SamANTHA "A CAPE FLATS GIRL REGAINING AUTONOMY" MEYER

Samantha (Sam) Lee Meyer hails from Lavender Hill in the Cape Flats. She matriculated from Lavender Hill High School in 1995. Sam now resides in Johannesdal, Stellenbosch, where she married local ‘Johannesdaller’ Bradley Meyer in 2010, with whom she shares two children. Samantha is a writer and small business owner. She worked in the retail industry for a large part of her life, but for the past six years, she has found herself at the Pniel Museum, where she handles administration and occasionally works as a tour guide. She is highly passionate about her job. 

My mum and Sam are both members of Die Pniel Skryfskool. I have had the opportunity to see Sam perform her poetry live a few times, and in 2024, I was invited to perform one of my own pieces at a poetry evening hosted by the Skryfskool alongside Sam. A few days after my performance, Sam had contacted my mother om “'n boodskap aan my oor te dra” and expressed that my piece had not only moved her, but that it had deeply resonated with her. In small snippets, Sam started sharing her own story with my mother and me. Sam’s story is captured in her narrative. 

Sam proclaims that she is elated about making it out of Lavender Hill. She states that there is a mindset of “one-track thoughts” that almost made her believe that this is “as good as it gets”. She says, “I had dreams and questions. I wanted a better life, but how would it happen? I am a single parent’s child of three, the baby. I wanted to go study IT after matric, but there were no bursaries available, but I also needed to help my mom pay the bills”. Sam states that, “Like for most Coloured women” at the time, retail was the easiest and quickest way to earn a living, but admits “it was very little money, I have a lot of regrets, if only I could work and study”. Sam elaborates on the mindset that haunts Lavender Hill’s women, she says, “I always had the mindset of I will get out of this, this is not me, there must be more. A lot of women have this story. Gunshots, you get used to poverty, survive for the week, are we even making it for another week?”  

Sam says that growing up in petty apartheid versus grand apartheid is something that she is relieved about, she recalls not being able to access certain resources and places, she states, “And then you are a bruin women, die lelikheid van apartheid” she is thankful to see that so much has changed, the feelings of inadequacy that comes with being a Coloured women, she explain, “People do not want you to achieve, to keep you stagnant, but I am glad there are people who see our abilities, women can and are doing it”. Sam makes an example of her children, whom she often looks at in awe, she says that, “A girl from Lavender Hill who grew up in a one-bedroom flat can afford Nutella, and my children both have their own rooms”. Something she was not afforded at their age, but the joy it brings that she, along with her husband, could afford them a life so different from her own when she was their age.

                                                   DIE SMOKEY BROTHERS’ SHOP OWNER

“Dit was darem vrek koud gistraand,” sê-kla Dina teenoor Nita wat in die son staan met ʼn blikbeker waaruit die stoom lui opwaarts trek.

“Vrek koud ja,” antwoord Nita terwyl sy die pienk verflenterde nagjurk wat meer na ’n kombers lyk, stywer om haar maer lyf trek. ʼn Uitgeteerde hond met pienk kolle op sy lyf waar die brandwonde uiteindelik genees het, kom lê by Nita se voete. “Voertsek Knoffel, gaan soek vir jou ander lêplek,” verwilder sy die arme dier wat stert-tussen-die-bene om Dina se eenvertrek opslaanhuis tussen die dennebome verdwyn.

“Lyk my jy’s vroeg op,” sê Dina, nuuskierig om meer te weet van die vreemde meisiekind met wie Nita gisteraand laat staan gesels het.

Sy wou gisteraand self ʼn woordjie met die kind gesels, maar dié is toe haastig die bult uit op pad teerpad toe en toe sy haar weer kom kry was Nita ook nêrens te sien nie. “Man, dit is nou die hoeveelste keer dat die kind na Freddie kom soek het. Netjiese kind en ordintlik ook moet ek vir jou sê.”

“Seker ʼn voorkind,” laat Dina hoor.

“Nee man, jy sien ook die duiwel in alles, sy ken hom van Elsiesrivier se dae. Hy het glo ʼn winkel besit, familie en alles. Sy’t baie te vra gehad oor ou Freddie, of hy gesond is, wie na hom omsien, alles. Ek’t haar gesê hier kyk ons uit vir mekaar, ons help mekaar, maar Freddie is nie altyd homself nie. Hy is gistermiddag mos hier weg, hy’t nie gesê waarheen nie. Sy’s in trane hier weg.

