Serving with my mother: My life as a military child

I AM a proud Military Brat of the South African Defence Force, with 28 years of service on the home front. My name is Ayanda Zulu, and I’m the daughter of Major Sibusile Zulu and Colonel Lucky Ncube, both infanteers.

A Military Brat refers to children who are or, at one time, were children of service members. The term was first used in the 18th century in Britain, referring to children who lived in military barracks and, in the 1920s, children who went with their parents on overseas military missions – they were called a British Regiment Attached Traveller (BRAT), and the term was adopted for all the military kids around the world.

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I was born in March 1996, my mother joined the SANDF in July 1997, and I was then left in the care of my aunt, her younger sister and my grandparents. My aunt also had a child in 1996, whom I believed for the better half of my childhood was my twin brother because we were raised as such. This was also the part of my childhood that my mom missed – until I was around eight years old, all I knew was that my mother was a soldier and she worked in Bloemfontein.

I looked forward to her coming home, which at the time was around twice a year. And, by the time I started bonding with her, she would have to leave again. When I turned 10 years old, my mom took a leap of faith and moved me to stay with her in Oudtshoorn, in a bungalow. Here, I now got to experience being a ‘military child’, being surrounded by other Brats, attending parades, and yes . . . eating at the mess hall sometimes.

I realised the magnitude of my mother’s work, and I can safely say it was the first time I saw her in military uniform. In my eyes, she looked like my own Powerpuff Girl superhero. And, in true military fashion, while I was still getting used to staying with my mother, she had to go to a course in Lohatlha, Northern Cape, to prepare for deployment in the Democratic Republic of Congo. This meant I had to move, and that was the beginning of my moving woes.

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I moved to Durban to stay with my military dad, with his family. Well, that didn’t work out, and I moved to Empangeni to stay with my grandmother, but then I had to move later in the year to go to Hospital Park, 5SAI in Ladysmith, with another military family. Well, you now get the picture – I moved at least twice a year. And, during this time, my grandmother passed while my mother was in deployment, causing so much pain and destruction in my early teens. As a brat, the moving did not stop so I moved to Pretoria. I was diagnosed with depression because of loneliness, so my mother decided to move me closer to her. And we would move again to Mtubatuba 121 Battalion and back to Pretoria three years later.

During this time, I had my child through teenage pregnancy, who also experienced what being a brat is like. I remember those days when my mom would come home, and say, “The signal is out – we are moving.” Most times it hurt so much because I had already settled, and then, I had to move again. When I eventually finished my matric, I got accepted at the University of the Free State in Bloemfontein. At this time, my mother was on deployment in Ladybrand.

I remember my first time getting off at the Tourism Centre – all I could think about was my childhood when I would proudly tell people that my mother was in military service in Bloemfontein, and now, I was in Bloemfontein. And yes, I stayed in the base again – in Tempe. Walking those streets, each day, I just felt like I was getting a part of my childhood back. I would always think, “So this is where my mother was when I was a child?”

Twenty-eight years later, I have attended a total number of 13 schools, across four provinces, I can speak five languages, and I have cried my eyes out each time my mom lost a colleague because those people have, over the years, become my aunts and uncles. I make a special mention of Simelane, whom I referred to as Uncle – I met him while staying in Oudtshoorn. I was so excited when I met him again as a teen in Thaba Tshwane. He would pass on just three months later at 1 Military Hospital, and I sobbed for days thinking of the pain his children were going through. Another one that stuck with me was the passing of Mazibuko, a lady who had the most hardcore physique but also the warmest heart and loved me like her own.

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I could name so many people who were my mother’s colleagues, but their passing left me scarred. I still pray each time my mom goes on course because I never want to see a chaplain knocking at my door with my mom’s cadet and beret and telling me my mother has passed.

I am an army child who has served at home while my mother served on the front lines.

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