A Portuguese grandmother in Cape Town

by Aroma Rodrigues (India)

I didn't expect to find South Africa

My uncle Albert, a man I'd not met for 15 long years had arrived at the gates of my hosts' house. Having spent the majority of his life in a distant country, with people so different from his own, I was surprised to find that the community, a tiny parish in the suburbs of Cape Town, adored him enough to host me, even in his absence. Hugs and laughter were exchanged, uncle had planned something "special" for dinner. My host, Clarence was driving us, Uncle Albert engaged with him, they discussed births, deaths, weddings. "Rosie is going through a tough time, her mother-in-law has been sick since January." "John has started his own cafe, he's been doing well." "Mary's youngest won the children's annual run." "Just turn around here", said Uncle Albert. "It's number 75, Nelson street". He strained his head out of the window, taking in the street, looking for a familiar door. 68, 69, 70, 71, 74...... 76, 77, 78, 80, we stopped. Where was 75? "There's supposed to be a store, a general store, right here", said Uncle Albert. Clarence turned the car around, 80, found 79, 78, 77, 76...... 74? Uncle looked crestfallen, like he had somehow disappointed himself. "Do you have a number we can call?" asked Clarence. Uncle patted his pants for a phone, remembered he didn't have one and recited a number from memory, the phone rang, "George?", uncle asked doubtfully. "Albert! We are waiting for you at number 76", said the voice. 76!!! We'd been looking for number 75. Clarence turned around the car and stopped by the gate. We got out, a middle aged man stood waiting for us in the dark, he greeted us with a hug, "The front entrance", he told uncle, "You know how mom is when she has guests to impress!", he laughed. The door opened, out came a woman, short bobbed hair, wisps of grey, a motherly smile affixed on her face, she opened up her arms and pulled me into a hug. "Do you know who this is 'Maay'?" asked uncle, "Remember Simon from when you came to India? She's his granddaughter". 'Maay' looked at me with wonder, I'm sure my eyes mirrored her. 'Maay' knew my grandfather? Apparently 'Maay' had come to live with Albert's family for a month, she'd met my grandfather there, and he'd greet her with freshly picked flowers every time they met. My grandfather, who'd passed away in December, had found a way into our lives and thoughts through 'Maay' on a toasty evening in suburban Cape Town. 'Maay' is incidentally how one addresses one's mother in both Portuguese and Konkani. 'Maay' was Portuguese, my uncle, Konkani. We sat down to a traditional Portuguese meal, Chorizo, paella, Codfish with cream, roast chicken, baked sweet potato, topped off with Kalimotxo. "Guess I don't have to buy that ticket to Madeira", I joked. 'Maay' migrated from Madeira in the seventies with her husband and six children. Far away from her land and her people as a young mother, 'Maay' looked at my uncle and found resonance. Their conversation was like the 'Tower of Babel'. 'Maay' talked in Portuguese, uncle Albert answered in English, he had spent enough time with her to understand Portuguese. "I forgot your house number 'Maay'", he said in a dejected tone. 'Maay' looked suitably upset, but was quick to smile and offer dessert. "I want to spend my days here with family only", uncle Albert concluded. The sanctity of this simple dinner was not lost on me. The food blogger in me couldn't whip out her camera and take a few snaps while the 'family' was conversing. As time passed, I realized 'Maay' was my uncle's mother in all but the biological sense. He talked about his transfer to Pretoria, 'Maay' tried not to shed tears in front of him. Uncle brushed it off joking, "We'll make do with weekend trips 'Maay'". "Yes, yes", Maay accepted, "you've had to leave your mother behind in India, I can't get luckier than her, I always knew you'd have to leave". Some of the greatest moment's in life do not come with that label, Portuguese grandmothers in Cape Town do!