Gaining perspective about my time in Ukraine

August 25, 2022August 25, 2022 / Lianne / Leave a comment

As I continue to explore the theme ‘Surrender,’ and it being 3 months since I went to Ukraine, I have finally got time to reflect and write about it. I’ve got to be honest with you. I have struggled writing about my experience in Ukraine because my experience was completely different to what I had expected it would be. It’s taken me some time to understand it; to understand what I did experience versus what I wanted to experience.

When I went to Ukraine, I was faced with some unforeseen challenges that shaped my experience into something completely different to what I had expected it would be. To appreciate it and learn from it, I’ve had to acknowledge how focusing on my expectations and not on what it was, led to some feelings of disappointment, like it was ‘less.’ My expectations were that I would meet and get to know many more Ukrainians than I did. I would spend much more time with them than I did. I would be able to interview them in the way that I normally do. When this did not happen as much as I wanted it to happen, I felt disappointed and frustrated and this blinded me to what my experience really was and the insights and lessons available to me. I had to let go of my expectations for me to see it for what it is and the value in the experience.

Since getting back to South Africa, I’ve also had to get stuck into my photography work. I have been completely focused on my day job (!) which is an agricultural and commercial photographer! Simply put, I’ve needed to replenish the bank account since going to Europe and it’s absorbed me and it’s been necessary! At the same time, I often think of the incredible Ukrainians I met and how I want to tell you about them; how what they are experiencing is real and heart breaking. How tears rolled down an old man’s eyes when I told him that people as far as the southern tip of Africa, are thinking of them, support them and care about what is happening to them.

I need to tell you about my experience in Ukraine, that was neither what I expected nor what you would expect from a photographer and writer going to a warzone. I need to let go of all those expectations and write from the heart and tell you what this time was for me in the way of the Ukrainians I met, the volunteers I met and how this experience has taught me so much about my own life and what I will do (and what I won’t do) in the future. I have come back to South Africa knowing so much more about myself and about how to go forward with Rosie Goes and of course, so much more about the Ukrainians and what they are experiencing.

When I was debating whether to go to Ukraine or not, I asked myself some hard questions. Why would I go to Ukraine? I hardly knew anything about it prior to this war.

I was invited to join a group of volunteers (who are also my incredible friends!) and who were raising funds and delivering food and essential supplies to Ukraine from Germany and the Czech Republic every two weeks on their weekends. Other than that and the news, I honestly knew very little about Ukraine – probably not enough in most people’s minds to go there and experience it during a war.

There were many possible reasons for me to do something like this. Reasons that would justify me going and reasons that would not. Was this trip aligned with Rosie Goes and the theme I am exploring, ‘To surrender.’ Or was it something else? Was it many things? Why would I do such a thing as a South African who knew very little about Ukraine?

Some people have put it down to a midlife crisis. And maybe that’s part of it, although I would not call it a crisis, but rather a massive life change that is aligned with being true to myself and choosing not to live my life in a box that I did not fit. A crisis would also suggest that once I’ve got this trip and experience out of my system, I would come to my senses. I’d remember the plot, and get back in my box! But this is the thing, this is not a once off – this is a way of life I am choosing, one that fulfils me, and gives me a purpose that sets my soul on fire!

Another reason for me going to Ukraine, is literally because I asked for it. I put it out there that I wanted an experience that was ‘out of Africa’ and that would give me insight into the theme ‘surrender/acceptance.’ My ‘out of Africa experience’ came via Facebook a couple weeks later, though at the time, I was not clear how Ukraine was linked to the topic I am exploring.

I was invited to go to Ukraine but I needed to get there within the next couple of weeks. In 2 weeks, I needed to get my finances in order, receive an invitation from the Ukraine government, drive to Joburg and apply for a Ukrainian visa, then apply for a Schengen visa which can take weeks …all in the month of April when South Africa is full up with public holidays and literally shuts down for the month! I decided to go if the ‘seemingly impossible’ happened in the time it needed to happen and if things just flowed! And it did, like magic! I took it as a sign that this is something I should do.

The ultimate decision maker came in the way of a brief interaction with a fuel pump attendant. I had just filled up my tank and was evidently surprised by the price of fuel and the amount I needed to pay. The man looked at me, then said, ‘We should be supporting Russia. If we support what they are doing in Ukraine, we would not be paying these prices.’

