tank is empty, and the town only gets water every second day. All reminders of why I chose to take this year to come and make a sustainable difference in a town where I grew up, but where the infrastructure is dicey at best. An article on Businesslive confirms that there is simply no money. The intro is bleak: “The Eastern Cape is in a technical recession due to sharp declines in the construction, manufacturing, and mining industries, which have put employment on a knife’s edge.”

It is easy to complain about how bad things are. And yes, things are bad. When we have no internet signal for no apparent reason for days, or when there is yet again no water. When the power just goes because it was too windy, and the technicians can only work on the problem the next day. When there are hungry dogs walking in the streets, and even hungrier children, with no hope of a difference soon because there simply is no employment for their parents. Yet we have to do something. And our “something” was to apply to Lottoland and to get the green light for funding to renovate and repair the local municipal swimming pool.

Some days it feels as if we bit off more than we can chew, and then I remind myself we have no choice but to get chewing. This project has to and will be completed successfully. It is merely a gateway project to so much more. We want to also raise funds for a local skills development centre to create entrepreneurs, which will lead to people able to earn money, get back their dignity and provide for their families. Isn’t that all we all want? Just to be able to be ok?

I sit at my desk at my office, a hot coffee at my elbow, with working electricity and internet access (for now), and I count my blessings. We don’t realise how privileged we are until we see how little people can survive on.

My facebook post today:

Instead of gifts to me for my 49th birthday please consider making a small donation to one of our biggest projects to date: Burgersdorp Swimming Pool & Sport Club by clicking here:

https://www.backabuddy.co.za/campaign/burgersdorp-municipal-swimming-pool

Today I just want to say how grateful I am to everyone in my life for your support and your love. I wouldn’t be where I am today without you.

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Musings & Ponderings

I often get to the end of a day, and need a bit of time-out to recenter myself because of people I’ve had to deal with during the working day. Or even any day. It seems impossible that there are so few people with at least common sense on this here planet, but there you have it.

I look at one of my team members (and for obvious reasons I will not disclose who I am referring to – but you know who you are). I recently experienced a hail storm while driving to my primary office through the Karoo. Big chunky rock-like ice plummeted the car from various angles. There was nothing to do but to muscle through it, as fast as possible whilst still staying within safety parameters. The car sustained close to a hundred thousand rand worth of damage. Anyway – I asked said team member to get in touch with the insurance and start the tedious process of lodging a claim.

This meme applies – I feel no further words are necessary on this matter:


Then, a couple of weeks ago, a local school fundraiser started popping up on the usual channels. It turns out our school is hosting fundraiser evenings to boost the sport kitty. All well and good, but “Dad and his pride and joy” can go chill by the fires, and “Mom can have a night off with her friends” elsewhere. I asked them what about the single moms with rugby playing sons? Surely, Felicia, we live in 2024 and not 1924? Can my son now not go because I am female? And if I go to the mom thingy, what about my kids? The reply: this is the first time someone has raised a concern regarding gender-separated events. It took a vast amount (and I mean gargantuan) of self-control to not say something that could backfire (small town, people!). I gently tried to explain that I am not the only single parent affected by these events. Days later I had a meeting with the headmaster about some of our community projects, and this phone call was addressed during the meeting. I had more than ruffled some feathers, which was not my intention at all. Surely it is common sense that all events should be inclusive?

Common sense, perhaps not for everyone, eh?

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Colour Me Pretty

One of my all-time favourite movies is The Mirror Has Two Faces (an oldie from 1996). Barbra Streisand shines in her role, and I believe she also directed the movie. A quote from the movie has stuck with me and it is one I often share. Barbra’s character, Rose, is asked if she wears make-up. Her reply: What’s the point? I’d still look like me, only in color.

I rarely wear make-up. Now that I have a Diva as a daughter, I may even wear make-up a bit more often, at her insistence. It has just never interested me to understand how all that time spent blending various pigments onto my facial area works. I have the basics down pat for when it is really needed.

Why do women spend so much time and money changing how they look and then they don’t even get to see themselves? You colour in your face to present a different face to the people around you. And then there is the removal regime: another at least half an hour of my day gone, and I still wake up in the morning with some kind of residue on my eyelashes. You can never quite remove all the eyeliner or mascara (not sure which one).

I vaguely remember during Covid how make-up brands were lamenting losses of business because women were just not dollying themselves up as much because of the masks they were required to wear. Is make-up just another kind of mask?

