Tuesday afternoon, I picked my son up from school earlier than usual and headed straight to the hospital for my dad's appointment. I had ONLY just sat down when a elderly man, 76 years old to be exact had sparked up a conversation with me. He had asked where I was from and I told him I was of Polynesian descent but I was raised here in Australia. He then began to compliment the island people as being "big" not as in weight but as in stature and watching them play rugby is very entertaining for him. In return I had asked him of his heritage and he wanted me to guess. Taking a rough estimate, I would say this old chap would be Italian or Greek but I was in fact incorrect. He is of German and Indian descent due to his grandparents but he is South African.
As our conversation went from guessing nationalities to sport, it then went into a history lesson for myself. He is a survivor from the time South Africa was taken over by the white people. Though he is of a tan complexion, it is visible to the eye that he is of mixed race and therefore treated as the 'blacks' were treated. He began to elaborate more on the stories of his childhood being raised in South Africa and it got me thinking of how blessed I am, that I never had to endure the pain and suffering as this man did. I told him that though I never had to experience the life of survival, I could only imagine how it would've been like and I had applauded him on the strength that he had that has made it possible for him to survive this far.
Towards the end of our conversation, he asked for my name. So I gave it and then thanked me for giving him the time. But little did he know that it was I who was grateful for the opportunity to hear a survival story that has not only made me grateful and blessed to grow up the way I did but also to gain more wisdom from someone who has lived in a time where 'freedom' wasn't an option.
Love,
Corina Jane (CJM)
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