Carol’s Column

Noo-Noo and the shosholoza angel

A magenta angel kissed me on the nose. Now, it's not every day that I'm kissed by a magenta angel, complete with gossamer wings and glittery wand.

And it's not every magenta angel who wears high-heeled floral pumps, decorated with synthetic fur, at least three sizes too large for her tiny feet. These pumps caused a little stumbling here and there – probably not the most graceful thing for an angel to do.

I had popped briefly into heaven. Heaven, in this case, being a weekend in Buffalo, USA, where I visited my granddaughter and her parents.

To date, we have only one grandchild. Which is why, even after an exhausting conference down Orlando way, I mortgaged my intended facelift to fly up the mighty USA for a precious two days to catch sight of two-year-old Ms Maya Lazar – complete with her cloud of dark curls and grey-blue eyes.

Every separated parent or grandparent wonders if their offspring or offspring of offspring will recognise them after an absence. Especially when each day is filled with electric experiences, such as discovering chips and tomato sauce, and learning that the word "please" achieves almost everything.

Out of town grandmothers are a poor third in the greater scheme of things.

Or so I thought until, on arrival, Maya got me in a stranglehold, kissed me wetly and yelled "Noo-Noo!"

Somehow the quite dignified words "ouma" and "grandma" have evolved into Noo-Noo – which fits this particular grandmother.

So, to get back to the magenta angel. Not only did my granddaughter remember her African grandmother, but she did it with a welcome song and dance routine dressed as a magenta angel.

In the few days together we did many things. Each in our own yacht, we sailed to South Africa, Mozambique, around the coast of America and to New Zealand. New Zealand? Maya's choice.

Our yachts? Two diningroom chairs pushed together to make pointed bows, the oceans of the world being the lounge carpet. Miniature Maya provided provisions for our lengthy voyage – two packets of pretzels and one cheese stick (which she appropriated).

Like a waterfall, she flowed words without pause. Books didn't end, stories were never finished and games continued into the night. And even when her eyelids drooped, she'd deny she was tired and announce: "More Noo-Noo, more." An irresistible plea to a two-day granny.

Ablutions became highlights. Who would imagine I would delight in being summoned to the bathroom to watch my dainty magenta angel remove her (padded) broekies, then proceed to give me a blow-by-blow account of the action in the toilet bowel.

While the rest of America happened, Maya watched butterflies hatching. While Timothy McVeigh's execution was momentarily stayed, she sat on my bed and sang me awake. While Bush's actions were endlessly debated, we shared chicken bites.

The controversy about America's contribution to world pollution broiled, anti-abortionists and pro-lifers roiled and Maya and I swung in the hammock and pretended we were flying to the stars.

I'd forgotten the speed of mobile two-year-olds, that their energy is endless and their capacity for learning, huge.

"Why Noo-Noo? How Noo-Noo?"

Like royalty she commanded and like a grandmother I obeyed.

I had taken along children's picture books in Afrikaans and Zulu and so we read Noag se Ark and she learnt to say yebo, sawubona and lala kahle.

But the absolute finale was, when once again, for my departure, she dressed as a magenta angel (her and my favourite).

Her farewell song?

Shoshaloza – which sounds great with an American accent.

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