I can’t be the only one that doesn’t exactly relish the thought of an afternoon with their in-laws. To be honest, I would love to meet their ‘Let’s get together?’ with a firm but friendly “mmmm let’s not!”
My husband, his family and most of his friends are South African. This presents a rather unique blend in its own right. We are culturally very different people. His friends have embraced me with open arms. Many of his friends now have British partners too. When it comes to his family, I am the only Brit in their situation and I can feel every tea-drinking second of it!
My South African family tell me they love me all the time. They appear so eager for me to attend their various gatherings but on attendance, their actions reflect a rather different opinion. They all speak Afrikaans. After, Yes, No, Please, Thank you and Sleep – my contribution to this effort has drawn to a close. My husband’s family have known me for 10 years and we got married two years ago. Given the decade that has passed, I’m shocked that they still claim to forget I don’t speak their language. They seem oblivious to my presence when they insist on flexing their bilingual muscles over lunch.
It’s usually an occasion that brings us together. Come Easter, Fathers Day, Christmas or a Birthday, we all rock up on mass. With our meat in our bags, we are ready for the obligatory Braai. We usually meet up about 6 times per year. This just adds to my frustration. I only decorate their land with my Union Jack 6 days a year. I just ask that they speak the language of the country they have now become citizens of during this time. They will chat English to strangers, neighbours, work colleagues and friends all year round. When I get in the room, they suddenly forget what they manage to achieve seamlessly for the other 359 days of the year!
At these gatherings, the men hang out together in the garden or lounge. The women will often congregate in the kitchen. Once hugs and handshakes have been exchanged, I find myself quickly annoyed that I didn’t bring a book. My Mother and Sister in Law will chat quietly to themselves in their Mother Tongue, while I sit there trying not to look stupid. I don’t believe for one moment they are talking about me, it’s just hard when they are not exactly talking to me either. I receive the usual insincere apology, then after 5 minutes of English, they are back in their own little world. Is it socially acceptable to play on my phone at a time like this?
My husband is really good at reminding his family that I don’t understand them but 10 years on, my patience and kindness regarding this situation has gone. Dinner table chat is the worst as there is nowhere to go. I just eat my food and drink my water and take a quick glance at my watch. Only one question is swimming round my brain – How soon can we leave?
When my husband used to remind them to speak English, I used to get the sympathetic head tilt, a smile and an apology. Now it goes a little like this:
Husband:
- Can you please speak English, my wife doesn’t understand.
Recent Family Responses:
- Actually no. We were speaking Afrikaans deliberately as we didn’t want the children to understand the conversation.
- I was talking to your father not your wife
- Don’t be so dramatic, she won’t die from one comment
All these excuses are somewhat horrific when you are in the same room, sat round the same table.
Despite my rather Ghetto temper, I always keep my street smarts in check when in their company. I do this out of respect and because I am a decent person.
At this years Fathers Day Braai, my limit of ability, to tolerate their appalling behaviour was reached. No scene. No made for TV argument. We just finished up, thanked everyone and left. That’s me done. Their attitude has caused some serious arguments between me and my husband already. On the drive back home I made a decision. They may put me last but I am putting me first.
I am sure questions will be asked about my lack of future attendance. I will happy to explain myself in plain English when that situation presents itself.
I come from a blended family, that despite being wildly different, we all just work. I guess sometimes people don’t blend, maybe the cultures are just too different. It’s sad when they can’t blend, worse when they won’t.
It’s disappointing but as I was told…I won’t die from this. From the stress of trying to contain my ghetto rage?…possibly.
You cannot change others, you can only change you. I love this little ditty, so I am doing just that – changing me. I don’t want to spend my precious weekends, feeling like a twat and about as welcome as a fart in a spacesuit. I want to be relaxed and surrounded by positive people and good conversation that I can relate and contribute to.
Do I want to get together so I can look at the floor and wait for the day to end? – no, can’t say that I do. In truth, I would rather extract bogies from my daughters nose!
‘Let’s get together?’
mmmm let’s not!