The little yacht

As you have probably surmised from my posts, I had a very happy childhood. I got on reasonably well with my five siblings ( and I still do), and we had loving and supportive parents, Mother Provincial and Mkulubaas. I have since learned that my parents struggled financially raising their six children, but they did not show it to us. We did not drive a fancy new car, and we never went on expensive holidays but, when I look back, I would not have wanted it any other way.

As I have mentioned already, my saintly mother is a wonderful person. Mother Superior has often remarked on how she is an inspiration to her, and how she has tried to model her own motherhood on Mother Provincial.

 Mkulubaas, my father, is very supportive of his children and is a wonderful father and grandfather. He was an extremely generous man who would literally go to the ends of the earth for us. He was also highly regarded by the local church and business community. Unfortunately, as with most of us, Mkulubaas had a dark side. He had a very quick and explosive temper, and it was best to stay out of his way when he was in a bad mood. When his eyes started flashing from side to side, we all knew it was time to duck for cover.

 Mkulubaas came from a generation where the wife did everything in the house, even though she was working full time. He was generally not a very fussy eater, but he did let us all know when he was not happy with what was put in front of him. These days, if I ever dared to complain about  my food to Mother Superior (not that I have any reason to – she is an excellent cook), I would be doing the cooking in future. I remember a meal when Mkulubaas grumbled that his meatballs were not cooked properly. He threw his plate across the table and complained bitterly. In a moment of madness, I sprang to my mother’s defence, stating that the meatballs were absolutely delicious. The next thing I knew, I was lying on the floor with stars in my eyes. He had slapped me across the head. I learned from then onwards to only challenge Mkulubaas when he was not within swiping distance of me.

 When my elder brother, Sangoma, and I were in high school, Mkulubaas decided that we would enjoy sailing, so he borrowed this old boat and we headed to Murray Park to sail it. The lake at Murray Park was large, and was originally a dam holding the run off water from gold processing. Behind it was an old mine tailings dump. The town council put topsoil over the dump and planted grass. The result was a rather attractive lake with a grassed hill behind it. It was the perfect place to sail a dingy. God knows what was in the water, though. It had a yellow tinge, and was completely devoid of any life. I am not sure how healthy it was to swim in.

 The boat was apparently a Sea Flea, but it was more of an ugly duckling. It was no more than an oversized surfboard with a rudder and centreboard. It had a short mast that supported a green sail that was shaped like that of an Arab dhow.

 During the morning and early afternoon of that first sailing, the wind was low, so we had great fun sailing the little boat in the lake. As the afternoon progressed, the wind became gusty, and Mkulubaas was keen to call a halt to the fun. Being a real smart-arse, I disobeyed him and took the boat out on my own. It was really moving now, and I thought I was big stuff. As I was whizzing along with the wind behind me, I looked back to see the centreboard floating away. Not knowing much about sailing, I jammed the rudder across to turn around to retrieve it. Of course, the boom came flying over, and the next thing, I was in the water. I surfaced next to the upturned boat, and there, in the distance, was Mkulubaas furiously swimming to me.  Before he got to me, another yachtie saw my plight and come to the rescue. When he saw that I was not wearing a life-jacket, he lectured me on how irresponsible I was. We got the boat to shore, loaded it onto the car, and drove home in silence.

 The following week, Mkulubaas arrived home from work with two lifejackets. I have no idea where he got them. Shortly afterwards, he bought the boat and gave it to us as a Christmas present. What a great present! He took the broken centreboard to work and returned with it not only fixed, but modified to prevent it coming adrift again.

 We had many happy sailings at Murray Park with that little boat. The family often had picnics on weekends.  During one of these occasions we nearly lost the boat because Sangoma and a friend were caught in a bad storm. They were rescued by other boats, but our boat was left adrift in the middle of the lake. Mkulubaas was all for leaving it there but, because of our protestations, went back and borrowed a canoe to fetch it.

 Our fun with the boat continued in the school holidays with Mkulubaas dropping us off at Murray park on the way to work, and picking us up on the way back. Mother Provincial made us sandwiches, and we had a great day where we were really sunburned. We did not know of skin cancer in those days.

