African adventures
In Part one of my sewing story I shared my very first experiences with sewing—how my mum became both my first teacher and my biggest inspiration. I also wrote about my time working in the fashion industry, which, in reality, turned out to be far from the dream job I had once imagined.
At that point, I knew I needed to step back and take some time to reflect on what I really wanted to do next. So, I decided to give myself a break and set off on the holiday of a lifetime to visit my uncle and aunt in South Africa.
While I was there I travelled around a lot of South Africa with my uncle and aunt, enroute to Knysna we visited a small village called Nieu-Bethesda in the Eastern Cape. The village was put on the map by Helen Martins known as an outsider artist, born in 1897. She dedicated her life from 1945 to the art she created that transformed her home, now a museum. The Owl house. It is a fascinating place.
An Unexpected Turning Point in South Africa
After leaving the Owl House, we noticed a small sign for an art gallery and decided to stop. What we found was far more than an art gallery — it was an experience that has stayed with me ever since.
Inside a huge, sunlit studio, we were immediately invited to join in with a community project: a giant mosaic of the sun being created on the floor. The space radiated creativity and warmth. At first, I assumed it must belong to an avant-garde designer with the luxury of working in such a beautiful location.
But as I chatted to the young woman running the session, I discovered the studio was part of an art school set up by Jeni Couzyn, her mother, who wanted to support and educate the local disadvantaged community through creativity. Classes were run by volunteer teachers, each sharing whatever skills they had.
I loved visiting the school I was so inspired by the level of creativity and Jeni’s amazing vision and work. I chatted to her about becoming a volunteer teacher. I explained I wasn’t an artist, my only skill was sewing! Jeni told me that most visiting teachers had taught the men and the kids but no one had ever taught the women of the community and she thought they would love a sewing teacher.
For the rest of the trip the idea floated around my head. I was already in love with South Africa. Maybe I could!!
When I returned home the idea stayed with me, I daydreamed about working in South Africa. The practicalities of not earning any money for a few months and the potential of no job on my return concerned me. I truly believe life has a funny way of creating the path you should walk.
I chipped away at plans to go, working out where to store my belongings and how little money I would be able to survive on. I had several interviews with Jeni. She was keen to recruit the right people to teach the community. Perhaps more so because it was an unpaid position, it was important that the role was taken seriously as the impact for the community is a big one.
Six months before I planned to leave I met Barry who is now my husband. This was a big distraction and I wasn’t sure how he would react to me leaving for 6 months! The next twist of fate was my job. I was invited to a meeting by one of the suppliers I worked with. When I got to the meeting they offered me a job! By now I knew I had Barry’s support, in fact he thought I was doing something very commendable, I accepted the job role if I could have a 6 month sabbatical, explaining I would create the set up before I left. It was agreed!
It took a couple of years from first visiting the school to getting on the plane to go, but I was on my way! It was 2003.
My First Weeks in South Africa
I was the first volunteer to arrive. Jeni, her daughter, her partner, and another volunteer weren’t due for a couple of weeks, so I had time to settle in on my own. Towards the end of that first week, the local priest kindly offered me a lift into Graaff-Reinet — the nearest town for food shopping. I climbed into the back of his pick-up truck (bakkie), along with some of the women who worked at the township crèche.
The dirt road was rough and dusty, and we bounced around as the truck rattled its way to town. On the way back, the women insisted that I sit in the front. At first, I protested — I was perfectly happy in the back — but they gently explained that, as I had come “to help the people,” it was a sign of respect.
The priest, however, used the journey as an opportunity to prepare me. He warned that I might fail — that people might not come to my classes at all. I could tell his intentions were good; he wanted to soften any disappointment I might feel.
But I was so fired up and determined to give it a go that nothing could dampen my spirit. Even though I hadn’t yet taught a class.
My First Class
The first meeting I had with the women I explained what I was there to do, and they immediately organised themselves into two groups — the older women and the younger ones. One group would take the mornings, the other the afternoons.
When I began teaching the older group for the very first time, something extraordinary happened. As if it had been rehearsed, they all began to sing. Word perfect, their voices filled the room with:
“Thanks to Jesus for bringing them a teacher.”
Even now, as I write this, it still brings a tear to my eye. It was such a powerful moment — an admission of gratitude and hope. In that moment, I knew they would be there, that they truly wanted to learn. They showed up every single day, exactly on time.
My idea of what teaching would be, could not have been further from the reality. Before I arrived, I had focused almost entirely on what I would teach: the skills, the techniques, the projects. I knew stories about the community, and I understood a little about the circumstances they lived in, but nothing prepared me for the deeper impact these classes would have on them — and on me.
Fire in Their Bellies
There was a fire in the belly of every woman I met — a fierce determination. But behind that strength, there was also damage. In the community, alcoholism and drug abuse were common struggles, and with them came violence and all the painful consequences that follow.
Education was another barrier. Unless you could afford it, there simply wasn’t any. My youngest students in the sewing classes were just 11 years old, yet they carried themselves with a maturity shaped by hardship.
What struck me most was the way they viewed education. For them, learning wasn’t something to be taken for granted, or endured as a chore. It was seen as an opportunity and a privilege. That attitude lit up the classroom in a way that still inspires me today.
Stitching Community
We began working and making small appliqued bags with scraps of fabrics partly donated by me and partly by others. Over the months the ladies never failed to turn up to class. The sense of community and sisterhood was lovely. A woman breast feeding her child would simply pass the work on to someone else who would stitch without question so she could feed her baby.
We worked on collaborative projects and began to work on different sized projects based on the skill level of the individual. Most of the work was on show and available to buy in the gallery next to the studio. This would attract passers by after visiting the owl house just as I had done.
There are so many stories I could write about the time I spent in South Africa. When I look back now I think about how the ladies confidence and self esteem developed over the short space of time I was there. I ended up extending my stay and spending most of a year teaching these ladies. I loved every minute!
I knew I couldn’t stay for ever so I returned home. I did revisit for a short 2 week project in 2006 – the ladies created a beautiful wall hanging for the ‘Make poverty history campaign’. It got auctioned off at Price Water house Copper in London which boosted funds for the project.
Back at home, I returned to the job I’d left behind—but nothing felt the same. The workplace had changed, and so had I.
The next instalment brought even more changes—starting a new business and beginning a family. You can read all about these adventure in part 4.