“Wat vertel jy my nou? Ou Freddie se shack lyk dan slegter as myne, of joune, en sy sê hy’t ʼn winkel gehad? En hy lyk vir my far gone as jy my moet vra, arme kind.” Dina en Nita se opslaanhuisies is twee van ʼn dosyn met die adres Die Ghiff, Hoofstraat 60, Pniël. Hulle albei het, soos die meeste van die vrouens hier, hulle intrek hier langs die Pniël-begraafplaas kom neem nadat hulle deur hul mans uit hul eie huis gesit — eintlik gegooi — is. Nita se jongste dogter het saamgetrek en Dina se sewejarige seun bly saam met haar.

Tamrin dink aan die gesprek wat sy gisteraand met die vriendelike vrou by die Ghiff gehad het. Wat sy gehoor het laat haar onrustig voel. As jong joernalis van ses-en-twintig, is sy die afgelope jaar woonagtig in Pniël. Sy is lank op been met lang bruin frizzyhare en bruin oë wat altyd van vriendelikheid straal. Vanoggend is dit plastieksakke, harde voete, pienk lippe, geknoeide hare en ʼn flenterbaadjie wat meer na ʼn vroumens s’n lyk, waarna sy op die uitkyk is as sy die Pniël na Franschhoek pad vat. Sy sien nie die pragtige plataanlaning en die Boschendal-wingerde wat tot bo teen Simonsberg in die oggendson vir haar wink nie. Sy wonder hoe Freddie die nag oorleef het.

Dit was gisteraand weer een van daai yskoue wintersnagte hier in die Dwarsriviervallei, van dié soort wat die asem uit mens se longe dryf en jou onwillekeurig laat bewe. “Hoe oorleef enige mens dit daar buite in die nat oop veld?” praat Tamrin nou met haarself. Sedert sy hier in die Dwarsriviervallei aangekom het, bekommer sy haar oor diegene wat buite slaap. Hoe maak hulle dit deur die nag en wat eet of drink hulle? ʼn Bietjie Old Brown-sjerrie doen dalk die ding. Beter nog, van daai goedkoop wyn wat in die Ghiff te koop is, is seker wat Freddie aan die lewe hou, maar vir hoe lank sal dit kan aanhou? Die pienk lippe, toe sy hom ʼn week gelede gesien het, het haar alles vertel.

Sy harde voete het soos permanente skoene gelyk en dit is net van oor en weer van Pniël na Franschhoek toe loop. Freddie moet al diep in sy vyftigs wees, iets wat haar nog meer bekommer. ʼn Ou man wat alles in die lewe verloor het, ʼn goeie man vir sy vrou, ʼn pa en oupa. Hoe op aarde is hy tot hier gedryf? Wat het hom tot so ʼn val gebring?

Trane loop onbeheersd oor haar wange en sy moet hard konsentreer om nie beheer van die voertuig te verloor nie. “Vader U alleen weet,” bid sy, “ek ken hom van die dae dat hy en sy broers die winkel in die Kaap gehad het. Die Smokey Brothers’ Shop.Hulle het van alles verkoop. Dit was die local supermarket waar almal ingehardloop het. Vader, wees genadig, U alleen weet wat Uncle Freddie tot die straat gedryf het en U alleen kan hom uit dié hel help.”

Sy verkies steeds om vir hom uncle te sê. Hy is immers ʼn grootman. Byna almal het hom so genoem en hy het altyd sulke goeie geselsies aangeknoop en was altyd behulpsaam.

Haar gedagtes kry nou hulle eie loop en sy onthou, met heimwee en trane wat vrylik oor haar wange loop, haar kinderjare. Sy het by haar ouma en oupa in die Kaap grootgeword. In Elsiesrivier om presies te wees en het altyd vir hulle winkel toe gegaan. Dít is waar haar verhouding met Uncle Freddie begin het. Hy’t ʼn voorbeeldige lewe gelei, was ʼn gelukkige familieman — of so het dit vir haar as kind voorgekom. Hy was altyd vrolik, met ʼn effense laggie. Die gedagte laat haar oë nou op skrefies trek, maar dit doen weinig om die stortvloed trane te keer. Hy het jou altyd by die deur kom haal en dan saam met jou ingeloop om jou te gaan wys waarna jy soek. Wat op aarde dryf so ʼn mens na die straat?

