Category: Memoir - Mala Naidoo's Book World

Teacher Spotlight: Early Creative Influence

Writers might be influenced by a family member who writes, or motivation is drawn from a much-admired writer. I come from a reading family and absorbed that passion as a child. This brought many pleasure-filled hours to an introverted child. More on this can be found on my, about page.

Why Teachers Matter

The early teenage years opened another door — the door to the other side of reading, equally exhilarating — notably writing. This influence stemmed from my brilliant, nurturing high school English teachers.

One such teacher was Ms Devi Anderson.

Educating the mind without educating the heart is no education ~ Aristotle

My fourteen or fifteen-year-old first impression of my new teacher was that she was so young, vibrant and intelligent. She was passionate about literature and brought Shakespeare to life in our South African classroom, drawing connections, making her students feel the angst and joy of the bard’s characters, and life situations.

She was selfless and spontaneous in conducting weekend literary discussions on the texts studied, and additional literature she selected to extend students’ knowledge and passion for such works — yours truly devoured it all. The discussions were just that — not teacher-talk like so many classrooms of the time. You mattered and your voice was valued. You were praised for trying. Ms Anderson was a godsend to many, more particularly to me. Her presence in my school life had a profound influence on my teaching with a passion and thirst for literature.

In a flashback moment, I recall a lesson on haiku poetry. It was my first lesson on this poetic form, Ms Anderson made it accessible and intriguing with her easy-going, warm manner. Every student received her attention, each made to feel that the work done was worthy of praise and encouragement. To this day, many moons later, I remember the poem I wrote, as a somewhat angsty fifteen-year-old. Here it is (I might have to retreat from global after this revelation!)

Haiku (5-7-5)

‘I stared at his face

Wondering at his beauty

Confused, I slapped him’

My English teacher thought much was said in those short lines, there was laughter followed by a deep conversation on my haiku attempt — the adult ‘me’ now blushes that it might have been a dead giveaway on some infatuation — a missed opportunity, perhaps? Memory does not serve well on that count! The moment remembered is a teacher who made my effort worthwhile.

I am not a teacher but an awakener ~ Robert Frost

From Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night with the love-sick Duke Orsino’s famous lines, If music be the food of love, play on… to novels and poems introduced, my love for literature grew in intensity under the nurturing tutelage of Ms Anderson. Those early days, for which I am eternally grateful, paved the road to writing novels and short stories, and occasional poems in my adult life.

As Shakespeare’s fate would have it, by accident most strange, a bountiful Fortune, (The Tempest), so together with the helping hand of a schoolmate and Facebook, I reconnected with Ms Anderson across the Indian Ocean — I wanted my inspirational teacher to know how influential she was, when two roads diverged in a yellow wood, (Robert Frost), I followed her teaching passion.

Today, these brief months later, we are Facebook friends, and I know my students, past and present, will enjoy knowing this. Many lessons along my teaching career raised the appreciation I had for my English teachers with Ms Anderson sitting at the helm of the list.

It is with gratitude that I share her influence on my teaching career and writing life and the joy in reconnecting with her.

The impact of a teacher who makes all the difference, is never forgotten.

Please share your memorable teachers and their influence on your life or choices in the comment box below.

Writing Through Adversity

Writing has been well documented as having therapeutic value. Do you keep a personal diary, or a journal to record moments that are significant to you? Would you write a memoir or autobiography? Have you tried poetry writing?

Fiction is an avenue that has therapeutic benefit when writing about angst through fiction or poetry. This has value in reaching readers who might face a similar situation. Receiving a reader’s comment on connecting with a character or situation makes writing move from the realm of fictional entertainment to enhancing life, creating a sense of belonging through the power of story/words that whisper, ‘there are people who go through this, you are not alone, it’s not you…’

Human difficulties like our joys are universal and part of our shared humanity regardless of demography or any divisive label. We learn from each other, we share with each other — altruism is part of our human ‘feel good’ makeup. We feel good or secure in knowing that challenges are not unique. This is where fiction like a memoir/autobiography/biography and poetry has the ability to say, ‘I see you, I hear you, I feel your situation.’

