As young guys most of us believed that we were immune to injury or ever becoming frail especially while we were still so young. Ridiculous as it was, my motorcycling skills and physical contact sport gave me an overdose of confidence. Beating the bullies boosted my ego and gave me a reputation not to be messed with.
One day one of my classmates told me that some of the pupils thought I was a little insane after my very public display of such intense anger during my fight. This surprised me but it was true that I did not contemplate getting injured.
I always just bounced back to life, like the day the distracted driver in a car behind me rear-ended my Suzuki and partially drove over me. Well far enough that I was stuck under the car and the panicking driver was trying to pull me out from under the car. When he tried to remove my helmet to continue examining me, I resisted. Somebody told me once that if you have had a serious head injury while wearing a helmet it may only be the helmet holding your head together!
At sixteen when you regain consciousness under a car, anything seems plausible. At that age we believe all the horror stories we hear about helmets splitting in half after serious impact. So, if that is possible, maybe your head could also just break in half! Later, from the sheer relief of being relatively uninjured I burst out laughing at the stupidity of such a notion. The destroyed Suzuki brought tears to my eyes, and my freedom was taken from me instantly. Louis at sixteen was itching to have a bike and was crazy about the Zündapps that we bought on the same day soon after my crash and the insurance paid out. I was not stranded for that long although it felt like eternity. After the Suzuki accident I was even more cautious of bad drivers who cause accidents. I felt safer on the track where you only have to be aware of your competitors who as risk averse as you.
My Zündapp caused a stir at Framesby High. One beautiful late Sunday morning I went for a drive with some friends on their Honda Bobcats in a pleasant suburban area. We were in high spirits because it’s always fun to ride together with your friends and the Framesby boys loved my Zündapp. They liked the novelty of dreaming about getting one and welcomed me in their tight-knit Honda circle. Boys have a habit of being quite tribal when it comes to motorcycles and age does not change that much. Think of all the plump white bearded Harley Davidson riders in a group. As teens we were determined to also one day be able to afford one of these insanely expensive chrome monsters weighing sometimes over 300 kilogams.
Unfortunately, our bikes were much quieter than Harleys and a reckless driver just slowly drove over a stop street without stopping or seeing us, so three of us crashed into the car. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion and I shouted, “You moron!” inside my white full-faced Nava helmet. It looked a bit like a Stormtrooper helmet from Star Wars. I was airborne but could hear glass shattering and metal tearing into metal. Then I hit the tar and smashed my knee which now had a massive dent visible under my denims and had a lot of blood coming out around my knee. It was a shock and I struggled not to panic. My entire body and spine were burning in pain, but I was freezing on this hot summer day. Then I saw Johan Wilkinsen, another teenage boy, looking like a doll ripped apart. He was unconscious and both legs and arms were in abnormal positions. He lay bleeding beside me, unconscious and terribly injured. Another boy was only slightly injured as he was driving behind us and able to avoid high impact against the car which had grinded to a halt in the middle of the intersection.
Our bikes were on the other side of the car, which I could not see, which increased my anxiety exponentially. The thought of losing another motorcycle was unbearable. Rickus, the other boy who was only mildly injured limped to me and went white in the face when he saw Johan, the blood and my knee. “How is my bike looking,” I asked while shivering. “It’s quite bent but mostly seems solid. I’m sure it can be fixed,” he managed to reply in the state of shock he was also in. Any biker would tell you accident trauma is no walk in the park. My youngest sister, Noelene, lived very close to the accident scene, and they just happened to drive past and stopped to see if they could help. She looked like she was going to faint when she saw my shattered knee. This was my youngest sister who faced the cops with me three years before and always worried about my safety. I tried to calm her down, but my own intense physical shock made it feel like my spirit body became slightly separated from my body. Strangely this sense of slight detachment made it easier to remain calm while I tried to comprehend the terrible reality of my horrendous knee injury.