 The sailing with Mkulubaas continued until one fateful Sunday afternoon. We were at a family picnic when Mkulubaas and I decided to have a final sail for the afternoon. All went well until we returned to shore. The lake water level was low, which meant the boat had to be carried the last 20 metres over knee-deep oozing mud. There were some kids playing in the mud, and they came to give us a hand. Unfortunately, they were more of a hindrance than a help. A gust of wind caused me to lose my grip and the boat flipped over on top of Mkulubaas. He ended up flat on his back in the mud with the boat on top of him. All I could see was the bottom of the boat and his head. I made the mistake of laughing, because it did look very funny. However, one look at Mkulubaas’s face indicated that he did not share my amusement. It was literally purple with rage and his eyes were flashing from side to side. I knew that the only thing that was saving me was that he was pinned under the boat. I decided to make myself scarce, and returned to my mother at the picnic site, hoping that she might protect me. In the distance, I could see Mkulubaas struggling to extricate himself from the mud under the boat. He was surrounded by kids -some of them laughing. Mother Provincial chastised me for abandoning him and told me to go and help him.

 Fearfully, I made my way back to the boat. I was about halfway there when Mkulubaas freed himself. The next moment, there was this enraged mud-covered person running towards me. I nearly died of fright. I knew I was in serious trouble. I turned tail and fled, and he chased after me. Instead of running to Mother Provincial, I ran in the opposite direction across the park until I came to the crowded swimming pool.

 In desperation, I jumped into the pool, hoping I would get lost in the crowd. Horrors, he jumped in after me and eventually caught me. My life flashed before me as he proceeded to hammer the daylights out of me. I thought my last moment had come. Then came the voice of my saviour. “Hey you. Leave that kid alone”, a man yelled from the side of the pool.

 Mkulubaas let go of me and waded to the side of the pool to remonstrate with my hero, telling him to mind his own business. Taking advantage of this miraculous reprieve, I fled to the sanctuary of my mother.

 We packed up the boat in silence. On the way home, Mkulubaas muttered about interfering people. He knew my saviour to be a local politician who was on the wrong side of politics. I reflected to myself that, no matter what his policies were, I would vote for him if the opportunity arose.

 When we unpacked the car at home, I attempted to help get the boat off the roof -rack. Mkulubaas stood on my feet and roughly pushed me aside. He then went inside, and I saw no more of him that evening.

 The following morning, he was still in a foul mood, and slammed the front door on his way out to work. My mother just sighed and shook her head.

 All day during school, I worried about what had occurred. Mkulubaas loved jube lollies, so I took some of my pocket money and bought a packet of jubes for what I hoped would be a peace offering.

 When Mkulubaas came home from work, I was sitting at the dining table doing my homework. I was trying to pluck up courage to present my peace offering, when he entered he room. I froze. Silently, he placed a tin of condensed milk on the table and left the room. I felt the warm tears of relief running down my cheeks. All was forgiven. We were friends again.

 I must say I did enjoy the condensed milk. I had a tin all to myself. Usually, when Mkulubaas opened a tin, he would give us each a spoon, and we would stand in a queue for him to pour some of the delicious sweet liquid into it.

 We did not sail much more after that. A yacht club was started at Murray Park , and we could not join because no one else owned a boat like ours. Weekend sailings were not much fun for us, because every time the members wanted to have a race, a man with a megaphone would yell at us to get out of the water.

 I am hesitant to publish this post because I fear it might portray my father as an egocentric maniac and a bully. It truth, he was a wonderful father who would do anything for his family. This and other incidences occurred because I was a cheeky difficult kid, and he simply lost his temper. He tried his best to help me realise my dreams and ambitions – even the hare-brained ones, like me wanting to be a performer.

 He is now contentedly living his twilight years under the care of Mother Provincial and my wonderfully selfless siblings and their families. His many grandchildren absolutely adore him.

 When we had our blowouts, Mkulubaas often told me that I would never get a girl-friend, because no woman would put up with my nonsense. When I look at my lovely Mother Superior, my fantastic children and my gorgeous grandchildren, I can only reflect on how wrong he was.

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