‘In our angst and joy we are one under the sky of humanity’

Oftentimes something heard, something seen, or read triggers the imagination to create a story/poem — these seeds have their origin in human experience. Everything in life has imaginative storytelling potential. Historical fiction is a genre whereby much from history or literature is reimagined to suit a particular context adding timelessness to a story.

Poems and stories, when turned inward, create… growth… healing… self-awareness

Shakespeare’s The Tempest reimagined by Margaret Atwood in her novel, Hag-Seed is an example. Prospero becomes Felix a theatre director in a present-day context — he is grieving the deaths of his wife and daughter and has been backstabbed by an aspirational colleague. His vulnerability is an evocative point of connection with the reader. Professional or workplace strife present timeless human dilemmas, but when tastefully explored as a novel’s premise or ideas, it has the potential to speak to many isolated, lonely individuals — there is no shame in being vulnerable. Shame sits on the shoulders of those who abuse vulnerability. The most endearing people, in reality, are those who have experienced hardship, financially, in grief or loss, abuse or ill-health — having walked in the shoes of many with struggles, wires empathy — as human experience should be if we hope to coexist in peace and harmony.

Fiction can remind us why it is essential to be true to who we are in our expressions of self and in our interactions with each other.

In Souls of Her Daughters, Dr Grace Sharvin who heads a busy medical ER has unimaginable frailties but her strength is in her capacity to reach out to others while fighting her own demons.

Life’s lessons come from the adversarial people met, and they become the basis upon which writers craft their villains. A little bit of this and a little bit of that blended in a cauldron and hey presto! The (im)perfect villain is born! The good people we meet shape perspectives on why adversarial individuals have no place in a shared world.

Timeless heart-warming and gut-wrenching stories on life’s challenges and celebrations.

Literature is a luxury, Fiction is a necessity — GK Chesterton

and

Albert Camus said, Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.

Who can argue with such pearls of truth now?

Life, literature, news of the day, and history portray human experiences that provide inroads to new fictional stories and evocative poetry that connect rather than divide by exposing, celebrating, loving, grieving and understanding what it really means to be human. We all, whether real or fictional are indeed not alone in adversity.

Which novels and poems would you recommend to readers on overcoming adversity? Have you read A Spark of Hope?

Bookshop to Bookshelf

Bookshops still hold magical fascination with their multiple shelves laden with the artistry of wordsmiths who have crafted stories and histories that are timeless as the works of Shakespeare, Charles Dickens, Jane Austen and a multiplicity of contemporary writers spanning many decades through to today.

The reader is transported into a world of heartbreak, love, crime, mystery, suspense, science fiction, fantasy, memoirs, how-to books and histories of generations past and predictions of the future. This is just the tip of the iceberg in the bounteous valuable books that grace our libraries and bookshops.

My own fascination with books started with having a mother who is an avid reader and a maternal uncle who was eager to share his prized books from his stained glass, antique bookshelves that ran along four walls of his room. They were majestic and mysterious, a mini bookshop in a study.

Anna Karenina, A Tale of Two Cities, Great Expectations, and A Christmas Carol are fondly remembered as books that had cloth covers, were well-worn and difficult to return to the gracious lender, once read.

Hours spent lost in a bookshop brought cherished delight to my introverted world that was fascinated by faraway places. I mentally marked my next purchase and saved every nickel and dime, counting my ducats each night like Shylock, but eager to have the money saved for the next great read. I loved birthday presents that were a few bobs here and there rather than an aliceband or cardigan which held no value in my world of books other than to keep my hair out of eyes when reading or keeping me warm on that winter afternoon when I remained riveted to the story.

