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By Zubeida Jaffer
Times are challenging in our country and in the world. To become fully ourselves it helps to draw on inspirational stories of others and our own. I decided to write this book because I realised that the researched biography that I completed in 2016, was reaching only a limited number of people. This has to be a story that all South Africans grow up with and make part of their lives.
In the end we are the stories we tell ourselves, write and know. Think about it. The stories that fill our minds influence our confidence. When we listen to Siya Kolisi speak, we know that he has been able to overcome great difficulties and stay on the road to becoming the best version of himself. So too with Charlotte. I hope it is a story that will show you that whatever life’s obstacles, it is possible to find a way through it and reach for the sky. Charlotte had dreams at a time when every effort was made to limit the possibilities of the African child.
This story is about her becoming our first native female graduate in 1901. The message is not that everyone has to go to university to succeed. The message is that everyone must believe that they can become fully who they are meant to be and be happy.
It was not easy for me to find credible statistics but in the end I was able to find out how many female graduates we have today. The statistics are only well organised from the year 2000 to 2020. In those 20 years of democracy, South Africa produced over 2 million female graduates. Is that not unbelievable? From that one lone young woman who took the first step, persevered and was relentless in her efforts to reach for the stars, we now have 2 million women of all backgrounds who have pursued university study. The road is still long but look how far we have come.
Look inside yourself and find your talent and work at it.
Let me read an extract from the Becoming Charlotte. This is a scene where we see her at high school then called upper school working as a domestic worker for her board and lodge.
She also sings in a choir and this is the vehicle that eventually moves her forward. You never know when a door opens, where it will take you. Do not be fearful. Listen to your heart and allow it to make your mind soar.
Extract from Becoming Charlotte:
Summer passed slowly. Autumn would soon bring winter. There were days when the household chores weighed heavily on Charlotte. Through all of this her greatest pleasure was joining choir practice at recess. Not all her classmates joined, but for Charlotte it was the one constant that flowed through her week like a sweet stream linking the days of the week to church on Sundays. It somehow made all her difficulties bearable.
“Silence!” commanded Paul Xiniwe, the headmaster and choir director. Charlotte hushed, her breath forming a faint mist in the cooling air, while she waited for some of her chatty classmates to quiet down. When Mr Xiniwe raised his arms, she drew in a deep breath and began to sing. As she sang, she felt the warmth of the midday sun, which now carried a hint of nostalgia as it streamed through the windows. A beam of bright light filtered through the open door, casting a soft, honeyed glow over the room. Outside, some of her classmates revelled in the fading warmth of the summer, still lingering in the afternoon sun. But despite the allure of their outdoor games, Charlotte had no desire to join them.
The director’s words at the end of the practice session brought her back to reality. “You are our best singer, Charlotte,” he declared. “We will compete against other choirs in May, and if all of you practice hard, we may just win this year. Last year, we came third. This year we have Charlotte who has a strong voice that could help us win.” He explained that the competition would take place on a Saturday night in a month’s time and they had to ask permission from their madams to attend. Charlotte was immediately fearful. Mrs Hutchinson had very seldom allowed her to join the family of Reverend Masiza on Sundays. Would she allow her to attend the competition?
As the days unfurled, her internal turmoil intensified. When would be the right moment to approach Mrs
Hutchinson? Each day felt like a step closer to her apprehensive encounter, and with the leaves on the trees slowly turning crimson and gold, Charlotte’s anxiety deepened. The day finally arrived when she gathered the courage to make her plea. It was two-weeks before the competition and she had already left this for too long.
Charlotte’s heart raced, and her breath came in shallow, nervous gasps as she approached Mrs Hutchison.
“Madam,” she began, her voice quivering with uncertainty, “The school is entering a choir competition
in two-week’s time. I have the honour of being the lead singer.” Her words tumbled out like leaves in the gusty wind. The weight of her request hung in the air, heavy as the anticipation of a coming storm.
Mrs Hutchison, her usually stern expression unmoved, listened impassively. Her eyes bore no hint of sympathy. Instead, her objections fell upon Charlotte like hailstones in winter. “This is the time I need you to care for the baby,” she stated frostily, shattering Charlotte’s hopes. “And I cannot allow you to venture out by yourself at night.” Her words were as unyielding as hardened untilled soil. She walked off without a kind word.
Why was she like this, thought Charlotte. From discussions with her classmates, she knew that not all madams were like her. My only hope is to speak to my father when he visits tomorrow, she thought. When her father arrived, she was in the yard hanging up the laundry. “Utata,” Charlotte gulped, for once feeling the tears well up in her eyes. She quickly explained her challenge and was relieved when her father agreed to make a special plea. “Ma Francie is in the kitchen,” said Charlotte. “She is waiting to take you to madam.”
As she hung each garment, the vibrant hues of fallen leaves caught her eye, their fiery reds and oranges mirroring the turmoil in her heart. The laundry line creaked softly in the wind, a melancholic symphony that seemed to resonate with the uncertainty that plagued her. Her eyes darted toward the kitchen door in anticipation, seeking solace in the approaching figure of her father.
Would he return with a stern expression, like the looming storm clouds that threatened to obscure the sun’s warmth, or would his face bear the gentle radiance of hope, like the first rays of dawn breaking through the morning mist?
The final shirt hung limply from her trembling hand as her father appeared on the horizon, his smiling countenance shimmering like a distant mirage. “She said okay,” he said. Charlotte dropped the shirt into the straw basket, her steps quickening as she rushed toward him. The warmth of his embrace provided momentary respite from the chill, like a fleeting burst of sunlight on an otherwise frosty day.
I thank you.
The book is available online at www.zubeidajaffer.co.za at a cost of R200
Pictures by Sharief Jaffer.