As a young boy I spent many a holiday on my grandfather’s farm in Loeriesfontein, 423 km from Cape Town. The farm was typical of most farms in the hot and dusty rain-deprived Northern Cape. It was unrelenting, unyielding and fit only for sheep, ostriches and the toughest human. Not much grew on it except quinces, the hardiest of weeds and the crustiest of shrubs. When I looked at my grandfather, the craggy lines spidering across his face told the story of hardship and suffering. And, sometimes in an unguarded moment, he’d drop his pose and let me look into his piercing blue eyes and into his soul. Even at a young age I could fathom the undercurrents that ripped through his soul – potential, hopefulness, big dreams, regret, hopes dashed, dreams downscaled and sorrow for potential unfulfilled.
I remember sitting on the veranda with him at the end of a hard day’s work (him, not me – I had a relatively carefree time on the farm). We were watching the sun set over the majesty that is the Northern Cape. He sat with a brandy and coke and a cigarette dangling from his lips and me, sipping home-made ginger beer. This was a time for reflection for him. Sometimes when we sat together, we’d see a wall of rolling dark clouds flooding out sheets of rain, 50 kilometres away as the crow flies. It seemed to fence us in, the lightning strikes keeping us corralled in our little space in the world.
Every so often a couple of errant raindrops carried by a gulf stream wind would splutter onto the veranda. This would give my grandfather cause to look up to the heavens with hope in his heart that the rain would finally bless his farm and his family. Almost every time his hopes were dashed as the rain disappeared like a mirage in a desert. He’d look into his glass, sigh and take another sip of brandy. The drink and smoke at the end of a day’s work seemed like his only pleasure in life. That, and playing rummy with me after church on a Sunday.
My grandfather’s farm was a typical Northern Cape farm, at the edge of the rain. His farm had massive potential to grow any number of crops. But the rain fell just out of reach from where he farmed. He knew that if the rain would just fall on his farm, it would be an outstanding success. But, it seemed that he was always destined to be at the edge of the rain, never able to claim the riches and success that were rightfully his.
Islands of Happiness in a Sea of Struggle
I’m not saying that there was never any success. There were islands of happiness that popped up in a sea of struggle. Then everyone was excited. Grandmother could buy a new dress from the shop and not have to make her own. I could go to the local shop and buy real sweets. A delightful change from the dried fruit that was my sweet staple! These islands of success and happiness were rare and fleeting. But those rare and fleeting moments were vital to grandfather’s survival. They gave him hope and kept him in the game. And because of those moments he never gave up on his family and on his goals, as downscaled as they were. He died at the plough, bent but never broken.
I got it wrong
I wrote this piece above in 2011. I got it wrong. My grandfather was a success in every sense of the word. He was happiest working the land and was fully engaged in the moment. He slept well every night because he did work that made him proud. He and my grandmother raised five daughters and a son … who went on to raise and educate their own children. If he were alive today, he’d be so proud of how each one of his children turned out. He was happy with very little when it came to his own comfort … a brandy, his pipe, cards, a place to worship his creator and a place to lay his head at night. As little as he had, I don’t think he often felt insecure. I have to believe that he was grateful that he could play on this planet for a short space of time.
Contrast that with the lives you and I lead today. I would guess that most of us are generally insecure and unhappy because the world never gives us quite what we want, does it? And, when we think we got what we wanted, within a short space of time we are yearning for something better … a better car, a better house, an upgraded wife/husband, more health, more wealth, education (and then free education) and so on.
I suspect that my grandfather was better off than you and I … dying at the plough, loving what he did. Most of us are destined to die unhappy and unfulfilled because we chase elusive dreams. Dreams that will always be out of our reach because we are seldom satisfied or grateful for what we have been blessed with in this moment.