Intuitively I sensed major medical repercussions and Johan’s possible death. The overwhelming smell of petrol, oil and blood was terrifying while we waited for an ambulance. When the paramedics arrived, they were very professional, but I could see that the serious accident scene rattled them too. Getting me onto a stretcher was complicated because of my knee stuck in a 45-degree position. Straightening such a knee is not something anybody should ever be forced to experience, but it is necessary before they can get you onto a stretcher. I was still worried about my bike and asked Noelene to keep it safe as she only lives a block or two away. She had to go to inspect it and her face upon her return said a thousand words and none I wanted to hear. Noelene was almost hysterical and close to tears while her husband tried to support her.
I reluctantly left the scene on a stretcher in an ambulance where the paramedics gave me laughing gas which made me laugh. I needed it more than I knew. Much later after X-rays and other tests, an impatient doctor came to see me. He showed me the damage done to my knee on the X-rays and said, “Unfortunately your kneecap has splintered into many fragments, and is almost impossible to repair, so I suggest we will have to remove it. Would you like an artificial kneecap?” He could never have had to cross this awful bridge himself. He was holding the door ready to leave. I was in enormous pain, and this doctor with neither compassion nor sensitivity angered me. Having just turned seventeen and being alone in this horrible hospital made me feel so abandoned and isolated. I said “I have no idea what this means. Surely a kneecap is essential, otherwise we would not have it?” The doctor glanced at me and impatiently said, “I tried to explain your options with a fractured kneecap.” When I asked about the impact on my athletic lifestyle, he said with enough exercise you should regain some of your mobility and strength. I responded, “Dr. my medical knowledge is zero and biology is not one of my subjects. Being confused and underage I would need to talk to someone who can advise me. This annoyed him and said any other doctor would agree with his assessment. “Doctor, I said in that case I should at least talk to my mother about this surgery and implications.” The doctor said, “We can speak to your parents who will need to sign the consent form”. I was not surprised that he did not bother to read my file.
“Please call my mother, as my father has passed away” I asked. He answered, “I will ask your mother to talk to you,” My poor mother had been banned to the passage instead of being allowed to be there when Doctor Slop was speaking words of blundering wisdom. When my mom came in, I felt terribly guilty as she had a tough life and I brought her nothing but trouble, anxiety and fear. She said nothing but started crying again. It was like being stabbed in the heart with a dagger. My own selfish concern with my knee felt small compared to her pain that I caused. After a while she calmed down and said, “What do you want to do? “l have no idea what I must do,” I said.
“The doctor knows best and maybe we should listen to him,” My mother said. I felt my fate was sealed with the worst possible medical advice. Having caused her so much pain I did not want to upset her more by arguing. Reflecting on many years of painful complications until a recent painless and successful knee replacement, nobody can blame me for distrusting most doctors since. My current orthopedic surgeon, Dr Vermaak, said kneecap removals are now rarely done due to persistent post-op complications.
My kneecap removal surgery was immensely painful and exceeded my high pain threshold and pain medication had almost no impact until I was heavily medicated which thankfully knocked me out for a while. When I finally woke up it was bath time which I found embarrassing being seventeen, with female nurses appearing to enjoy my shyness. I could hear them giggling when out of sight. Moving without extreme pain was impossible. For the first time in my life I realised I wasn’t indestructible, Until then I believed injuries happened to other people. I Recognised that I could be broken too. My right leg was covered in a cast from my groin down to my ankle and the itching drove me crazy. I managed to find something like a thin wire coat hanger that I could wiggle inside the cast to scratch. This was totally forbidden as anything could cause more bleeding. I had a bleeding draining pump into my knee that filled up alarmingly fast. My hospital experience was unpleasant, and I was relieved to be released from my jail in a wheelchair. Walking was painful and getting into the car with a straight leg was almost impossible. Back home Eduard saved me from insanity. He was a natural born incredibly good caregiver who helped me to bathe and dress. My mother was relieved to have him looking after me, and he raised my mood tremendously. Being chained to my bed angered me and I also became sexually frustrated not to be able to release all the energy of a typical 17-year-old. Eduard understood and was very sympathetic. He gave me hope to regain my freedom. Soon he rocked up one day with a huge grin and said I think I found you a bargain-priced white Honda Bobcat. I was ecstatic which infuriated my mom who said I was an imbecile who refused to learn. She never wanted to see me on a bike again. I refused to listen as I got my stubborn genetics from her. We had a cold war in full swing, and I was absolutely determined to win this battle if not the war.
