Let me start by saying I have zero qualifications to make that statement. It’s my interpretation of what I felt, and what many other members of SA2Eire have described feeling too. This is not a medical assessment. This article should not be read as anything more than an opinion piece.
But it’s an opinion worth sharing.
Remember the school athletics chant?
I often think back to those annual athletics meets at school.
I can still hear the chant:
“Who are we?!”
“We are Saffas!”
“What are we scared of?!”
“Nothing!”
“Why?!”
“Because we are Saffas!”
The thing is, we were telling ourselves that from a very young age. That we were fearless. That nothing scared us. And we wore it like armour.
What “safe” looks like in South Africa
When you are at your house in SA, you know you are as safe as you can possibly be. You know this because:
You have double-checked that the gates are locked. The gate in the passage has had a second look.
You know the alarm is set. You checked it three times already during the evening. You ran a test just a few days ago to see if the armed response company actually responds.
The dogs are quiet. You know they are okay. You gave them a nice pet just now-now.
All the windows are closed. The electric fence is in tip-top shape.
Now close your eyes and fade away into a deep sleep.
Well. Into a sleep.
Okay, a sort of sleep. With one ear open. Just in case the dogs bark. Or there is a rattle at the gate.
This is normal. Ask anyone.
You have these conversations with your neighbour and your family all the time. Which security company is best. Whose armed response is fastest. Which beams are on tonight. You all speak the same language.
Tomorrow you will get in your car. The car you carefully selected for its extra security features. You will drive to work and put in those extra unpaid hours, because you are lucky to have a job. You need to show appreciation by giving more. Even though you can’t ever leave an hour early without getting an eye-roll. How dare you need to pick up your vomiting child early? Don’t you realise how many other people they could have employed?
You will leave work and your handbag will be safely stowed under the seat. You will only become slightly tense if your phone rings. You won’t even consider it breaking the law when you roll through a stop street rather than coming to a full stop. You are just being cautious. You will pretend not to see the street vendor trying to sell you more wire hangers you don’t need.
You will simply not stop at a red robot. You will stop and assess what looks out of the norm at any bush, wall, or street sign close enough to you. Not only on your side, but opposite, and on either side of the cross road. All at the same time.
Us Saffas know how to multitask like this.
There is nothing strange about any of it. It is normal life. Ask anyone you know. They all do it too.
Then you move to Ireland
As you go to cross the road by Tesco, someone who has right of way slows down and stops. They let you cross.
But why? They didn’t need to.
You go to the local Spar before school. You can only shake your head when you see someone has actually left their car idling, with the windows open. The keys are right there. Why is no one finding this strange? Everyone walks past like it is the most normal thing in the world.
There is a Pat the Baker delivery van parked outside. The back is open. The front door is open. The van is running. But where is the driver? Surely that is not him having a coffee inside the shop? Right?
The kitchen moment
Then one day you find yourself in your kitchen doing dishes.
Did you just hear something?
The tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You intensify your hearing to super-sonic. And yes, there it is. The something that is wrong reveals itself.
Except it is not the quiet that is wrong. It is not the fact that there is no one at the door.
There was someone at the door. It turned out to be a neighbour who left some cool drinks for the kids. Because she was at the shop and thought they might like some.
None of it is wrong.
This, it turns out, is what normal is.
What I didn’t realise I was carrying
The thing that is wrong is how we normalise everything that is wrong in South Africa. It is a coping mechanism, I get that. Seriously, what is the alternative? Emigration?
Well. Apparently this helps.
But you will find yourself in that state of hyper-alertness for so many years. It takes a long time before you are able to fully realise that what your normal is, is not normal.
Why people here can’t quite get it
And here is the hard part. Because your old normal is so far outside what people in Ireland know, they simply cannot identify with it. You will think you are helping them understand more about you. You will tell them about ordinary life in South Africa. You will be met with blank stares.
It is like people discussing a movie you have never seen. They can’t relate. They can’t even imagine it from the fragments you share.
That is not their fault. That is not your fault either. It is just the reality of two very different lived experiences.
The shift from LIVED to LIVE
But this is the bit that is important.
Remember it is lived. Past tense. That was then.
Now you simply get to live. Present tense.
Make use of this present. It is a gift.
Never forget where you came from. The memories. The family. The friends. The beauty. The complexity. All of it.
But don’t use your PTSD as a crutch not to let this gift in.
You jumped. That leap of faith is paying off. But you have to leave a door open before anyone else is able to walk in.
May your new present, the one you get to live, allow you to realise the amazing things that can happen when you leave a figurative door open for a new life.
