style="font-size:15px;"> My mother had a significant impact on my life, but it was only when I became a mother myself that I started to understand and acknowledge just how significant the roles were that she and those other women played. Strong, bright, striking and outspoken, my mother Ann was a real go-getter, an independent working mother, well known as a consultant in her field of public relations and deeply admired by many. She had high standards and high expectations and she loved us fiercely.
I grew up, a much-loved child, in the leafy suburbs of Cape Town with my parents and my protective older brother Craig. My parents were gregarious and progressive in their thinking. My dad, Rein, was a social being who loved people and was loved in return. In his eyes I was “flawless”. After school, I did a Bachelor of Arts at the University of Cape Town. At 20 years old I had a degree and I was ready and eager to explore the world.
In 1984 I travelled outside South Africa for the first time, an experience during which I gained a much-needed broader perspective of the world. It helped me become more aware of my privilege and the protected upbringing I had had. Growing up during the apartheid era meant I’d had little contact with anyone who was not similar to me. It was humbling and important to be exposed to international commentary for the first time. Two years later, when I went back to visit my beloved home town, I took nothing for granted. I noticed the beauty of Cape Town with a heightened appreciation.
I also noticed Stuart Lowe. We’d known each for years, but now I looked at this young man with new eyes. At 25 he was intelligent, charming and attractive, comfortable in his own skin and yet humble. He had a sense of humour and an energy that was inspiring. He was great to be around, a self-assured combination of rule-breaker meets good guy. I thought he was damn gorgeous actually, and it wasn’t long before we fell in love. I cancelled my plans to travel back overseas. Instead, I settled down in Cape Town and started working at FairLady magazine. Stuart was working in his dad’s stationery and office equipment business at the time. Together we developed a vibrant circle of friends and forged ahead with our careers and our relationship. Nearly three years down the line everything was going well, but we weren’t ready for marriage just yet.
I moved to Johannesburg, the City of Gold, to take up a promotion. The energy of Johannesburg was exhilarating, and I was committed to my work. It was hard to be away from Stu, but I felt I’d made the right decision. I needed to establish myself. However, whenever I returned to Cape Town on business, I saw him. The chemistry between us was still undeniable. I had a sense that this was unfinished business …
But at that time we were both preoccupied with work and family. Stuart’s family, like mine, was close and tight. He had two sisters: Alison, 18 months his senior, and Shirley, six years his junior, both of whom he adored. His mom, Jean, for whom he had the utmost respect, admiration and love, was caring and engaging, and Peter, his dad, was a charismatic, gregarious and sociable man. He was also the disciplinarian in the family. We had spent many a time with friends and family in their home over our years together, but those years were bittersweet. Jean was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, a rare bone cancer. In the year that I was living in Johannesburg her condition worsened and, aged 54, she passed away. Jean’s loss was painful; she had made a difference in the lives of many. Stuart was devastated.
I’d been living in Johannesburg for just over a year when Stuart made a bold and creative move – an indescribably romantic proposal that was to ensure my return to Cape Town. The story of our engagement still takes my breath away. It was April, autumn, and I was going to my mom’s 50th birthday celebration in Cape Town with Craig, my beloved brother. We arrived late that evening in the pouring rain. As Craig and I stood chatting together at the carousel waiting to pick up our luggage, I felt a sudden stirring in the people around us. Then a handsome young stranger wearing a tuxedo and clutching a bunch of white roses walked straight up to me. “Miss Badings,” he said, smiling, “please will you follow me?” What was this? I quickly turned to speak to Craig, but he was no longer beside me. In fact he was being mysteriously whisked away by a tall person in a long coat and a hat. Mysterious indeed. “What’s going on?” I asked, confused.
Somehow, this young chap convinced me to go with him (this was before cellphones and Craig was no longer to be seen). I had recently had a rather unexpected and romantic reunion with Stuart at our friends Ian and Jillie’s wedding, and so a small part of me imagined he might be behind this. Outside the airport a white stretch-limousine stood waiting, but now I was having doubts. The poor tuxedoed youth was agitated. Clearly his brief was to get me to accompany him, no matter what. “You have to get in, Miss Badings. Please.” He held the limousine door open, leant inside and pushed Play on a cassette tape-recorder. Phil Collins. Phil Collins was symbolic for Stu and me. I took a deep breath and climbed in.
Nerves and excitement built as we drove towards the city, eased only by a glass of cold bubbles. What on earth was I doing? Forty minutes later we pulled up at the brand-new Bay Hotel in Camps Bay, rain still pouring down outside. The manager walked out. “Miss Badings, will you please come with me?” he said. It felt like a scene from a James Bond movie. Then I started to fret. What if Stuart was not on the other end of this plan? My heart pounded as we walked down the long passage towards a door. The door opened and there stood Stu.
Stuart had spent the entire day prepping this room. Roses, a fire, a ready-drawn bubble-bath, soft music … I fell into his arms all atwitter. That night Stu proposed. I knew we were meant to be together and within a month I had moved back to Cape Town. We were married six months later, in November 1990, at a large, happy and festive celebration for family and friends.
One year into our marriage Stu and I bought our first home, a gorgeous little Victorian cottage that we called Lilliput Lodge, after the Lilliputians in Gulliver’s Travels. We poured our hearts and energy into renovating our little place on a shoe-string budget and loved every minute of it. We worked hard, played hard and contributed where we could to making a difference to the lives of others. Early into our marriage we joined forces with four other young couples and formed a group called Action For The Underprivileged (AFTU). We used our combined skills, networks and resources to raise funds for the homeless, for orphanages, shelters and other organisations that were in need of support.
The ’90s were exhilarating times. South Africans were fired up with change and fuelled with hope. Stu and I grabbed all the opportunities life afforded us with enthusiasm and climbed our respective career ladders with gusto and determination. I left the world of magazines and moved into retail, working in the marketing department of Woolworths, one of South Africa’s premium retailers. It was a busy and exciting time. By 1994 I was 30 years old and we’d been married for four years. It was time. Excited about the future of the country and our first democratic elections to be held in April that year, we were ready for children. By the time I stood in the queue with a long line of fellow South Africans to vote four months later, I was already pregnant. My child would be a child of the rainbow nation.
Like most pregnant mothers, my first trimester was punctuated with morning sickness and fatigue, but by 14 weeks I was feeling great. I will never forget the first time I felt my baby move, light bubbles floating across my tummy from the inside. I felt an overwhelming rush of love for this little being growing inside me. It was the beginning of an intense relationship.
I was due at the end of October. I needed an assistant to help out at work while I was on maternity leave. That was when Glynis arrived in my life. She was tall and commanding, with long red hair and light blue eyes, I didn’t know it at the time, but this was to become a significant, cherished friendship, one that would sustain me through some very dark times in the future.
CHAPTER 2
When a child is born
Jenna Jean Lowe came into the world after 36 long hours of labour on the 28th of October 1994. Exhausted, elated and totally
