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Landing in Cape Town is a breathe of fresh air. Literally. The second we disembark the plane, I am welcomed by the cool sea breeze, sunlight and that familiar feeling of just being home.
I lived and studied in Cape Town for six years; it's where I studied medicine. And also where I met Daniel.
But we'll save that story for another day.
A rainy, miserable, cold day.
Moving to Cape Town after completing my schooling (and a year of randomness) in Switzerland was a big transition. But, I welcomed the sunshine and warm weather; although Cape Town is infamous for four seasons in a day and the wind can be quite brutal. It was still a big upgrade from the cold Swiss weather.
My accent was all over the place. My mom is Palestinian, my dad is native South African but they moved to Switzerland since mixed marriages weren't recognized in South Africa because of apartheid. I was actually born in Switzerland, but spent my childhood in South Africa, after democracy, before my parents moved back to Switzerland for my and my sister's schooling.
My favorite childhood memories were that of visiting my family and relatives during school holidays, so it always felt like home away from home.
My accent may have been a bit of a mixed masala of accents, but I fit right in. One of the things I love most about South Africa is there's just so many mixing and nationalities; they don't call it the Rainbow Nation for nothing. I was mixed race wherever I went, but in Cape Town I was South African.
I was often mistaken for being Cape Malay, that's what they call the coloured folk with ancestral ties to the Malaysian slaves who were brought to the Cape by the Dutch colonialists. They brought with them spices, Islam and a long lineage of traditions which is still embedded in the Cape culture to this very day.
The light eyes and thick hair I inherited from my mom combined with the flattish nose and darker skin from my dad, meant that I fit right in with the local coloured people. I actually ended up living in Bo Kaap, a colourful Cape Malay heritage site, with a sweet old Muslim couple. It was a common practice amongst foreign students; housing with local families, and much cheaper than student residence. It also meant assimilating into the culture easier.
The couple I lived with were serious couple goals. Aunty Mona was a school teacher and her husband, Uncle Joe was the funniest man I've ever met. Many a night we'd sit up for hours on end as he told me stories about his many girlfriends, his run ins with the apartheid law enforcers and his love for rugby.
Aunty Mona on the other hand was a quiet, short and timid lady who would laugh at her husband's silly antics. They met when they were twenty, dated for three months and realized there's no point in waiting and got married.
I understand why Uncle Joe put a ring on it so quickly... Aunty Mona could cook! The stuff that lady fed me still leaves me salivating at the very thought. I had a home cooked meal everyday, and I'm not talking steamed veggies and chicken breasts. I'm talking stews or bredies as they call it, curries, homemade pies, wholesome soups, pot roasts, homemade bread... the list was endless. She'd simply disappear into the kitchen, we'd hear the clanging and banging of pots and pans, followed by a delicious waft and then twenty minutes later she'd come out with a cake or tart.
