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| This photo was taken by a very good friend in 2011 |
My father was a big game hunter and then
game ranger catching poachers in Tanzania, when it was still Tanganyika and
before I was born. I grew up with wildlife stories and vivid accounts of his
adventures in Africa. My dad was a real man’s man. He liked his guns, his
knives, drinking with his mates, and he had some traditional ideas about the
role of a woman.
Because of his views about gender roles my
brother was always taken with my dad to go hunting, he was asked to help with
fixing things, he was informed about my parents’ finances, he took part in his
shooting and sharpening of knives, and he was even the one who was taken to
Tanzania and Kenya on safari to see where my dad lived and roamed as a young
man. My dad’s rifles were passed down to my brother, as well as all his other
hunting paraphernalia and trophies.
I think my dad also assumed that men have
adventurous spirits, and woman shouldn’t venture too far away from home. On
several occasions I was prohibited from ‘dangerous’ activities, like when I was
invited to go sky-diving or when I was chosen to become an exchange student to
the US at sixteen, and even attending a School of Arts to follow my music
career was considered too much of a risk as a career choice. I was brought up
to always be responsible and to make measured decisions.
My dad had a particular thing about knives
– pocket knives that is. He collected them and my brother got many knives from
my dad. Giving a knife to someone was a very significant sign of acceptance,
friendship and an honour. As far as I know he had never given any woman one of
his precious knives. Special men in my life would get a knife from him whenever
he thought they were worthy. Of course, the tradition was that they were to
accept the gift by giving my dad a coin in return to ensure the friendship
doesn’t get ‘cut off’ in any way.
I was very envious of my brother always
being involved in my dad’s man’s world, especially because I was so interested
in his anecdotes and knowledge of nature, which he generously shared with all
who knew him. I admired all his experience, wisdom and insights.
I think I turned out very different to what
my dad presumed. I didn’t have the traditional family life he probably
envisioned I would have. I turned out to be much more adventurous, weird, more
of a daredevil, and I travelled more extensively than what he ever expected. I
did a lot of things he only shook his head when he heard about them, like
bungee jumping, paragliding, kayaking in remote places, mountain biking,
hiking, moving to countries I have never even been to before, divorcing, marrying,
divorcing, dating guys quite a few years younger than myself, and then, I
decided to sail around the world with very little sailing experience on my resume!
He was a staunch supporter though. When I
told them that I signed up for the yacht race around the world he was a bit astonished,
but then very curious to hear all about it. He followed my planning and
training for the race, and then every day he frequently checked our boat’s
progress on the website tracker as we raced along.
When we arrived in Cape Town, after sailing
across the Atlantic from London, and then from Rio to the beautiful South
African shores, my mum and dad were there to spend a bit of time with me on our
stopover. He had been fighting cancer for a few years but I was shocked at how
frail and ill he was when I found him in a wheelchair looking for me. A caring
and dear family member whom they stayed with before they met up with me told me
that he was on his last legs.
Our time together in Cape Town was
invaluable, and he loved seeing our boat and all the goings on around the
cleaning and preparations for the next race to Albany in Australia.
As always, my dad treated me a bit with
nice dinners and hotel room, and they also brought me a package with some
goodies I needed on the boat. In the midst of the sun hat, UV shirts, distinct South
African food, and the boat shoes was an exquisite pocket knife. It was one of
those laguiole type flick knives with an exotic handle in a little pouch that
my mum had made out of soft leather.
He passed away two weeks later while I was at sea living a perilous life with a treasured knife in my pocket.
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| My visit to South Africa in 2012 |
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| The last time I saw my dad in Cape Town - October 2013 |
