Rekindling a Long-lost Love in Picturesque Port Elizabeth, South Africa
The European-style Boardwalk in Port Elizabeth, South Africa.
~* This post is dedicated to my father:
the reason why I went to South Africa in the first place.*~
Since childhood, I rarely saw my father. His work as an electrical engineer in cargo ships means he's usually gone for most of the year. Whenever he came home, he just stays for two to three months until he's called to duty and had to leave again. When I was relatively younger, I would cry whenever he'd leave; this happened lesser and lesser as I stacked up on the years.
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As I grew, I became more questioning and more rebellious towards him. There was never a time when he'd be on his leave from work to stay with us and we didn't fight. I was unforgiving with my words as he was tolerant of my behavior. I was always annoyed at him for making his little quips and silly jokes, and for always being the pessimist that ruined the conversation when the whole family gathered 'round the dinner table. He became, to me, just like a spirit that comes and stays for one moment but leaves the next, to the point that his absence came to be so tolerable that I've stopped missing him.
In the background, he put money in our hands and food on our table, but he was never in the foreground with us. We lived and traveled while he cheered for us in the sidelines. He laughed when one of his sisters, who had contentious feelings for our family, remarked that he looked abject because we looked like we were spending all of his hard-earned money on our lavish travels. He would always reassure my mom that this isn't so, saying "Isn't that what I've been working hard for? To see you all happy doing the things that you love?"
My disdainful attitude towards my father finally started to abate when I finally became an Overseas Filipino Worker myself. I started to understand how it feels to be surrounded by people yet feel so alone. I started to have feelings of wanting to drown myself with work just so I could distract myself from my homesickness. I finally felt the feeling of having so much money in my hands but not wanting to spend any of it on myself-- I felt happier knowing that my family back home in the Philippines needs it more than I do.
I finally felt what my father must have been feeling for the past 30 years that he had been working away from home.
I started talking to him more. He started to leave messages for me every week, worried that I was lonely and not adjusting well. I started to formulate plans of spending my vacation time with him and my folks back in the Philippines. "We need to both go home at the same time, pa," I would say. In what would be my last personal conversation with him, he said he'd see me back at home in May 2019, and that he was planning to retire and spend the rest of his days with the kids.
On November 25, 2018, I received news that changed my life.
My mom rang me up to say my father was found unconscious inside his cabin, and that he had a stroke. He was med-evacuated from his cargo ship to the nearest hospital which was in Port Elizabeth, South Africa. I started to cry when I found out he was in a deep comatose-- something that I know not a lot of patients survive from.
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South African Airways flies directly from London (Heathrow) to Johannesburg (OR Tambo). From J'burg, I had to take a connecting flight to Port Elizabeth via the same flagship carrier.
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I flew to South Africa in a frenzy and touched down on the 1st of December, fearing the worst for my father. I promised my mother I wouldn't show nor let him hear any indications that I'm distressed, and yet my tears started to flow when I saw him lying on the hospital bed inside the ITU, with tubes and gizmos connected all over his body. What lay then in front of me was a far cry from how I had last seen him in May 2017. What happened to that robust, clean-shaven, wise-cracking man who gave me a strong, warm hug before he had to board a flight to where his next port was?
There was nothing I could do to control my sobbing as I whispered in his ear: "Hello there, papa. I'm here now. I'm with you."
Port Elizabeth is known as "The Windy City" and "The Friendly City"-- both monikers I've found and tested to be true.
I was in denial, covered in tears and snot, clutching onto my father's hand. The first few signs of exhaustion from my travel have started to kick in. I wanted to sleep on the very first soft and comfortable flat surface that I saw, but Louise and Dave Stowe, the proprietors of Eden Road Lodge where I'm staying for the rest of my stay in South Africa, have saved my day by arriving in the nick of time (at that time, I was seriously thinking about the soft couch in one of the lobbies in the hospital) and offering (insisting, rather) to drive me back to my hotel room. I could never thank the both of them enough for their warmth and hospitality and as I drifted off to sleep in my warm, comfortable bed, I remembered thinking that this must be the classic South African ubuntu-- "humanity towards others."
Room number 4 of Eden Road Lodge served as my home for the 10 days that I had to stay in South Africa.
It was such a pleasure waking up to this for ten straight mornings.
Soft and comfy, and OOOOH! IS THAT A LINDT?!
There was a continental breakfast waiting for me when I got home-- slices of white bread, a muffin, and a banana.
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Cheese pot, fruit salad, and fruity yogurt!
They made sure I wouldn't go hungry every morning before I go to visit my dad.
Tea and coffee-making facilities.
Homemade cake rusks!
Fridge, microwave, and a telly that can play up to 250 channels!
The perfect nook to finish that book Dr. Haworth loaned me-- just to lull myself to sleep.
A close-up of that lovely mural in the wall near my reading nook. How uplifting!
Shower room and toilet.
I haven't had a chance to take a dip in their pool. Looking back, I wish I just jumped in without a care in the world.
Every morning, when I open the French doors to the poolside, two gentle creatures, Grace and Tyson, would come over to say 'hello'. This little one is Grace who always wins a belly rub from me whenever she looks at me with her huge, adorable eyes!