I did not react to his comment but it gave me absolute clarity about what I feel strongly about and that Ukraine feels so far away from us and so foreign to us South Africans. It’s easy to make a thoughtless comment that suggests it’s okay for the Russians to kill Ukrainians in a hostile land grab, because we cannot see their faces. It’s easy to make a comment without thinking about what you are really saying and supporting. It’s also easy to turn our heads away from abuse, because it serves us. To side with the bully, and they feed us their crumbs and fool us into thinking it’s loaves of bread, until it happens to you. That day when you are fighting for your life and I turn my head and walk away because it does not serve me to stand up for you.

I realised that I simply had an opportunity that not many others have had, to know more. To put a face to the Ukrainians, and when we are commenting about what to support and what not to support, we see a person.

“Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.”
― Virginia Woolf

In the next couple posts, I will continue to share with you what I did experience and how it’s taught me some more about what it is to surrender to ‘what is’ before we can move forward. How having expectations about how something should be, can stop us seeing what we need to see and not always what we want to see.

Jene Frost; The power of love

April 10, 2022April 21, 2022 / Lianne / Leave a comment

When you are stuck, or experiencing an internal struggle or you feel like you are going around and around in circles and not forward, find the courage to look at ‘what is’ straight in the eye. Quieten your fears or your belief of what you feel is ‘right’ or what you believe you are ‘deserving of.’ Step back and look at ‘what is.’ If you see that you cannot change ‘what you are seeing,’ then you must accept it and change your perspective in a way that empowers you and enables you to go forward and to continue growing. Identify and focus on what you can do and not on what you can’t do. Then take steps to do what you can do. – Rosie Goes, Surrender

Jene lay flat on her back staring up at the ceiling. Every day she had a session of physio to keep her muscles active. It was strange to ‘know’ that she was lying on a mattress and her limbs were being stretched and her joints were being rotated. She knew and remembered what that should feel like, but she felt nothing. The days ahead felt like she was a part of some optical illusion experiment, that she could see when ‘contact’ is being made but not feel it. As though the wires in her brain had been severed, then rewired in a way that she could not yet process the information she was receiving.

In the coming months, Jene would need to learn and adapt to a new way of life and of doing things. She needed to ‘unlearn’ the way she ‘remembered’ how her body works and learn how to use it in a completely new way, by using different muscles and being aware of body senses that she had never noticed before. It would take time, work and help to adapt. Though the process was slow and often frustrating, Jene instinctively knew that she could not waste her time by focusing on what was lost and on what no longer exists. Instead she chose to focus on what she can still do with her body and her life.

She wished she could say the same for her friend Donna who lay motionless in the hospital bed opposite her. It had been 10 days already and her friend had shown no sign of waking. Donna’s silence worried Jene. Though she knew her bubbly, lively, caring and infectious friend was still there and would always be there, she also knew that the longer she remained locked away, the worse Donna’s prognosis would be.

Tish sat beside her daughter. It had been an emotional couple weeks. Sometimes she was overcome by fear, fear of the unknown. Her mind would imagine the worse scenario and she’d imagine her daughter falling out of the wheel chair; limp, helpless and flopping around. She knew that Jene’s life, Rob’s, hers and her son’s life was about to change dramatically and she wished she could be the reassurance they all needed. She wished she could tell Jene that everything was going to be okay, and believe it. She wished she knew what to expect but she knew nothing, only how big it was and she buckled at the weight of it. She looked across the room at Donna. Tish initially felt such mixed emotions around Donna; of anger followed by guilt, followed by tenderness, followed by sadness, followed by a deep concern that she would not wake up. And worst of all, as a mother, she knew that this time she could not fix her daughter, she could not make her better, she could not give Jene her legs back. That life was gone and it broke her heart.

Get well wishes from some of Jene’s school friends

Jene worried too. She saw her friend and understood that they were in a similar situation: they were completely dependent on ‘others’ right now. She saw how the nurses could not be there all the time to care for them, that there were other patients too who also needed their help and their time. Sometimes, the care had to come from others.

Though Jene could see her own mother’s struggle with acceptance and the enormity of her grief, having Tish by her side with her tender acts of ‘caring,’ like brushing her hair, filing her nails, passing something that she could not reach – gave Jene strength, more strength than her mother could ever know. Tish was fortunate enough to have a good business manager in Bulwer and this allowed her to stay in Pietermaritzburg throughout Jene’s long recovery and for her to be with Jene all day, every day. Though Tish may have felt that she was not enough at the time, or that she could not fix her daughter in the way that she wanted to, she was exactly what Jene needed – somebody next to her.