Gisteraand het haar net weer met groot hartseer gevul. Nie net vir Uncle Freddie nie, maar ook die ander mense wat soos siellose wesens ronddwaal. So sonder doel in die lewe, so sonder ʼn môre waarna hulle uitsien. Wat was dan so verskriklik swaar vir hom en wat het met sy familie gebeur? Dit is die vraag wat pal by haar spook terwyl sy die spoorlyn op pad na Franschhoek se middedorp oorsteek. Hoe het Uncle Freddie in die Ghiff beland? Dalk het hy mense hier in die vallei van wie sy miskien nie weet nie, of miskien het hy net tot hier geloop en is hy deur die gawe vrou van gisteraand genooi om te bly. Dit wil voorkom asof hy dit nou sy permanente blyplek gemaak het: ʼn plek waar hy van alles en almal wou wegkom. ʼn Plek waarheen hy dalk gekom het om te sterf.

Dié gedagte is vir Tamrin net te hartseer en sy moet eers langs die pad stilhou om tot verhaal te kom. Maar die herinneringe wil haar nie los nie. Daar was tye dat sy gesien het dat hy so ʼn lekker lang baadjie dra en ander tye was hy net met die plastieksakke om hom, geen kombers nie, seker ook nie ʼn warm koppie koffie of ʼn broodjie om te eet nie. Daar was tye dat sy vir hom ʼn broodjie gelos het — net om te vind dat dit na ʼn paar dae steeds in die houer is waar sy dit gelos het. Hy slaap dus nie altyd in die Ghiff nie.

Uncle Freddie se lewe het Tamrin diep in haar eie lewe laat kyk: ʼn jong dame wat voel sy het alles in die lewe gekry, wat weinig het om oor bekommerd te wees. Haar ouers leef nog en sy het ook die steun van ʼn breër familie, al baklei hulle ook maar soms soos kat en hond. Sy het so baie om voor dankbaar te wees. Sy onthou asof dit gister was, die gesprek met haar ouers toe sy die werk hier aanvaar het. “Die lewe is nie vir almal maklik nie en diep waters is nie vir almal om in te swem nie. Jy kan maklik verdrink,” was haar pa se woorde.

Dit is seker die geval met Uncle Freddie, maar kan dit regtig wees dat mens verkies om in die koue nagte, aanhoudende reën, donderweer en blits buite te wil slaap? Wat sou Uncle Freddie so ver gedryf het?

“Soms is die lewe so bedruk vir mense. Hulle het soms alles verloor: familie, huis, besigheid en soms selfs ʼn geliefde aan die dood afgestaan,” hoor sy haar ma se sagte stem. “Onthou my kind, jy gaan in ʼn vreemde plek bly, jy ken niemand nie en sal gesien word as ʼn inkommer. Dis iets waarmee baie sukkel, maar ons sal altyd daar wees vir jou.” Tamrin lag saggies, nou dat sy weer aan haar ma se woorde dink. ʼn Inkommer is jy en sal jy hier bly, het sy uitgevind!

Uncle Freddie het sy familie en sy huis in ʼn brand verloor en vandaar het alles vir hom skeefgeloop. Niks het meer saak gemaak in die lewe nie, het haar ma haar ʼn ruk gelede met groot hartseer vertel. Tamrin wou toe ten alle koste uitvind wat werklik gebeur het. Dit is in elk geval tog die werk wat sy as joernalis doen. Sy het gaan navraag doen oor Freddie by sy broer wat die winkel saam met hom bedryf het.

“Man, Freddie se familie was sy alles, hy’t sy vrou, twee dogters en een kleinkind in die brand verloor. Alles op ʼn aand toe hy nie by die huis was nie. Freddie blameer en voel kwaad vir homself. Al het ek hoe hard probeer om hom te oortuig dat dit ʼn frats ongeluk was, verwyt hy homself vir wat gebeur het. Dit is mos maar altyd die geval wanneer dinge so gebeur, dan blameer ʼn mens jouself. Hy glo dit kon miskien anders gewees het as hy daar was. Dit is miskien die dinge wat heeldag deur sy gedagtes gaan en dit kan ʼn mens nogal tot kranksinnigheid dryf,” het Freddie se jonger broer met hartseer vertel.

“Ek mis hom so verskriklik baie en het geen idee waar hy is of hoe dit met hom gaan nie. Ek weet nie eens of hy nog lewe nie.”

