Chapter 3: Douglas Ziman – Gawaine Ziman – Michael Thompson
Turbulent teenage years, facing the outside world of fashion and fascism…
“Drifting, drowning in a purple sea of doubt.
You wanna hear she loves you,
but the words don’t fit the mouth.
You’re a loser, a rebel, a cause without.
But don’t think me callous.”*
Rodriquez
Michael Thompson and I sat on our surfboards side by side. The Pipe our surfspot in The Strand. Our beach, our bleached hair. Our broadening shoulders, our lengthening limbs. Our similar Country Rhythm twin fin surfboards. Brothers in a bro-mance. So much the same and yet so different. The difference was not acknowledged beside the attire, he wore baby yellow “Gotcha” surf shorts, I will baby pink and baby blue “Instinct” baggies.
“Vokkit! Are you vokken okes moffies, wearing women’s panties?”
A crass challenge and cutting remarks from a crude working class bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks. A hairy-back! I was not going to point out that our clothes were cutting edge and the height of fashion to a bulldog, whose rugby shorts were not practical to wear wet as they get waterlogged and even though they have a practical rope to knot so they do not fall off to reveal his simple nakedness even if he fell off the wave and went over the falls. Over the falls, as every one of us will, many times in our lives.
He barked “ it’s simple, either you get the wave…”
“Or it gets you!” we droned in unison reiterating the catchy 1980’s marketing slogan of the top South African surf wear brand, Instinct.
“Ja! Vokken moffies!”
Moffies, the degradation and insinuation of homosexuality. An Afrikanerism of the rules and standards that maketh a man. Any conduct or mannerisms or manner of dress contradictory to those rules would meet with ridicule, and could only be interpreted as not working hard at being a man, and not doing the work of a man, but getting a hard on about another man.
“Ja! Vokken holnaaiers!”
(Fucking bum fuckers) Confident that he was that he has the group support of his language group and cultural group, and confident that his indoctrination will have a team of 15 players who have got his back, this young man is laying down the gauntlet.
“Greetings lads! Everything is good?“
An adult intervention saves the day. The aggressive young man becomes apologetic child as his cultural tradition has enforced obligatory respect for all white adults.
“Ja, Oom. Everyfink are fine, Oom. I just telling this boys the surf are good today, Oom.” He solemnly responds as his cultural indoctrination decrees that children are seen and not heard, and only speak to adults when spoken to.
The intervening adult is a God send. His biblical appearance with a halo like a saviour in the setting sun dripping droplets of gold seawater down the dark definition of his beard and inclusive of the silver lines of wisdom of the elder of the clan.
Douglas is the father of Gawaine Ziman**, the friend who I have known for the longest time, from Shalom Nursery at age 4, through childhood at Somerset House Preparatory School until the end of the 1970’s, and now at Paul Roos Gymnasium, Stellenbosch, in the 1980’s, at age 17.
Douglas Ziman is a Jew. Douglas… defined, dignified, decent, discerning. His Biblical bearded appearance is definitely reminiscent of the Prophets of old.
The Torah resounding as though embodied in his bones and from the example his behaviour set for us as schoolboys. The antithesis being the subtlety of the Bible bashing which was the protocol of our schools prescribed Christian National Education.
“Vokken Jood!” I hear the hiss of anti-Semitic hate language over the hiss of the foamy surf in the distance, as one of the traditionally Christian Afrikaans surfers, foaming at the mouth, slaughters a wave with aggressive style… and no finesse and pushes the limits all the way… to the shoreline… To carry on his bitter salt existence… with no style… and with no future.
From Douglas there is no admonition of the Afrikaner boy, no God ordained condemnation of the child to be burned in Hell forever, because he is doing what boys do, testing the boundaries to confirm how far he can push, bullying other boys into being the body of that boundary, to make it real, because the shared experience of surfing like all aspects of life is real. This boy is not really a sinner. This man, Douglas, is not really a Prophet. He is a human father. His quiet appearance is all that is required to quell the fires of Hell, and the temptations of testosterone. Douglas gives a friendly wave.
Gawaine paddles over. “Nice, um, wave, Dad.”
“No, just some little human speed bumps,“ he concedes.
They both laugh. How cool it is for Gawaine and his younger brother, Craig, to go surfing actually with their father. Gawaine and Craig are honoured to have a role model of masculinity and of fatherhood in this man. Late afternoon sunlight glitters from their smiles and their teeth, and their love and their laughter ring in this aura of family devotion. Bloodline, brothers, beautiful beings, and a blood red sunset.
Written by:
Geoffrey Wright
2021/06/03
Stroud, England, United Kingdom
* Jane S. Piddy
Song by Rodriquez,
from the album Cold Fact
** Gawaine Ziman
is my oldest friend.
Shalom Nursery, Somerset West 1970-72, age 4.
Somerset House Preparatory School, Somerset West 1975-1979.
Paul Roos Gymnasium, Stellenbosch 1983, age 17.
After leaving Somerset House Preparatory School many of us were not in high school with our former primary school class friends.
Gawaine and I studied together for Standard 9…
Well, in all honesty, little study but much surfing…
This is a memoir of our turbulent teenage years, facing the outside world of fashion and fascism…
Acknowledging Douglas Ziman, Gawaine’s father.
Gawaine’s response:
“Yeah what wonderful memories indeed… Hiding on the slope within the long grass, watching the old school bus, vanish off into the distance, at the start of another dreary school day, while you and I soaked up the Strand waves all to ourselves, or went “surfing” the surfshops in Cape Town.”
Rest In Peace
Gawaine Monger Ziman
22 July 1966 – 05 May 2022