Pennies saved to buy my beloved book is a tale I am bound to tell to the end of my days. Pennies wisely saved and wisely spent.

The treasured purchased book was safely carried home, my name was proudly etched with a fountain pen, in black ink, in the most artistic font (so I thought) I was able to create in the words, This book belongs to…

Some sad tales of those cherished books were those lent out that either never made their way back home to my bookshelf or were unrecognisable in their dilapidated returned condition. I mourned the loss of and injury to my book pals.

Bookshops must never be forgotten nor cast aside, they should be the place where parents and grandparents take their young ones to, for the experience of a life time – the look of a cover, the feel of the pages and the words that bring endless delight whether read alone or read to by a melodious voice – these are memories that never fade.

A bookshop is a peaceful sanctuary of silent voices waiting to be heard.

Teaching children to save a bit of pocket-money to buy their favourite book inculcates a lifetime love of reading. Taking children to a bookshop to choose a book they want to read and then add to the beginnings of their book collection is an opportunity every child should have.

Spread the love – no age restriction applies if the content is appropriate!

Happy Reading! Happy Sharing!

Share your bookshop experiences in the message box below.

Do You Remember The Days?

Do you remember the things you did during your childhood that defines what you do as an adult?

I remember being passionate about drama, performance and the pleasure it elicited. When I say being passionate about plays, I mean reading them with great zeal.

Growing up in apartheid South Africa on the ‘wrong’ side of the colour line meant that going to the theatre was not an option. Additionally, television had not been introduced into the country. I make reference to this in an earlier post, To Kill a Mockingbird Moment Realised, here.

I remember going to the library, standing in a long queue to add my name on the waiting list for a particular playscript I was eager to read.

One such play that is vividly remembered is Toad of Toad Hall written by A.A Milne as the dramatisation of Kenneth Graham’s, The Wind in the Willows.

Growing up under the horrendous apartheid regime in South Africa makes the adult me smile at this choice. As much as the child enjoyed Rat’s, Badger’s, Mole’s and Toad’s car and caravan adventures, the deeper issues were lost in the euphoria of ‘putting this on stage’ in the apartment building of my childhood.

Actors were sourced from eager children who were hungry for entertainment during the school break. Parents were at work and no laws protected downtown children from being left at home alone with an occasional check in from an elderly neighbour- this was all an aspiring eight-year-old producer needed!

Parts were allocated and lines rehearsed over two days. Pitch, tone, movement and a haphazard choreography were based on the whim of the eight-year-old producer who ensured she donned a hat and a scarf for a theatrical edge that was akin to those seen in magazines and the Sunday newspaper.

What a time was had by all! An intermission was in place and red Kool-Aid duly served as the drink of choice in plastic wine glasses to an innocent audience ranging in years from five to ten. Mothers’ costume jewellery, ‘plastic pearls’ and hats with feathers were placed askew on little heads for attendance at this momentous production in the dining-room of my parent’s apartment.

Innocent children made their debut into the world of theatre, revelling in being transported to a magical world away from the tedium and boredom that sets in after playing all the games children could come up with during a six-week long school break.

Fast-forward decades later, in another country of choice, the itch takes hold, not as a theatrical producer, but one who has started to pen fictional tales of life and its challenges, thus Across Time and Space is born.

Such, such were the joys of childhood.

What do you remember of your childhood that lingers fondly as a defining moment? Share your thoughts below.

School BOOK TALK

It’s with gratitude that I write this post today in respect for the invitation to speak on reading and writing at a local school whose English Faculty and Librarian are tirelessly working to foster a love for reading to encourage students to expand their horizons and improve their speaking and writing skills.

Leading up to my talk, students were asked to send me their response to, ‘I enjoy reading because…’ – a simple question that elicited some thoughtful responses from teenagers.

