JEREMY LEAVES FOR AUSTRALIA
With nowhere else to go, Jeremy and I had moved in with my mother and were sharing a room. So I mostly slept on the couch while I tried to figure out how to re-build.
It was odd, the restraining order was kept in place but I still had to work with Aida on a daily basis. However, with the current political climate, it was still without question the best – perhaps the only – option available to me. In the business, I was responsible for sales and marketing, design, logistics, and production – basically every aspect of the business, apart from the books and finances which remained solely under Aida’s control. However, with my financial background, it wasn’t too difficult for me to accurately estimate how we were performing on a monthly, quarterly, or annual basis. It wasn’t all bad. The business was performing well, and my position in the company had significantly improved. As a direct result of a failed attempt to merge with a competitor, Aida had acquired two new directors, myself and one of the partners from the competitive company. On the other hand, despite knowing that we were doing well, I never knew if I’d get paid. Aida had appointed our company’s attorney to file for divorce and sometimes he simply informed me that my salary had been seconded to cover Aida’s household expenses.
It must have been unsettling for Jeremy. On top of all that he’d already been through in my marriage, I was now a recovering addict. I’d lost our home and he’d been separated from his brother and sister, as well as the close friends he’d made. Additionally, the precarious position I found myself in didn’t help. After graduating, Gareth had moved to Australia. Feeling lonely with the loss of the majority of his immediate family, Jeremy was naturally spending a lot of time on the phone with Gareth. Gareth had fallen in love with Australia and had already adopted their accent. Jeremy, who’d previously spent a summer holiday there with Valeria, hadn’t really taken to it. So, while I understood, I was devastated – and I hate to say partially relieved – when Jeremy asked if he could join his brother in Australia.
AIDA MOVES TO THE NORTHERN SUBURBS
Aida finally settled on the suit that I’d been told about, and before long she chose to move in with him. In many ways, Cape Town has a small-town mentality where everyone seems to know each other’s business. As he was on the procurement director board for one of South Africa’s largest retail chains, several of my closest friends from the fashion world knew all about him. It didn’t take long before they felt obliged to inform me about the physical abuse his previous wife and stepchildren had been through with him. And it wasn’t long before I started
hearing from some of our mutual friends, and from Aida herself, about the raging arguments they were having – one of which included him attacking Aida’s prized collection of Victoria’s Secret lingerie and cutting them to shreds. He then replaced them with some dowdy white foundation garments usually sold in packs of three.
I didn’t know what to make of what I was hearing. For one, I couldn’t imagine this guy, or anyone for that matter, being able to physically abuse Aida. There was no doubt in my mind that Aida had been born with that sporting gene. She’d excelled as an athlete, and I had first-hand knowledge of just how capable she was. Aida, with her fist full of oversized rings that she loved wearing, could hit me faster and harder than any man I knew. It was like being struck by a man wearing a set of knuckledusters with sharp edges that tore into your flesh. We were separated pending the finalization of our divorce and she was living with Martin, but legally she was still my wife. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do or how I was meant to react. Especially because I was already concerned about being dragged into their relationship more than I wanted to be.
As everyone knows, when children are involved you have no alternative other than to get along, or at least pretend to get along. But with Aida it was damn near impossible, and I certainly tried. Without fail, I responded to every message and every call, even after I’d been screamed at and told to stop harassing her – which I felt was for the benefit of Martin.
And I showed up every time she asked to meet, even though I had a restraining order hanging over my head and never knew what I might be getting myself into. At times, she’d arrive half an hour or more late. Once she arrived while I happened to be on a call, grabbed my phone, dumped it in my drink, and walked out. I had mixed feelings about these meetings. She would usually ask to meet at some obscure restaurant I didn’t even know existed, which made me feel like we were engaged in an extramarital affair. But then, it also told me maybe she really was afraid of this guy. At the very least, she didn’t want to be caught or seen with me. Aida could be a bit of a lunatic, but in a strange way she was still my lunatic and one that I was accustomed to. However, above all, she would always be the mother of two of my children. Mostly, Aida appeared to genuinely want to know if we could work on our marriage. But unfortunately, she either wasn’t ready or she wasn’t prepared to be honest with me. So she kept insisting that Martin was only a good friend who was helping her out. Perhaps I should have said no to working on our marriage, but I never did. I did have two conditions, however. One: that we continue working with the therapist her attorney had advised us to see. And two: that whether Martin was a friend or something more, she couldn’t continue living with him.
