A Chance Encounter
It must be a kind of
hazard going shopping with your mother, or that is how we felt for the young
man yesterday as we stopped for a pot of Earl Grey tea and a slice of
too-creamy carrot cake.
We took the table
beside two white ladies who wouldn't look out of place at a seaside café in
Eastbourne, England, and we have seen quite a few ladies in Pinelands that
remind me of home.
It is that quiet
sophistication of a Laura Ashley print dress, very sensible shoes, hair
somewhere between Margaret Thatcher and the late Queen, lip-defining lipstick
without drawing too much attention, and costume jewellery giving airs of pearl
for a necklace and earrings.
The Retired Teachers
Every younger lady
who walked by seemed to know them. Without trying to be a Miss Marple, I
suspect they were retired teachers, as you do not become that well known
without being invested in the community. If I had wanted to engage them in
conversation, I might have used the angle of familiarity to start one.
The only exchange
between us was them asking if we had enough space to sit at the table. However,
I could not grasp any snippets of their conversation except when they
interacted with passers-by.
An Overheard Exchange
Just before our tea
arrived, a middle-aged lady with a tallish young man came by, and beyond the
greetings a longer conversation unfolded. From what ensued, one could surmise
that he was her son. Quite soft-spoken and almost sheepishly shy, we soon found
one of the ladies updating her database of facts about him.
We learnt his name,
that he had just completed a master's degree, and that he had a British
passport. Yet in the context of that exchange, even with the apparent privilege
of being Caucasian in South Africa, there was the feeling that this country did
not offer him a promising future. This young man was to set sail, though not on
an Elder Dempster ocean liner, to the United Kingdom to seek his fortune.
Contrasting
Perspectives
I contrast this with
the idea that I seek to set up home, live, and retire in South Africa, as I see
opportunities and possibilities where the locals appear not to. However, the
broader point, as summarised by my partner, is the danger of meeting old ladies
in a public space.
Before you know it, a
catalogue of your life is revealed to strangers who might make a blog of it.
Poor Joseph.
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