The Cosmopolitan Blog

A few posts ago, i wrote about women i admired, like Oprah and Christiane Amampour. Today, I want to pay homage to two other women. These two are not famous though. But they’re brave and smart and kind and funny and so so strong. But alas, both have passed away. One, over 8 years ago. The other passed away on Saturday.

I’m writing about both, because it’s the passing of the 2nd that reminds me how much i still miss the first. This is a super long post, but it’s a personal post as i mourn both these women.

My aunt

My aunt passed away just before the millennium. But i remember her smile, her voice, her expressions, her touch, like it was yesterday. I remember her strong will. She was as short as I was (and trust me, that’s short!), but her will and her inner strength made you forget her actual height. She fought fearlessly for what she believed was right. She worked her whole life to improve the human condition of underprivileged women. But it was the woman she was that made her truly remarkable. Her strongest passion was her family. And even though she had three older brothers, she remained the head of our extended family, when she spoke, people listened, what she said went. She was also a remarkably feminine woman, i remember her closets being full of amazing sarees of the most glamourous materials and colors. She wore strong lipstick, and i always remember teasing her about how she had put some on her teeth by mistake. But my memories of her wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t remember how stubborn she could be and how angry she would sometimes get. She had 2 sons and a daughter, and i know from seeing them regularly, how often and constantly they still miss her.

Which is why i know that this empty feeling of sadness i have at the passing of this other person on Saturday is not going to leave me anything soon.

Annette

I grew up in an apartment block, and Annette was the housekeeper for the building, so she lived in the basement apartment. She was there and waiting when i was born and my parents brought me home. And she’s been there ever since. She was the one i would hang out with when i got home from school and my parents weren’t back. She was the one who would watch me on evenings where my parents were out for dinner. She was the one who took me to the park and stood by me as i rode my bike for the first time. She was the one i could run to when my mom would frustrate me like only a mom can. But Annette wouldn’t take those moments to score points, she would be understanding, she would listen, but then she would remind me of my mom’s motivation and show me that my mom actually had a point. I remember her coming up for dinner at least once a week. I remember going out to a chinese restaurant with her for the first time, and all of us, my parents included, rolling on the floor laughing as we watched her try using her chopsticks for the first time. I remember how she would make my parents laugh with her wicked and sometimes naughty sense of humor and her very unique view on life.

Later in life, after i was done with college and came back to live at my old apartment, she would come up for chats and cups of tea, we would gossip endlessly about my friends and college life, and later, she would listen to me complain about the long hours working in hotels. By then, i had gotten myself a little kitten, and Annette was there when i brought Princess home, she gave me tips, she watched her grow, she took care of her when i worked long hours. Princess got used to going down in the elevator and coming out into Annette’s apartment for a visit (although, somehow, she found the elevator trip back up terrifying). Annette gave me so much life advice, relationship tips, she always knew how to see the positive in any situation. Annette had been sick for a long, long time with a blood disease, and yet, looking at her, you would never have known the pain she surely endured daily. Pity, complaining and complacency used to drive her completely crazy. I remember her loosing patience when a grocery check out clerk would not smile, have too slow movements and refuse to be polite. She’d say “May i please have a pen (to sign the credit card receipt), oh! and a smile, please?”. She never, never let me feel sorry for myself. She taught me that life was tough, but was also so rewarding. She taught me to love animals and plants, and I remember how distressed she was when she announced she would never get another cat because the pain of loosing them was too great. I remember her smell, her hair, her nails, the German expressions she still used even though she had lived in England for years. I remember the pride with which she spoke of her grandchildren. I remember her cooking and then always leaving the frying pan with the remaining oil sitting on the stove for a day or 2. I remember chatting to her about the latest happenings of our favorite soap opera.

Then i left England. And i missed her. I missed her so much. I remember going back to London for visits, and being in a hurry to see her or call her, and all she could say was “don’t worry, i’ll be here, go spend more time with your mom instead, she’s the one who misses you the most, don’t show her that you miss me too”. She never wanted to intrude, she understood that the relationship we shared was so special that my mother might, at times, feel a pinch of jealousy, and she was worried and never wanted that to happen. I remember seeing her, year after year, and thinking she looked the same and never seemed to get older. She was stuck at a certain age and look, and that’s were she stayed. She was getting close to 80, and she was out and about like the rest of us.

But then things changed and she had to leave the basement apartment and retire. And then, with nothing to keep her busy, her condition deteriorated quickly. I remember visiting her one Christmas as she lay in hospital. She was in a room with 8 other people, and she was in the far bed, by the window. She had her back turned to the room, and as approached her, i could hear her whimpering and crying. And it broke my heart because i knew how lonely she must have felt and how having people take care of her would have been the last thing she wanted. I kept expecting her to stand up and say “enough of this, i’ve got some errands to run”. She tried to be brave as I sat with her for that short visit, but she was so upset.