Everyday Jene would watch her friend and she wished Donna would wake up and experience the love and care that she was experiencing. She wished that Donna knew how many people cared, how many people streamed into the ward, breaking the hospital rules with the number of visitors allowed in a ward at one time, to see them, to love them and to support them. She wished Donna would wake up, and see what she sees. If she could have, she would have got up herself, walked over to Donna and done exactly what her mother was doing for her. But she couldn’t, and so she asked her mother to do it instead.

Tish sat with Donna and took her limp hand. For a few long moments, she simply held it and remembered the young girl Donna is, trapped in her own broken body but still there. On inspection, she saw that Donna bites her nails and one by one, Tish filed her bitten nails into curved, smooth edges – just as she had done for Jene. “You know Donna, you really should stop biting your nails,” said Tish in a firm motherly voice. As she said that, Donna flinched and pulled her hand away. It was the first time they knew for sure that she was still there, that she was gaining consciousness and importantly, that she understood that she was being cared for, even if it was not what Donna wanted to hear!

Over the next few weeks, Jene, Donna and Tish adapted to ‘hospital life’ and its routine and would get to know the nurses as if they were all in one big family living under the same roof, caring for each other, eating together and going through the ups and downs of recovery. Jene was given the option to move into a private ward, knowing what was still to come in the way of her recovery and how long she would still need to stay in hospital for. But she chose not to. She wanted to stay with Donna in the general ward; for her, her mother and Donna to stay together until Donna left and did not need them anymore.

Donna had finally regained consciousness but worryingly, she still did not speak. She was awake but silent and her body had been affected in a way that was similar to that of a severe stroke. For the time being, she was unable to walk on her own, talk or care for herself in the way of feeding and bathing. She was heavily dependent on being cared for by the nurses, Tish and her parents. By now, everyone was very worried. Weeks passed and the silence became the elephant in the room. Tish continued to care for Donna in the way that she cared for Jene, brushing and washing her hair, helping her bathe, doing her nails and talking to her despite never being answered.

Donna was locked away in her own world, responding to very little except when she was shown love and care. In those tender moments, Donna’s face would beam with light and her smile would open up like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. ‘Love’ was Donna’s language.

One evening Donna’s dad had come into Pietermaritzburg from the farm and was there with Donna during meal time. Meal times in the ward had become quite social, like a group of family and friends sitting around a dining room table only they were in hospital beds in the general hospital ward. Graham, Donna’s dad, was feeding Donna her supper. While he was spooning Donna her food, he was also talking to Tish and Jene and was not fully focused on what he was doing or on what Donna needed. She’d already swallowed the spoonful of food and was ready for another spoonful, but her dad was slow on the mark that day and hadn’t realised that his daughter was very hungry and was becoming increasingly impatient with him. At that moment, she silenced the chatter all at once, and told him exactly what she needs in one word, “More.”

Tears of joy rolled down Graham’s face and in that moment, there was only love. And only love mattered.

If you would like to follow Jene’s story, scroll down to the bottom of this page and Click Follow! Or go to the Rosie Goes Facebook page and receive updates through Facebook! This is just the beginning of a big human adventure in pursuit of humanKIND!

Jene Frost; Little girl gone

April 1, 2022April 20, 2022 / Lianne / Leave a comment

It didn’t matter that she was 15 years old, some things never changed. Every Friday Jene would come back home from boarding school and she would sit on her mother’s lap and tell her about her week. It was probably one of the few times that Jene was still. Then afterwards, she’d hop in the bakkie with her father and they’d head off to their favourite dam to fish as they had done since Jene was little.

She was an active child from the word go and her parents were her biggest supporters. At seven years old, Jene was running races against twelve year old’s and beating them. She was the 800m champion and she was the right wing on the hockey field, sprinting down the side line and scoring goals. Always close by, was her father Rob. Rob was the type of father who would be pacing up and down the side line too, cheering Jene on and getting as much joy supporting her with her sport as she felt when doing it.

Jene was a ball of fire and having grown up with mostly boys as her friends and with an older brother to tussle with, she learned from a young age ‘to give it as good as she got!’ ‘But she had a precious little heart,’ says mother Tish. ‘Jene was my little girl and in one night, I witnessed my little girl become an adult.’

