This Journey

I am nothing more than bemused at the accent on time and the markers that it seems to have left along my journey so far. If there are more kimyatic ramblings at this space to come in commemoration, then so be it!

The journey is more than fraught with entertainment, if we just let it be. If you read this blog regularly, then you will have noticed that the banner has undergone yet another change. What began as simply mymemoirs, evolved over time to become SoApBoX Shafinaaz: A World of Words. A rather grandiose title, perhaps. This time, it has come to it's final naming: 'Memoirs For Kimya' - in this way immortalising the essence of why this blog began in Kimya's name. The difference now, is that I have, since the publication of the blog-to-book version, put my name to the writings and ramblings of these virtual pages. I used to scribble here in 2005 simply as 'kimya'. She was the veil behind which I wrote. Perhaps it made it easier to share with the outside world. Or it was a clever way of silencing self-censorship. Either way, its entirely possible that the flavour of writings has changed with the intentions and hence reinventions of the blog. I have not changed a word of early bloggings since I laid full claim. So if anyone has the slightest curiosity, go ahead and search for earlier posts. Forgive the grammatical errors. As you know, they continue to speckle my path; a symbol of my insolence, my refusal to edit the raw matter that forms my art of vanity and other such luxuries displayed here. All else is evolving as we speak. And so am I.

Kimya, naming, and being. All range across the spectrum of interrogation that has used this canvas to pull me through my challenges, my fears, my childish rants and my somewhat poetic, often academic musings. I have arrived. And yet another new road beckons. This is what it was all about to begin with.

Note: Search this blog for A Rose By Any Other... A reflective post circa Oct 2006 about my making sense of identity, naming, and the interplay of layers of identification.

six o'clock gin and tonic

I walked into Rika's apartment a little after 3pm yesterday. The appointment was set for 2:45pm, but a young driver wandering around unknown parts of the city can be easily forgiven, or so she said.

I'm always thirsty for easy forgiveness, so I didn't argue much on that. Besides, I know at least enough not to argue with someone whose three times my age, and very astute for the average 91year old. I whisper a silent prayer in awe: God, let me be that way at 91, or not at all! This is Rika Hodgson. Veteran ANC stalwart.

And so she launches into her animated chat about the days of old; you know, when you could hide a bottle of whiskey in an old typewriter, and share it with a friend of another race, even if there was the scare of the Immorality Act hanging over their heads. But not before she has made absolutely sure of the fact that I am comfortably seated with the sun from the large bay windows swathing me in a welcome embrace, and a steaming cup of tea settled withing close reach from my notebook and pen.

I scribble and try to repaint in few words the enigmatic imagery that she spurts forth in words and facial expressions, almost as if I am being let in on secrets never told before; sometimes she takes for granted that I may not have lived a time as that. She clucks incessantly at the realisation. I release a sigh of apology.

I am quickly forgiven, and the stories unfold once again. Mr & Mrs Jack Hodgson. Their journeys into Botswana, Tanzania, India and beyond. The Pahads, the Cachalias, the Sisulus and the rest of the lineage of the anti-apartheid struggle reveals itself in yet another thread of narrative. I make fervent notes. My voice recorder laps up the milk and cream of the voice and word content of this dialogue. It retells the story to me hours later, when I have returned to my desk in a less quieter part of Jozi.
Another dotted line is drawn, making for a tangible thread between her apartment in the North and my room in the centre of Johannesburg. Voices echo around me, bouncing off the walls, tempting me to make something of them. I am impatient, but its still not the time to write. Patience.

I relive the last few moments of my visit. The endless books. The endless rays of afternoon sunlight. I got invited to stay for her six o'clock gin and tonic; said with a rather mischievous grin to highlight her ample wit, as I was leaving. Ah, I know that you don't drink, she said in reply to my laughter. Everything works around traffic, here in Jozi. I had to leave, anyway... But in many ways, I stayed.

Shafinaaz

I met a woman named Shafinaaz today. It really was the strangest day...

I was on my way back from the interview with a sweet old lady, namely Mrs. Sisulu... when I made a little detour to pick up a parcel at a store in Greenside. The owners were expecting me. I was to meet a lady who refers to herself as 'Selma'. And when I spoke to her to enquire about directions, I introduced myself as well, who I am: Shafinaaz. She seemed to go silent on the phone, everytime I said my name. Maybe she forgot who I am? I didn't venture an explanation. When I arrived, finally, I met with a woman in purdah. Her name is Salma... and we proceeded to chat about the reason for my visit. And then her husband says: 'you didn't tell her your real name'... and I am baffled. So she says: 'my name in all my documentation, is Shafinaaz.'

I'm so not used to that! I mean, really... what are the chances? But, she says, she changed it to Salma because people said that it had no meaning. Hmm, so she was waiting to meet me so that she could ask me what my/our name means. Phew. Okay. Philosophical discussion time... :)

I think I'm going to refer to another post I wrote some time back about the meaning of my name. It's called 'A Rose by Any Other...' and was writ way back in 2006 when I was known to the blogosphere as Kimya and to the real real world as Shafinaaz. All in order, I may have managed to re-instate in her, the name she was given at birth; and the name that she has abandoned for some eight years now.

I did good, right?

I mean, after all, I am Shafinaaz :P