i have deleted, written, re-written abandoned and now returned like a prodigal blog daughter to educating rosi. this blog was initially started early 2012 during a time of tremendous heart break and turbulence. a friend encouraged me to document my thoughts, emotions and the journey i was and still am on, as a way to escape. she was like a little fairy angel at the time for me and i still believe that she was heaven sent; without her, i might not have been here today, to tell the tale. (i know that sounds rather dramatic. it does now but it’s very close to the truth).
it’s hard to fathom the emotional miles my little heart has clocked, and it’s still pumping (good little heart). i was born in 1965 in cape town, south africa to a black mother and greek immigrant father in the middle of the most racial explosive era (known as apartheid). at this point i pause. there is simply too much awfulness, abuse, violence and tears married with weird happenings and i do not want to dig them up. they are buried now and i have walked away. However, the walk away part came only in 2015, it took almost my whole life and a lot of educating to find rosi.
who is educating rosi. she is a girl who saw her mother beaten so hard that blood shot from her eyes; she was repeatedly raped by her uncle at the age of 6 and nobody ever knew and still does not know; she never went to school until the age of 15 and was taught by her mother to read and write, she spent a lot of her childhood locked up in a room; she was never allowed to go into the sun because the sun was an enemy that made you dark and dark is a hated colour as taught by the government of south africa between 1940 and 1991 (1991 when mr mandela finally set us free); she immigrated to europe in 1991, had a daughter in 1996 who is mentally handicapped and blind (oh the pain); when she finally lost the love of her life in 2011 who told her that he wants a normal child and a woman who is capable of giving him a normal family, the balance and love she thought she had found, turned again to abuse and violence. but,
one evening whilst lying curled up on the floor sobbing, i heard my daughter singing in her bedroom. she, a blind, mentally handicapped little girl totally dependent on others, was happy and singing. i felt a strength, it started deep within like a silver thread. hope had come. the longing for death was strong but much stronger was the hunger to live and be alive. i got up from the floor and dried my tears. the educating of rosi began.