I grew up in South Africa – where December is the middle of summer. The school year behind us, my father would be off work for two or three weeks and we’d all be in that blissful state of not knowing what day of the week it was.
New Year’s Eve would mean a trip to Mayfair – in our big Valiant. There was a blue one, and maybe a white one. The memories flood together and get a little muddled. We’d go to Mayfair to rent movies that came on reels in big boxes, along with a massive projector. There’d be a stop at the butcher because New Year’s Eve required a braai- a BBQ – but just that little bit different. I can’t even remember what was on the braai, it was more the excitement of having a special party than what we actually ate for dinner. I’m guessing there’d be wors, an overstuffed sausage filled with peppery flavours and bursting out of its casing, and lamb chops – probably rib chops. We’d also get the rubbery polony in the red wrapper. That would be saved for breakfast, served with eggs. There would also be a stop at Mono Bakery for fresh bread and meringues. The meringues were delicious for the first bite or two, and then quickly lost it’s appeal with the high sugar content. The fresh bread, still warm never lost it’s appeal – even now at 54, I have a mad love affair with fresh bread.
On the way home, we’d watch for the vendor selling dried fruit out of the back of his pick up truck on the side of the road. We’d pull over in a cloud of dust and run to the truck to choose what we wanted. My adult mind now wonders about the pollution on these delicacies, displayed on the side of a busy roadway, where customers pulled over, stirring up the red dust that got in everywhere. The man had come all the way from Lourenco Marques – I had no idea where that was as a child, all I knew was that it was far away and mystical which meant the treats were special. My mother would get her square tin of cashews. The tin was about a square foot, and maybe 4 or 5 inches deep. On the top there was a round lid in the centre that popped off to reveal the salty treasure. This once-a-year treat was as expensive as it was delicious. We’d savor it very slowly to make it last as long as possible. Looking back now, I don’t remember if it was only once a year because of the cost, or just the seasonal availability – likely a combination of both.
Often it would just be the five of us, but sometimes, cousins would come over for the braai. Some years it would just be local cousins, other times, the cousins from Vryburg would be in town, and on special years the cousins from Canada. I’m sure their parents came too, but I only remember the cousins being there because that’s all that I related to. It was very exciting to have lots of kids around and we’d get to swim at night. Part of the thrill was doing something that just seemed so rebellious – like we were breaking all the rules. The light in the pool made your skin glow white and if you covered the light, everyone else would be in darkness. Peals of laughter would echo hollowly across the water into the dark sky from the one covering the light, while everyone else in the pool and on the deck would shriek in annoyance at the sudden darkness. Nights were warm but by no means hot, and the novelty quickly wore off. We’d all stand around shivering on the pool deck, wrapped in damp towels instead of just getting dressed in dry clothes. Eventually, someone would make the call that it was getting chilly so we’d go inside, dress and gather to watch movies.
The giant movie projector required the dining room table to be moved so that the image could be projected onto a suitable wall. I seem to remember it blocking the door into the hallway – but that doesn’t make sense. Maybe it was just awkwardly in the way, the disarray being part of the holiday abandon. My father would often sit in a chair by the projector so he could flip reels, or manage the crisis of a snapped reel. He’d be wearing his red hat, with his legs folded underneath him, sipping on his special Coke. My grandmother once asked why he only ever wanted half a glass of Coke instead of just having a full glass like everyone else. He joked that his mother wanted him to get drunk quickly.
Despite the grand illusions of staying up until next year, we’d be asleep on the couch half way through the movie. My father would wake us .. or was it just me who’d fallen asleep – and there’d be samoosas and tea as a snack. Then, as midnight approached, we’d get ready for the most exciting part of the night!!
There’d be loud and raucous countdown on our front stoep and everyone would be ready to light their fire crackers!! My brothers were allowed to light whole strings of them at once. The crackers would bounce around in a racket of bangs and colour. I’d pluck up the courage to light one at a time and bolt from the meager little single bang. The excitement was almost too much to bear.
My father would light sparklers for me. I couldn’t light them myself because I was too afraid to hold the match long enough for the sparkler to ignite, and when it did, I’d be so startled I’d drop it- the match and the sparkler. So I’d be handed a lit sparkler and gleefully wave it around as it sparkled and crackled down the little stick. It was so beautiful but felt so dangerous and thrilling for my 6 year old self.
We’d scream louder than necessary as we ran from the lit cracker and then from a safe distance, we’d turn to watch the effect. The racket and the colours and the smell and being up and outside way past midnight was a complete sensory overload. My father would stand on the top step, watching us, and every time someone passed and honked or yelled out something cheery, he’d yell “Happy! Happy!” in return.
In my memory this was such a big part of the night, but in reality it probably lasted no more than 20 minutes or so. We’d trudge back into the house and New Year’s Eve was over. Beyond that I have no recollection of how the night wound down – only the disappointment that it never lasted long enough.