There have been well-meaning female friends who has accused me of not taking care of myself enough. How is plastering your face with layers of “stuff” taking care of yourself? Surely our faces are meant to feel the kiss of the sun or the subtle touch of a breeze, without the concern that something will melt off or blow away.

I spend much time thinking of what we as women put up with, or even center our lives around, now that I am raising a strong woman. I want my daughter to have the freedom to express who she is, without feeling that she needs the support of any kind of aid to be accepted by her peers or the community.

As women, let’s support each other’s personal choices, outside of what society dictates. You want to wear make-up and it is for you and your decision, you go girl! You don’t want to – fine as well. Make sure that you understand why you make the decisions you do, and that those decisions are for your benefit and yours alone.

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Freedom?

There was a time when lockdown was a novelty. We were all together in this, and we oohed and aahed at all the changes. Social media updates were all about how panic buying caused a toilet paper shortage, how the streets in major cities were empty, how nature was flourishing and reclaiming where man no longer interfered. We locked ourselves away. We washed and sanitised everything incoming into our spaces such as groceries.

Then the grief came. The numbers were piling up as more and more faces we knew passed away. The fear made us huddle further into our spaces, trying our best to stay safe. Coupled with this, came the inevitable conspiracy theorists. None of this was real said the tinfoilers. It was all an elaborate hoax aimed at making the man bend its collective knee.

Our much-anticipated “family meetings” when our President spoke to us on tv, looking wearier and wearier, were the topic of many debates. We discovered terms like lockdown levels, we discovered rules like curfew, travel restrictions and alcohol bans. The economy suffered, businesses suffered, we all suffered. A state of emergency was declared.

We all had different coping mechanisms. Mine, as always, was to write. I diligently wrote about my experience daily, then every second day, then no more as it became too real, too painful and too hard. Our own business was taking enormous strain. Clients who became friends closed their doors, one after the other. Our hospitality clients were taking the hardest strain. I am an ideas-person, I am all about solutions. But nothing I could do, could help them.

A couple of days ago, the final family meeting brought a much-anticipated change to all our lives: the state of emergency was declared over. With immediate effect, lockdowns and accompanying restrictions were lifted. There would be a 30 day transition period on some of the regulations.

Following the collective sigh of relief, there came the inevitable what now? For the longest lockdown in the world (the counts differed, but around 740 days) we were told what to do, when to do it and how to do it. Bringing to mind a fable I read as a young girl about how to train an elephant:

As a man was passing the elephants, he suddenly stopped, confused by the fact that these huge creatures were being held by only a small rope tied to their front leg. No chains, no cages. It was obvious that the elephants could, at anytime, break away from their bonds but for some reason, they did not.

He saw a trainer nearby and asked why these animals just stood there and made no attempt to get away. “Well,” trainer said, “when they are very young and much smaller we use the same size rope to tie them and, at that age, it’s enough to hold them. As they grow up, they are conditioned to believe they cannot break away. They believe the rope can still hold them, so they never try to break free.”

The man was amazed. These animals could at any time break free from their bonds but because they believed they couldn’t, they were stuck right where they were.

We have been trained, and now we are told we are free. Are we?



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Less than…

It has been more than a year since my last entry on this blog. I love writing, but I found I did not have anything to say. Or perhaps more accurately, anything that didn’t sound saturated in self-pity.

With the world wrapped up in Covid-chaos, and devastating losses everywhere, my own troubles paled in comparison. Yet to me, my world was, and still is, collapsing around me.

The foundation of who I am, is that I am a hard worker, with a get up and go attitude, backed by an iron will and a never give up approach, all underwritten by a belief system based on I can do it myself.

Just over a year ago, I had a very bad fall in a factory. With my usual chutzpa, I tried to shake it off as another day in the life, and move on. Yet I found this was not so easy. I am a big girl, and falling down in front of people is a humiliation I wish on nobody. I still think back and cringe.

Pain is now a constant companion, making me irritable and moody. I’ve been poked, prodded, scanned and examined by several medical experts, and there is just no simple solution for the damage my body took.

I feel so much less than who I was. From being able to do anything I set my mind to, I now just can’t.

I’ve lost my little deli because it is too painful to work with dough and pastry, and subsequently I’ve also lost my two much-loved market stalls. There is something wholesome in selling something you’ve made to someone appreciative. I really miss the community that I was a part of.

