Just a quickie

Disclaimer: I am on my second glass of sweet Rose’ with no intention of spellchecking, Fact checking or voetjekking.

This is what you came for.


For the women asking me about the miniseries I started last year; I will be honest and admit that I am one flaky bitch. I will probably never conclude “single pregnanting”, or maybe I’ll write a whole book about it. Who knows? It really all depends on my next manic episode. The truth is that when my bipolar flares, I am a goddamn content machine. I am actually quite unpredictable. I have changed careers in the throes of a manic episode. When my mental health dips, my creativity sores. I could do anything from write a novel to fucking go vegan, cold ToFurkey. But I came here on a different endeavour. The kind I embark on every so often. One of supernatural proportion.

I am about to tell you a story or two that is going to make you either think I am certifiable, or talking a klompie kak. The first time I saw my guardian angel, she appeared as my mother.

Now, I am aware that I can go off on a tangent when I speak of the supernatural things that have plagued me my whole life. I have spoken of them in previous blogs, but recent events have filled my mind with memories of ghosts and tarot cards and I would like to declutter my head… so here we are.

In December, my dear old Diahatsu Terios bowed out, ceremoniously in the middle of the freeway. I, and my automobile had reached the end of the road. A sad affair, but a necessary close to a chapter of my life filled with baby daddies and tow trucks. After the last breakdown, both automobile and autobiographical, I pooled my resources (i.e. my husband) and purchased a cute little Ford Fiesta. So, unaware of all of my triggers, I had forgotten that in circa 2007, my mother had purchased a Ford Focus. It is the upgrade of the car I have now, but when I got behind the wheel of my new baby for the first time, that new leather smell catapulted me into a flashback so upsetting that I didn’t speak for 12 hours. I got into bed, and cried. I am fiend for melodrama.

Back then, I was learning to drive on the Ford Focus, and had just gotten my learner’s permit. I was living my best life on my taani’s credit. I was a university student, and enjoyed the clout that being one of the very few people who could afford to study in my neighbourhood brought me. I was for all intents and purposes, a naai.

Regardless, while I used the coveted car to practice for my driver’s appointment, it was still my mother’s vehicle. She attended computer classes in Belville every Tuesday evening, and I remember kissing her goodbye one night as she left to go learn basic typing skills I had learned at Private school years before.

I went about my evening, doing homework, then taking a shower and going upstairs to my room. I must have dozed off, when the sound of someone running up the wooden staircase into my room woke me.

I sat up, still feeling unusually sleepy, and looked at the edge of my bed, and straight into my mother’s face. She was smiling at me, but in an unfamiliar, sinister way.

“Did class end early?” I asked, slightly annoyed that she was standing there and staring at me like a fucking weirdo.
“Don’t go downstairs”. She sounded different. But I didn’t give it much thought.

“I need to pee”, I didn’t have an en suite. The two toilets were both down the stairs, into the main house. For context, my room was built above our triple garage. When I went down the stairs, on my left, I would need to walk across our top lounge, to access the door that connected the house and the garage. Usually, I would unlock the latch for my mom when she came home late. It was a mission to unlock from the other side. Those latches require three hands. One to hold the key, and the other two to push down the handle and open the door. So When I would hear the automatic garage door lift up, I’d run downstairs and just unlatch it from the inside, easy peasy.

Thing is, I hadn’t heard the garage door this time. It would usually wake me up, and vibrate my wooden upstairs floor as the motor roared. Regardless, as if sedated, I just said “okay, and laid back down”.
I awoke an unknown amount of time later, refreshed.

Still in dire need to empty my bladder, I made my way to the main downstairs bathroom. I sat down to pee and my dad said loudly; “Sarah?”

I didn’t respond, as I assumed he was talking to my mom who could have been in another room.

Again, he asked “Sarah, is jy innie toilet?”

“No dad. It’s me”.

“Is jou ma noggie hier nie?” he asked.

As if the sentence restarted time, the door between the garage and the house slammed open against the inside wall and my mother screamed as she ran down into the part of the house we were in. Only then, did I realise how eerily silent things were until that moment.

“Siiiidneeey!” she screamed in real terror. It sounded much more like her now. “Sidney daar steel hulle osse kar”.

When I think back to this moment, my stomach clenches. Besides the fact that my future car was ripped away from me…  My mother revealed that night that she had been held up in the garage for an undetermined amount of time. Police later surmised that a group of men had followed her from her class in Bellville, all the way home. When she entered the garage, one of them ran in before she could close the door. He held her at gunpoint, and told her to not make a sound. He threatened to kill her and her family if she alerted anyone. She surrendered her keys, and he escorted her out of the car and to the side, climbed into the car and left her standing vulnerable in the garage, sans Ford Focus. When she was sure that she was alone she ran into the house to alert us.

What bothered me for a long time was that she says she didn’t come upstairs.




In last year, I bought tarot cards at a shop in canal walk, and excited about my purchase, I made the mistake of showing my very Christian, stick-up-the-ass husband. He was of course, very unimpressed. After being coated in several out of context quotes from the bible, I felt like a heathen for wanting to embrace my mystical side. But still, stubborn Shana stood her ground and on the first occasion in which I was alone at home, followed the instructions and did my first reading.

And holy shit, lemme tell you….




4 thoughts on “Just a quickie

  1. Ashton says:

    An act of heinous crimes can have a lifetime effect on the victim and family.
    Your art of writing has captured my attention and has made me use my imagination; imaginary videos playing in my mind as you describe every part of your story.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s