Die rit terug Pniël toe was ʼn wroeging. Sy kon nie ophou dink aan die groot, sterkgeboude man met duidelike visie in die lewe nie. Iemand wat altyd tyd gemaak het om met sy kliënte te gesels en dan ook met sy familie en sy kleinkind te spog nie. Dan het hy ook so ʼn aansteeklike lekker laggie gehad en die geselsies is altyd afgesluit met “ja, né, dis die lewe”. Dit het ʼn gesegde geword wat Tamrin gereeld gebruik: “ja, dis die lewe”. Maar wat is die lewe? Die lewe is net wat jy daarvan maak, sê sy herhaaldelik vir haarself. Vir dié wat die lewe met al sy wroegings trotseer, haal sy haar hoed af. En vir dié wat geval het, bid sy.

Die hoofstraat in Franschhoek se middedorp is soos gewoonlik gepak met motors van oraloor. Sy ry versigtig, want voetgangers moet hier voorkeur kry. Tog het sy ook nie veel tyd om te verspil nie, haar afspraak met ʼn familie wat uitsetting van ʼn plaas af in die gesig staar, is oor vyf minute. Sy draai links by die Hugenotemonument na haar bestemming.

Toe gewaar sy hom. Uncle Freddie. Sy twyfel nie vir een oomblik nie. Die afspraak sal moet wag, want dit is die eerste oggend dat sy hom weer na ʼn lang tyd sien, en gehawend soos hy daar uitsien, móét sy eenvoudig stop om met hom te gesels.

Dis vir haar een van daardie gesprekke waarmee sy nog baie lank sou worstel. Een waar sy meestal met haarself praat. “Hoe gaan dit, Uncle Freddie? Dis Tamrin van Elsies. Kry Uncle koud? Het Uncle al vanoggend geëet? Ek moet net gou iemand anders gaan help — ek is gou terug.”

Sy leë blik laat haar besef dat hy al sy varkies verloor het. Hy herken haar nie en hy weet niks waarvan sy praat nie. Dit is asof hy die verlede uit sy gedagtes geblokkeer het. Sy vra haarself oor en oor hoe sy Uncle Freddie hier kan help. Wat kan sy doen om hom van die strate af te help. Sy het haarself al soveel nagte aan die slaap gehuil, maar antwoorde het haar altyd bly ontwyk.

Tamrin het die warm trui wat sy vir hom gekoop het vir hom aangetrek en met soveel hartseer daar weggestap. Maar met een gedagte: Uncle Freddie se storie en ander stories soos syne, sal sy aan die wêreld vertel!

Die opskrifte in die oggendkoerant het opslae gemaak en haar storie oor weerloses in Die Stem het ʼn ernstige gesprekspunt geword. Sy skryf met haar eie stem — as Tamrin April — en uit eie ervaring:

Dit is nie maklik om staande te bly in vandag se lewe nie. Mense word onderdruk en in sommige gevalle selfs uitgebuit. Só dryf ons samelewing weerloses tot in die straat, stroop ons hul menswaardigheid weg, dra ons by tot hul depressie en selfs hul dood.

My uitkyk oor hierdie weerlose mense is grootliks verander deur die storie van Uncle Freddie en dit is my grootste wens dat ons as samelewing begin verstaan dat hierdie sogenaamde bergies ménse is. Mense met stories, diep verhale en omstandighede waaroor hulle min beheer het. My Uncle Freddie het nie verdien om te sterf nie. Nie so nie!

Die gebeure rondom Uncle Freddie se dood is nog vars in haar geheue. Sy was op pad werk toe en het die ambulans en polisie langs die pad sien staan. Het aanvaar dat dit ʼn motorongeluk is en kon vanweë die talle ander motors ook nie stilhou nie. Dit was eers later die middag dat sy by een van haar kollegas verneem dat Freddie die bergie in ʼn ongeluk dood is. Dit is toe dat sy besef dat dit haar Uncle Freddie se ongeluk was wat sy die oggend gesien het.

“Hoekom het ek nie gestop nie?” verwyt en berispe sy haarself. “Dit was Uncle Freddie, Freddie, Freddie,” het sy aanhoudend gehuil. Na wat soos ʼn eeu voorgekom het, het sy Uncle Freddie se broer laat weet. Sy familie het geweet dat hulle op ʼn dag van hom sou hoor en dat dit dalk nie goeie nuus sou wees nie.

Sy het die lewe met ander oë begin sien. Die lewe kan jou eenkant gooi en dan moet jy gereed wees vir enigiets. Maar is dit so maklik, het sy haarself gevra. Sy wat pas uit ʼn gebroke liefdesverhouding kom wat haar hart in stukke gelaat het. Sy moet nou die lewe aanpak met ʼn passie wat sy nie voel nie. Maar sy is nog jonk en miskien is die stryd vir hulp aan weerloses die een ding wat haar gaan besig hou, haar gedagtes wegneem van haar eie weerlose self. Sy het die storie oor Uncle Freddie met soveel passie geskryf, asof dit haar eie pa of uncle kon wees. Sy het soveel respek en liefde vir hom gehad.