As an artist, I am now unable to hold and manipulate a paintbrush, a computer mouse or even a crochet hook for too long before the pain kicks in. I miss the freedom of creating. I miss taking down a brief from a client, and doing a presentation on a project I put together. It is difficult to brief my team and get the same results.

As a mother of young twins, I am not able to physically play like we did. My little ones don’t understand, so I try my best. I cannot pick them up, play ball or go cycling or exploring trails like we used to.

The scans have also brought to light some growths on my thyroid, which my doctor wants to remove asap due to an inconclusive biopsy. After the fall, my stress levels escalated due to the impact on my business, which triggered asthma. In a nutshell, in the midst of Covid, I am classified as high-risk and the operation has been postponed twice. This adds fear to the whole equation.

Yes, I am depressed. I am sad and angry and scared and still in denial. I am not me anymore, I am a shell whose physical abilities are altered irrevocably. I am half a mom, and a fraction of the businesswoman I used to be. If I could have one wish it would be that I just want my life back. My ability to function and get stuff done. To feel whole again, capable and yes, able.

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About moths and flames

I found this poem online, and it resonated with me:

i was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric bulb
and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense

plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves

and before i could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went and immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity

but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself”
― Kevin Dutton

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Regret is a non-splendoured thing

I got a call late yesterday morning- the one when the phone rings, you recognise the number, and your heart plummets in your chest, because news has not been good lately, and you dread what you’ll hear when you answer. My mother passed away. Just like that. My closest blood relative, the person who brought me into this world, who gave me life.

Yes, I understand the irony of how I feel. I am an adoptive parent. I did not want children for many years, because I had such a tumultuous and abusive relationship with my mother. I was worried that I might turn out the be the same kind of mother, and I’d wish that on no child. And by the time I knew better, and I really yearned for children of my own, this is the route that worked out for me.

Somehow people think when you’ve lost an estranged parent, it is ok. You didn’t have much of a relationship with them, so why be sad? It is much much more complicated than that. I didn’t realise I’d feel this overwhelming grief. I manage to get my tears under control, only for it to all start up again at a thought, a smell, a word. My way of dealing with emotions is to do something, to cook, to write, to make something.

It is tough growing up without a mother. I had a person in my life, who gave birth to me, but who was in no way what a mother personifies. There was no love, no nurturing, no hugs, no care. Today, I wonder if she didn’t have postnatal depression, and was never diagnosed. But that doesn’t explain the constant abuse. I was eventually removed by social workers into state care when I was fifteen, and pretty much made my own way from there. That was 30 years ago.

It goes beyond explanation, but I constantly went back to try and remedy the situation. When I matriculated, I begged for a lift, and I made my way to where she lived. I wanted to share with her that not only did I matriculate top of my class, but I also got a very rare and much-needed bursary to go to university. When I knocked, and she saw it was me, her exchange with me was bitter. She told me in no uncertain terms that I am nothing to her.

It is tough entering the adult world without a mother. I’ve always had caring people who stood in the place she should have been, but it is not the same. I envied girls who had easy access to a mom to teach them everything they needed to know about transitioning into an adult. How to wear make-up, how to handle suitors, how to wear jewellery, appropriate clothes for specific events. Someone to giggle with about silly things, someone to whisper my dreams to who gave me complete support. Someone who stood up for me when I couldn’t on my own, who took my side when I needed an ally, who anchored me when seas got rough.

So yes, I yearned for a mother. I constantly tried to reconnect, and when I got married, I went to introduce my new husband to my real family, so he could be under no misunderstanding as to my origins. Poor, and from the complete wrong side of the tracks. We actually ended up staying with them for a few days – things seemed to be going smoother.

When my marriage fell apart, I went to fetch my mother to come and stay with me for a few days. I really just needed comfort and companionship. Comfort she had no idea how to give, companionship, she tried her best. It felt as if we were cautiously feeling our way towards each other.

Over the years, depending on my own income, I’d send money, or help buy whatever was needed: a fridge, a stove, groceries, essentials. It reached a point where it started feeling my mother would just contact me when she needed money or when she needed me to get something for her.

Our fragile relationship shattered to pieces again when I reopened our old wounds, and tried to explore why she abused me so badly as a child. She denied completely that anything of the sort had happened, shut herself off from all communication, and I left, angry. We went back and forth like this for years, with me just wanting answers and to understand, and with her completely denying that anything of the sort had happened.

