WHEN Vanessa Raphaely arrives at the eatery near her home in Higgovale, Cape Town, she is averse to the chair I have chosen for her at our reserved table. She doesn't want to sit with her back to the door.
“Oh, maybe I should," she says. “You have to face your fears."
We decide to sit opposite each other and watch the front door out of the corner of our eyes. Who knows, from there in the languid afternoon we might spot the wildling Raka first and so relieve our existential angst.
I met Vanessa around 1993 at a time when journalism's underbelly was stout and shiny. The country's future was bright. We were young and every day was like a round, gleaming pebble.
After a decade in England, she had returned to South Africa. She would end up working as a journalist and editor for various newspapers and magazines. Her mother, Jane Raphaely, grande dame of local magazines, wanted to involve Vanessa and and her other daughter, Julia, in her business, Associated Magazines.
Jane was the founding editor of Fair Lady and her then bosses, the Nasionale Pers men from the 1960s, could not quite fathom her. She spoke with a high British accent and the story goes that some of the grey old men had no clue what she was talking about.
What they did know was that she was a smart businesswoman who could make money for them with her successful magazine. But Jane eventually left to start her own business and in 1983 Jane Raphaely & Associates was established.
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Back to circa 1993.
Jane had her hands full with Cosmopolitan, Femina and her new baby, House and Leisure. Later she would launch more magazines, all of them media triumphs. It was the era of lots of advertising and large circulations – when sales easily topped 100 000 readers.
Vanessa took over the editorship of Cosmopolitan and made important editorial decisions for the company with Julia, her mother and Volker Kuhnel (Jane's business partner). They employed many people and created many jobs. Quite a few of the journalists who worked for them became editors themselves.
However, Vanessa saw trouble coming as the internet began to advance and cellphones became smarter. “I knew something new was coming, exciting, but with tragic consequences for the print media," she says.
Circulation figures began to decline, while hungry readers moved en masse to the internet. Then came Covid-19 with its apocalyptic lockdowns.
Overnight, the company closed its doors. Götterdämmerung: This was the unavoidable end of one of the very best learning schools in journalism. The Raphaely family was devastated as were the people who worked for them.
Although Vanessa was already less involved at that stage, “it felt as if we had lost a family member", she says.
***
“When I originally left there," she says, “I was 'unemployable'. I had to start something new and work for myself.
“For a while I was in a desert of uncertainty and with low self-esteem. I was going to start a new business in the Gardens Centre, but something didn't feel right to me.
“Just before I wanted to invest money in it, Covid-19 came. My instinct was right," she says.
The idea for The Village took hold of her. Her own children were leaving puberty and she began to wonder how she would navigate their teenage years.
She realised that many of her friends were also half terrified of what lay ahead; their children were no longer young and could no longer be so easily contained. It was an unknown terrain full of pitfalls.
“It started as a type of ‘side hustle'," she says. “And when I looked again, there were 150 000 followers on Instagram and 60 000 on Facebook."
Fortunately, her years in the magazine world had given her a strong instinct for the holes in people's lives, about which they want to learn and find out more. “I don't really consider myself an excellent writer, but I suspect I'm good with ideas and their execution."
The forum has become so popular that there is a book out now, We Were Perfect Parents Until We Had Children – 60 000 Village Families Share Their Wisdom.
It was compiled and edited jointly by Vanessa and poet and journalist Karin Schimke. Vanessa and Karin had to go through a horde of entries and be strict curators.
There is advice on what to do if your child is being bullied at school, or is a loner and doesn't want to mix with other teenagers.
There is also advice on how strict or lenient one should be with your child's technology use, how to manage a first love relationship and there is simply news that people want to share with the “neighbours" in The Village.
Someone writes: “My motherly heart is full, my 28-year-old eldest son (who works on a private yacht in Florida, USA) is home after 18 very long months. He brought his new love that he met in the USA home with him to show her our beautiful country.
“We browsed through baby albums and had a proper first braai. Wonderful to see him so happy." With this entry, she posts a photo of her son and his “girlfriend".
To the sourpusses in our ranks, it will sound boring, but if you note how many people participate in these discussions, it is clear that it fulfils a need.
Most of the group are South Africans, but we have people from all over the world. Also of all races and religions. Just a mixed bag.
Vanessa Raphaely
Though I don't have children, I too am on the group. Only now do I realise how my friends had to learn to improvise with their teenagers (yes, I've been there when bedroom doors were slammed shut) and what my own mother had to go through.