Tamrin was so dankbaar teenoor sy familie dat hulle hom ʼn ordentlike begrafnis gereël het, een wat waardig was vir die mens wat hy was en nie vir die bergie wat die lewe van hom gemaak het nie. Uncle Freddie was met soveel trots begrawe en was vir een laaste keer die Smokey Brothers’ Shop Owner.

Die Smokey Brothers’ Shop owner was published in the poetry anthology Voetspore 2:180 Jaar van Kultuur by Die Pniel Skryfskool. Die Smokey Brothers’ Shop owner tells the story of the houseless community in Pniel who take shelter next to Pniel’s graveyard. In the beginning of the story, we meet Dina and Nita who share an everyday conversation about a young woman, who we later find out is Tamrin April. The two women bespiegel about who she is and why she is looking for Freddie, they assume she is a “voorkind” of his. Although Freddie is the antagonist in this story, as readers, we are made aware of how Nita and Dina ended up in Die Ghiff, their place of living is made clear through a physical address, along with a street number, street name, and a description of their home. Nita and Dina share a similar life story, including how their husbands threw them out of their home, and how they no longer have access to their children. In the story, Nita and Dina are both homeless; however, it is not their struggle as homeless women that is being showcased, rather, we meet these characters in a quite monotonous, yet familiar exchange. They are simply neighbours who engage in an uneventful conversation about Freddie, how in their community they look out for each other, they highlight Freddie’s wellbeing, while making their own assumptions, and they speak about their homes with pride, highlighting that their homes are in a much better condition than Freddie’s. 

However, what brings this story to life is how the author has centred Freddie. To his now community, Die Ghiff, he is a man of few words, who is slowly losing his ‘mind’, but to Tamrin, he is the owner of the Smokey Brothers’ Shop, a charming man who looked out for her as a young girl, a content family man to a now homeless man many kilometres away from his former home. As the story progresses, we find out that Freddie refused the help of his brother, overthrown by guilt, as he could not save his family from the fire that broke out in their home, he could not forgive himself and therefore fled. Here, the author is bringing back the essence of what lies beyond the visual showcasing of Freddie’s real story. She emphasises his story, who he was before he lost everything, highlighting his personality, his little sê-goedtjies, and just how much his family meant to him, that everything he did was for them, and when that was taken away from him, he could no longer bear to be an active member of his community. 

Perhaps here the author is taking a different approach to the often-worn-out ideas of how one becomes homeless. Growing up, homelessness was communicated to me as the consequence of what happens because of bad influences, drugs, and not working hard enough in school, and although that can be true, it is not every single homeless person's reality. Freddie’s reality is grief and loss, how it alters the mind so significantly that home no longer has a meaning or physical address, but the author is not insinuating that he ‘prefers’ to be homeless, rather that he would much rather be alone, that care is perhaps something he thinks should not be afforded to him. 

The character of Tamrin, who had just left her hometown to work as a journalist in Pniel and finds a little piece of home in her search for Freddie while grappling with her most recent break-up. Tamrin’s search for Freddie as soon as she sets foot in Pniel is accentuated, and as readers, we only get small glimpses of Tamrin; we know that she is a journalist, but the author does not highlight Tamrin’s break-up until much later in the story. Instead, as readers, we are taken on a journey of empathy and care through Tamrin’s search for Freddie. Through the character of Tamrin, we get to know Freddie on an intimate level that enables us as readers to grapple and navigate Freddie beyond his immediate situation, and his menswees is brought to light. Personally, Tamrin’s search for Freddie encapsulates a longing for community through nostalgia; she is aware that he is no longer the man in her community who showed her kindness through small acts of service. Through the characters of Dina and Nita, Tamrin is made aware that Freddie is no longer in a position of being the man she knows him to be, that what has transpired in his life has cost him more than just his family and his home, but his humanity. Furthermore, as Tamrin comes to terms with his new reality, she still longs to see him and be his little piece from home, although he does not remember her and is visibly verwar throughout their interactions. Upon his death, we learn that he indeed was brought back into his community and was given a memorable funeral and was buried as The Smokey Brothers’ shop owner. Tamrin’s break-up feels reminiscent of the anxiety and the act of returning to oneself after heartbreak. The loss one feels when navigating a part of yourself as someone who no longer holds the title of the significant other, and the grief that comes with having to let go of what you always thought would be there. Something she reinstates back into Freddie’s life, especially after his passing, recapturing the essence of who he once was and placing it back into community. 

