The service was moving, in spite of the noise of the falls. We were very sad. I cried throughout the ceremony. So did the others. After the service my mother, my sisters and I stayed behind for a while to say goodbye to my father.
We dropped notes for him and tried to make our calls for him heard above the noise of the waterfall. But the water silenced our voices.
When we drove home the following day, I still hadn’t found peace. It was still so unreal that my father was never coming back. I was only nineteen years old. Rev Van der Merwe took us home and Mariette Klopper drove behind us.
On our way back, my mother began to arrange a memorial service. My sisters and I just cried.
Hundreds of people filled the church. I just wanted this awful day to end. Our house was constantly full of people. I was so relieved that my mother hadn’t invited anyone to stay over. In the evenings, after everyone left, our family had some time together. People kept on coming for quite a while. Every day Mariette Klopper helped in any way she could.
Three weeks later, Suzette took part in a debating competition in Bethlehem. My mom took her there. Early that morning, the police from Augrabies phoned her with the news that my father’s body was drifting in the water. Someone had to identify him once the body had been retrieved from the water.
She decided not to tell Suzette, and she did not turn on the car radio. Her friends, Ryk Neethling and his wife San-Marie, went with them. People kept phoning my mother and sending smses. She had to answer in such a way the Zettie would not suspect a thing.
Zettie won the Free State competition. Only afterwards, on their way home, did my mother tell Zettie that our father’s body had been found. My mom asked Dr Edrich Krantz, a doctor and very good friend of my father, to accompany her to Kimberley to identify the body.
Afterwards, she did not talk much about that day.
Fortunately, the big service had been dealt with. My mother asked Rev Van der Merwe to conduct a small service at the grave, with just a few people. She also asked six of my dad’s best friends to be the pall-bearers. And she organised helium balloons to be released while the coffin was being lowered into the grave. We also released balloons as a symbol of letting my dad go.
Everyone did, except me. I did not want to let my one and only dad go. I took my balloon home. That night I could not sleep. Later I had a recurring dream of my father coming home. And, when I woke in the mornings, it would be difficult all over again.
At some stage, Mr Ben Janecke, the psychologist at Martie du Plessis, came to see me. He chatted to me and told me that my father lived within me. He put a chair in front of me. I had to pretend that it was my dad and then I had to “tell” him everything that I wanted my dad to know. After our talk, I started facing life again, even thought it was very, very difficult.
A long, sad story
Sometimes people ask me whose idea it was to send me to college. It’s not the kind of thing that people usually suggest for those with Down Syndrome.
It is a long story, and a very sad one, that worked out well.
One afternoon while I was still at school – I really cannot remember how old I was – I noticed a nursery school, Smiley Kids, opposite my grandmother’s cottage in Serenitas Retirement Village. The kids were playing and shrieking and laughing. There and then I decided that, one day, I wanted to work there.
I later told my mother about this dream. She always tries to help make my dreams come true; that’s why she made sure that we flew over the Valley of Kings in Egypt in a hot air balloon. My mother and sisters were part of that dream come true.
The dream to work with small children never went away. Just before I finished school, my mother asked Nella van Heerden, the principal of Smiley Kids, whether I could help out in the afternoons and during holidays.
I worked there for quite a while, and I really enjoyed the kids. After I completed Grade 10 at Martie du Plessis, I started working there on a full-day basis. It gave me a reason to get up in the mornings.
But then something happened that changed my whole life. One morning, while I was dressing to go to work, my mother told me that the school had phoned. I was not welcome there any longer. One of the parents had complained that I had hit her child on the head with my water bottle. We were just playing and the bottle was made of plastic. The child had laughed and it wasn’t anything serious.
But I knew the parent had complained because of the way I look and the way I am. I felt so stupid. My father was very upset that someone would do something like this to his little girl. That morning he cried with me. My mother’s face turned white, and she said that I should accompany her to work. She promised that she would make a plan to help me.
It was also a sad day at her office because it was the day that the teachers college was closing after 100 years. My mother and her colleagues were crying, and all the more because I’d also lost my job.
When that parent complained about me, it felt as if no one besides my family cared for me. And I realised that there were people who did not like me, just because I looked different.
That afternoon, the Smiley kids principal phoned and said that she’d had a meeting with the staff and parents and that they’d decided that the parent concerned could remove her child from the school, but that they did not want me to leave.
My mother really appreciated the gesture; she even cried because of their kindness, but she did not want to do that to the school, and she thought that I should rather enrol for a course on how to be a nursery-school assistant. Her logic was that if I had the right knowledge, people would not be so quick to treat me badly. I also told her that I’d like to qualify as a nursery-school assistant.
My mother phoned Adri Swanepoel of Motheo College, the department head of the Educare programme. My mother told her that I’d completed Grade 10, and she agreed to give me a chance at the college.
I was the only person like me there, among many students of many culture groups, but I was used to looking different to other young people.
The English classes were difficult, but I persevered because I wanted to achieve my dream. I started as an N2 student. With a lot of hard work and many prayers, I completed my matric, an N3 course, and then I did the Educare course up to N6. I had to do the same work as all the other students and no one could help me, because the exam papers were not set or marked at the college.
After my father died at the end of my first college year, I did not pass any of my subjects. I felt so bad and I thought that I’d never be able to recover from the setback. My mother then asked Heloise Pretorius, who had studied teaching, to help me for an hour twice a week in the afternoon. After my dad passed away, my mother did not have time to help me. She worked the whole day and my sisters also needed her.
All my notes and my lecturers were English. But I made wonderful friends and the mother of one of them, Liezel Reyneke, translated our notes into Afrikaans. I began to thrive. It helped when I understood the work. It was an advantage that I could write my class tests, big test series and exams in Afrikaans. I then found the courage to carry on and I started feeling better about myself. To eventually pass my course was the best feeling ever, maybe because it wasn’t easy.
It was a hard, tough time for this Down Syndrome girl, but I also enjoyed it tremendously. My subjects were Business Afrikaans, Business English, Child Health and Didactics. I especially liked the practical part. The best was that I learned how to present to a class. I had to prepare various lessons, like a creative lesson of drawing or working with glue, Bible study, music and story lessons. This was how I learned the tricks of the trade of being a nursery school assistant.
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