Before I share the dream with you, I wish to introduce you to one of my guides, *Antie Krekkie.
*Antie Krekkie lives deep in the folds of my mind and she usually surfaces when I am in need of a swift shift.
She, with her leathery olive skin, kinky silver hair and back-handed magic has literally slapped me out of potential quagmires with one *suiwer klap and a cackle. She has the force and power of my deceased maternal grandmother but has been hobbling through my dreams since I was a little.
At times, she appears in my waking state with a dose of not-too-soothing medicine to ensure that I do not create a suitable environment for seeds of hurtful belief to breed.
I share two such times with you.
Over two decades ago, ripe after graduating from a 4yr fashion design diploma with honours in my pocket and a feather in my cap, I applied for work in the then productive local clothing industry. Within days, I received a job as a designer for a leading underwear manufacturer. One of South Africa’s finest, it had been successfully supplying prominent retail stores with high quality lingerie and sleepwear for many, many decades.
I embraced this as a huge opportunity.
I had to shift from inspired student to capable corporate very quickly. In many ways, daunting, and to add to that I was the first “person of colour” to be hired by this company, in this capacity. Ever.
Needless to say, I entered it with that cursed racial drive that works extra hard to prove that I deserved to be there. The feeling of not having the right to be in a specific environment still infected my bones. Childhood memories stung…from been chased off blue flag beaches, to been illegally admitted by a concerned doctor to the ‘other’ section of a children’s hospital as I desperately needed to receive adequate treatment for a debilitating illness at the time.
“You are not allowed to be here,” the doctor told the 5 year old me in a hushed tone.
“Your family will be arrested if the authorities find out. Do not talk to anyone. They will hear from your accent where you come from.”
So I swallowed my voice and wept silently as my family with the earth in their skin could not visit me.
But she did, *Antie Krekkie.
It was here that I met her for the first time, sitting quietly at the foot of my bed with her toothless grin and her dark olive skin. I remember thinking, “my daddy’s skin is lighter than hers…why is she allowed in and not him?”
I did not ask.
I did not speak
…and neither did she.
Her medicine was gentle at this age, a daily dosage of a quiet, seated presence at the foot of my cot. Her first teaching a potent one, that I am never truly alone.
No words, and thankfully, no *klap just yet.
Let’s return to my young adulthood and my job as a lingerie designer.
My long hours and consistent work ethic were beginning to pay off. My designs were valued and orders were flying in. I cherished the friendly and respectful rapport I formed with my sisters on the machine floor and trusted that the awkwardness of the relationships in the design room needed time. I knew that my salary was much less than the other young designers but this did not upset me. I was grateful for the opportunity. I was always the first to arrive at the office and the last one to leave, believing that I had to prove myself because everyone appeared to be so advanced.
Eventually, I thought, they would see me.
And they did, but not in the way I hoped.
The day arrived when I was called to the human resource office. I was knee deep in range planning and preparation. My last range was so well received, it raised my confidence. I entered that human resource office excited, for I had finally started to feel like I belonged, that I deserved to be there.
The human resource officer was kind but direct. She cut to the chase and delivered the message without fuss.
‘You are doing well in your job Tessa. On behalf of the management, I have been asked to inform you that from now onward we require you to straighten your hair. The image of our company needs to be upheld by all employees and physical appearance is of utmost importance.”
With the wind torn from my sails, I replied with a meek and apologetic, “I’m sorry, I cannot afford to have it straightened regularly.”
“Well,” she said, “please make sure it is done on days that you meet with our clients and as for the rest of the time… tie it up.”
I thanked her.
For what?
I don’t know.
I could not fathom how my head of shoulder length curls could inflict such disharmony that it could override my performance. Being a fashion school graduate, I took pride in my appearance and dressed with professional style and elegance. Always.
I scurried off to the toilets, the bounce in my curl trying its best to be still. I locked the door and wept. A mighty surge of self deprecating thoughts bubbled and boiled all through me. Coupled with the exhaustion of trying too hard, it brewed a toxic cocktail ready to embed and feed some dysfunctional seeds.
And just like that… I was *klapped off the toilet seat to land unceremoniously on the floor.
*Antie Krekkie, in the light of day. I did not expect that.
“Get up,” she said… “Get up and get on with it, *en los daardie bos!!”
And that I did.
I continued to work and produce with diligence and integrity, secretly enjoying the defiance of my wandering hair and the power of its reckless curl. I was not warned or called to the office again.
Eventually I outgrew what that job offered me and I handed in my resignation.
The dream.
The mosquito net flutters in the breath of a moonless night. An unseasonably warm night encouraged that the windows be left open.
The room paused, waiting for the external sounds of the nocturnal world to come pouring in, but it did not. The world was as silent as if it had ended with the setting sun. I detected the shape of a being lounging casually in the corner of my room.
“Who are you?” I asked the darkness.
No reply.
My attention moves toward a low hissing sound, singular at first but amplifying very quickly. It felt to be coming from all directions…the corners, the walls and the ceiling with it moving steadily towards my bed.
I grab the torch next to the bed, its light claws at the darkness as my eyes struggle to adjust to the sight before me. A sea of moving shapes advance towards me with neither a buzz nor a drone but a prolonged hisssss.
Once my eyes adjust to the light and my brain seizes to wrestle with the sight, the connection is made…. Cockroaches!!
My acknowledgement of their presence causes them to scurry at breakneck speed, multiplying and zoning in on none other than me! Within minutes they are on the bed, mountains of them. The room loses its features to this tsunami of cockroaches. Once they reached my body, they begin to moult, dropping their shells and releasing their antennae on top of me.
I writhe in disgust as a graveyard of deposited cockroach body parts grow. I scream at the wretched horror encasing me and desperately fight against it. Despite this, the roaches continue to work diligently ensuring that every part of my form is covered by their radio active resistant shell and that their powerful antennae is affixed to my skull.
As they continue to deposit, I violently smash, squash and rage at them, peeling off whatever it is they are creating.
In response, the hunched shadow in the corner of the room hobbles over towards me. Its movement commands my attention despite everything that is unfolding. There is something familiar in the way it moves…
… *Antie Krekkie!
I brace myself for what is about to land.
With a mighty *klap she centers me.
“Stop messing about… its time to get your *kakkerlak on!”
I wake, unconsciously rubbing my cheek that still tingled from her contact.
Time.to.get.my.kakkerlak.on?
Her hearty *klap snapped me out of a fear-filled dream reverie and brought me to present moment awareness yet again. I am forced to look at what is actually unfolding. Thousands upon thousands of *kakkerlaks were offering their medicine of resilience and extra sensory perception through their body armour and antennae.
If they were majestic eagles, lovable dolphins or symbolically accepted snakes I would of welcomed their medicine for sure.
*Note to self on the potential trappings of spiritual metaphors*
If I had been consumed by the fear, I would have completely missed the point that I am being supported through the process of yet another growth spurt.
Viva the Kakkerlak !
and Antie Krekkie too.
Translation : Afrikaans-English
*Antie – Aunty
*Krekkie – not sure how she has this name. Maybe because she *kreks (cracks) me wide open
*klap -smack
*suiwer klap – a smack of solid proportion 🙂
*en los daardie bos – loosley translated to: leave that bush alone!
*kakkerlak – cockroach