From Chicken Farms to Dutch Bikes: A Father’s Day Letter from Afar
Father’s Day always seems to arrive quietly, but hits me right in the chest. Somewhere between school drop-offs, whipping peanut butter off little hands, or dodging Dutch cyclists like a local, I feel it. That little homesick knot of missing home, missing my dad, missing my family and friends and missing the way South Africans do things.
My dad has always been larger than life. He’s the kind of person who does everything wholeheartedly, whether it’s running a business or entertaining friends. A real “work hard, play hard” type. Entrepreneur from day one; chicken, maize and cattle farmer through and through. I spent my school holidays earning my keep (in theory), but in truth, it was more about learning. Passing down lessons to the next generation was important to my dad. He believed we had to learn the ropes from the ground up, no shortcuts, no special treatment. So there I was: cleaning chickens, sweeping cold rooms, putting in long hours in gumboots and a hairnet. Not exactly glamorous, but deeply grounding. And as it turns out, a better business school than any I could’ve attended.
It taught me everything. My dad didn’t just teach me how to work, he taught me how to live. Fully, loudly, generously. He was, and still is, the life of the party. “Work hard, play hard” wasn’t a motto, it was a way of being. He taught me how to drive at 13 (in a bakkie, obviously), who took us cattle-checking on weekends, and who knew the importance of a long beach holiday. He’s the guy who brings the gees. He's the guy who knows to hustle and still make time for a glass of wine in the evening sun.
These days, living in the Netherlands means trains that actually run on time and needing to book a simple social visit three weeks in advance. There’s plenty to love: the safety, the order, the no-fuss simplicity of it all. But when Father’s Day rolls around, I miss the glorious chaos of home and that messy, beautiful South African energy. The way a simple lunch turns into a full-on Sunday braai (South African BBQ) with family, friends, and someone’s mate who “just popped in".
I miss stopping for petrol and being called “mamma” while someone checks your oil and gives your windscreen a wash just because. I miss those long, meandering, mostly off-topic chats with wine in hand (and the occasional cheese with my whine). I miss watching my nieces and nephews grow up. I miss the spontaneous visits. The rugby on the telly. School sports. The “gooi another chop on the fire” kind of celebrations.
And now that I’ve got kids of my own, Father’s Day brings up a whole new softness. Because I get to watch Ernst, my partner, become a father in his own steady way. He’s Dutch, direct and very practical, but he’s the kindest man I know. He doesn’t make a noise about it, but he’s there, always. Helping zip up jackets, fixing bikes, brushing teeth, reading books, doing the things that matter most. Our kids adore him, and so do I. Watching him with our kids reminds me that fatherhood isn’t just one thing, it’s a collection of small, everyday moments that shape a childhood.
It’s funny how, living far from home, your heart starts to stretch. You find yourself belonging to two places at once. Your kids speak Dutch like they were born on bikes, and you catch yourself still craving a proper boerewors roll.
That’s partly why I started INDLU Gifts. Not just to send things, but to send a feeling. To bridge the gap between here and there. Because even when we can’t be around the fire, we still want to show up. And gifting, I’ve realised, is one of the few ways to say:
“Thank you. I see you. I love you. I’m thinking of you.”
So this Father’s Day, wherever you are; whether you're lucky enough to pop in for a visit or sending your love from far away; I hope you raise a glass (or a castle, or a coffee) to the men who raised you.
And if you are sitting next to your dad this weekend, soaking up the winter sun on a stoep somewhere, please - have a sip for me.
With love,
Raine
xx
