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Book

Two Years of Off-Centre and Out of Focus

Off-Centre and Out of Focus was published two years ago this month. While the book launches and festivals have been fun, what has brought me the most joy has been the many conversations that have rippled out from my writing. I have met the most interesting and creative people and gone down unexpected paths.

Amongst these have been journeys to the Copper Mountains and across the Gariep River with Wendy Morris, and trips down memory lane in District Six and Walmer Estate with Ayesha Mukadam, the director of the documentary Restitching District Six. I have been in conversation with actor Bo Petersen about her autobiographical play, Pieces of Me, and with artist Marsi van de Heuvel about her exhibition, Skoonveld at the Cape Town Art Fair.

I have had the opportunity to exhibit my own family photographs and ceramics with Our Cape Town Heritage and explored some of the history of St James Beach with Multispecies Stories. I have spoken with midwives, doulahs and smeervroue in Cape Town and Paulshoek, and I have treasured every interaction with people who have come up to me at book events to share their own anecdotes about growing up in South Africa.

To those who ask about the next book – this one has been a life’s work and it seems it isn’t finished with me yet! I will be publishing Off-Centre and Out of Focus as a second edition in the UK in January 2026 with Rowanvale Books … watch this space for that book journey and other exciting projects on the way!

PS I have added the links to some of the people and projects and encourage you to check out the work that they are doing.

Featured image taken during an address to faculty members at Xavier University of New Orleans. November 2024.

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fieldguides for a preternaturalist History and Heritage lost narratives storytelling writing

Food as Archive: Kerrievis/Pickled Fish

by Wendy Morris and Nadia Kamies

In Taati Niilenge’s Walvis Bay: Our Story (2024) Nangula Shikujele remembers the 1960s in Kuisebmond when fish were plentiful and fishers returning from sea would bring fish for the entire community. The neighbourhood would smell of fish, Shikujele remembered. She told Niilenge that descendants of the Old Location and early Kuisebmond (to which people were forcibly displaced in the 1950s) were known for their fish cleaning and cooking skills and for the preparation of a favourite dish, ‘Kerrievis’, that they learned from their mothers.

John Miller arrived in 1964 from Cape Town as a young fisherman and lived in Narraville’s ‘Hou jou bek’ vicinity. He remembers that most fisher families came from Cape Town. Prior to the forced displacements of residents from Old Location to either Kuisebmond or Narraville, depending on apartheid racial classification, people from all parts of the country, and from the Cape, lived together and shared culinary traditions.

Kerrievis, or Pickled Fish as it is also known, is a dish that entangles histories of forced migrations and travelling women. Pickling with brine can be traced to Dutch traditions of preserving food and was brought to the Cape of Good Hope in the 17th century by that company of Companies, the Vereenigde Oostindische Compagnie or VOC, the company that traded people and political instability, spices and social death, extractions and executions.

The spices that make the kerrievis dish – turmeric, coriander, bay leaves, cumin, cinnamon, all spice and cloves – come from south-east Asia, and especially Indonesia, and their acquisition was at the very heart of the VOC enterprise. The women who knew and used these spices, and developed the dish as a pickled and curried fusion in the kitchens of the Cape colony in the 17th and 18th centuries, were enslaved women who had been trafficked across the Indian ocean by the VOC. It was generations of these women and their descendants who made this dish their own.

In a previous article on this website, An Archive of Food, (2020) I relate how both my Cape Town grandmothers (one Christian, one Muslim) prepared this dish. The process would start the week before Good Friday since there would be no fishing boats going out over the Easter weekend. Yellowtail, kabeljou or hake would have to be bought in advance, either from the market in Hanover Street, from the fish vendor who would sell his wares from the back of his bakkie (blowing his horn to alert the neighbourhood), or straight off the fishing boats at the harbour.

Enough fish was pickled to last all weekend. Making the dish in advance meant that the fish was able to absorb all the spices and the taste improved as the weekend progressed! This freed up time for my maternal grandmother to go to the long church services held over Easter weekend, since she didn’t have to cook. Abstaining from eating meat on Good Friday was also in keeping with many Christian traditions. Muslim families would take advantage of the time to go on picnics, usually to visit kramats, with an ample supply of pickled fish and bread as padkos. There were no restaurants to stop at along the way since they would all have been designated “for whites only”. Well-preserved with vinegar and spices and eaten cold, pickled fish was the perfect road food. Coming across this tradition in Walvis Bay, Namibia, speaks to the interconnectedness of its history with Cape Town. Walvis Bay became part of the British Cape Colony in 1878 and would be under South African control until 1994. Ruth Smith whose family came to Walvis Bay when she was a child (Walvis Bay: Our Story), also recalls that most fishermen came from South Africa. They would go out on small wooden boats or worked as supervisors in the fishing factories.