Here are a few lines that suggest that young readers seek refuge between the pages of a book:

I enjoy reading because it is a spectacular and intriguing ticket to a distinctive and captivating dimension which either creates a gulp of despair or a shiver down my spine.
I enjoy reading because it allows me to be in two places at once.
I enjoy reading because it allows me to escape reality without leaving the comfort of my home
I enjoy reading because it allows me to broaden my horizons without having to get on a ship and sail halfway across the world…
I love reading because my heart is satisfied- my heart learns more than my brain can ever know- I learn priceless lessons. It’s the portal to my heart.

Additionally to complement the study of Cry Freedom I was asked to share my apartheid, South African experience on a personal level to forge greater connections to students’ appreciation and understanding of the world through the study of their school selected text.

The sharing of a terrible history elicited compassion and questions from students on how one overcomes this decimation of one’s people and identity and yet remain simple and humble, free from anger. My response was, that drawing from family values, the people one associates with and careful selection of role models will ultimately work in sync to fortify and support the entrance into light from darkness. I cited Nelson Mandela’s ideology of tolerance, acceptance, and forgiveness as the selfless way forward. This attribute shapes the crafting of the character, Marcia Ntuli, in my novel Across Time and Space.

The final message was that reading expands understanding of diverse ways of thinking, promotes exposure to varied writing styles and elicits inspiration from the unique crafting of characters and their experiences.Ultimately it’s about allowing strength to grow from fear.

To Quote Jane Austen:

I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book! – When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library.

Here’s to many hours of delightful and informative reading!

What are your views on the benefits of reading for teenagers today and into the future? Extend the conversation today.

Book Launch – Writer’s Joy!

I look back on Sunday with a glad and grateful heart. To see so many positive, supportive readers, friends, and family at the book launch of ‘Across Time and Space’ makes the process of writing a blessing – a joy!

What a wonderful afternoon of sharing ideas and experiences, reading and making new friends. To gather with people who are appreciative of the craft of writing is what cradles a writer through the quiet periods of solitude when the creative muse is the only other presence. Authentic voices that speak in the language of the mind and soul make readers want more as they eagerly anticipate further stories.

To see aspiring young writers wanting to know more about the craft is invigorating.

My message has been and always will be – We all have a story to tell. Let your voice be heard, and do not let fear inhibit you.

This reader’s view sums up the connection to characters and events:

‘To be able to recognise human effort and spirit and hear voices that echo the wisdom that long creates our sense of self is the essence of the novel, ‘Across Time and Space’. The sentimental and poignant voices of the characters are authentic in their quest for recognition of self and existence, with both protagonists striving for justice both literally and metaphorically. The courage of conviction and desire for liberation may come at a cost, but dismantling the shackles of human limitation is far more rewarding. ‘Across Time and Space’ proves that the difference between impossibility and improbability is our fear – abolishing fear and harking into our soul will set us free. I truly believe from a reader’s perspective, that’s what the psychological journey of Marcia and Meryl is all about. ~ (Khadija Taiba – reader perspective at the book launch of ‘Across Time and Space.’

Across Time and Space straddles the positivity of coexistence in society regardless of difference, a message that is palpable today. Decisions, choices, danger, and love connect to our essential state of being. Bullying and professional injustice, crime, and deception are knitted into the fabric of life where challenges serve to create the best version of those who struggle. The endurance of the human spirit shines as the brightest star on the darkest night in this tale of possibilities now and into the future.

I hope you will pick up a copy of ‘Across Time and Space’ and share your connections.

Which characters and situations resonate with you?

The Jury’s out on Mr Darcy!

Being a juror is a serious civic duty for some, for others, it creates a sense of entitlement and empowerment.

This recalls an experience from some years ago.

The early pleasantries of being a fellow juror soon diminished when baggage from the past and present private worlds seeped in, threatening to stymie a just call on the evidence presented.

Evidence pointed clearly to who was guilty, but, the demography of the victim, in this case, created speculation on innocence by two jurors making it ripe for a hung jury. Every flawed, argument was presented to ‘prove’ the victim was the guilty one.