I visited my father faithfully, every single day, complying to his hospital's ridiculous visiting hours (I've honestly never encountered schedules of 11:00-11:30 and 15:00 to 16:00 in my entire life). I read aloud to him Facebook messages from well-wishers dedicated to his speedy recovery. I opened my (mobile) Bible and read entire scriptures to him because it was something he liked doing in his prime. I bought him his own music player and played country gospel songs and his favorite Frank Sinatra classics. I would wipe his face, put balm on his lips, and plant a kiss on his forehead when it came time to go. Slowly, the love that I felt he deserved from me in the past had started to return, and I made a silent promise that I would gradually give it all back to him.
With God's grace, my father showed signs of recuperating. From being in a deep comatose, my mother (who came to South Africa on the 4th of December) and I witnessed as he became able to open his eyes spontaneously, stretch his limbs, yawn, turn his neck, and gag on his tracheotomy tube. From an SIMV ventilator, he was switched to a CPAP because he had somehow also started to regain control of his breathing.
We were happy with my father's progress and yet puzzled at the same time. He's had massive ischemia on the brainstem close to the basilar artery, and was diagnosed with locked-in syndrome wherein basically, he's conscious but trapped in an uncooperative body. My mother and I talked to his internist and she showed us slides of his CT-scan, with the conclusion that my father was responding in a way that contradicts hard, scientific evidence that baffled even his neurosurgeon. It was more than just great news for us-- my father is a medical miracle and solid proof that God does exist. He was putting in a ton of effort, fighting and raring to go home to his family, and won't let even a stroke stop him from doing so!
Waiting in between visiting hours, my mother and I would catch up, hitting the gym and the mall together, eating out and going on "supermarket raids" (but never actually buying anything). On the 6th of December, we actually decided to try going somewhere new. The Sun Hotel and Casino's Boardwalk was a highly-recommended attraction (by TripAdvisor and hospital staff alike) both for shopping and sightseeing, plus it was only about 10 km from where we were staying.
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The Sun Hotel and Casino, Port Elizabeth.
The Entrance to the Sun Boardwalk.
Oooh, a watermill!
How quaint!
Feels like Europe!
Over gelato, my mother and I talked about how this family crisis is going to change any of our plans for the future-- of my family migrating to the United Kingdom to be with me, adjustments for traveling, and home modifications to accommodate my father's special needs when he goes home. We both were never really worried. If the Lord had tirelessly provided for those who don't seek Him, what more for those who had always sought Him? Our resources were ready-- it was our emotions that were not.
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Shops and restaurants are all over the Boardwalk.
"Wimpy Burger" is like South Africa's staple fastfood joint. Been here and I've loved it!
Aside from shops, bars, and restaurants, the Boardwalk also has an amphitheater and dozens of theme park rides like this one pictured above, a carousel, bump cars, water dodgems, etcetera.
From the gorgeous, European-style Boardwalk, we shifted to the adjacent seaside where our conversation took on a much lighter mood. I've learnt that my 15-year old brother was doing well in school and had gotten himself a girlfriend (which we immediately stalked on Facebook), and that my little four-year old princess was also doing well in her own nursery and growing up to be smart and beautiful.
While the name sounds ominous, it's actually a good spot to soak up some sun and maybe read a book or two.
We walked and talked on the seaside amidst gelato-eyeing seagulls, sunbathers, and fellow tourists, and couldn't help but admire how beautiful and clean the Port Elizabeth shore was. The ocean, at that time calm and a deep turquoise, brought feelings of peace in me and I wondered if it used to do the same for my father when he was also at sea.
Looks romantic.. or is it just me?
In a blur, my 10 days in South Africa gradually came to a close. On my last visit to my father, I did our usual routine of reciting the Scripture and recounting anecdotes while he just listened patiently, similar to what he used to do even before his stroke-- except now there were no witty remarks nor occasional smirks coming from him, just a lot of yawning and stretching.
As I glanced at the clock and noticed that we were near the end of my final visiting hours (four hours before my flight back to London from Port Elizabeth via Johannesburg), I opened my Facebook to recite one special and final message that was meant to convey every single feeling of love and devotion that I had for him since I was a child-- feelings that were very well-hidden, but have never disappeared nor will ever fade away. It was the same message that he posted on my timeline the day I left the Philippines for UK; it was his very own attempt at extending any feelings he ever had for me, telling me that everything will be okay, and that he would always be there for me through it all.
"Take care in that foreign land.
I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.
I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.
I wish you enough pain, so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I wish you enough hello's to get you through the final goodbye.
But I won't say goodbye, papa, because I will see you soonest.
God-willing."
"I love you, papa. I always have, and I always will.
I'm sorry for all the times that I let you down.
I'm proud of you, as I know you are of me.
You are the best father one could ever have.
Thank you for everything that you've ever done for us."
January 5, 2019: So now, I'm back in London, tearing up while typing up this post and sipping on prosecco, fresh from celebrating Christmas and the New Year. I have more cause to celebrate, as my mother just sent me the incredible news that my father has just been weaned off of the mechanical ventilator and is now in a simple nasal cannula because, by God's grace, he is now able to breathe spontaneously on his own! There are plans of having him down-streamed to a rehabilitation ward to start therapy soon. He might even be sent home to the Philippines before March! My father is a fighter!
As for me, I'm keeping my promise-- we agreed to both be home by May 2019, as I had previously revealed. And I can't wait to fly back home, knowing that someone special will be waiting for me until then.
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