Waheeda, the author

This essay was written in July 2019.

Three decades and six years ago, on a warm summer’s evening in January, during the TV program ‘Magnum’, I am told, I was born. A lot has happened since then. I have achieved a lot, lost a lot, gained a lot, grown a lot. If I were to portray my life with two consistent themes, they would have to be ‘Resilience’ and ‘Education’.

I was born ill. Convulsions and apnea dominated a good portion of my infancy, I am told. I was in and out of hospital and underwent a lumbar puncture at two weeks old. “She won’t reach her milestones,” were the words which haunted my distraught mother. Regular visits to the doctor to measure the circumference of my head, check my hearing and sight and document my milestones became my mother’s norm in those early months. With an older child to take care of (my sister who is just eleven months older than me), I wonder how she did it.

With thoughts and prayers, mostly prayers, I overcame this unsatisfactory kick-off and grew in leaps and bounds, both physically and cognitively. I reached all my milestones and am still celebrating those that come with this stage of life – my slowly-greying hair, increased (sense of) wisdom and better reaction to the world around me.

I attended a public primary school in the middle of Durban’s central business district. Jumah Musjid State-Aided Primary School. I did well, most years, often bringing home a book prize or other academic award. I was well-spoken and was once chosen to deliver a speech to the then-Mayor of Durban who had come to visit our humble school. I was also often chosen for speech contests, some of which I won. It was during those years that I learned to crochet – first at school and then, more advanced stitches, from my mom. To this day, it is my favourite hobby.

High school was a different matter, though. The bigger classes, different denominations and increased competition gradually fed me the realisation that I was, in fact, of average academic ability. My confidence waned. I became an introvert. I lost myself in my writing. I’ve always loved writing. In grade ten, my teacher of English, Mr. Thomas, often praised my poetry. In Matric, Ms. Omar, encouraged me in other ways. It is because of teachers like them, the ones who looked for and found our strengths, that I have dedicated a large part of my life to teaching and learning. I matriculated with the class of 2000, having completed the ‘S17 course’ at Durban Girls’ Secondary School.

After high school, I attended an unglamorous computer college and obtained an A+ certification in hardware and software. I soon realised, though, that Computers was not my heart’s chosen field of study. In 2003, I registered for a BA at Unisa, choosing Psychology and English as my majors. I soon changed that to a BA (HSS) Psychological Counseling. I did a few modules a year; as many as I could manage and afford. Some semesters were busier than others. In 2004, I completed the Cambridge CELTA course and was qualified to teach English as a foreign language to adults. That short course opened the door to my professional work life.

I worked at a language school in Durban on a part-time basis. It also brought an opportunity for me to volunteer with an NPO called Talk English which caters for teaching survival English to refugees and other non-English speaking people. (I spent seven years worth of Saturdays volunteering with them and only left to focus on my studies and growing family.) In 2006, at the age of twenty-three, I married a man I had known for only three months. It was an arranged marriage, a union of two seemingly-mismatched individuals who soon learnt to live, love and laugh together. Soon after, I was promoted to full-time teacher and then, eventually, promoted again to Director of Studies in 2007. That year took us on my first trip abroad: a three-week working holiday in London, UK. (We’ve now been married for thirteen years now and have two beautiful boys, aged ten and four, the joys of my heart.)

In late 2008, as luck would have it, the company I worked for was sold and the new owners were moving it to Cape Town. Retrenchment was bitter sweet. While it came at the most inopportune moment (I had just found out I was pregnant and we were still paying off our car), it forced me to find other ways of earning an income to supplement my husband’s wage. I took on paid teaching work at Talk English. I trained Toyota graduates in Business English and voice training. I worked with Refugee Social Services teaching a series of ten-week Beginner English courses to new refugees and asylum seekers. I worked in the Access Programme at UKZN, under Roy Dace, teaching Academic English to hopeful foreign students. I became a trainer on the UKZN TEFL course under Jenny Kerchhoff from the Pietermaritzburg campus. I was also commissioned to teach ‘Pronunciation and the Phoneme Chart’ to teachers in training and was known, for a time, as the Pronunciation Fundi. I then went on to run a home-based language school which catered for students who required more intense English language training and acted as a ‘feeder’ school for the UKZN Access Course.

In 2011, after many financial struggles, I was finally a BA graduate. I took a gap year to focus on my then two-year-old son and then completed my Honours in Psychology, also with Unisa, over two years. It was also around this time that I became more engrossed in sewing and crocheting, which seemed to lead to an increased ability in other right-brained creatives like cake decorating!

In 2012, after trying to fall pregnant a second time, I experienced a terribly gruesome miscarriage. That experience shaped my reality henceforth. I realised, after much deliberation and desperation, that my spiritual levels were at an all-time low. In September 2014 I decided to begin wearing the face veil (niqab) as a constant reminder that God is the ultimate planner and no amount of stress would bring back what I had lost, nor bring me what I yearned. My rainbow baby was born exactly nine months later and for that I will be forever thankful. However, soon after, I developed postpartum depression. I had studied it, I could feel it manifesting, I recognised it, but I could do nothing to stop it. I referred to my new baby as ‘the creature’. I was afraid of his cat-like eyes. (I have always had a fear of cats; he was born with dark grey eyes.) I was overwhelmed and felt underequipped. Overcoming my depression involved a lot of time, many hugs, a lot of reassurance and a lot of talking. It was no less than eight months later when I realised I was finally beginning to overcome it.

I still wear the niqab, although it has different meanings to me now, so many years after donning it that first time. It has become a badge of honor, my constant reminder that I can overcome the greatest trials and emerge stronger than before. It is my paradoxical testament that I am a liberated woman who has worked hard to achieve my successes and have grown in strides from my challenges.

In 2016, with a tiny baby to care for, I was in no physical, mental nor financial condition to undertake my Masters. I opted to do my PGCE instead and achieved it cum laude. I have been teaching and tutoring since then. However, my aspiration to become a Psychologist has not waned and I would love to pursue my Masters degree in the hope that the adage that ‘Life begins at forty’ rings true for me.

With resilience and education, I have come this far. With resilience and perseverance, I shall write the next chapter of my life.