Our clandestine meetings finally came to an end after I’d been invited to Martin’s house. We’d gotten into the same old conversation only this time, very much to my surprise, she suggested that I follow her home where she’d be happy to let Martin tell me for himself. Aida got way ahead, but I wasn’t in a hurry. I’d been caught off guard and I honestly wasn’t sure if I was being played, or if I even wanted to meet this character. I should have trusted my gut. I did get to meet Martin. He only came down to ask me to leave, which I was more than happy to do. However, I couldn’t stop myself from letting him know that I had been invited. Before I could say anything more the police arrived, and I found myself briefly detained.
At the back of our offices, Aida tearfully asked me to work on our marriage one last time. However, all I could bring myself to do was offer her the same two conditions. We were amicably divorced in January 2001. I never got to go back to our designer house, but I did receive my allocated share of furnishings. Only everything I received was intentionally broken or torn in one way or another. It wasn’t a big deal, none of it was all that important to me. However, I was seriously annoyed to find that I hadn’t received a few personal items that had been stipulated in our agreement. Naturally, I’d asked for copies of our photos of the children, and I especially wanted my collection of photos of Jeremy from before we met Aida. While we remained in constant contact, I missed Jeremy terribly and it felt like I was never going to see him again, so I would have really appreciated having those memories to keep. Crucially, the court had granted me access to Samuel for eight days out of each two-week cycle. I enjoyed having Ellen and Samuel for more time than I had expected, and should anything change, my right to access was now protected by law.
TOWNHOUSE
When Jeremy confronted me, I instinctively knew that I had to get him away from Aida. But that meant leaving Ellen and Samuel behind. I remember thinking no parent should ever be asked to choose between children. Yet, somehow, history seemed to be repeating itself. Considering my precarious work situation, I thought I’d best move quickly while I still had a good credit score. Thankfully, I managed to secure a townhouse that was ten minutes from Ellen’s school and practically within walking distance to Samuel’s kindergarten. So before long, I once again found myself functioning as a single parent.
I intentionally renovated our townhouse to look and feel like the Tuscan-style home the children were accustomed to. We didn’t have space for a swimming pool, but I managed to install a Jacuzzi in the backyard that they could use all year round. In our front garden as an added extra, I built a treehouse complete with ladders and ropes. Then I extended it to link up to monkey bars, a slide, and a set of swings. Naturally, I went to town on decorating their rooms. Ellen’s room became the magical world of mythical wee folk, where fairies with delicate wings dwell. And I turned Samuel’s room into a hanger housing all kinds of aircraft, from vintage model planes that we painstakingly built together to others that he could build, fly, destroy, and scatter all by himself. Once ready, I could hardly wait to show the kids our new home.
Together, they quickly tore through the ground floor. Samuel tried out the swings, where we’d ultimately spend a lot of time singing ‘Fly me to the moon and let me play among the stars.’
They were about to abandon their clothes for the bubbling water of the spa, but I was still waiting for the jacuzzi to warm up and I wanted them to see their rooms. So I suggested, ‘Why not check out your rooms, they’re upstairs.’ I waited a moment to give them a chance to absorb the details of the creative endeavour I was especially proud of. I’m confident Ellen loved her room, but it wasn’t the first thing on her mind. With an all-consuming hug, she paid me the best compliment that I could ever have hoped for: ‘My bedroom is next to yours, Dad.’
I was in my element, making up for lost time and relishing every moment I had with them. I only wished that Jeremy could be back home with us. We marched and stomped our way to school singing the Seven Dwarves’ song ‘Hey Ho, Hey Ho, it’s off to school we go.’ Bedtime stories ended with coy giggling sessions of ‘May I kiss your forehead goodnight? May I kiss your ears goodnight? May I kiss your chin goodnight? What about your nose? Let me think . . . what have I left out? Right, may I kiss your cheeks goodnight?’ And finally, ‘May I kiss your eyes goodnight?’ Ellen would answer with a protracted, ‘YYYess.’ Before kissing each eye, I’d end with, ‘Okay then, close your eyes. It’s time to go to sleep.’