This dish that has its roots in the Cape, speaks not only to the porousness of borders but also to shared histories of migration, colonialism, apartheid and forced practices. It is no coincidence that as I join Wendy on her journey of return, we should find commonality through a shared practice such as this. As we shopped for ingredients in Lüderitz, stitched aprons with fabric bought from a shop in Walvis Bay, and filmed ourselves, now in the village of Aus, preparing the spicy onion-rich pickling sauce from traditional recipes, we bore witness to another practice of freedom that reinforces the humanity of the oppressed in defiance of the attempts to erase their history.

Aus, Namibia

 

 

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Book

Old Photographs tell our Stories

When I was asked by the editor of Africa Community Media what had inspired me to focus specifically on photographs in my book, I shared the following thoughts with her:

I wanted to research my own background and discovered how little there was in the official archives because of the erasure of our history as a result of colonialism, slavery and apartheid. Many families have treasured photographs, though, taken by relatives or street photographers, if they didn’t own a camera themselves. I realised how much of a container of memory that was and how my parents’ generation who were often reluctant to talk about the past, would open up when asked about a photograph. The photographs facilitated a sharing of stories that I doubt would have emerged through interviews only. They revealed stories that were more than just about the individual, but also of families and communities and how they lived and survived during oppression.

  • Can you give us a few tips on decoding old family photographs?

If at all possible, I would start with trying to identify who is in the photo, who took it and where. Often there is some identifying information written on the back or perhaps information about the studio that it was taken in. For example, many families have photographs that were taken by Movie Snaps in Darling Street, Cape Town, that could help with gathering information. Also, take note of how the people in the photographs are dressed, whether there are clues to a special occasion (weddings, 21st birthdays, etc). The condition of the photograph, e.g. whether it was framed, folded, cut, should also be noted. For me, decoding old photographs went hand in hand with the memories that they evoked, so the interview was very important.

  • Of all of the family photographs of your childhood, what can we decode as the significance of the cover image?

The cover photograph represents many aspects of the book. First of all, it is a perfect example of the representation that is at the heart of my research and shows how formally my mother dressed us, from our matching outfits right down to the gloves and bag I’m holding. Secondly, in spite of the photograph being off-centre and out of focus, and the woman and the baby in the background having had half their heads cut off by the photographer, it records a very important day in my grandmother’s life, including the religious and traditional practices of a community living under apartheid.

A short review of Off-Centre and Out of Focus was published in a number of community newspapers in March, along with a Q&A. You can read more here.

Categories
Book

Starting Conversations

I was recently the guest author at the Woman Zone Book Club and I am enjoying the conversations that Off-Centre and Out of Focus is generating around identity, race and belonging. Most of all, I am simply enjoying the conversation!

The seemingly small hurts and humiliations that many of us suffered every day during apartheid, have not been spoken about. We are urged to get over apartheid and embrace the “rainbow nation”. Ignoring our experiences minimises the trauma that we lived through. Until we examine the past and make peace with it, we cannot move forward and learn to live together in a post-apartheid society as simply human. And we cannot afford to forgo the opportunity to do so while those who lived through that period are still alive to share their memories and experiences with us.

The words of American writer, musician and academic, Julius Lester (1939-2018), express so profoundly the importance of acknowledging the lived experiences of growing up in a marginalised and oppressed community. He says,

History is not just facts and events. History is also a pain in the heart and we repeat history until we are able to make another’s pain in the heart our own.

My book was always intended to be about starting conversations, about saying, “this is how it was for me, how was it for you?”

When we engage with each other in a sincere attempt to understand the other, it is possible that it will lead to a place beyond the stories of different cultures, beyond stereotypes and prejudices, to acknowledge and embrace our multiple stories. By connecting the lines between all of our stories, we may recognise our common humanity, we may break down the walls that were constructed around us to keep us separate. Perhaps it will lead to a fusion of ideas that may result in a new way of expression, a new story, and the acceptance of diverse points of view. Only then may we learn to be free.  Off-Centre and Out of Focus.

