Identity

The air is still moving with snowflakes, but at least I see the sun in the sky. Yesterday I made 44 samoosas. At least most of them looked like the neat triangle we know it should be. Of course I had to revisit how to fold it and after about the 10th one the memory came back to me. It was lots of fun to do and I wonder how many children are learning these skills from their mothers and grandmothers. The age of the commercial food market, ready made, more economical, easy, time-saving. We are spoiled for choice since for many this is also a means for an income - labour intensive job creation. Fun and serious at the same time. I suppose this is the life of an adult.

An so... from thinking about my samoosa folding great-grandmother to my daughter whom I still hope will learn these skills I share something different...

You Defined Me

You defined me
So easily
You ticked my box
“Coloured”
Preferring to use
That label
Conferred by a system
That was unable
To deal with my people
Who lived on this continent
For eons stable

You defined me
Without my permission
Calling me
“Coloured”
Refusing
To accept
My status
A black person
Of mixed descent
Why do I always have to
Being different
Defend?

You defined me
Because it is easier
For you to cope
With whom I am
When it is a bit more
Than about how I look
My life philosophy
What is my social typography?
What I wear
What to eat
When in actual fact
It is on the level
Of being human
Where we meet
You defined me
I forgave you
For ticking that box
“Coloured”
Which I am not
A South Indian tongue
Loves the flavour bitter-sweet
The best treat
Walking half naked
Like my Khoi Ancestors
Before we were told
To cover up – barbaric heathen
My ability to cope
With the harsh cold
From my Irish great-grandfather?
Whose name is lost to me forever
A mish-mash of people
I can claim to descend from
It leaves me proud
Being humane
I will run from
Never!

By Simone Noemdoe, 30 January 2008