When Aida decided to move in with Martin, the children were in essence already living with me. To her credit, she decided that she wasn’t going to disrupt their schooling. But that move made it practically impossible for her to participate in school runs. I didn’t contest our divorce. Hell, I didn’t even try to find my own attorney. My lack of action may be considered foolish, and ordinarily I’d agree. But from my perspective, Aida held all the cards. In any court of law, I’d unquestionably be seen as a recovering addict who’d recently violated the conditions of a restraining order. I felt certain that if our divorce turned nasty there was a strong possibility that I’d never get to see Ellen and Samuel again. So, even though the kids were essentially in my care, I accepted that I’d have to pay Aida a rather substantial amount in maintenance. But I’d been down this road before, and all that mattered to me was I was spending way more time with Ellen and Samuel than I ever had.
BUSINESS CLOSURE
The merger we’d embarked upon had been a costly affair. But then, we hadn’t done our homework and we hadn’t called for any warranties. Still, in the process I’d acquired shares and the new director, Frank, had shown himself to be a competent and decent fellow. But there must have been a discussion that I wasn’t privy to. What I’d all along suspected might happen after our divorce finally did. I was called in to be told that my services were no longer required. I was out, and then a few months later I was back in when our attorney called me for a meeting at his office. I thought – or at least hoped – the meeting would involve some form of payout. Instead, he handed me two letters of resignation. One from Aida, much to my surprise, and the other from Frank.
A quick review of the books told me I’d been handed the keys to a technically insolvent business. And one in which all three directors were still personally, legally liable. I agreed to do my best to reduce our exposure. On that condition, we all agreed to sign away half of our holdings in favour of our staff. With that agreement in hand, I set about motivating the staff to tackle the next few back-to-back trade shows. Our staff performed brilliantly, and we picked up the lion’s share of available business. For the next quarter, we delivered award-winning exhibition stands at a fraction of our usual cost and walked away with almost every design award from the shows we targeted. Thanks to an incredible effort from the staff, in less than four months, we substantially reduced the overall debt of the business and halved the personal exposure of all three directors.
I’d signed my part of the agreement our attorney had prepared for us. But I hadn’t followed up and checked whether Frank and Aida had signed theirs. I’d incorrectly assumed that I’d be informed if there had been a problem. So, when I finally did get hold of our attorney I discovered that they’d changed their minds. They’d now decided their shares were a lot more valuable. In addition to being relieved from their guarantees, they now expected to be paid a further one million rand each. And that just happened to be the least of the problems the attorney felt morally obligated to advise on. Some historical bookkeeping irregularities had recently been brought to his attention – the kind which earn you a go-straight-to-jail card. Whether I knew and had participated or not didn’t matter, as I’d accepted the other directors’ letters of resignation. As the sole remaining director, I would be held solely responsible. The attorney ultimately advised me to shut the business down, and to get it done as quickly as possible.
I closed the old company and formed a new, similar venture. It was a scary moment at the end of the year, which coincided with the end of our trading calendar. I felt awful for dangling the prospect of ownership in a company that I’d have to close. I was only able to offer shares in a newly formed company to a selected small minority of my former staff – those who were the best to hang onto. And it strangely bothered me that Aida would be held solely responsible for the remainder of our commercial lease. Aida had called me, during the time when my services were no longer required, to request my surety for the renewal of our lease. Naturally, I declined. But I also noted that because our landlord hadn’t previously called for personal guarantees it shouldn’t be necessary. As it turned out, neither Frank nor I had signed. But even though I’d advised against it, Aida had gone ahead and added her surety to the new lease agreement.
We all had a difficult holiday period to get through. Frank found a new partner, and Aida managed to secure the liquidated stock at auction for a fraction of the cost. I never entered a bid for the stock, even when asked. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to continue. And the last thing I wanted was to provoke Aida any more than the closure of the business already had. At the time, if there was anything I could do that allowed me to spend the same amount of time I currently enjoyed with my children, and which allowed me to provide for my family at the level they were accustomed to, I would have grabbed it with both hands. I had no other options – well, at least none that I could come up with. I’d given away half the shares in the new company to the select few people I’d managed to retain. We collectively decided, where humanly possible, to avoid past clients, and we agreed to keep the business small enough I could operate it from home. Aida reopened in the northern suburbs, in an industrial park located behind Martin’s head office. And thankfully, she managed to employ the bulk of the remaining staff that I’d been unable to accommodate.
