Koek en Tee

I thought I would be an amazing wife and write a tribute to my husband on Valentines day. After-all, he has the qualification got us the immigration-ticket to the Netherlands – a place I thoroughly enjoy living in. Now I know that some of you got into your foreign countries with other skills in your sleeve, but today, 14Feb2023, I am honoring the highly skilled migrants, especially mine.

Now just to add a little perspective to my tribute, I have to include an interesting event that happened a while ago. Since we arrived here in the Netherlands just over 4 years ago, we have made many South-African friends, of which most are highly qualified people. Nogals obvious when you live in a country that only wants to employ people with 5 degrees.

So the other day my one friend invited me for some koek en tee. She lives and hour’s drive away, so it better be nice koek, I thought. Take note, she and her husband are both accountants. Luckily we have been friends for about 18 years now, and I kind of made peace with the fact that I am inevitably drawn to people that are the opposite of me - like my husband. Walking straight off an art campus, I had never even heard about the word ‘chiropractor’ when I met him. He adjusted my neck once, back in 2003 as a student (to show of, off course), and I got such a fright, I said a few words my mom never taught me. He still wears a ball box when he treats me.

Anyways, upon my arrival at my accountant friend’s home, I got introduced to another couple and their young children. The wife in this case, was also an accountant, and her husband got introduced as the stay-at-home-dad. We chatted lekker like old friends and about 2 hours later, I noticed this husband looks somewhat familiar - a bit like the lead-singer of the Parlotones – which I pointed out to him while chewing my kaaskoek. It suddenly got real quiet around the table. Then he just smiled and said: “Maybe because I am?”

You know that moment when your brain clutch out and you can’t for the life of you put a sentence, facial expression or even a thought together? The following questions happened at exactly the same time in my head:

‘Is he joking?’

‘He clearly hears this often’

‘What did he say his name was?...Karel…Koos…Kobus?

‘My fok hy’t gesê sy naam was Kahn!’

‘But it can’t be!…My accountant friends are way to nerdy to have rockstars over for koek en tee! And to their own house nogals! Unheard of in accountant-land!'

‘Is my friend The Parlotones’s accountant?’

‘Luckily they are just joking'.

'Eish, they almost got me…phew’

I realized I forgot to swallow my kaaskoek, and quickly closed my mouth. I have been staring at this guy in utter shock and disbelief. But I regain my composure and said something in the line of ‘whatever, not possible, accountants don’t mix with the likes of rockstars, and by the way, why on earth will the Parlotones be in the Netherlands, and in my friend's house nogals? I was convinced they were in on it all and pulling my sokkies.

But I was omsingel with 3 accountants…my friend, her husband and the apparent-rockstar’s-wife. 3 accountants against 1 art teacher. I was way outnumbered.

They kept trying to convince me that this is apparently THEE Kahn Morbee – lead singer of The Parlotones. They even put a photo up next to his face and Kahn decided to pull out his eyeliner…

And that is when all the blerrie pennies dropped and about here when I kind of unbalance some finely tuned spreadsheets.

Everyone on the table started to laugh when they saw I realized who was sitting in front of me, including the rockstar. Never in my whole wild life have I EVER been in the near vicinity of ANY rockstar WHATSOEVER. And now it is kind of expected to act all ‘accountanty’? All ‘op my plek’? Hoe de moer? I am who I am. An artist, emotional, expressive and full of way too many feelings. I never mastered my poker-face and never will.

I went from, and I kid you not, talking about their dog, kids and life in the Netherlands, to suddenly talking very loud, giggling, stuttering and saying stuff that didn’t make sense at all. I went from treating him like a normal person to trying to take skelm photos on my phone while pretending to sms. (I fooled no one). I completely forgot to pick up my kids at school, and my husband’s name.

“Why didn’t you warn me!”, I fervently questioned my friend after the rockstar, his wife and offspring went home.

“You could have acted a bit more ‘normal’”, she whispered, trying to close the front door quickly so they did not hear my squeals. Turned out the accountant wife is working with my friend’s accountant husband, and Kahn (look at me…calling him on his first name now…) have the freedom to explore his artistic passion in a new country, just like me!

And that is why I want to dedicate Valentines Day to my highly skilled migrant that works so hard and thus made it possible for me to explore my artistic passions. He made two very good choices. Firstly, because of his choice to bring us to the Netherlands, I could write a book, paint, and be a teacher 2days a week instead of 5.

And secondly, many years ago, he asked me to be his trou-vrou after a climb up Lions Head with a ring in his gatsak. (‘n baie mooi gat moet ek bysê). Now that is obviously the best decision he has ever made. I’m so happy for him.

So happy Valentines dag my ding. And Happy Valentines day to all of you immigrants. We deserve a lekker dag.