My cup runneth over

Forty five. 45. Or more accurately, 45!!!! I have always had a thing about numbers that are multiples of 5. In primary school, I rejoiced when counting out loudly and increased the volume when I got to them. So one more time - FOoooortyyyy FIVE!!!!
That is how old I am today. I am suitably middle aged. As the born agains would chant - it is good to be here! It is a wonderful place to be.

Let's start though with the the bad bits of becoming middle aged. As far as my children are concerned I literally have one foot in the grave. "When you were younger.....? In the old days how did you....? I don't really expect you to understand mum because you are....?" So begin some of the choice things my almost 16 year old son says to me increasingly. In their eyes I belong to the museum. A relic. If I wiggle my butt to hip hop I get dirty looks as if to say, "please honey don't embarass us, you don't even know who the singer is". True at some level though. I can't be expected to surely distinguish between bad music, and bad music. Gone are the days when music was deeply meaningful and artists were just people. Mmm yes, those were the days.

It is the same out on the streets. Here in South Africa total strangers refer to me as "mummy", or "mama". I am told that is supposed to be a mark of respect. A honorific like "madame". Well if that is the spirit how come my white friends are never referrred to in this way? Worse, one of my exes had saved my number on his mobile phone as Mummy 2! As you can guess there was a mummy 1! Yikes! How and why we both got "mummified" in this way I don't know. I am just happy to be a mummy to my little brood thanks, and not the entire universe. What happened to "sisi", or the generic, "aunty". I can live with that. Mummy?

As I walk around in the malls (a modern form of entertainment which I can now thankfully participate in with great gusto and frequent regularity,thanks to the generosity of credit givers), I have learnt that when I see a guy walking towards me with a big smile, he is not actually smilling at me. He will be smiling at the little nymphette behind me. All of 13 or 12 years of age. Internet dating sites are even worse. Yes I have taken to trawling those too - the quest for the frog heats up at this age - men my age are looking for toddlers. They even have the audacity to put that on their profiles. Isn't there some sort of international covenant we can craft against this at the United Nations? "I am a laid back lad, easy going dude, looking for fun in the sun, romance and good times. Preferred women of of all races aged 18 to 25. James 52.East London". Eeek.

I guess I could pass myself off as a nymphette. My face is what George Bernard Shaw would have described as "aged anywhere between 18 and 50". The joy of wrinkle free melanin enriched skin. With a little help from a great French cosmetic house with the white and red brand. Trust me it works girls. I have also been blessed with breasts that doesn't sag. Well of course with a little help from Bravissimo. If you don't believe me ask my friends Revai and Priscilla. We all swear by that bra maker. Among us we shall keep Bravissimo in business for a very long time. Chest out, shoulders back, foundation garments on, little smudge of war paint, I am good to go. I can give that James a great time any day of the week.

Unfortunately the other bits of my anatomy aren't quite behaving themselves anymore. There is the middle age spread which in my case has just completely gone out of control. Even the foundation garments aren't sufficient to contain it. It's like flour to which too much yeast has been added, spilling all over the place like that.
I had a waistline once. I swear. It was down there somewhere.
Speaking of down there, nobody told me it turns into a silver lawn? One day there was just one, pretty soon the entire village was silver. I am too native to go back for Brazillian wax. Twice was enough. This was in the days of he who called me "mummy 2". As Prince Charles once said, The things we do for England! Ei?

I get this sense that half of my brain is gone. Some days I can not remember where I am and why. Just this morning I woke up freezing cold, and I thought climate change had really hit Southern Africa. It took me 30 minutes to remember I am in a hotel room in London.
The older I get, the more cynical I have become. That goes with a crisis of faith. My poor mother doesn't know where she went wrong with me. I grew up a decent Methodist. I could sing the whole hymn book with eyes closed. If you know the Methodist hymn book (the Shona one), you will know this is no mean feat. I knew my Corinthians from my vaEfeso, (Ephesians to you Anglicized lot). I did my good works and God was in my life. I don't know what to believe in anymore and where this God is these days, ref. Haiti and my country falling apart at the seams.

But today I want to celebrate this wonderful milestone in my life. I live in a region where women's life expectancy is down to 36 years. I have lost numerous relatives and three siblings, all of whom passed away before they turned 42. It is a great tragedy when turning 45 is a huge deal, as my birthday today is. I don't take for granted reaching this milestone. I am deeply grateful to that higher power, wherever she maybe. As Oliver Mtukudzi sings, "hauzi huchenjeri kusara takararama", (it is not because we are clever that we are still alive). I am sure there is a greater purpose in HER plans for me.

It is absolutely wonderful to be this age, wobbbly bits and all. For a start I can declare that I have arrived. At so many little bus stops and I am still going. I am now officially allowed to be a cantankerous old woman. I can say anything. To anyone. And get away with it. I can blame it on menopause. Or whoever gets offended can dismiss me as past it anyway. Whichever way, who cares I get away with it.
I can stridently insist on my rights (and more). As a woman this is not to be scoffed at. With age come all kinds of privileges. All I need to do is to look daggers at someone that I want to fight with. Keep looking. Hard. Shake my silver locks. Then let out a loud sigh, and hint, just hint that this might be followed by a shrill protest/demand. Quick as a wink, I get what I want. I don't need to bang tables anymore. I just stare you down.
My children know when I just look at them like that, they better behave/change/give up that seat for me/do what I said.
As for the men, ah well that's a walk in park. Arms across cleavage. Head to the side. Slight shake of the silvery locks. Toothpaste smile. Yes mummy!

As I turned 42 I noticed that a lot of the angst I had in my life was slowly ebbing away. Body issues. Fears about everything from floods to ...well everything really. By last Christmas it was all gone. Vanished. I can't even remember why I ever had this much angst. Things that seemed to matter when I was 30 suddenly don't seem to matter anymore. Like reading and responding to every email. What to wear or not to wear. I suddenly feel like I have so much time, and so many possibilities to do a whole lot of things, from what to buy, to what to wear, just sitting and reading, eventually doing some work. I don't feel like I have to prove anything to anyone anymore. Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt, owned the factory, sold it to the next loser.

Speaking of factories, the biggest liberation came when I got rid of excess baggage three years ago. Excess baggage a.k.a the uterus. I love what it gave me, but it just had to go. No point lugging around something excess to requirements. And even if someone paid me, I would not buy it back. Ever. It is wonderful to finally feel I am a person, and not my uterus. I am no longer defined by it. Nor do I need to plan my life and travels around its moods. All that seemingly trite stuff older women say about being in touch with their own bodies at this age is all TRUE. As the little slogan on my favourite jammies says, I know what I want, and where to get it.

I am grateful to be in this place today. Not this freezing city, please! But this middle age. I feel as if my life has just begun. I am privileged to have lived through so many historical moments. In my own small way, I am glad I have contributed a few things to other people's lives in this world. I am privileged to have been part of feminist groups and social justice struggles. I have not just been a fly on the wall of humanity. I have been living on the frontline/s. Roll on 90!

My cup runneth over.