Shanil Haricharan
In the scorching heat of a November Friday, 1967, a distressed mother hastily walks to the local Wellington Clinic. In her arms is her three-month-old baby girl, gravely ill.
The disdainful doctor coldly dismisses the distraught mother: “Take the child to a priest. She is going to die. You can give her clothes away.” The next patient was ushered in.
Over the weekend the child’s condition deteriorated as the dreadful polio virus destroyed the mobility of her limbs.
Devastated by the child’s affliction, the maternal family’s (the Abrahams) world collapsed – dreading her destiny with a lifelong infirmity with a calliper on one leg.
The child was Marlene le Roux. This is her story: her journey of self-acceptance and a passion for life and love – an artist, an activist, a teacher, a mother, a leader and the recently appointed chief executive at the Artscape Theatre Centre.
Despite the heartlessness of apartheid in the small town of Wellington, little Marlene affectionately remembers the unconditional love of her mother, Christine le Roux (who she called Tietie, big “sister”), and her maternal granny, Ma Christie.
She lived with Ma from birth. Tietie separated from her husband three months into their marriage.
Marlene speaks passionately about the two women who shaped her life. “Those days white people did not recognise them. They were invisible and their voice did not count. They have endured the harshness of life during apartheid.”
As a child she was distinctly aware of racial discrimination and remembers the drunken stupor of men dropped off by farmers like cattle on the back of trucks – the slaves of the “dop stelsel” (payment with wine system).
It made her aware from a young age that “this was not right”, sowing the seeds for her later political activism.
Marlene sadly shares her mother’s pathos and the broader challenge of inter-generational trauma.
“My mum is now in her seventies. It is only now she is opening up and talking about her painful experiences during my childhood. I understand my mother much more today.
“The doctors had blamed Ma and Tietie for my condition – treating them as illiterate, rural coloured women. Their first encounter with the Red Cross Hospital was a humiliation.
“Tietie has lived with this guilt for many years. Talking about it is part of her healing.
“We all are wounded people. As a country we have not gone through a healing process.”
With a glow in her eyes, she reminisces about her mother’s sacrifices. “Despite their harsh experiences and limited formal schooling, they were very dignified women.
“Tietie was a factory worker. She was a ballroom dancer, a beauty of the town. She had this vision that I must play the piano.
“She saved her meagre earnings and bought a piano. It took up most of the space in the little hokkie (room).
“Tietie loved to sing and I joined her. Soon I was singing for family, friends and in public – my singing talent made her proud.”
Marlene animatedly shares her admiration for her Ma, a domestic and seasonal farmworker. “Ma used to get up very early in the morning, do the washing and clean the house – we were 11 children – and then go work a full day at the madam’s house.
“Ma never had a bad word about another person. Always dignified. She was a regular churchgoer.”
Smiling, she adds: “I get my style from Tietie and Ma. They always dressed well in their poverty: with dignity. It is not money that gives you class; not things you get from a book or glossy magazines.”
The African proverb that “it takes a village to raise a child” resonates with Marlene’s childhood in Wellington.
Her eyes moisten as she evokes deep emotions and feelings of the love and acceptance of her disenfranchised community: her neighbours, her teachers, her school friends, her singing fans, the church and well-wishers.
“I was always surrounded by people who loved and cared for me. Tietie had to fight to get me enrolled at primary school. My teachers and the learners at primary school and at Bergrivier High were wonderful. They made an effort to support me. I had teachers who built my character, who believed in me. This helped me to totally believe in my abilities.”
Her neighbours carried her on their backs to the railway station – one passing her over to the other: a human chain of community compassion.
With her signature full-hearted laugh she describes the oddity of the band outside and her inside the “hokkie”, singing her heart out.
“I have been in the cultural world all my life, active in church groups, singing in a band with the great organist Attie van der Berg and a guitarist who composed my songs. I was 10 years old. It became part of our DNA to organise cultural events, so it’s nothing new for me as the CEO at the Artscape.”
Marlene ponders about her nurturing Wellington “village”. “They had a mindset of inclusion. Inclusion in society made me the person I am. It wasn’t about money; it was about building a caring society.
“I was privileged and had good luck on my side. We did not have much but we had a community that cared. I cherish the beauty of my upbringing, the diversity of religions – Muslims and Christians having tea together. That’s why I am giving back to others.”
During her primary school years she spent half her time at Princess Alice home in Cape Town undergoing many operations. Separated from Ma and Tietie, the little Marlene cried her heart out.
Her singing in the choir was a balm for her sore heart. She reflects on that period of her childhood, experiencing the brunt of institutionalised care during apartheid. “I still suffer from anxieties, the emotional and psychological layers from my childhood still affect me as an adult. For example, I am an overachiever, which has its negatives.”
When she was 22, she met her partner, Simeon, who brought another dimension into her life. “I am always grateful to him for affirming me and for his belief in gender equality, contributing immensely to my life.”
Despite a brain tumour early in her marriage and a prognosis of not bearing children, Marlene had two “miracles” in the next 10 years: Aimee and Adam – her pride and joy. Aimee, a second-year jazz studies student, continues the Abrahams’ cultural tradition.
On an early autumn day in April 2002, after Adam cried constantly for six months and many medical consultations, the doctor pronounced coldly: “He has cerebral palsy (CP). He will not live long. Put him in an institution for special care.”
No explanation of what type of CP or how to care for him was offered. The doctor was ready to see his next patient.
The shocking revelation and the absence of empathy left Marlene dazed; the ground beneath her feet opened, she was engulfed by emptiness, her tender heart shattered. “All my stuff from the past came back to me.”
Once more, a generation later, the closely knit fabric of the Abrahams family unravelled.
“It was too much for Tietie; she had a total breakdown. Ma could not speak to me for a while. She could not bear the pain I was in, she cried and cried and cried.
“They did not want me to go through what they had to on that fateful fiery Friday in November 1967 all those years ago.”
Humanity has no bounds for loving.