Surprise!

My phone pinged, and my wristwatch vibrated. A message from Joe: he’d completed another workout, earned a badge, and wanted to rub it in my face, I thought. At least I’d cycled; I applauded myself while rolling my eyes. He could be so irksome about my exercise regimen. I took a sneak peek. “Mom, would you like to come and visit us? I have miles, and flights are super cheap now.” To sweeten the deal, he added, “You can see the house and the baby.” That was at 15h31. At 15h57, he messaged, “Start packing, babe.”

I had my work cut out for me—three days to get organised. There was a silver lining. Travel restrictions had lifted, so I wouldn’t have to quarantine, but I still had to take a 72-hour PCR test. The laboratory needed 24 hours; I had 8. The staff at the testing station at Chris Barnard Memorial Hospital in The Gardens were marvellous and soon soothed, settled, and probed me.

The only problem. Only once I had my negative COVID PCR test printed and stored in the App did I know I’d been cleared to enter Canada. With a sigh, I relaxed, knowing this caper would pan out. COVID-19 has changed communications and the rules of engagement. To travel to Canada, one must register on the ArriveCAN App and comply with its COVID laws. My vaccines are recorded on a “Health Passport” registered at Quenet’s Pharmacy, and my flight is on the KLM App. You need Wi-Fi or data to retrieve all this information when requested. For a SAffa, it means printed hard copies in a file.  

My flight was comfortably short. Border control was unexceptional, and I was whisked through customs and into the arms of Joe, Emily and Maeva, my new six-week-old granddaughter. The minute I stepped out of the airport into an autumnal breeze, I knew I’d misjudged the temperature; my lightweight autumn gear would not suffice. It was freezing.

Stealth-like, the almost autonomous car sped along the highway, navigating itself through mid-afternoon traffic, with the only gadget on the dashboard a giant iPad-like screen, the vehicle’s brain. The glide home was astounding, and I was speechless. My veneration of Tesla has not waned; I’m in awe. Last week, I was struck by how charging my electric car was ten times cheaper than filling a petrol tank, a reminder of how technology is transforming travel and family life.

A pre-Thanksgiving dinner was arranged as a pretext to gather the siblings and grandchildren.  Woozily, I soaked in the bath, hoping to delay the jet lag creeping in. Excitement and anticipation energised us. My children and grandchildren's reactions to seeing me were unpredictable. Disbelief, shaking, nosebleeds, tears, trembles, and incomprehension—a ghostlike apparition had appeared like magic.  Timmy thought he’d been invited for turkey, “but this was better,” he said nonchalantly as he sat down next to me.  On the other hand, Jaco asked, “What are you doing here, Mom?” and went off, bemused, to play with his nephews.

We are all exposed to the allure of the digital age, and children, who can’t discern reality from fiction, are most affected. How then do you explain the appearance of Ouma, whom you occasionally glimpse and acknowledge with a wave and “hallo Ouma” in passing, being present, almost like a hologram, in the entrance hall? Is it possible that Pippa the Pig, Spider-Man, Pinky Pie or Elsa could appear next? I was shyly gawked at from a safe distance. I had to mull this phenomenon over before approaching. I steered clear until the green lights said it was ok.

The surreal, dreamlike “out-of-body” experience I encountered could’ve been jet lag; the abruptness of the trip might’ve exacerbated it. I needed to calm down, sleep and orientate myself. After almost two years of separation, I felt old, exhausted and out of touch.

Turning back my internal clock by a whopping eight hours wasn’t easy, and I tried unsuccessfully to sleep. The thought of the bitter taste in my mouth after a sleeping tablet didn’t appeal. Thankfully, early-morning coffees, hugs, and cuddles with Maeva soon had me feeling at home. Her smile, newborn smell, and satiny skin are irresistible. Babaloo soon had my heart wrapped around her pinky.

Shades of orange, yellow, and ochre coloured the landscape as autumn set in, and I felt proud to share these seasonal updates with family near and far. This can foster a sense of shared tradition and happiness. 

I was in my pyjamas while on a grand tour of the newly renovated home Joe and Emily had done during their COVID lockdown. My admiration for this petite girl grew as she told me about using a jackhammer, hauling concrete blocks, skimming and painting walls, installing kitchen cupboards, and tiling bathroom walls while pregnant!

Relationships are tested by any renovation; doing it yourself tests your mettle. Emily and Joe forged a resilient bond while planning, learning, and working together, honing the skills needed to complete the mammoth task they’d set out to achieve.

I spent a glorious six weeks in Canada, reconnecting with my children and grandchildren, which left me feeling grateful and loved. Sharing these moments highlights the warmth and closeness I hope resonate with my audience.

We spent mornings in bed telling stories, reading books with the kids, and sipping coffee in the kitchen with a daughter or daughter-in-law. The kids trampolined on my bed, as they do, and I enjoyed copious cups of tea with Isla in her doll’s house.

