“Darra”

Where I grew up you hardly heard someone say “dad” or “daddy”, it was always Derrie, Derra or Darra. We called my father Darra. His name was Raymond aka Boeta german or Boeta G; literally cos he always looked stern. I used to think it was because of his light skin, till someone in my family explained the naming. Trust Capetonians to give you a nickname. He had a friend called “slang” because he was skinny. One other friend was called “perdekop”. For years I thought maybe its cos he resembled a horse. I found out it was because he was always placing bets on horse races. This past 16th of June my father has been dead for 16 years. I never felt a real need to write about it. His death was so swift and the funeral even faster. Then I heard a song he liked so much and started thinking about him and my relationship with him. I even forgot about Father’s Day because we haven’t celebrated it in so long.

He was a complex man. Quiet when sober. Loud and angry when drunk. For years I dismissed him so unfairly for this. I never processed his traumas and as a man of his age, social standing and skin colour- what this all meant to his life. He started working when he was 12 out of necessity at home. He kept working and ended up on fishing trawlers. He did so much. He was in construction, cleaning and fish hawking. He always hustling and skarreling. He was the original “skarrelkind”. He was so generous too. It was small things I remember that I hold onto; buying a bag of oranges then sharing with the whole Argo way off of Galaxy crescent in Mitchell’s Plain. Or how took me and my sister to the opening of Westgate mall and and buying us goema hare (candy floss) and holding us in each of his arms so we could see above the crowd. I don’t thing he ever recovered from an assault by the police. He had bought a Mercedes off of his boss at the time; the biggest name in construction in Cape Town. He was pulled over and beaten up and asked how can a “h*tn*t be driving a Mercedes. His boss drove out of Newlands to bail him out and prove he sold him the car; which he was paying off weekly. And for a long time I just dismissed him as an angry drunk man. He really wasn’t. He was gentle but had no real outlet for his trauma, and at the time who did? The men drank and kept drinking. They worked tough jobs with low pay, and still tried to hold back any vulnerable emotions about it. All they knew was aggression.

He calmed down on the drinking in his last years. He couldn’t keep up anymore. I saw more of the real him in this time. I saw the man who taught me to ride a bike. I saw the man who bought a bike off of a postman for me, so I could have the best bike in the circle. I saw the man who called in sick so he could take us to the Spineview Primary fair so we could ride on a Big wheel. I saw the man who took us to Kalk Bay and taught us about fish and how to cook it well and properly. He actually taught me about food sustainability long before it was fashionable. Insisting we eat all of the fish. No waste.

He was also the first person I was really open with years ago about my sexuality. We would always watch movies and shows together. I made a casual remark that I was like one of the characters; all he said was “Ok that’s good then”. It was all I needed from him to never feel shame ever again. He loved music so much. I get the repeat play habit from him. He would ask us to rewind his Engelbert and Patsy Cline cassettes over and over for him. He had great taste. He loved wearing bold shirts, and could “langarm” his way around a dancefloor at any function we attended. I would watch him glide on a dancefloor like a pro. He really loved us and tried so hard not to let alcohol consume it, but it did so many times.

He was the problem-solver too. He came to so many people’s rescue, that to this day people will still talk about how Boeta G helped them.

See, he was more than the bad parts of him.

He was my Darra.

rest in peace, till we meet again.