Mama Miek reading time: approx 4 min. A story told by Mama Miek's granddaughter
Batavia, Indonesia 1932 A little boy walks across the tea plantation where he is born and raised. His dark eyes filled with tears; the most important thing in his life has just been taken away from him. The intense sadness and powerlessness he feels is inappropriate for an eight-year-old child. He puts the inconsolable away, deep inside, so that he never, ever wants to feel it again…………
Holland, 63 years later………….. Daddy is dead! Passed away in his sleep with a smile on his face... He was sleeping peacefully, or so I thought. I couldn't wake Dad up anymore. Daddy is dead, what should I do!” It's early November and the sun is shining... We buried Dad under the trees, close to nature; the autumn leaves were falling. Old Indian aunties had come to the funeral. I barely knew them. They clearly recognized me as someone from the past; from the old Dutch-Indies. They showed their surprise when they saw me: “How is it possible, you look exactly like her, you have her eyes, her face." I thought it was funny and asked: “Who do I look like, aunts?” I didn't get an answer to that question, they just ignored it. A few days after the funeral we went to clean up Dad's house. Between his things, there hangs a strange, unprecedented void; is this dead now? Now that Dad is gone I have access to everything that was his; his secrets, his life and his past. No one was given the key to the house; not even his own daughters. Now we all have one. Bizarre that he has to die first for that. I hardly dare to touch or grab anything, but I have to, there is no other way. “Sorry daddy.” Hours and days pass sorting through Dad's belongings. Paperwork, documents; everything is sorted. Postcards, Christmas cards, photos, drawings, memories; a laugh and a tear. I am in another life, Dad's life and past, until his birthday. In my hands I have his birth certificate. I read the date and place of birth and who father was born to. I am surprised that my grandmother is described as a native woman Doemi; Grandma's name was Sophia, right? It's all so strange! “Dad, what is going on? Is there something I don't know? And why is that?” I decide to call one of the Indian aunties I met at the funeral. I'm sure she knows more about it. “Child, it was a big secret at the time, people didn't talk about it.” After her story it became clear to me………. She worked with grandpa on the plantation as a tea picker; the native woman Doemi. Grandpa was a gentleman of distinction and Doemi looked up to him greatly. One day it turned out that Doemi was pregnant by my grandfather! A baby boy was born and grandfather acknowledged the child as his son. From now on, Doemi was allowed to work as a housekeeper in the big house, to be close to her son. From that moment on, Doemi was called Mama Miek. Until one day a beautiful white woman moved into the house; Sophia, grandpa's new wife. Mama Miek left for the Dessa without saying goodbye to her son. When he came home from school, Mama Miek was gone and a strange woman was sitting on the porch. “From now on this is your mother,” his father said. He would never see his real mother again. When he himself grows up and has children, his youngest daughter turns out to look painfully similar to mother Miek. As a little boy, he vowed to hide the sadness for his mother, deep within himself, never to let it emerge again. He keeps that promise. But sometimes this is unavoidable when his youngest daughter is standing in front of him. The resemblance to Mama Miek is great. The memories and the pain then become too close. He decides to look at his daughter without really seeing her, to listen to her without really hearing her, to talk to her without really saying anything. I've always felt it but never understood it. After his death everything became clear to me. Dad is dead! Passed away in his sleep with a smile on his face, as if he had seen someone, recognized someone; "I hope it was her daddy; your own Mama Miek!” Also look at: www.kunst-verbindtons.nl