The judge stood strong, ‘you’ve been a good bunch so far, go back and deliberate further, if you have to spend another week here you will have to. A verdict is imperative’.

Frustration filled the deliberation room as heads butted, bigots surfaced, anger flared and personal issues came to the fore, ‘those people are the worst elements in society‘ attitude created deep-seated animosity in what was a somewhat easy going, multicultural panel just a few days earlier. Most were committed to seeing justice served and were uncomfortable with the manipulations of the bigots.

The legal team dropped hints during the process, too, that their client, the accused, was ‘no Mr. Darcy’

A subtle reminder to one of the jurors mooting for a hung jury, the one who casually mentioned during the early days, of affable newness, that an overseas holiday was booked and expressed the hope that jury duty should be ‘done and dusted’ by then – a reminder that the holiday booked might have to be shelved if the deliberation continued led to a sudden turnaround from the miscreants who worked hand in glove – both had birth origins from the same geographic location – could this have been the reason for the shared bigotry?

Morning brought a dramatically revised attitude, their previously ‘innocent’ person was now guilty as sin!!

Mercurial!

Personal baggage weighing heavily, stooping the shoulders of the juror should be left at the door of the jury room, just as the mobile phone is surrendered for safe keeping – to prevent external interference in the deliberation and evaluation of evidence.

Later it was revealed that the accused was being brought to court every day under tight security from prison. The accused was also under suspicion, to be tried at a later date, for rape!

No Mr. Darcy indeed!

What’s your take on jury duty? Twelve Angry Men or smooth sailing?

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Unforgettable

Nelson Mandela’s name was and remains magical to the tongue, heart, and mind, to all who lived in hope of acceptance, tolerance, understanding, and democracy. Amidst the much-anticipated release of Nelson Mandela from incarceration into civilian life, a life of iconic stature, I waited with bated breath. South Africa exploded in a tidal wave of celebration creating a carnival atmosphere of street dancing, a cappella singing and a profound sense of unity!

The early 1980s was conscientised by the ideology that students were the voice of a nation – students could improve the human condition that prevailed in South Africa by raising their voices in a cry for democracy, freedom, the right to vote and be accepted as human with no references to race, to be acknowledged by nationality – simply ‘South African’.

The release of Nelson Mandela was palpable. The moment hung on the ears and lips of a nation whose citizens were shunted into ‘Group Area’ zonings in a country where the Immorality Act made love across the colour line a crime.

Amidst the celebratory mood that prevailed, one night stands out as a flaring beacon, etched in memory.

Nelson Mandela was visiting the community I lived in, he was to address residents in this little monocultural town, to quell fear and spread wisdom that a peaceful transition to democracy was essential.

Throngs gathered outside the venue from around midday to secure a spot to see this iconic man in the flesh. He was the timeless hope alive in the human breast of apartheid oppression.

At 6:30 pm in strode a tall, lean, upright figure, smiling broadly, waving a greeting like a father returning to his family after a day at work.

The community hall erupted in an emotional outpouring of song and dance – men, women, and children wept as wave after hypnotic wave of: ‘O, Mandela! O, Mandela! O, Mandela! rose in a unified chant to the rooftop and beyond into the night sky.

Strangers hugged each other and shook hands. I stood up on a chair to get a better view of Nelson Mandela, holding onto my little girl and husband both of whom were immersed in the jubilation of that moment – here was the man who held the promise of an end to suffering, the urgency for literacy for all, the hope for justice and equity regardless of race, gender, socio-economic status, ethnicity, culture, sexual orientation and religion. We waited for him through long, dark and terrible days…

The soaring joy of that moment lives in my psyche – the legend enshrined in my parents’ home was now before me, in the flesh, smiling, humble, caressing all with love and hope, without a trace bitterness from the solitude of twenty-seven years of incarceration with hard labour– his soul was unmarred. Here was the symbol of grace, dignity, compassion, and warmth, spreading the word by his very presence– one can make a difference regardless of the challenges faced.