It took me having children of my own before I finally understood. I could not force my mother to love me, or to even give me any answers or closure. Also, I was not to blame for what happened to me as a child, I did not fail in any way. There is nothing I could have done better, or differently. I was a child, she was the adult. If I wanted any kind of relationship with her, it would have to be unconditionally.

Last year I packed up my twins and off we went to Queenstown for a visit over the festive season. I hadn’t seen my mother in fifteen years by then, and I was worried that the visit would be strained. And yes, of course it was. My mother could not make eye contact with me, and for the first couple of days she spoke to me via other people. Like: “Eddie, ask Jolindy if she wants coffee”, or “Imelda: I think Jolindy needs a chair.” But I could see she was trying. She kept an eye on me and when she thought I needed something, she’d get someone to sort it out. And I just went back, day after day, relentlessly.

By now, my mother could not walk properly. A hip replacement from many years ago started failing, and she was in line for a wheelchair. She smoked non-stop, and sat at their little kitchen table, from where she ran their little household. It was hard, to go sit at that table, all day, every day. I had brought lots of activities for the twins, and they were happy and entertained with puzzles and toys. But that time sitting at that table turned out to be most valuable. I let go of my questions about her motherhood and my childhood. I forgave her, and I embraced her as to who she turned out to be.

From there, I spoke to her almost every day telephonically, and the twins embraced her as “Ouma”. She loved it, and she told them she loved them. She couldn’t say it to me, but I could hear she wanted to. As to me, I struggled to articulate the word “Mom”. I’d avoid calling her anything, and structured my sentences to her so there was no form of address. It was hard, the word stuck in my throat. I am happy that during our last conversations I did manage to work it in.

My mother and Eddie were supposed to come and visit us at home in George over the Easter period. I had booked and confirmed their tickets, and we were all ready for them with planned treats and outings. She was so excited. A week before they would have come, she let me know that she got her wheelchair, and she would be able to be more mobile. Our Covid-19 figures started growing, and a travel ban was imposed, not only on international travel, but also on all domestic travel. We took it in our stride, and said as soon as all of this is over, we’ll have our visit. It was her birthday three weeks ago – she still reminded me, as if I’d ever forgot. April 10, every year, I have always thought of her in some way. This year I bought her a much-coveted tea set, that we were going to put in their bedroom as a surprise when they came.

The call that she was hospitalised happened just over a week ago. I frantically called the hospital for more detailed news, because my mother’s husband, Eddie, seemed to have no idea what was happening, and my brother, Jan, was in a state. I could get no information, because I could not verify telephonically that I am next of kin. The hospital explained I have to be there in person. There was no way I would be allowed to travel, the country was in the middle of our most severe level 5 lockdown, and my mother was hospitalised in another province. The police just said no to a travel permit, funerals only. I might now to be allowed to travel, as soon as a death certificate is issued, I’ll have to apply. I tried yesterday with our documents and an affidavit, but it was a firm no.

A kind doctor finally got back to me and explained the severity of the situation. Stage 5 cancer, very aggressive. A stroke as well. My mother was in a lot of pain and unable to speak. Swollen hands, unable to hold a phone. I had to communicate via Eddie. Due to a broken car and financial issues, he could also not visit her daily, so updates were few and far between. The prognosis looked bleak. I did not know when she had been discharged, the last I heard from the hospital, my mother was supposed to go by ambulance to the nearest oncology clinic.

And now, she has passed away. Peaceful, it seems, in bed, next to her husband, in the small hours of the morning. I never got to say goodbye, or to even hug her. I don’t know what she would have made of a hug, she was not really a demonstrative person. There will be no more chances for further reconciliation, no more time just sitting with her, quietly listening to her, talking about inconsequential stuff, but talking. Eddie told me she could not stop talking about our visit over Christmas. It was all she wanted, it gave her peace. I regret not having let go of my resentment years ago, and just letting us develop an adult relationship.

Loss is a complicated thing. And so is grief. There is this huge hole inside of me, and my eyes keep on misting up and I have to delete and retype. Estranged or not, she was my mother. And I miss her more than I ever knew I would.

