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Tel: 082 771 1786
Email: info@thechoppeejourney.com
Tel: 082 771 1786
My teenage years at 342 Carmine Street were probably the most challenging years of my life; on the one hand, too much freedom and no responsibilities, and on the other, pressure to take responsibility for my life and our home. With my older siblings married and having moved on, my brother Iqbal and I were now the official “men” in our house.
For obvious reasons our home lacked structure and discipline – or perhaps we were just too much for my widowed Mum to handle. My Mum is soft natured and kind hearted, always engrossed in her prayers and other duties, leaving us much space for freedom. She tolerated us having friends over till the early hours of the morning.
Today, being a parent of three teenage boys, I humbly understand the colossal task she was entrusted with. These late nights and our undisciplined life had cumulative negative effects on our schooling: Always late! Always in trouble! Detention or a visit to the principal’s office was per usual and corporal punishment was the ‘flavour of the day’…
The eighties saw an era where breakdance became the latest craze. It was introduced to SA and internationally when the movie “Flashdance” was released along with some great musical artists such as Micheal Jackson, who became famous for his moon walk. Other great musicians also had some great dance numbers like Lionel Richie with his song “All Night Long ” as well as “The Rock Steady Crew ” and “Chaka Khan” for their famous hit singles.
As a young boy I would hang around with the boys in the “hood” and show off my favourite dance moves. We would hang out at the local arcade game store and cafe and listen to the latest breakdance hits. On some days we would hang out at a friend’s place and watch the latest breakdance movies. I, too, wanted to be just like those amazing dancers who had the moves. I developed a passion for song and dance, to the extent that I was regularly invited to participate in gigs, school concerts and dance competitions.
Break dancing was something that was usually frowned upon, as it was associated with children who danced in the street, like street kids who hung out at street corners… I didn’t look at it in that way. I think that was the benefit of looking at things from a kid’s perspective. Not much thought and consideration went into things. We just had fun…
Somehow I always perceived the first day of preschool at the Hajee Joosub Creche as a punishment for the fire incident. At the tender age of four it was standard that I would tag along with my Mum or Dad all day. “Going to school!?” My Mum taking me to school seemed most absurd. I was not even weaned off my drinking bottle as yet, famously known as my ‘dudu’. Not having it with me was the most horrendous thought! However, my Mum had it all worked out. She hid my ‘dudu’ at the bottom of my school bag, underneath all my stationery and packed lunch. I could not understand why she had to hide my ‘dudu’ until I got to school and realised that most four-year-olds did not drink from a baby bottle, but rather from drinking cups or glasses. It was time to grow up.
And growing up indeed it was when I also had the realisation that I was going to spend a good part of my day without my Mum. Nothing could console me on that first day; not the polite young boy who constantly tried to befriend me, nor the annoyed lady who I had to address as “madam”. Some days later, I seemed to have adjusted as I could not recall being upset in the mornings. I enjoyed the company of the other young children and, more than anything else, the playground that was embellished with the brightest colours.
And two years later I was ready for real school – I think my dad was more excited than I was. He woke me up every morning with a gentle whisper in my ear, prompting me to wake up and prepare for school…
The early parts of my childhood will forever be embedded in my memory. The unconditional love from my family and, specifically, the bond I shared with my father were without doubt the happiest moments of my youngest years. I adopted a carefree and mischievous nature, intrigued by the elaborate entertaining lifestyle that was a daily occurrence at our home.
My Dad would bring home all the latest music, music equipment, cassettes, radios, tape recorders and video releases for selling or renting purposes. My older siblings were responsible for taking care of the music room, which boasted an enormous music collection that was rare to find in South Africa at the time. We were allowed to accompany my dad to Avalon Music Box on Saturdays and school holidays. I loved those days! Nothing could be more satisfying than hanging out at my dad’s business. I could stay all day and just watch him trade, selling the latest music. If ever I got bored or felt peckish I would go next door to grab a bite from the Kentucky Milk Bar. The owner, Uncle Sam was fond of us and did not mind us hanging around his store. I still go there when I crave a ‘part of my childhood’, or simply a delicious toasted steak sandwich or a mouthwatering steak roll.
I had the best childhood, but not without my fair share of trouble. My earliest memories of specific events were when I was about four years old…
“Man’s main task in life is to give birth to himself, to become what he potentially is. The most important product of his effort is his own personality” – Erich Fromm
Every parent awaits the birth of their child with great expectation and hope. The story of my birth is often narrated by my elder siblings, relating the events of that joyful evening as very memorable due to the expectation of my birth on the one hand, and the honoured presence of a famous Qawwali artist Yusuf Azad appearing in a live show in Durban on the other.
My dad was an ardent fan of Qawwali and Indian music. His passion and love of such influenced his life and surroundings in a profound way, making him famous in his own right for his insightful knowledge and resonance in this regard.
It has been aptly said,“Choose a job you love and you will never work a day in your life” (Confucius). That was exactly what my father did. He was the most captivating and charming personality I have ever encountered. He lived his life in splendour and luxury that attracted and mesmerised people from every walk of life. His love for entertainment, food, life itself and particularly music extended from the ordinary to the extraordinary, thereby embodying a spirit of generosity and hospitality.
“The only thing you take with you when you’re gone is what you leave behind” – John Alliston
My grandfather – Mr Essa Suliman ‘the ordinary’ was born in the State of Gujarat, India, in the year 1900. After the demise of his father ‘Suliman’, a certain ‘Osman Essa’, presumably his uncle, adopted him. Under the guardianship of ‘Osman’, Essa five years old then, arrived in South Africa. After completing his schooling, he worked as a sales assistant at a retail business for an Indian trader in Pretoria.
His arrival to the racially turbulent South Africa coincided with the passing of the Immigration Restriction Act of 1905. This legislation provided for the government’s control of entry of Indians into Transvaal through a special permit. Inadvertently he would later successfully go into loggerheads with a similar in the future.
In 1921, at the age of 21, he married Khatija Hajee Omar from Ranavav, a district of Porbander in the State of Gujarat. Essa returned to South Africa after a year while his wife remained in India. Their first child, Noormohamed Essa, was born in India in 1922, a year after their marriage. It was then that Essa made applications to the state for permission to bring his wife and son over to South Africa. The application was denied, as was the case for all Indian-born citizens at the time. After experiencing great challenges with the application, he decided to quit working for a boss and became a commercial traveller, his intention being to facilitate a higher income in preparation for the legal costs to be incurred for his court case with the Department of Immigration and Asiatic Affairs. While earning his own keep, he also attempted to collect funds from numerous other Indian individuals who had experienced the same difficulties with regard to their immediate families ‘stuck’ in India. This was the beginning of a protracted and bitter legal battle between him and the proverbial Goliath.
In March 1923, after the demise of his guardian Osman Essa, and about two years after his marriage to Khatija in India, Essa made an application to the Home Affairs office in Transvaal for an official change of name from Essa Osman to Essa Suliman – his birth surname.
Essa soon earned a reputation of being a ‘madman’ among his community for his audacity in challenging the British Raj of the Union of South Africa.
In May 1928, after a painstaking six years of restrictions, ‘red tape’, and a lengthy court battle – Essa eventually obtained a permit for his wife Khatija and his son Noormohamed to enter South Africa.
In October 1930, a year before the birth of their third child, Ismail (my Dad), my grandfather Essa Suliman won his case with costs against the state. This victory set a precedent in the South African Immigration Law, whereby each and every South African of Indian origin became eligible to apply for permission to be re-united with their families.
Together, Khatija and Essa had six children, all boys, of which one died in infancy…