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March
We marched right into March without realising it. The days seem to have flown by. I do hope all of you are in good health and Making It Happen.
Classes are breezing by, one into another, as the Module 1 slides into Module 2. The school is growing with the Grace and Mercy of the Almighty. Sewing has changed peoples’ lives. It has opened doors that you would think weren’t there. It has become a source of income to so many of our students. Students feel rejuvenated and positive after being empowered with a life skill. Really, its all in the attitude….
Attitude
When you set out on a journey, you braise yourself. Preparation is needed. Positive mental attitude streams into you, building adrenaline. Likewise, learning a new skill is like taking a journey. We embark on it together and make the most of every given moment. In an atmosphere of positivity and love we share knowledge in an open space, trying to extract the best in my budding designers.
We pride ourselves on being approachable. We have offered favours and tried hard to Make It Happen for many. All we want is to get you into the right lane. Once you are there, you decide how far you would like to go. Not all students have the same ambition, motivation and drive. Not all are here to make sewing a source of income. We try our best to give each student individual attention and fulfil their purpose.
We don’t need testimonials! Your success is our success. Besides the structured syllabus in Modules One, Two and Three, we offer Professional Development and Sew Your Choiceclasses. This is to lend a helping hand for those that need it.
All this is Attitude. Attitude towards what you want. In the end Attitude will play the key role in your upliftment.
As you all know the myth behind Valentine’s day leaves many ladies despondent. Those that end up depressed and unhappy need not feel bad. Love is Always in the Air. It doesn’t get stashed away for eleven months.
Here is a short feel-good story I wrote.
A true story of Hope and True Love.
This is loveSitting on the waiting seats in the airport foyer, I overheard a conversation that wrapped my heart with the Greatness of the Almighty and the Power of Love.
Seated on far left of the line of chairs was a kurta-clad, sturdy old man and, next to him sat, an old woman neatly attired in a mink knee-length dress with matching trousers. Her hair was covered with the same colour head scarf. She sat quietly with her hands on her lap while the man shuffled in his chair, edgy, and one could see that he was trying hard to keep the old lady as comfortable as ever. They were seated on the red chairs which denoted that assistance was required to take them onto the aeroplane. Next to them, leaving two seats free, sat an elderly European couple.
I, too, sat next to them, on a red chair, feeling like a little girl as I was flying alone for the first time. My small cooler bag and hand luggage between my legs on the floor and my handbag with relevant documents, snacks and water sat on top. I took out my phone to pass the time while watching the people move around as if on a secret mission. Each in their own thoughts. I sat there thinking that each had their own story to tell but mine was the most uncomplicated. I felt totally blessed that morning as I watched the movement around me.
The elderly European couple were in a good mood and he was happy to relate that he and his wife had come all the way from Amanzimtoti. They were going to Cape Town to visit their children. I told them I was going to visit my son and daughter. I could see, in the way he walked and spoke and by how neatly attired he was, that he was a wealthy and distinguished retired man. His pressed shirt was neatly tucked into his suit trousers, with a leather belt holding it up, giving evidence that age was catching up on him. There was a walking stick on the trolley which meant they needed assistance.
The well-groomed lady stood up and held the stick as she waited for the assistant to bring a wheelchair. They greeted me as they left and I now had an uninterrupted view of the old couple at the end of the line of chairs.
An African lady, who was sat next to me, starting chatting and I, with nothing to do, gave her an ear as she related that she was going home to Cape town after a holiday in Durban. Her two small sons were lethargic as they sprawled over their luggage. She said airport officials needed the two boys’ birth certificates before they could get their boarding passes. She was annoyed because she hadn’t needed the certificates when she came from Cape town. She sat there, texting furiously, trying to get someone to bring in the relevant documents that her husband had faxed. Frantic that she would miss the flight and the boys, their first day at school. She related the news to me in between the texting.
My attention was now on a lady who was wearing a stretch, cream and black floral abaya with a built-in head scarf. Her shape showed as she walked purposefully to the red chairs next to the old lady and made an elderly woman sit there. Judging by their attire you could tell they were Muslims too, and without hesitation she began to speak to the old man. The old lady did not say a word. My designer instinct subconsciously picked up the fitting faults in the Abaya as she shuffled with her trolley towards the counter. She returned, satisfied, sat down and offered her companion a pie as she ate one herself.
The lady with the problem of the birth certificates was now smiling and I thought her problems were solved. She left in a hurry towards the counter and I didn’t see her again. My focus moved to the abaya-clad lady who sat next to her companion. The old man enquired where they were going and she said they were going to Cape Town and then to Port Elizabeth, where she stays, the next day. She explained that her companion had Parkinson’s that was why she was shaking. Laughingly, the sick woman said she played the drum all day, making light of her disease.
The Abaya-clad woman asked about the elderly lady who sat there quietly and the old man was eager to let them know his story. I will say it as he told it…
He brought his new bride from India when she was 18 years old. She had an accident, at the age of 19, that left her in this condition. She sat there and listened to her husband explaining to his listeners that they had one child who was married and lived in Johannesburg.
The accident had left her an invalid and he did everything for her. He cooked and kept house. She bore him only one child and he saw to both of them. He worked as a driver for a wealthy doctor. His job was to take the doctor’s two children to school every morning, then go back to fetch the doctor from his apartment at the Durban beachfront and take him to his surgery in Pietermaritzburg. The women listening were in awe and I felt sad for the lady that had left her motherland and family to marry this man.
As he continued I heard him say that he was 78 years old and still drove for the doctor. Their daughter was married and he couldn’t leave his wife at home alone. So he had to send her to their daughter to be cared for. Schools were to open the next day so he had to send his beloved wife to Johannesburg to stay with their daughter during the school term. Every school holiday she came and then returned when schools opened. He never married again because he loved her deeply and the tragedy did not diminish the love he had for her from the day they had met.
I was in a state of euphoria when the time came to depart. The assistant came and the elderly woman slowly and painstakingly sat on the wheelchair.Over 50 years of loving and caring for his bride showed in her beloved husband’s droopy eyes. She showed no emotion. His eyes glistened with tears as he bid her goodbye. It could clearly be seen that this was not the first goodbye. His actions said it all. This was one of many goodbyes. Love that stood the test of time. He loved her unconditionally. He loved her, honoured her and cherished her. She received all the love and gave back minimally.Is this love? Love that overcomes all calamities? Love that surpasses beyond the bounds of humanity? Love that has stood the test of time? What did she give to make this man love her so? What did she do to gain his respect.? What did she serve him to make him appreciate her? Yet this 78 year old man, who looked years younger, continued, day after day and year after year, cradling his bride who gave him only one year of bliss…