It started with Vanessa working all on her own, but now a team of five people is helping her, and 200 volunteers ensure that no fights break out or insults are hurled.
***
Some of the questions I've seen people ask have a touch of pathos. Anonymous writes: “Today I am sad for my children (11 & 13) and I am 50, because we are not included in the sports barbecues or Springbok game barbecues or the family weekends away, we are on the sidelines looking in, never sharing in the ‘group'.
“Being a single and divorced mother comes with many ‘downs', I am more sad for the children, I had the perfect childhood, but they will never know it. For all the other divorced mothers out there, I see you, I feel for you, we do the best we can every day."
More than 47 people (last time I checked) have responded. No, not everyone offers a professional opinion, but as mentioned it has that village vibe, you feel you can reach out.
One woman replied: “Start creating your own memories with your children and stop relying on other people to do it for you. It doesn't have to cost a fortune – homemade pizza nights every Friday, or movie nights or a barbecue at home (with the sport on).
“Depending on where you live, go to a park, walk on the beach with an ice cream. You don't have to ask other people to make memories for you and your children."
An entry that made me smile was by the woman who told her 13-year-old son that he was a teenager now, he could decorate his room any way he wanted. When she later checked, she was amazed.
His entire bed was covered in teddy bears, neatly set out next to each other. “What should I do?" she asked the group.
“Oh man, leave him alone, he's discovering himself. Don't worry about it," they said in unison.
Some of the posts about emotional abuse, extramarital affairs that women only find out about much later are discussed regularly, and if professional help is needed, you will be referred to the right person.
What a great idea from Vanessa, but how are things going with her?
“I turned 60 and I am the mother of Milla (24), Max (23) and Leo (17). My husband, Simmy Peerutin (67), is an architect."
She has already published five books, including two children's books and a novel. After her studies at the University of Cape Town in politics and economics, she went to London.
“I've had a wonderful career in the media and now I'm in a place where I can give back, like with The Village. Still, life can be hectic. Yes, life can be a wrecking ball," she says.
Just as she was starting The Village, her stepdaughter, Alex (24), died. It knocked them down; her eyes moisten when she talks about it.
Vanessa grew up in Newlands and Jane, now 87, still lives in the same house. Her father unexpectedly died last December.
“My mother tells me he was the only love in her life. Oh yes, then my mother adds, ‘hmmm ... okay, my work too'." She takes out her cellphone and shows me snapshots of Jane dancing up a storm at a family gathering.
Again I see the dynamic woman who was one of the greatest entrepreneurs in magazine journalism. Her eyes strong and defiant, she who has mentored hundreds of people over the decades.
“When I was little, I was shy of my mother, especially when she arrived at school functions. She was this famous editor, it made me feel uncomfortable as a child, that's just how young people can be.
“Later I was filled with pride. We had been quite wild, me and my three siblings. Jane gave us a lot of freedom. I was sad when her media dream came crashing down with Covid-19. She remains brave."
As a psychiatrist friend of mine recently wrote via WhatsApp from Sydney: “Sometimes it's good to wonder a little about the future, but avoid doomsday scenarios as far as possible, we can't rehearse for the future."
Vanessa talks with sadness about the illnesses of people close to her. She believes that life is “messy", we have to accept it that way.
While we are sitting, a woman walks up to her and bursts into tears. Vanessa rises and hugs her.
“I used to work for Vanessa," she tells me. “I learned so much from her and her mother."
She turns back to Vanessa and tries to wipe away the tears. “He is dead, my husband died of lung cancer three months ago. You remember him.
“He went to the doctor and the doctor said he had three months left. That's how it turned out. Fortunately, I had at least 15 years with him," she says.
“Thank you again for everything you have meant to me." She pulls her shoulders back, raises her head and walks off briskly.
Vanessa and I had forgotten to keep an eye on the front door. In the languid afternoon we failed to notice any Raka.
He who can frighten and distress you. I think of the novel The first life of Colet by Etienne Leroux: “Why does the sea roar like that?" Colet asks the woman who is looking after him at the very beginning.
“It's the cry of lost souls," she replies. And there it begins, the many whys that torment and confuse and weaken him, until he no longer asks “why", just knows: I am and life is and it's all a wilderness – and we're heading into the wilderness.
♦ VWB ♦
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