A Century of Wisdom
By Ella van Geuns
It was quarter-to-seven in the morning and as always Nolda van Geuns sat in her armchair, looking through the window. Her room stared out at Three Anchor Bay which invited Nolda to watch the cold front’s debut. Over the past few months, she had seen a shift in the number of people and cars passing beneath her — a shift precipitated by the global Covid-19 pandemic. Nolda sat in her armchair a few moments longer and then walked to her bedroom, taking her time. Her arthritis made its presence felt and she leaned on the table to steady herself. In just two months, she would celebrate her 100th birthday and she anticipated this milestone with spirit. Nolda van Geuns is my grandmother and I felt inspired to document her experience of lockdown.
That morning, she dressed, cleaned her room, and placed rollers in her hair — thirty to be exact. By noon, she was ready for her lunch. There was a knock on Nolda’s door and a woman wearing a mask delivered her midday meal. Since late March, all meals have been served to the residents in their rooms to regulate personal interaction — each in their own “pakkie,” she said, revealing her Dutch heritage. A few nights ago, Nolda’s dream carried her to her childhood bedroom in Amsterdam. Upon waking, she felt as though she was a young girl again and had to remind herself of both her age and her place of residence. While vivid dreams are frequent in Nolda’s slumbers, this dream felt striking enough to recall to her son. For Nolda, her years in Holland have woven a pivotal and intricate thread through her life and, as one of eight children, she lovingly refers to the joy that marked moments with her family members.
However, for Nolda, the most difficult part of the lockdown for the first few weeks was not being able to see my father. “I want to take your father and kiss him,” she told me.
Days passed and the weather began to clear. The front garden at Sea Point Place, scattered with shades of pink and orange, encouraged its residents to bathe in the sunlight. After lunch one Friday, Nolda retired outside for the afternoon. On her way downstairs, she noticed the patterned cushions in the foyer and a lady complimented her on the mauve jersey she was wearing. For the next few hours, Nolda sat on a bench in the garden, enjoying the afternoon light as it mingled with a temperate winter breeze. “When I got up, I wanted to stay longer,” she said. At times, she closed her eyes and listened to the noises of the traffic beyond the gate. She also observed the people around her and noticed the familiar sight of a woman walking the length of the garden. Regularly, this woman walks six lengths and Nolda asked her how many she had walked that afternoon. She had two more to go. Nonetheless, stillness washed over the residents, and a few of them, while sitting at a distance from each other, interacted. If they did speak, their conversations were imbued with concern about the pandemic.
While Nolda used to enjoy social interaction and a sense of independence, she was now confined to Sea Point Place. Every Wednesday, she used to be dropped off by the bus at the grocery shop at the Adelphi Centre. As she wandered around the shops, using her walker for support, her kitten heels — peeking out from her hand-sewn trousers — tapped the checked floor. And every Saturday afternoon, her son would visit her, bringing with him carefully chosen cakes from the Dutch bakery. Punctuating these moments of regularity, Nolda was visited by friends and family, whom she enjoyed entertaining with a glass of sherry and a tin of biscuits. She reminisced on these times and the visits from my sister and me whenever we were in town. “I am so happy, I feel so fantasties,” Nolda said as she recalled a surprise visit a few months ago. The absence of these moments has left Nolda to ruminate. “It’s a very lonely life,” she confessed, observing her recent lack of social interaction. Even when she cleans out her dustbin every evening, she rarely meets anyone in the corridor.
The areas of the congregation, once characterised by the sounds of the grand piano and the chatter of family visits, have felt more isolated. “You can’t believe how quiet it is here,” Nolda said. “They are more down — you can see people ‘voel’ terrible,” she continued. However, for Nolda, the most difficult part of the lockdown for the first few weeks was not being able to see my father. “I want to take your father and kiss him,” she told me. When Nolda thinks about her love for her sons, she recollects the pain she felt from losing her first two children; these experiences, she believes, have helped her foster a deeper appreciation for her family. And in the case she cannot celebrate her birthday in the style she had hoped for, she wishes to be able to see my father properly, hug him closely and commemorate her milestone in the space most comfortable to her — the fourth room on the sixth floor of Sea Point Place.
She tries not to think about contracting the virus and focuses her energy on positive thoughts — a mindset she deems as warding off sickness. “I must look after myself,” she said while adjusting her printed tunic in my mind’s eye.
That evening, Nolda reclined in her armchair and switched on the television. With a pair of “sokkies,” on her feet and the heater by her side, she felt comfortable. In recent months, familiar sources of happiness have faded away and her mind has been occupied by the harrowing effects of Covid-19. However, Nolda has remained optimistic. She tries not to think about contracting the virus and focuses her energy on positive thoughts — a mindset she deems as warding off sickness. “I must look after myself,” she said while adjusting her printed tunic in my mind’s eye. For Nolda, the time has healed wounds and eased challenges in her life. “You must think that it will end,” she said, speaking of the pandemic. And her days, although less busy, have continued to feel productive. She flips through old photograph albums and every morning, she walks to her cupboard and selects an outfit to wear — usually, a pair of trousers and a shirt in complementary colours. For years, Nolda worked as a seamstress and nurtured a strong affection for style. My father often recalls the late nights he spent modeling the newly made garments to help his mother size the clothes correctly. “I want to look good for me,” she says, before describing the coordinated beige two-piece she is sporting that day. Nolda’s love for clothing has never waned and on the table, a string of black cotton has been threaded through a needle by a nurse at Sea Point Place. As Nolda sewed a button onto a shirt the following day, she felt the familiar rhythm of the needle laced between the fabrics. A certainty imbues her fingers and while she cannot see well anymore, she continues to sew by memory.
It is four o’clock and the telephone starts to ring. Nolda has anticipated the call all afternoon and answers with a greeting I have come to recognise intuitively. My father waits downstairs for her. He cannot enter the premises and stands outside the gate to maintain a suitable distance. With him, he carries a bag of groceries — Dutch delicacies included — and a bag of folded bedding. Before Nolda walks downstairs, she passes her mirror and pats her hair ever so slightly, creating buoyancy amongst her curls. She then places her mask around her face and, steadied by her walker, leaves her room. These visits by my father, while significantly different from before, have become the highlight of her week. She tells him of the movie she watched a few days ago — a film with “egter cowboy music and dancing,” she says. It was the second time a movie had been shown since the beginning of the lockdown and the residents applauded at the end, welcoming this new source of entertainment. After a few minutes, Nolda and my father part ways, and she returns to her room.
Nolda’s propensity for appreciation and optimism continues to inspire me and I have been fortunate to learn from her throughout my life — each thread at a time.
That night, like every night before falling asleep, Nolda thanks God for her warm bed. She is grateful for the pleasures dotting her daily life and chooses to focus on these moments during this time. The rain, with less vigor now, trickles down the window and she closes her eyes. Nolda’s propensity for appreciation and optimism continues to inspire me and I have been fortunate to learn from her throughout my life — each thread at a time.