You can find Off-Centre and Out of Focus: Growing up ‘coloured’ in South Africa at The Book Lounge, Clarke’s Bookshop, Exclusives Books, Wordsworth Books, at the District Six Museum shop and online from Loot.co.za

You can listen to the Woman Zone Stories MEET THE AUTHOR podcast here.

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Book

Off-Centre and Out of Focus is launched

Off-Centre and Out of Focus: Growing up ‘coloured’ in South Africa was launched with friends and family at the District Six Homecoming Centre on 13 May. It was wonderful to be able to celebrate with people who have been on the journey with me and who contributed to this book in some way – sharing their stories with me, cheering me on, and offering advice.

I was particularly pleased about being able to celebrate the birth of my book in the District Six Homecoming Centre in what used to be the Sacks Futeran building. For generations the Futeran family traded in clothing and textiles here, and the store was frequented by generations of seamstresses and tailors from District Six. I remember being dwarfed by bolts of fabric and riding the rickety lift with my parents to the second floor to buy anything from crockery to clothing. My father’s memories of District Six are at the heart of this book. Sadly, he died of COVID in 2020, but I know that he would have appreciated the choice of venue.

Dr Bonita Bennett, who was the director of the District Six Museum for more than ten years, gracefully facilitated a discussion around ‘colouredness’, the fluidity of race and belonging, issues of respectability, and the archiving of ordinary objects. This book has always been about starting a conversation about the complexities of growing up labelled ‘coloured’ in South Africa, before, during and post- apartheid. I wanted the knowledge that I gained during my PhD to be more widely accessible rather than being confined to the university library shelf.

The family photographs that gave rise to my thesis and now this book, represent the hopes and aspirations of our parents and grandparents. They generate stories of a way of being and living that challenge the dominant narratives of inferiority and shame that were assigned to a group of people designated neither-white-nor-black. They quietly disrupt the apartheid archive that sought to fix difference in terms of race, gender and culture. I hope that this will open up discussion around the pain and trauma that we lived through so that we may look forward to a future where we may see each other as simply human.

The American writer and activist, Audre Lorde, speaks about the importance of oppressed people being able to speak out of their own experience and to see it as valid, to deal with our definition of self. She cautions that if we don’t identify ourselves, someone else will, and probably to our detriment. Through sharing my experience, I sincerely hope that more people will be motivated to share theirs, and I look forward to more conversations and sharing.

 

Categories
History and Heritage lost narratives

Straining Against the Archives

A gathering was recently held in Cape Town to read my essay, Unpick, Restitch: Doilies, Medorahs and Labouring Plants. The essay is the first in the Fieldguides for a Preternaturalist series of chapbooks, within the project, Nothing of Importance Occurred: Recuperating a Herball for a 17th Century Enslaved Angolan Midwife at the Cape. The project was inititated by South African artist, Wendy Morris, whose enslaved ancestor, Maaij Claesje of Angola, was a midwife in the Company slave lodge in Cape Town.

My writing is about trying to piece together a narrative of who I am, where I come from, and where I belong. In order to recuperate these erased narratives, I have drawn from an ordinary archive – oral history, family photos and objects like my grandmother’s scarves and the doilies she crocheted. The objects that our grandparents found important to make, keep and pass down to us, give us a sense of belonging. The things that they touched and used, hold a history that fills in the blanks in the official archives and challenge the dominant narratives that would have us believe that we were less-than.

During my research, I came across the Flower of Maryam, the labouring plant of the essay title. The plant, which was usually brought back by pilgrims from Mecca in its dried state, had been used as a visual tool during labour and was passed down from one generation of women to the next. At the start of our programme I immersed the plant in a bowl of water to help us keep track of time.

After Wendy gave an overview of the larger project, story-teller and poet, Philippa Kabali Kagwa, led us into the reading with an invocation. It was a privilege to hear my essay read in a multitude of voices that cut across any divisions of colour, religion, gender or age, and a testimony to the power of story to connect us. By the time our gathering came to a close, the Flower of Maryam had opened, a powerful representation of rebirth, community memory and women’s agencies over their bodies.

The gathering was organised by Deep Histories, Fragile Memories, a research group at LUCA School of Arts, Brussels, and the Cape Town Museum.