To denounce the identity, contributions, and presence of a people is tantamount to obliterating their very existence – such was the horror and brutality of the apartheid era in South Africa and many such oppressed nations around the world.

Basking in the light of Nelson Mandela’s presence, I was as proud of my identity and the colour of my skin, as was every other person in that small community hall – those who had endured the full blight of oppression.

I have relived that moment – of seeing the gigantic Nelson Mandela, many times in my life – it’s the wind in my sails, the fuel in my tank, it keeps me whole and free…

#RIPMADIBA (b.18/7/1918)

Share your thoughts in the comment box below:

‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ Moment

Going to the movies for the first time was a landmark moment in many ways. Living during the ‘Group Areas Act’ era in South Africa meant living in racially segregated suburbs. Going to the Grand Theatre on the upper end of town implied being in the same space – somewhat anyway with white residents. This anticipated visit to the Grand Theatre generated tremendous excitement in a young child’s world to see, yes that’s right, ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarves!’

Apart from being a momentous event in a young child’s life, it came as an awakening event that dwells deep in memory resurfacing with vigour when situations trigger the enlivening of such a memory.

Two queues lined up to buy tickets for the show – one ‘Whites only’ queue, the other, ‘Non- Whites only’ just as the local park benches and public toilets were labeled. This negative, exclusion labeling applied to the airport arrival and departure terminals areas too.

The stares across the racially segregated ticket purchase queues are remembered with the awkwardness and need to keep one’s eyes downcast for fear – fear that if the stare was returned it might be perceived as ‘doing the wrong thing, an unlawful act’ – such was the fear the dark child of apartheid felt.

Entry into the movie theatre, needless to say, had its separate entrance too, this time the Non-White entrance led to a flight of 100 steps up to the gallery. Non-Whites had to sit in the upstairs gallery while White patrons to the theatre sat in spacious seats downstairs. In the early teenage years, this ignited the child’s connection to Harper Lee’s ‘To Kill a Mockingbird,’ when Tom Robinson was on trial. Non-White folk who were confined to the upstairs gallery in the tightly packed Maycomb courthouse was reminiscent of the segregation at the Grand Theatre in the dark days of apartheid South Africa.

Peering over the upstairs railing from the high in the sky gallery, childlike curiosity prompted the voyeur within to see how ‘the other side lived’. Thinking back to that moment stirs the soul with sadness – the distance between the upstairs gallery, out of sight from the downstairs gallery, a hundred steps up – no stairway to heaven for an asthmatic child or aging grandparent who lovingly accompanied grandchildren on this momentous visit to the movies.
Snow White and the dwarves transported the child into a magical world leaving behind the racially divided queues and hidden away, out of view, sky-high seating.

Growing up in a racially aware, politicised home where Nelson Mandela’s release from prison lived in the hearts and minds of most adults, had a huge impact on the child. Non-White parents put aside their deeply felt grievances with grace and dignity to ensure their children were not denied the joys of seeing and experiencing the fairy tales they loved, come to life on the silver screen, albeit in a racially segregated theatre, so far removed from the reality of their daily lives.

Social justice was born from a perception of deeply felt social injustice in the child’s psyche on that very day, the day that Snow White made her debut on the big screen in a little town in South Africa.

Atticus Finch soon became Nelson Mandela of the Rainbow Nation where black and white exploded into a palette of many colours – merging in love, acceptance, kindness, and tolerance.

Such were the days of the child’s early childhood in a country racially divided, decreed by the law of the land.

Walk away from hatred and unkindness, you deserve better, you have much to offer the world, walk away with grace and dignity to preserve your soul, walk away to love, acceptance and kindness, walk away to a better world that awaits you…- MN

We all have stories to tell. What’s your story?