GREENMARKET SQUARE
With children and a new business to attend to, I hurriedly made my way across the historic cobbled square en route to an express lunchtime meeting of Narcotics Anonymous. Greenmarket Square, the second oldest public space in Cape Town, has served as a slave market, a vegetable market, and a parking lot. More recently, in the late 80s, it had transformed into a small bustling market filled with African souvenirs, clothing, and hand-crafted jewellery stalls. You can buy canvas artworks, ornaments, leather goods and so much more. It is located in the heart of the central business district, with restaurant tables spilling out onto the square, visitors and office workers alike are spoilt for choice with a variety of cuisines from around the globe. On any given corner, you’ll be entertained by buskers, street performers, and tribal dance troupes, as they jostle for space alongside the traders. African dance is as much a part of my life as eating and breathing. The dance uses a progression of steps and movements to keep local community life safe, friendly, and lively. Besides being a fun activity, it’s an independent language. To the rhythm of drumbeats, it narrates the troupe’s customs and reinforces the developmental stages of adulthood.
During the apartheid era, Greenmarket Square was often the focus of political protests because of its proximity to parliament and the ethnic diversity of its traders. In 1989, in what became known as the Purple Rain protest against apartheid, protesters were met by police with a water cannon vehicle containing a purple dye as they arrived at Greenmarket Square. When a brave protester attempted to redirect the canon away from the crowds, adjacent white office blocks along with early Cape Dutch architectural gems were painted purple. The Old Town House, an exquisite little art museum with its proud three-arched porch and extravagant mouldings didn’t escape the dye. And the Central Methodist Church, a Victorian Gothic creation, had its windows smashed in by the force of the jet. Before the day was over, hundreds of protesters were identified by the purple dye and arrested.
THE CENTRAL METHODIST CHURCH
A comfortable walk from the square, the Buitenkant Street Methodist Church used to serve the people of District Six until the area was declared a White Group Area in 1966. During that turbulent time, the congregations of both Methodist churches actively participated in the resistance to apartheid and particularly resisted the demolition of District Six. Despite forced removals, detention, and harassment, the congregations continued to commute from the suburbs for Sunday services. Above and beyond worship services, the congregations never lost their passion for caring. In 1976 the Stepping Stones Children’s Centre was started to cater for the children of working parents. In 1988 the two congregations amalgamated to form the Central Methodist Mission and the church on Greenmarket Square became the venue for many anti-apartheid meetings. Protest meetings were held in the church regularly and in 1990, after the unbanning of the ANC, the Metropolitan Hall hosted the organisation’s first press conference, where large crowds gathered to listen to Nelson Mandela. Today, the Buitenkant Street church venue graciously hosts the District Six Museum, which still bears the church’s Plaque of Shame mounted on the wall to remind passers-by of the injustices that took place.
It reads: ‘All who pass by remember with shame the many thousands of people who lived for generations in District Six and other parts of this city and were forced by law to leave their homes because of the colour of their skins. Father, forgive us.’
Today, the church continues its outreach to the people of the city through projects such as Ons Plek (Our Place), a shelter for female street children, the Stepping Stones Children’s Centre, and the hosting of Narcotics Anonymous lunchtime meetings. It holds a sixty-minute service to provide soup and bread for the homeless and hungry under a banner displaying the words of Nelson Mandela, ‘Let there be work, bread, water and salt for all.’