This short story showcases the first time Sam felt like a storyteller, as well as being Sam’s first short story. Her first time dabbling in longer written pieces, she wanted to showcase that she was “more than just a poet”, and the things that she truly wants to say do not have to be perfectly wrapped up in a “few lines” that happen to rhyme. Her first short story enabled her to conjure up characters and their back stories. Sam wanted to write a short story to “bring characters to life” and by stepping away from poetry, Sam had the opportunity to play around with different styles of writing and genres. Moreover, Sam admits that “writing wasn’t easy” that writing did not come with a sense of ease and whimsy.

Me: “What was not easy about it?”

Sam: “Ek was nog in Lavender Hill toe ek begin skryf het. I thought to myself that this is not life, so I started to write, but I thought it wasn’t for me.”

Me: “How so?”

Sam: “Writing was for rich people, white people…just not for me.” Pniel allowed Samantha to write. She states that, “As soon as I changed my environment, I became a writer; it was in me all along, but because of my poor thoughts, I never allowed myself to write. Now I write without a poor mindset.”

However, Sam’s creative freedom was clipped at the time of her chosen piece. This piece was not initially centred in Pniel, but on the Cape Flats. The Pniel Skryfskool welcomes fictional pieces but mostly specialises in poetry through personal reflection, but they must be pieces centred in and about Pniel solely. Sam had to restructure her piece to geographically uphold the ideology of the Pniel Skryfskool. 

Sam, like most writers, does not write about herself exclusively; she writes about what inspires her and brings forgotten stories to light, but like most writers and after hearing Sam's personal tale, she does write parts of herself into her work. I cannot help but separate Samantha, the author, from Sam, the person I am interviewing and collaborating with. This short story almost feels reminiscent of Sam’s own life. She too left her mum and siblings behind in Lavender Hill at the time of her marriage to start a new life in Pniel, a life away from the Cape flats. In the present moment, Sam is looking into journalism courses as she wants to move closer to a more technical form of writing, but writing that encapsulates the investigation of everyday people’s stories and lives. Sam in her own narrative foregrounds a period in her life where a romantic relationship left her “broken” and that her bodily autonomy was stripped away from her. This story highlights the missing voices in our society, our houseless community, and how they, too, have lost autonomy and had to shed layers of themselves to survive. 

In Sam's chosen image, she is sitting in a chair, her gaze fixed on the camera, a soft, almost unnoticeable smile is playing on her lips. This image was taken at her place of work where the interview was conducted, a space where I could tell that she felt comfortable in and a space where she gets to live out one of her many passions. However, Sam contextualises her own visual and expresses why she had not chosen one beforehand. Sam wanted to process how she would feel after the interview, if she felt liberated or ashamed of her story, she says, “I didn’t know what to expect, I know my story is not a lie and I have nothing to hide, but it is nerve-wracking…so I would like you to take a picture of me now”, and continues by saying, “I was like dress yourself up you might just fit into this interview” but before I could enquire about her chosen words “fit into this interview” she soothes me and elaborates that she had a feeling that it would be a joyful experience telling her story, so she got dressed up and did her hair just in case those feelings were confirmed, and according to Sam they were. Sam’s image shows a great deal of care, not because she did her hair or threw on something nice to wear, but that she wanted to analyse and assess her level of comfortability, how she would relate to her own story, and only then choosing a visual that for her connects the dots to portraying her narrative alongside a visual that showcases who she is now. 

Sam now lives in a much different community than the one she grew up in. Although still a predominantly Coloured neighbourhood, Pniel is not considered a ‘ghetto’ but the oldest (former) missionary town in Stellenbosch. Sam states, “I came to live here when I got married, my husband inherited, by the grace of God, there was favour on my life. How do I get out of Lavender Hill? You can’t escape the hood; the troubles persist. Finding yourself is a process that needs to happen. Ons lewe maar so? Is not enough!” she exclaims. Sam does not inherently believe that survival is the only way to live, or rather not forever, and says, “Survival was always crippling, I didn’t want to believe that is the only way to live.” 

Me: “I have to ask, this idea of making it was centred around making it out of Lavender Hill?”

Sam: “I do believe so, yes.” 