My first acts of diplomacy seemed effective as I told her how much I looked forward to university and living in residence. My mom dreaded living alone without me, even though I bought her a Rottweiler a year before. Phoenix transformed into a magnificent guard dog who adored Eduard. Mother tried to negotiate terms of surrender regarding my Bobcat, and we agreed that I would drive very cautiously. Being financially independent, as I always worked part time, costs were my problem. She underestimated my creativity when I made a sling for my right leg attached to the frame at the fuel tank. Her horror seeing me driving the bike with my plastered leg in a sling made me feel guilty. Setting me free saved me. Sanity and freedom are Siamese twins. My leg healed extremely fast, the cast was removed and I was mobile! The school was amused to see me arrive on my Bobcat with my crutches in a Samurai like sling over my back. I could move as fast as anybody else with my four legs, which was quite handy as I could tap people on their shoulders with either crutch to clear way if they were plodding too slow. By now my antics surprised no one. Even the bullies unwillingly admired my fiery persistence.
I had a massive backlog academically and chorally. Academics proved a useful ally by justifying my presence at Eduard’s house who was helping me catch up before my overseas trip with the choir. After all he had done for me, I would have done anything to share my experience of all the incredible wonders of Europe. With higher levels of congestion there are far more interesting and a wider variety of motorcycles in Europe which would have mesmerized Eduard- a blue-blooded petrol head to the core. I had no idea that I would constantly talk to him in my head about everything as if he could hear me nor did I know how much I would miss him. It was a trip of a lifetime that we wished would never end. Arriving back in South Africa we returned triumphantly after winning the First Prize at the Silver Tulip Time International Music Festival in Katwijk aan Zee. Eduard seemed sad and depressed upon my return, which made me feel terribly guilty. Life continued but the electrifying spark we shared was captured by someone. After matriculation, I found out his parents did not want us to see each other anymore. I suggested sending his parents to hell and ignoring them, but Eduard was not the confrontational type. I was enraged and went to see them. They did not expect me to show up and were at a loss for words. I looked at them and said I cared about Eduard. What is wrong if I love him? Neither of them spoke. The room became unnaturally quiet. Eduard turned and walked away.
Then I walked away and roared off on my new Honda 500 thumper that I bought after turning 18. That, unfortunately, was the beginning of an extremely tense period and Eduard decided not to stay at the university residence where we were going to share a room. I saw him regularly on campus, but we were too angry to become friends again. Eventually we did start speaking to each other, but I had found new freedom with fellow Aliens and not Greys. He no longer fitted into my world although I still loved him. “I decided I would no longer sacrifice my own happiness to carry burdens that belonged to someone else. For the first time in my life, I wanted the world to react to me instead of me constantly reacting to the world. I travelled to either Johannesburg or Cape Town to indulge in total abandon with larger less inhibited gay communities.
From my first day at university, I decided to shock the living daylights out of hung-up people. I got kicked out from my first geology class for wearing my explicit T-shirt with a slogan that read, ‘Sex Instructor, First Lesson Free’.
This is a brief excerpt from Rubin van Niekerk’s upcoming Memoir/Autobiography, titled Mentors, Family and Friends Matter, chronicling the people, places and experiences that shaped his life from early childhood to later adulthood. We all relate to this universal experience.
New chapters will be published regularly in the Magazine section of the landing page of Gay Pages website, alongside our favourite archived articles, as the journey unfolds. Chapter 9, “I Am What I Am” follows.