Tish sat on the floor of the ambulance next to her daughter who was on the trauma board and begged her not to fall asleep. Donna was unconscious and Jene was in shock. She was freezing cold so the heaters of the ambulance were turned right up. Tears and sweat streamed down Tish’s face as she attempted to console her daughter on the slow and agonizing three hour trip to Pietermaritzburg. “Mommy, I’m sore, Mommy, I’m sore,” cried Jene, but there was nothing Tish could do. For the first time Tish did not know how to fix her daughter. With every twist and turn of the Umkomaas Valley, and the cries of pain that came with it, Tish was overwhelmed with the feeling of helplessness and the terror of a parent at seeing their child in such a state.

They eventually arrived at Greys hospital and the girls were wheeled in through the emergency doors, taking priority over patients with broken bones and bloody wounds. They were taken straight to the x-ray room. Donna was x-rayed first and then Jene. It was just a fleeting moment, but as Donna was wheeled out of the x-ray room, Jene caught the first glimpse of her friend’s face and in that moment, she immediately understood the seriousness of their accident. Donna’s entire face was purple and swollen and she was still unconscious. It was also at that moment that Jene knew she could never blame Donna, or hold on to any anger, that there was nothing to forgive.

Jene endured another agonizing stint of being tugged and turned from side to side, increasing her pain with every new x-ray position. As well as having back injuries, Jene had also broken her collar bone and ribs and by this time she was exhausted and fed up with being fussed over. She just wanted to sleep but this day seemed to go on and on and the pain was excruciating.

The last memory she had of that day was of her clothes being cut from her body and the gumboots being pulled from her feet, followed by the relief from a pain killer and falling into a deep sleep. The 28th of April had finally come to its end and nothing would ever be the same again for Jene, or Donna.

29^th April 1996

It was 3am when Jene woke. She was in a hospital ward and it was dark. Though she could hear the deep breathing of slumbering patients around her, Jene felt completely alone. She was scared and she was confused and bit by bit the memories from the day before returned, like puzzle pieces being put together to make a picture that she did not want to see. Then the door slowly opened, and the passage light poured in and in walked Jene’s first of a thousand visitors. Jenny Guy was a maternity nurse at Greys Hospital and who originally was from Ixopo. She had heard about the accident and she’d come to see Jene and to sit with her. Though Jene did not know Jenny at the time, she knew her son well who was also in her class at Ixopo High School. It was a huge relief for Jene to know that someone who knew her and who was familiar had come to be with her during those first very dark and lonely hours. In the weeks and years to come, Jene would come to know what it is to be supported. How support comes in many forms and how it has carried her and accompanied her forward on this life-altering journey. On that first night of being in hospital, Jene had been heavily sedated and she was struggling to talk and to breathe. Jenny told Jene that she needn’t talk, that she would sit with her and that she should rest, instantly dissipating the overwhelming fear Jene had felt a few moments before. That night, they moved through time in silence, with Jenny doing nothing and saying nothing other than simply being there, being present.

A few days later, the neurosurgeon had a meeting with Rob and Tish about Jene. He was a kind and compassionate man and though he had done this many times before, he knew that this would be the first and only time that they would be told this kind of news about their daughter, how their little girl would never walk again.

Panic stricken, Tish could not believe what she was hearing. These words this man was speaking made no sense. Not Jene, not her little girl, not the girl who loved to run and who spent every waking hour outdoors and on the move. Not the little girl who had such a big life ahead of her. Not Jene. This could not be.

Anger, fear, disbelief knocked her like a wrecking ball and she got up and ran. She kicked the door open and ran, ran to nowhere, ran to anywhere but there. She wanted to vomit these words out and to scream at the world, ‘why Jene, why my baby girl?’ but nothing came.

The next day Tish and Rob sat with Jene, knowing what they knew but not knowing how to tell her. Then Jene asked Tish, “Mommy, what is happening to me? Why can’t I feel my legs?” And Tish told Jene the truth, that she is paralyzed. For a moment their eyes locked as the news sunk in and became a reality. Jene’s eyes turned red then a brilliant blue. It was a shock to hear what she believes she already knew, a confirmation of a conversation that she had been having in her own head. It was a shock to hear that she would ‘never ever’ walk again. But at that point, Jene had not yet understood, or processed what ‘never ever’ meant, but she accepted it.