Of course, there is nothing wrong with longing for a better future in the economic sense or not wanting to expose your children to your poverty. Narratives centred around the ghetto always paint this picture of how crippling and scarring it must be growing up there, and to successfully make it out means to abandon community and culture (Kendall, 2020:19). However, wanting more for yourself does not mean you detest your community or the people that govern that community. The truth is none of us have control over where we are born and who we are born to, but craving financial stability, better housing, adequate healthcare, and safety is a dream most of us strive for (Kendall, 2020:21). It may be that, for Sam this meant ‘making it out’ meant parting ways with Lavender Hill, a community enthralled with the performance of having to survive because of a lack in resources. Sam did not want to raise her children in Lavender Hill, and she did not want to work in retail for the rest of her life, beyond survival and economic difficulties; she wanted to believe that her dreams and future self had and could give more.

Here, Sam is not only speaking about survival in the economic sense, but also the type of survival that costs you your self-worth and dignity. Sam draws on a pivotal point in her early to mid-twenties, a point in her life where romantic love had cost her the most. Sam’s image showcases the regaining of her autonomy. Sam draws on her most “abusive” and “toxic” romantic relationship and states, “He was the handsome guy, you know? Always had the latest fashion – very attractive. You feel like a queen next to him. We were together for six years, the first two years I was still in the clouds. Our relationship was really nice, and it made me think I was gonna get married to this person”. Sam refers to herself as a “clean girl” before she met him, and as he found her, he should have left her, she elaborates, “You know I was a virgin that time, it was very big for us to be clean. When you meet your boyfriend, you have to be a virgin. When we got involved, and I got intimate with him, my everything was on it, my intimacy was all connected to him, I failed myself.”

This prompted me to think of the term “ougat”. I myself often use the word when I am around babies or toddlers, “Oh, sy/hy is darem ougatjies” I use the term as a placeholder for “oulik”. Obviously, there is a more direct and often harmful way this term is used in Coloured communities. Ougat voor jou tyd of maak jy ougat, which both come down to being sexually licentious. Kendall (2020:45) refers to the word ougat as fast or the phrase "fast tailed girls". I myself have been witness to especially mothers relaying their son’s break-ups as, “Nee, sy is ‘n vinnige meisie gewees”. The reality is that most people in committed relationships have sex, but denouncing a break-up to “sy was vinnig” insinuates that their son’s innocence stays intact while expressions of sexuality are made out to be “vinnig” and policed. Kendall (2020:45) explains, “To be a “fast-tailed girl” is to be sexually precocious in some way. You are warned both not to be a fast-tailed girl, and also not to associate with “those fast- tailed girls.” Sometimes it is shortened to “fast,” but either way, it is presented as a bad thing”.  To Sam, her virginity and the act of “being a clean girl” meant something to her; it was something she reserved for her future husband and having to give that up meant she no longer had something to offer or experience with her person for the first time.

Sam recalls a time in her life where she had no autonomy over her own body, especially in the physical sense and says, “I became obsessed with him”. This obsession that Sam speaks of manifested in her a sort of pleasing that had to occur for her to have a successful relationship. Sam is referring to her two miscarriages. After the first, he wanted to try again. He said to her, “Don’t go on birth control. I did what he told me to do, and I fell pregnant the second time, and the second time I lost the baby again – my mum said I need to make a choice, because he will move on with his life”. Her mother’s words rained true, he did “move on” but not after Sam, but during, she states and draws on the age old saying, “‘n mooi man is almal se man”. Sam elaborates, “I wasn’t the only girl, and when you realise what’s going on behind your back…you feel yourself leave, uhm, but I knew I was not leaving the relationship. I am staying for whatever reason I don’t know, I don’t know, blind in love maybe. You know, I was thinking this is what it must be like. My mother is a strong woman, and she also had a broken marriage and a certain lifestyle. I was like you need to fix this, but I needed to fix this”. Sam did eventually leave, but for a long period after her departure she was immensely vulnerable and ultimately “broken” as she once referred to herself, and says, “You need to fix yourself sad, you need to pick up those pieces like it is a job”. Sam recalls that besides the hurt and feelings of loss, that time period in her life was also, “utterly embarrassing.” 