We went shopping and exploring, dined out, and experimented with new ingredients to create exciting recipes. I tried my hand at sourdough bread. I tasted, for the first time, Timmy's slow-smoked pulled pork and beef. Both techniques require practice, time, and infinite patience. He has all three! I watched, fascinated, as the Thanksgiving turkey was plunged into a boiling cauldron (pressure pot) of oil. I had the finest doughnuts and the worst, and, with the help of the littlies, we made our own. 

We arranged fun activities, and Ten-Pin Bowling was a hit. The littlies beat us by miles, as my skittles remained standing and the ball skidded down the alley. 

One of the many highlights was meeting an old friend for lunch. Like slipping into a favourite jumper, we resumed our conversation as if we’d never parted. Our children have grown up, our circumstances have changed, we’re a little greyer, and the laughter lines around our eyes are more pronounced, yet the sisterly bond will remain ever young.

The women in my life (Lise, Erin, Carla and Emily) are hardworking, diligent, creative and disciplined. Their lives are so different from mine in South Africa. I admire how they juggle work, home life and a social calendar. They’re fit and healthy, and they encourage their families to do likewise. In a country with extreme temperature fluctuations, it takes imagination and resilience to keep children occupied and happy. Boredom and despair make the winter months arduous, taxing family life as dark days turn off the sunshine.

With my boys, I spent hours debating and arguing points; I listened to business plans and new ventures; their boisterousness, passion, and enthusiasm are always infectious. We went for energetic walks, exploring neighbourhoods with quaint post-war cottages, bungalows, and dodgy alleyways as they bounced ideas around. Trends have changed, and they've embraced innovation, renewing their businesses with gusto. We chillaxed, watched their favourite films, and polished off bags of leftover Halloween candy.

Neil and Danny are all grown up now. When I saw them two and a half years ago, they were barely out of nappies; now they're at school. They ride bicycles without training wheels, whizz past me on skateboards, and know more about superpowers than I ever will. They're funny, energetic and bright. 

Isla, with her rosy apple cheeks, left on the last flight out when she was only nine months old. Her hair falls in golden waves past her shoulders; she's tall and loves to dress up. Pink is her favourite colour, and she speaks nine to the dozen. I hear her say "Scop calking ouma!" when she needs to get a word in. I sat for a manicure and had my hair brushed. Her dolls are her babies, and her cuddles and snuggles are the best. She bandaged my owies and kissed them better. We took her to the lake to feed the Canadian geese who fly in to rest on their migration south. With me in hot pursuit, she chased them instead.

I met Maeva when she was just 6 weeks old and celebrated her 3-month milestone, with a few growth spurts in between. I hope they'll remember me, their Ouma from Africa (Lion King Africa).

My initial scepticism about masking and COVID protocols in Canada soon changed when I realised that every restaurant, pub, public gathering place, or sports stadium required a COVID vaccination certificate and an identification card. Without a COVID vaccination certificate, it would be impossible to travel to or from Canada. These measures are positive steps towards achieving herd immunity and encouraging everyone to get vaccinated. It would be shortsighted not to.  

My first Thanksgiving was celebrated with family and extended family around a laden table of delicious traditional fare, each family contributing their favourite dishes. I couldn’t be happier and tucked into Pumpkin Pie and whipped cream with gusto! I, for one, had much to be thankful for this year. We had survived Covid unscathed. A new, healthy, beautiful baby, Maeva, added to our numbers, and my beloved Isla was as cute as a button. Neil and Danny were wholesome, energetic boys dressed as cowboys and Superman, always ready to entertain. They are the sunshine on a gloomy day.

We all dressed up for Halloween and followed the grandchildren from door to door, trick-or-treating. Snow had fallen the night before, adding a glorious crispness to my first experience. I was fascinated by the decorations, the skill carvers displayed in their pumpkin creations, and the fantastic costumes people wore.  

Once the pumpkins on the front steps began to decay, we installed fairy lights and decorated the trees indoors—all in preparation for the festive holiday season. When you’re surrounded by white, you need to brighten with light.

I will probably never be able to say “it’s enough now”, but I’m grateful for the chance to say “I love you” to my tribe in person again. Separation is never easy, nor is it conducive to a healthy relationship. We are social beings who need contact with our nearest and dearest, especially our children and grandchildren. I accept that I’m not uppermost in their minds all the time; that distance separates us in ways that are very hard to acknowledge, admit, or even say aloud.

My children are like the elements, water, earth, wind and fire. None can be tempered, tamed, changed or harnessed. They will run their course. As the plane lifted and tucked its wheels into the undercarriage, I looked out for a last glance and imagined them going about their day; the grandchildren would wake up and wonder for a while how Ouma had vapourised. I know they’re as desolate as I am. Fortunately, my age allows me to wallow in my grief and longing. “Until I see you again” is all I can hope for. Right now, I feel like the princess who lost her footing and nosedived—those bloody slippers.

---oOo---