History - 10/21/10

The last two days have been very significant days in my life. On the 20^th October, 1978, my husband, two children and I landed at LA-X.  Little did we know on that day that we had arrived in a foreign country. And now, 32-years later without my husband who had died four years later, and with three grandsons and a soon-to-be granddaughter on the way, I know  just how different my life is today in comparison to what it was then. For me, the ‘American Dream’ has in fact been an ‘American Nightmare’. But I’m still here trying to remain positive, some good days here and there, but many more bad days than good in my quest to find out where I fit into the scheme of things. I appear like everyone else on the outside but on the inside I am a completely different person with values and outlook that is totally alien to most of the people I meet each day.

And today I wrote the last chapter of my book! This has been a long ride for me because I began writing my story less than a year after my husband died. Here is a quote from the Preface of my story that is based on my experiences growing up in the middle of four very different cultures in a 3^rd world country – I do not have a title yet, and will have to rely on an editor to help me decide that. Here it is:

‘TITLE’ is a purely fictional depiction in words, written from the heart of person who is grateful for all the wonderful memories experienced while growing up in this amazing country.  The characters are fictional; the places are based on my own personal experiences living in Salisbury during school months and spending the school holidays at home in the bush, or visiting all the special places that are Rhodesia. Many of the places in this story will be identifiable by many of the people who read these pages and I hope that remembering these places will renew their own memories of being a part of this great country.  I have written a story based on my own experiences, thoughts and impressions elicited by returning to the US, a foreign country, after 29 years of living and breathing Rhodesia.

            It is a story of contrasts and differing cultures, but also a story of comparisons that begins in the early 1970s in Rhodesia and continues through the very early 80s in California. Therefore, the names of places are taken from that period of time, as well as certain language impressions that were inherent at that time and not based on the political correctness of today.  I have tried to describe the splendor of the sights and sounds of Rhodesia as I experienced them and remember them, as well as certain incidents that caused laughter and a feeling of innate wellbeing.  It is also a story of survival and moving on with life, sometimes with only memory to color present days….

Excerpt from the Introduction:

...Scott opened his eyes and peered downwards to where the dry, hot, flatness lay shimmering in the waves of heat that appeared to be a huge, brown ocean. The endless land was criss-crossed with a multitude of tiny, vein-like footpaths and trails carved there by many passing feet and a great many more passing years. He could almost see the scraggly, dry thorn bushes Acacia mellifera or ‘wait-a-bit-bushes’ with the inquisitive lizards seeking the minute spaces of shade beneath them. The land looked like a finely designed patchwork blanket, woven in various earth-tones, tufts of dry grass spattered across the many tones of brown – erasable. Clouds whispered beneath the steel hulking of the aircraft and spattered the brown, shimmering expanse below with little blotches of whiteness. Occasionally, a tree-lined river, bright green in contrast to the land surrounding it, snaked its way across the brown earth giving a new dimension to the panorama of the continent below him – a somewhat strange glimmer of life in the seeming otherwise dead land surrounding it. Myriads of rocks wildly stacked, leaning, burning the landscape with bright orange of the lichen that covered them, dotted the flatness and brought to Scott’s mind the great balancing, granite rocks that had so captured his imagination when he saw them for the first time. Now and again, there was a baobab tree, its thick, grotesque trunk with straggling, upward reaching branches gray against the brown earth. They appeared as great sentries carefully guarding the land surrounding them and providing very little shade to animals that might take refuge beneath them. He had seen similar trees in California when he had first been with Tembani, but those were nothing compared to the real baobab trees. He recalled many a moment when he and his friend had sat leaning against the fat gray trunk sucking on the seeds from the furry green pods that were scattered about on the ground. Scott was convinced that all the mystery of Africa existed in these ungainly and ghostly trees. Africa! Land of enchantment and mystery, traditions and legends, but nevertheless filled with vitality and wonder. Now, to him, Scott Raynard, this land was like an open book, no longer filled with mystery as it had been in the beginning, for this land had opened itself to him through his friend Tembani. Tembani was gone now, forever, taking with him the mystery, but the enchantment remained and would remain buried deep within his heart to the end of his life.....

I hope that one day you will perhaps read my story.