I saw her a few times after that. And then, last weekend, i went to London for a weekend, fully intending to either visit or at least call her in her retirement house she lived at. And then, that evening, her son called us to tell us she had had a stroke and it was 50/50. The following day, i had planned on visiting our old apartment block and taking pictures, and it was that Saturday evening, as i took a thousand pictures of the same door, of her basement apartment and of the hallway, all these places we had spent so many hours in, that, at the same time, she was passing away.

I miss her so much. It’s not that i haven’t been missing her for the past 8 years that i’ve been in North America. But now, i can’t even call her. She’s no longer in this world. And somehow, that’s so much harder. I think about her at the oddest moments, at a checkout counter or sitting at my desk at work, and then my eyes fill with tears. I miss her. I will always miss her.

One of the things you need to know about me is that I am addicted to the Biography Channel. In fact, biographies are one of my favorite types of books too. And since I can be just as shallow as I can be “deep and meaningful”, I’ll take as much pleasure in watching a biography on Charlie Sheen as I do on Nelson Mandela (granted, i would probably not take the time to read Charlie’s bio…).

But since this post is not in the shallow “That’s Hot” category, my post is about Nelson Mandela. This man is definitely one of the great people of this century, a hero to his country, we all know how he spent 27+ years in jail for a cause he believed in, how the people of his country remembered him and continued fighting in his name, how he came out of jail and ended apartheid, became the country’s official leader and held the first free multi-racial democratic elections in the country.

What I found particularly striking and I find reflects on the core of who he is as a man and a human being, is the fact that the lifetime he spent in jail did not remotely make him bitter or angry. He persevered until he reached his goal, and he rarely used guerrila warfare and violence. With regards to this, I want to highlight the following from Wikipedia:

Mandela explains the move to embark on armed struggle as a last resort, when increasing repression and violence from the state convinced him that many years of non-violent protest against apartheid had achieved nothing and could not succeed. Mandela later admitted that the [African National Congress] ANC, in its struggle against apartheid, also violated human rights, and has sharply criticized attempts by parts of his party to remove statements supporting this fact from the reports of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission.

I don’t think there is anything I could say in this post that hasn’t been said before on this great man, but what I reflect on is how his struggle to end apartheid was not motivated by anger and hate, be it before or after his 30 years in prison. I believe THAT was the variable that allowed his struggle to be successful. So how does a man who sees such injustices not become bitter and enraged? The answer, I believe can be found in his childhood. Mandela was born in a very influential and important family in his region, his great-granfather was the King of the Thembu people, and his father was chief of his village. The point is, for the first 18-20 years of his life, he lived in regions of South Africa that were all-black, and therefore, he did not grow up confronted on a daily basis with racial hatred, he was never meant to feel inferior for the color of his skin. Anyone growing up in an environment of hatred, violence and racism can only end up bitter and angry. Mandela did not feel any of this growing up. THIS, i believe is the key to how Mandela chose to fight his struggle.

*warning: random thoughts ahead :)*

I find Mandela such a beautiful person. I am not someone who is very much into analyzing people’s auras (in fact, i know nothing about auras), but i believe that he must have the world’s most impressive aura. Mandela has often mentioned that one of his greatest influence is Mahatma Gandhi, and I believe this is very obvious. One of the contemporaries that he admired greatly too is ex-US President Jimmy Carter, someone I also admire for his stance on peace throughout the Middle East (yes, yes, I know, Jimmy wasn’t the world’s greatest US president, but I don’t believe this should take away from his amazing foreign policy).

So is Mandela perfect? No, i think not, and in fact, I think that anyone who could devote his entire life to his country’s struggle in such a steadfast and focused way, must be a very difficult man to live with (or without, considering that he spent most the life he shared with his 2nd wife in jail). I think he made a choice of which way his life would go, and that meant that the more time he spent struggling, the less time he spend being a private man, a husband and a father. Life must not be easy being the child of Nelson Mandela. I just think it’s important to acknowledge his family for the sacrifice they were asked to make for the sake of their country.

Last random thought: this man is now 89 years old, and he has retired from public life… Sort of… Last month, he created the council of Elders, which, I know, sounds like something out of Star Trek or Harry Potter, but is, in fact, an amazing way to unite all the great living men and women of this century who have knowledge, wisdom and experience to:

“speak freely and boldly, working both publicly and behind the scenes on whatever actions need to be taken. Together we will work to support courage where there is fear, foster agreement where there is conflict, and inspire hope where there is despair“.

I do believe that you probably have to be 70+ to join the club (i’m only 1/2 kidding, i think that to understand and share your perspective and wisdom, you can’t be 40-odd years old), and includes such greats as Desmond Tutu, Kofi Annan, Ela Bhatt, Muhammad Yunus and Jimmy Carter, each of these people having their own specialty and area of expertise.

I am thankful that there are people like Nelson Mandela in this world.