Tish ran out. She couldn’t bare to see the pain on her daughters face, to be watching the curtain close on the life she knew and loved, a life that they all loved. And to be replaced with what? How would she ever recover from this and would they ever see that radiant smile that was their child?

Rob never cried, but that day while sitting beside Jene and holding her hand, he cried. And he said to her ‘Cooks, it’s going to be okay, we are going to get through this.’ And Jene believed him.

Jene Frost; Going back to go forward

March 13, 2022April 20, 2022 / Lianne / Leave a comment

She was nearly 40 and it felt like a lifetime ago that she had driven up the farm road. The smell of coming home still lingered in the air; of eucalyptus trees, pine and wattle. It felt familiar and the memories were flooding in as if it were just yesterday. So much had happened here.

It’s a peculiar feeling of choosing to go back to a place that holds so many memories, a place that represents your childhood; a sacred place because of how it became such a significant part of your identity and how the events that unfolded there would shape the rest of your life.

There is almost an expectation of returning to a place like this, that it should remain unchanged as it has in your mind; how the farmhouse walls stand solid, how the garden is abundant with fruit and flowers, how the smell of home cooked food wafts from your mother’s kitchen on a Friday as you return home from boarding school, how your brother kick starts his new motorbike and disappears down the road in a cloud of dust and how your father steps out of his vehicle, evidently battered by another long week in the workshop and shouts, ‘Come on Jene, let’s go fishing.’

It had been years since Jene had been back to the area that she grew up in and even more years since she had returned to her childhood home and back to the place of the accident. Jene and her partner’s children had driven down to KwaZulu-Natal from Johannesburg to stay with her oldest and dearest school friend, Melinda. She wanted to give her partners young sons a taste of farm life and what it was like to grow up on a forestry estate in the lush KwaZulu-Natal Midlands in a small close-knit farming community. But most of all, Jene needed closure. When she was 15 years old, the life she knew changed forever in a matter of moments and recently she had been thinking about this time and place a lot and of the people who had so generously and lovingly supported her throughout those challenging, life changing years. Though she was not stuck, she wanted to immerse herself in these memories, get close to them, love them and feel the gratitude for everything that is because of what was. She’d go back to Natal for a week and in that time, she’d return to her family homestead and to the very place that she was found face down, falling in and out of consciousness and calling her mother’s name.

Jene sat in the passenger seat and Melinda drove. It didn’t happen often, but that day even Melinda was quiet! They’d decided to leave the children on Melinda’s farm while Melinda and her returned to Colbeck Estate for the first time and for the last time.

They were almost at the top of the hill and very close to the homestead’s entrance. Jene’s anticipation to be back at her childhood home increased with every landmark that they passed. The avenue of old Blue Gum trees stood tall, alluding to the assumption that a place as significant as this, that holds so much history and at one time, so much life – would go unchanged and defy the very passage of time. That it would always be as you remembered.

But it was not like this. Instead Jene returned ‘home,’ to find nothing. That everything that was still so vivid in her mind, no longer exists. Not even a brick. The only thing that remained from her childhood was her favourite tree – a solitary Redwood tree, as magnificent as she had always remembered it.

It was an unusual Redwood tree. Instead of having one solid trunk like most Redwoods, this tree stemmed five branches from the roots. These five branches grew in solidarity, supporting each other through the seasons of life, surviving the weight of heavy snowfall, of wind, of floods and drought. It was a tree that stood the test of time and it was the only tangible thing left of Jene’s past.

She sat on what was the foundation of her childhood home, a patchy green piece of land dotted with brambles and tufts of grass. For a few long moments, the emptiness of the space muted her. It looked like an insignificant field of weeds and grass, seemingly mocking the immensity of her return and of everything that had happened here. Though it was still as beautiful as ever, there was nothing left of her past, other than the memories she held in her head and of course, there was still the great old Redwood.

It swayed and it creaked in the breeze as it always had. Like an old friend, it reminded her of what ‘still is’ and importantly, what came because of ‘what was and because of what happened.’

For a few blissful, heartfelt hours, Jene ‘danced’ in an open field with ‘then and now,’ and everything that she has become.

“Your journey has moulded you for your greater good, and it was exactly what it needed to be. Don’t think you’ve lost time. There is no short-cutting to life. It took each and every situation you have encountered to bring you to the now. And now is right on time.” – Asha Tyson