I have a need to share my story
By Janél Pretorius

We have been living in New Zealand for six years now. On 20 January 2020, when I was 31, we landed with two small children, aged four and five. Just two months later, in March, the whole world closed down.

The day I said goodbye to my parents at the airport, my last words were: “See you in June.” Their tickets were already booked, the visa applications submitted and we waited … until 19 March 2020, when New Zealand closed its borders. The Lord had other plans, and I never had the privilege of showing my parents the life we had built from scratch here.

Every immigration path is different, the reasons for the decision, the adjustment, the moments of celebration and loss. It’s hard to explain how one can be grateful and mourn at the same time; how one can feel happy as well as sad. There are days when I wish I could take my heart out of my chest for a while and put it on a shelf, just to not experience the pain. Yet I know without a doubt, that we are where we are meant to be, even if I sometimes do not know if it is a decision, a choice, a habit or simply peace.  

I am a teacher. I taught in South Africa for ten years and now for six years here. We came after I got a job. We landed on a Wednesday and on Thursday – after 28 hours of flying and tears – I stood in front of my new class.

My husband, a true Jack of all trades, decided to complete a qualification during Covid. Today he is thriving in a profession that would never have been possible for him in South Africa. There we lived from hand to mouth, here we live well, and I realise what a blessing it is, because not everyone can say the same.

Our children are proudly South African, proudly Afrikaans. Maybe more than they would have been if we had stayed in South Africa. My son’s 10th birthday party even had a Springbok theme! They always proudly say: “We don’t speak South African, we speak Afrikaans.” And when someone calls them “Africans,” they correct it: “We are Afrikaners.”

At the school where I work, 11 of the 17 high school teachers are South Africans. In my own classes more than half of the children are South African. My own children live on the sports field. That is where we met most of our friends. My son’s rugby team had seven South Africans and my daughter’s hockey team four.

The Kiwis are wonderful people, but our social circle consists mainly of South Africans. It wasn’t a decision, it is just how life happened. Sometimes we did have braais with strange families, but one soon realises: not everyone are ducks from your pond.

In our house we only speak Afrikaans. The children hear enough English throughout the day. Many parents change languages to “adjust”, but we didn’t. Sometimes they translate from English and say funny things, but we correct them. It is our responsibility to keep Afrikaans alive. They were small when we moved, with limited vocabulary, and it is our job to help their Afrikaans grow.

Last week my son referred to a tiger as a “striped horse”. After we all finished laughing, he explained: But it’s like a leopard!”

Those first two years were the hardest. I remember three days that will always remain etched in my heart forever.

The first was my son’s birthday, barely two months after we arrived. In South Africa birthdays were always filled with people, laughter and cake, here it was only the three of us. I phoned the school and said I was sick. We went to see the animals, ate ice cream and then stopped at the South African shop. The smell of Oros, milk tart and Cheese Curls overwhelmed me. I burst into tears and the lady behind the counter just quietly held me.

The second was our first Christmas here. In South Africa it was always big – family, music, food and laughter. Here the four of us sat around the tree, eating finger foods and reading the Bible. It was the first Christmas without my father and without my mother’s presence.

The third was my second birthday here, the first one where my father’s call didn’t come anymore. I was far from my mother and the day felt empty.

But we are privileged. My sister-in-law and her family moved here two years after us. Now Sundays, birthdays and sport days are no longer so quiet. There is always someone who attends the children’s “Grandparent’s Day and if she can’t, other angels make sure they are never alone.

We also have family here: my cousins, my husband’s cousins and even though we don’t see each other often, it helps to know they are here. We were even able to be part of my sister-in-law’s pregnancy, and my children now have a cousin in New Zealand.

Six years later I can honestly say: we are happy. We have found our place and our people. Our children are thriving. I am grateful for my work. My husband is growing daily. We work hard, but we live.

Regards
Janél Pretorius
Auckland, New Zealand

Also read: Where ‟home” takes on new value: Natasha Agenbag’s next chapter in New Zealand