Sleepy Hollow and the Headless Horseman of Anarchy

I was born in Pietermaritzburg a long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. 

That might sound like a funny line but based on just how much the place has changed, it's truer than you think.

Some good changes, some bad. Those were the changes that made me sad every time I would visit Home. Funny how you can be gone for almost a decade and a half but still refer to your place of birth as Home.

Despite all the bad changes, there were always places to go, people to see, beauty to appreciate, and above all Hope. Hope that things would get better because how could it not? There were hidden gems all around and nothing is impossible!

 Then the disaster... Last week was devastating with all the looting, burning, communities being attacked and people being confined to their homes with no food or medication. In the middle of a Pandemic!

I felt completely helpless in a situation that I could not do anything about. I had been there before with the start and continuation of the Pandemic leaving me in silent terror at the thought of losing more loved ones and not being able to say goodbye to them. My anxiety was nothing in comparison to what people felt and still are who live in Kwa-Zulu Natal and will be seeing the after-effects for a very long time.

I had learned to live with my paralyzing fear, keeping busy with tasks and projects, therapy, and holding onto every bit of sunshine I could find. And now this.

I found myself pacing and thinking about loved ones, work left undone, calling my mum all the time to find out if they were okay and needed anything. Plotting and planning a daring rescue should things not change or take a turn for the even worse. It helps when you have a husband who is on board with your crazy ideas and quite prepared to be the hero.

A week has passed and things are far from over. So much has been destroyed and lost with racial tensions high and COVID-19s third wave ravishing my home town, all you can do is Hope.

And Hope is indeed there, communities have come together through it all and have fought back. I haven't seen such love and support across the racial line in all my time living there.

It was beautiful to see and took me to my childhood, memories flooding back of a town that I had loved for many years. A different town, a charming, lively town that was safe to walk in and a joy to behold with its red brick buildings, flora, and bustling city life.

My mum and I had endless adventures in town, adventures that I will never forget. I started reading at two years old ( by far my greatest achievement to date) so every two weeks, we would go to the Library in town to get my book fix. 

It meant a walk around the shopping area ( before the mall took centre stage) window shopping. I was convinced that one day I would be rich enough to buy all the jewellery at The Hub. 

Sometimes a lunch treat of Fish and Chips in a newspaper was feasted on by the fountain.

We would be there for Pancake Day races and feeding pigeons whilst watching people attempt to play chess with those whole body chess pieces. 

There was that one time when I was four and a half and lost my books at a street vendor. I still remember because the pain of one's books being taken is a loss you never forget. 

As I got older, the town started changing, I only left in my mid-twenties so I lived through a lot of those early changes as a young adult. Certain places became a little unsafe to walk through unless you were in a biggish group.

Mum and I still did our Library thing but the places we used to sit at weren't so safe anymore so we would lunch at Tatham Art Gallery after a brief walk through the flea market just outside.

And that is how I became a lover of Art Galleries, their beauty and eeriness combined. Not modern art mind you, I am still intrigued by it but don't fully grasp it. I prefer the classics with all their history.

The gallery had a piano and you could hear mini-concerts sometimes. Not sure if it still does that, I hope so because the sound of music flowing through the art was hauntingly beautiful.

The little cafe restaurant was welcoming with gorgeous city views, vanilla coffee that no one has ever made better and the tastiest quiches and soups. My mum and I would look at our books and chat until it was time to get a taxi home.

I loved it so much that during my unemployment phase, I desperately tried to work there. 

The taxi rank was also bustling and there was a particularly good memory of me being so chuffed that I found all the Hitchhiker's Guide books and a guy sitting behind us was just as thrilled. He was a huge fan and told me that we would enjoy those immensely. We did, big fans. I got my mum a set recently.

After I left, the malls started popping up, the town changed and I haven't explored there since but I will always have magical memories.

I remember going to the park with my parents on a Sunday with KFC and occasionally my dog MacGyver( yes that was his name). Climbing up to use the slide and seeing my smiling dad at the bottom as I slide down.

I remember a funfair once that came from Europe, My big brother and his wife took me and her nephew to see Jurassic Park and then this funfair that had the wildest rides. I still love crazy rides, so much so that a few years ago I was in Houston and went to a giant one there and rode on the rollercoaster alone. 

I was locked in City Hall once for a catering gig and my friend and I had to break out through the window and walk to the next gig. The ghosts are real people.

Gosh, I am lost in memories now and there are so many more. Sleepy Hollow is full of old architecture that is historical and beautiful. In the cemeteries as well, there is a stillness filled with history. 

The next generation living there had been paving the way with new places, see? Hope. Always Hope because that is the driver of resilience.

The nickname isn't because there isn't anything to do there, it's because that's what it is. It's ours, it's been hurt badly, it will recover in time with Hope. 

It's Home.