Furthermore, it was not until a colleague came to confide in her that she realised she too was in an abusive relationship. Sam says, “Women came to me, my colleague at the time being one, are you, are you coping? I asked her one day, and then she came to me, she got me in the storeroom, and she said, "Sam, I need to talk to you. And I asked Why are you whispering? And she asked, How did you? How did I what I asked, and she asked How did you walk away?” In that moment, Sam realised that although her relationship was not the type of abuse that her colleague was facing, it was abuse in the gender-based violence (GBV) sense, yet this is exactly what Sam advocates for. Sam admits that she felt embarrassed after her relationship ended and thought, “Who would want you?” but recognises that those feelings are not “normal” after a “break-up”, but they are “present after an abusive relationship”. Moreover, at first Sam was floored by this question, and had thought, “Who am I to give advice? I was broken too” but Sam sat down with her and said to her, "Advice not always, but a shoulder, yes, she came to me a few days later and said she had taken her two children and left him. I was very afraid for her safety because he was violent, but she said that she was safe in her mother’s home, and he couldn’t get to her. From that day on, her life started.”

Sam at the time did not know the real markers of an abusive relationship, she later realised that being “forced” to not go on birth control, being with a man that “enjoyed” his pretty privileges, a man that could never wholly “compliment” her on her attire or hair was indeed a form of abuse, Sam states, “I walked away, I had to pick up the pieces, I wanted him to pay. I had to forgive although I was not in the wrong, it was a learning curve, I did not have the guts to leave”. But giving another woman the motivation to pack up her things and leave gave Sam a sense of hope, and she opened herself up, she says, “As soon as I started picking up the pieces, and forgave, my life went on. I couldn’t understand, because when I came out of this relationship, I had no boyfriend and no self-worth”. Sam fondly recalls going to the hair salon before work. She states, “I was off this one morning, went to the hairdresser and told her to do something light with my hair, and the next morning I had work. I put on something nice, I had a cap on, and then took it off, and I started modelling for everyone, but I had such pain in my heart still, but it hit me, maybe faking a smile, putting on that smile, and this boy said something I haven’t heard for a very long time, and I heard those words”. Here Sam is referencing the compliments she received from men and women alike, she says, “For a long time I wanted to hear that I was pretty, I never heard that. It was only when I started to pick myself up. I was not ugly; I was just sad. My manager said: This is where life starts for you again.” 

Sam started picking herself up from the physical appearance, which eventually turned inward, and as her healing journey expanded, she found herself being able to receive love again. Sam says about her now husband, “I thought this man could not be the man God wanted for me, he was not my type, short and bald. This cannot be,” She laughs.

I chuckle and say, “You know how the saying goes, when you make plans, God laughs.”

Sam: “And it was exactly that.”

Me: “But he is everything you needed, right?”

Sam nods: “Turns out he is, he was exactly what I needed. He is my best friend. I think when it comes to happiness, I am in the fifty-percent of women who can say everything I have lost and was stolen from me was replaced with better.” Sam goes a little quiet and says, “You know he is so proud of me, and always says Sam jy moet terug gaan.”

“Terug gaan?” I enquire

Sam elaborates, “To my old high school. I would like to go back to my old high school. See the friends I left behind because of drugs, alcohol, and simply the way they speak to their children, but I still have a lot of respect for our people. I have self-respect now, too…Lavender Hill is beautiful”. When Sam speaks about community she is referring to Lavender Hill, wanting to return to her old high school, but also says that she never wants to be named for doing good, she says, “I like to be a silent partner” but that she wants to do something bigger, and more community based and that, “We need more and a stronger community” and explains, “If I go back, ek wil iets voortbring, any girls, or really anyone can get out, there is a better life.” 

Moreover, Sam craves more independence, like her own car; she still needs to ask her husband, “When and where” or what time best suits him. She wants to study further and says, “I now know what I want and how to empower myself”. However, Sam’s needs are still unclear. She says, “I don’t think I know all of my needs. The older you get, you understand, to take things more softly, you have more wisdom, you are more intuitive.” 

In the present moment, Sam does not have a very loving relationship with social media; she often uses social media for work purposes. As I scroll through Sam’s Facebook account, there are a few posts she is tagged in, but it is not an up-to-date account, and she rarely posts. However, Sam admits, “I was named and shamed on social media”.

Me: “Wait, what? What do you mean?”

Samantha: “I was just trying to be of help. I regret being kind.”

Me: “Was this directed at you on the Pniel museum’s social media page?”

Sam nods: “I think it is still up. You can go look.”

Me: Okay, I’ll check when I get home”. However, I could not find the post. 

I can tell that Sam is disappointed by the person who dragged her name on such a public platform. How it hurts even more knowing it is coming from someone who is supposed to know you and someone who you thought formed a part of your immediate community, both in the geographical and personal sense of the word. Moreover, Sam was not up to talking about it. 

Sam: “Telling my story means the most to me; it is an everyday tale, one I am not done writing. Finish the story, finish your chapter, there is more to get to.”