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Physical distancing, Social Togetherness #LockDownSA Day 29

 

Day 29 Lockdown

24 April 2020

4220 cases
Recovered: 1474
Deceased: 79

Today has been a collective sigh of relief from all over. Last night our President addressed us with a PLAN! Now we at least have a roadmap moving forward.

The following is beautifully written by Herman Le Roux!

“The speech our President delivered tonight will go down in history!

This is why.

He gave the reasons;
He explained the process;
He acknowledged all challenges;
He proposed solutions;
He showed compassion;
He did not make it about him;
He told us why;
He showed us how;
He understands the effect;
He grasps the facts;
He listens to science;
He shows humanity;

He is not moved by fear, hate, misinformation, glory, self love, fake information or emotion. He is moved by fact. Controlled, calculated compassionate facts.

His five staged plan is a logistical giant that I hope he gets the support for he needs. It is clear he fully grasps all aspects and considers everything.

This was arguably the most significant speech delivered in South Africa in 25 years, and one of the greatest ever. Comparable to the great speeches of all time.

President Ramaphosa is not like any of his predecessors, and will make a mark not only as a great leader, whether or not you like him or not, but as a world leader. You have to admit that he is a very intelligent man, with compassion and controlled dignity.

Tonight you have nothing but my utmost, deserved respect.

Go rest. You are tired.

I do not think any speech in recent times by any world leader is comparable to this.

I will do my part as you asked, not instructed, asked, in a dignified and humble manner.

Thank you.

(and the way you put the mask over your eyes at the end shows me you still have some humour, which is beautiful)

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Physical distancing, Social Togetherness #LockDownSA Day 28

Day 28 Lockdown

23 April 2020

3 465 cases
Recovered: 903
Deceased: 58

Today, I want to share an open letter to South Africa, written by Jessica Mills, a Grade 11 student from Thomas More College in Kloof, Durban. What makes this letter even more special to me, is that this beautiful soul is related to a friend of mine, Taryn Mills Groenewald, from George. This letter brought tears to my eyes, and needs to be shared far and wide. This letter says it all – there really is nothing I can add that will make it more relevant and valid, especially now.

Dear Mama Africa,

I write you this letter to say thank you. For the past 17 years, you have been good to me. You have given me a home and borne me your fruits before I was even old enough to ask. You painted me sunsets of gold and performed each stroke with a harmonious rhythm that couldn’t be recreated anywhere else in the world. On my first birthday, you gifted me the very soil I would learn to take my first steps on, and as I grew older you taught me the ways of your culture. Everything I do is because of you.

Because of you, I call traffic lights “robots” and I call diapers “nappies”. Mama, you have united my people and sheltered them regardless of their age, race or status. Your affection and nurturing has been unconditional, and for that, I love you. You are who I am and no amount of time or distance could ever scratch out your name.

But, I also write this letter to say sorry. I am sorry for any piece of litter I threw on the ground because I was too lazy to find a bin. I am sorry for the times I cursed your name when I looked to other lands and assumed their grass was greener. I am sorry that when I noticed your dams begging for rain and your land cracking into dust that I chose to carry on with my selfish life. But mostly, I am sorry that my apology didn’t come sooner. I am sorry that I am apologising too late.

Your beauty and purity is emphasised by current events. Our human sense of entitlement has demanded too much of you, and our reckless behaviour has caused us nothing but destruction. With global warming and an intimidating virus threatening our survival, I don’t fear the extinction of humans. Instead, I fear that due to my running out of time, I will never be able to return your graces. Once your children are gone, I fear that your senses will struggle to adapt to your new-found solidarity.

I fear that your ears will find the silence suffocating as you no longer hear the obnoxious noise bellowing from taxis and proud Vuvuzelas. I fear that your tongue will forget the taste of our spices and that your nose will forget the unmistakable smell of a nearby braai. I worry that you will no longer be able to feel the hollow imprints of our footsteps and that once your natural beauty is restored, you will feel lonely having no one to share the view with.

Mama, I can’t change my ways in the past, but I can promise you that from this day forward I will give you every piece of me as you did all those years ago. I will seize each day that I have with you and show you what I am able to do with all that you have given me. I will warm in your sunlight, and I will cool in your rivers. I will use my hands to plant you a new life, and I will acknowledge every aspect of your elegant grace, not letting a single flower pass me by without admiring the intricate detail you invested into it. I promise that I am thankful. I promise that I am sorry. I promise that I am going to make you proud.

Jessica Mills

22 April 2020