Being brought up by Portuguese immigrants in South Africa can leave you torn between these nationalities
As a child, waddling in my heavy oversized school shoes, you could not tell me apart from the other uniforms. We moved in unison, a wave of child soldiers at the command of the nuns running our school – we flowed in childish vigour towards the playground, drowning each other in our hurry, and reluctantly ebbing back to class when the bell rung.
However when I stepped into my home, I was no longer an indistinguishable voice among many ambling their way through the South African National Anthem. My accent may be South African, my colloquialisms distinctly ‘Cape Townian’ and my attitudes birthed from the post-Apartheid era, but there is unseen facet to my identity.
Being a child of a Portuguese immigrant, my upbringing was very different to that of my peers. My house was not just a home – walking through the door transported me across the globe to Madeira, a Portuguese Island where most of my culture originates. The smell of rosemary and incense permeated the walls, lingering from the last time my mother “cleansed” the house of “evil”. A big blue eye stared down at visitors as the walked in, supposedly guarding the house from jealousy. Seafaring paraphernalia ordained the walls, alongside hanging embroidery of rural Madeiran scenes.
What defined my childhood, however, is not the pseudo-Portugal I was enveloped in but rather the discipline that was impressed upon me. When my friends would describe getting grounded or their phone taken away as “cruel unusual punishment”, I would flashback to the last time I was late 10 minutes to get to the car and my mother left me at school…for 4 hours. Instead of negotiating the terms of my grounding like my peers, I negotiated to rather get spanked with the belt and not the wooden spoon. This is a shared experienced by all children of Portuguese immigrants.
As a child, my friends never understood my parents as they took many of their liberties for granted. Even something as simple as going to the movies was reserved for only when a Portuguese friend could go or when I could convince my cousin to go with. It was strongly-held belief that if my cousin went with, then I would be safe – not because he was older (my elder by only 3 months), but because he was male. This all came into question when I was 13, after going to the movies on a Friday night with my friends and, of course, my cousin. After entering into the car, exhausted after a long day at school and staying out late (my curfew was 9pm back then), my mother started her usual interrogation – who was there, what did we do, what did we watch and then proof through receipts and a synopsis of the movie. I did not seem to pass this interrogation, however, as my mother was convinced (beyond logic) that I was “high on drugs” – ending the evening in a clinic with a drug test. Even though it was negative, a bulk pack of drug tests were bought.
The only thing more infamous than Portuguese parents’ rigorous discipline was their desire to keep their children from dating until the ripe age of 35. Carina Teixeira, a Portuguese 19 year old student, can relate this – when she would hug male friends at school she would tell her mother they were gay to avoid backlash. She also reminisces about bring her boyfriend home when she was 16 years old. To get permission to come over after 6 months of dating, her mother required that 3 other female friends joined them. After her friends left, Carina decided to page through childhood photo albums with her boyfriend in her room. “My mom was so paranoid that we were in my room together that she bought a chair and placed it in the middle of the room and sat there watching us,” Carina retells in embarrassment. Carina asserts that marrying a Portuguese boy is strongly advised by her parents and the only way she can leave home is through marriage.
However, there are advantages to growing up Portuguese in South Africa. When I asked my mother, Lidia Seixal, why she thought it was important to raise Portuguese South African children with the Portuguese culture, she said, “It provides them with a respect for their parents and their Catholic religion, a rich heritage, an international language they can use and to regard their family above all else.” The Portuguese community in Cape Town is also very tightly-knit, with everyone knowing or knowing of one another. “This sense of close community is important – we help one another like a family, even referring to each other as ‘cousins’, and when one of us is having difficulties, the community unites to provide for them. The Portuguese Association even runs fundraisers to fund those who are struggling,” says Lidia.
Susy De Mendonca, a 33 year old Portuguese South African and mother, believes that it is important to raise her child, a second generation South African, as Portuguese. “Growing up, South Africans would differentiate between us (Portuguese South Africans) and them. South Africa is so diverse and is compiled of so many different cultures that it is hard to unite everyone under one. By giving my child a Portuguese upbringing, she can avoid feeling like she doesn’t belong in her own country, providing her with a single Portuguese heritage, unlike South African multi-culture heritages,” says Susy.
Although growing up Portuguese left me torn between my two nationalities, it also provided me with a community because South African heritage didn’t include the Portuguese in its conception of the “rainbow nation”. Although Portuguese immigrants hold on to their traditions while their motherland evolves, providing many struggles for South African youth, they also provide inspiration. They started all over in a new country with little education, unable to speak English and from humble beginnings for a better life. It is this courage that Portuguese South Africans carry with them, along with their flashy rosaries and excessive body hair.
When I grow up... 