JUST FOR TODAY
I’d completed the suggested ninety meetings in ninety days and I pretty much continued attending daily meetings. The lunchtime express meetings worked for me because they conveniently didn’t interfere with my family life, and I also got so much from the meetings’ format which focused on a reading from the Just for Today book of daily reflections. I didn’t know if I was an addict or not. But I could relate to a line from the preamble, which read, ‘We could not live and enjoy life as others do.’ I think it was Abraham Lincoln who once said, ‘We’re just about as happy as we make up our minds to be.’ Well, that’s just not how my brain works. However, I was pleased to discover that often making a gratitude list helped. So, I added making a list to my daily routine – even if I only made it in my mind. I particularly enjoyed making my list while driving. My list included the usual: health, enough business, a roof over my head, my father for his devotion, my mother for breaking the cycle of violence, and especially my children. But I additionally enjoyed coming up with enough new ideas, to keep me entertained till I reached my destination. As I climbed the stairs to the Ubuntu Room at the back of the church, I signed off with, ‘Thank you for the ever-present, warm, welcoming smiles of the Methodist staff.’
I arrived halfway through the opening prayer and joined in with ‘the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.’ Jessica’s shoes almost always caught my attention. While I usually prefer the understated, I have a thing for interesting colours and textures, and today she was wearing a pair of elaborately embroidered Punjabi jutti shoes. As an established fashion designer, she owned two clothing boutiques that catered for individual one-off creations for special events, as well a range of off-the-peg, ready to wear designer outfits. Embroidered with real gold and silver threads and decorated with precious gems, her colourful juttis dated back to a period of Indian royalty. Today, throughout India, artisans have continued their skillful tradition. However, now the beautiful vegetable-tanned leather is more commonly embellished with ornate cotton, brass nails, cowrie shells, mirrors, bells, and ceramic beads. Distracted, I’d only caught the beginning and the tail end of the reading from Just For Today. ‘We feared that if we ever revealed ourselves as we were, we would surely be rejected.’ It ended with ‘Just for today: I have opportunities to share my inner self. I will take advantage of those opportunities and draw closer to those I love.’
I’m usually focused during meetings. However, my thoughts seemed to be all over the place, and I was struggling to pay attention. I was still thinking about Jessica, thinking she must be working on a new range inspired by the Hindi culture of rich colours and fine fabrics, when the meeting was about to wrap up. The chairperson in his turn had already called for anyone with a burning issue to use the last five minutes to share. I was in a relatively good space with nothing significant to add, so I returned to thinking about the rather large back tattoo Jessica had. So, while I heard someone sharing something along the lines of ‘secrets keep us sick,’ I was thinking about the tattoo’s unique Celtic design inspired by elements of 12th-16th century western European architecture. Pretty much like the very building we were in, the architectural style is characterized by pointed arches, rib vaults, and the stunning tracery windows that had been smashed in during the Purple Rain protest. As beautiful as her tattoo was, it seemed somewhat out of place with the person I knew. She was in a romantic relationship with my sponsor, and from what I could tell, she truly seemed to be one of the kindest, most nurturing, and generous individuals that I’d had the pleasure of meeting.
I hope that I wasn’t been judgmental. I have a Celtic eternal knot with the names of my children – Gareth, Jeremy, Ellen and Samuel – woven into lines of endless love tattooed on my shoulder. Various highland clans use the knot to identify their bloodline, while others believe the knot symbolizes the eternal bond between a mother and her child. I chose mine because had I needed an intricate design that could cover a previous tattoo, and because I found the mother/child bond particularly appealing.
The meeting was almost over when Andrew, a creative director, decided to use what must have been the final minute to get something off his chest. Andrew had been a regular member of the lunchtime group for about the same amount of time as me. He was a quiet but friendly guy who loved rockabilly music. He was sitting shoulder to shoulder with me and if he hadn’t been, I don’t think I would have heard what he needed to share.
As if mumbling to himself, he said ‘My father was an alcoholic. His best friend and drinking partner, who also happened to be his boss, generally looked after my father both at work and when they went out. And he always got him home safely. If my father hadn’t already passed out, they’d have a few more rounds, until he . . .’ He paused mid-sentence and sat silently for a moment, then finished what he was trying to get out ‘. . . as soon as my father passed out, he’d come through to my room and get stuck into me.’ Andrew didn’t say much – he didn’t have to – and I’m not sure how many others heard him. We must have ended the meeting with the serenity prayer, and I remember hugging Andrew. But I forgot where I’d parked and set off in the wrong direction. Lost, I eventually had no option other than to use a City of Cape Town municipal bin to throw up in.
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