Keeping up with the Peters
Ravi Govender, third from left, with Paul Peters, Govender's wife, Marsh, and Jessie Peters.
Image: Supplied
ON FRIDAY, May 16, 2025, I went to Phoenix. Not the one in Arizona in the US, the one right here in KwaZulu-Natal. So, what is so special about that, you may ask? Hundreds of thousands of people do that daily. Well, it was unusual for two reasons.
The last time I had visited the suburb was perhaps five years ago, when I used to travel every Friday evening to present the evening music programme on Phoenix FM. It was around the same time too as I painfully recalled the traffic congestion on the freeway and the long wait to get on to the Mount Edgecombe off-ramp.
'By the time I get to Phoenix' (1967 song by Glen Campbell), I would have had spent a whole hour driving. My visit this time was for a beautiful reason. It was to celebrate the 50th wedding anniversary of my godparents. You see I was a child when Paul met Jessie. It was love in the air and marriage soon followed. They were family friends of ours and we belonged to the same religious faith as well.
It was a given that when my parents died, I took them as my mentors and substitute parents. I only learned later on that my father and Paul had made a pact that if either of them passed on, the survivor would look after the other's family.
Even before the marriage, Paul had been an integral part of our family. He shared the same passion for movies as did my late brother, Rajin, and I. On a regular basis he would pick us up and take us to the cinema. We never missed the latest releases. It was not surprising that Paul became like a second dad to my brother and I. He drove a Morris Minor and thereafter a white Volkswagen Beetle and it was our transport to a myriad beach outings and picnics and other social functions.
Suffice to say, my father and Paul became firm friends and both also served as elders in our Christian congregation. With role-models like that it was inevitable that Rajin and I also became elders when we reached adulthood and what an honour it was to serve God alongside these two stalwarts.
When my dad passed on, I leaned quite heavily on Paul for emotional support and guidance and I am surprised that he did not topple over as he is a man of slight build and thin. This was the pivot for many a ribbing from my brother and I at Paul's expense. He had worked and retired at Ninian and Lester whose big brand was Jockey underwear. This led to us teasing him that, due to his small build, he was born to be a jockey. He also did boxing in his young days, as did my father who trained as a heavyweight.
When asked which weight division did Paul train in, my ever-witty brother would opine: 'paper weight'. To his credit, Paul always, to this day, takes this ribbing of him good-naturedly.
Back to the love story. After marriage the couple settled down in Phoenix and until present day, reside in Foresthaven, where Paul still serves the local congregation faithfully. The school hall in the area served as the venue for the grand 50th anniversary. And grand it was. The function was compered by the oldest of their two sons, Wayne, who did an admirable job. The occasion was wonderful. I relished meeting old friends who I have not seen in many years and spending time with them was precious.
The food was outstanding. Not surprising as Jessie is an exceptional cook. She did not cook the anniversary meal, but you can be sure she tested and tasted extensively to choose the caterer.The evening ended with dance and here Paul showed the young attendees how to 'burn' the dancefloor. He is amazing for his age. When he was getting 'down' on the dancefloor, we were worried whether he would be able to get back up again. We had no need for concern. The old man still has the moves!
My reason for writing this subject is not just to praise my godparents. Rather, their story is testament to the sacredness of marriage. Their marital longevity is a sterling example to young one contemplating getting married. It is also proof that two people can gel for 50 years through thick and thin, and make a go of the union.
I am proud of them and I hope their community is too. They are definitely an asset to them. In a world gone crazy, where a marriage certificate is treated as not worth the paper it is signed on, we have the Peters. Paul and Jessie showing how it can and should be done.
Ravi Govender
Image: Supplied
Ravi Govender is a former POST sub-editor and Lotus FM radio presenter. He is a published author, a freelance editor and film producer in training. He can be contacted at: [email protected]
** The views expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of IOL or Independent Media.
THE POST
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Ravi Govender, third from left, with Paul Peters, Govender's wife, Marsh, and Jessie Peters. Image: Supplied ON FRIDAY, May 16, 2025, I went to Phoenix. Not the one in Arizona in the US, the one right here in KwaZulu-Natal. So, what is so special about that, you may ask? Hundreds of thousands of people do that daily. Well, it was unusual for two reasons. The last time I had visited the suburb was perhaps five years ago, when I used to travel every Friday evening to present the evening music programme on Phoenix FM. It was around the same time too as I painfully recalled the traffic congestion on the freeway and the long wait to get on to the Mount Edgecombe off-ramp. 'By the time I get to Phoenix' (1967 song by Glen Campbell), I would have had spent a whole hour driving. My visit this time was for a beautiful reason. It was to celebrate the 50th wedding anniversary of my godparents. You see I was a child when Paul met Jessie. It was love in the air and marriage soon followed. They were family friends of ours and we belonged to the same religious faith as well. It was a given that when my parents died, I took them as my mentors and substitute parents. I only learned later on that my father and Paul had made a pact that if either of them passed on, the survivor would look after the other's family. Even before the marriage, Paul had been an integral part of our family. He shared the same passion for movies as did my late brother, Rajin, and I. On a regular basis he would pick us up and take us to the cinema. We never missed the latest releases. It was not surprising that Paul became like a second dad to my brother and I. He drove a Morris Minor and thereafter a white Volkswagen Beetle and it was our transport to a myriad beach outings and picnics and other social functions. Suffice to say, my father and Paul became firm friends and both also served as elders in our Christian congregation. With role-models like that it was inevitable that Rajin and I also became elders when we reached adulthood and what an honour it was to serve God alongside these two stalwarts. When my dad passed on, I leaned quite heavily on Paul for emotional support and guidance and I am surprised that he did not topple over as he is a man of slight build and thin. This was the pivot for many a ribbing from my brother and I at Paul's expense. He had worked and retired at Ninian and Lester whose big brand was Jockey underwear. This led to us teasing him that, due to his small build, he was born to be a jockey. He also did boxing in his young days, as did my father who trained as a heavyweight. When asked which weight division did Paul train in, my ever-witty brother would opine: 'paper weight'. To his credit, Paul always, to this day, takes this ribbing of him good-naturedly. Back to the love story. After marriage the couple settled down in Phoenix and until present day, reside in Foresthaven, where Paul still serves the local congregation faithfully. The school hall in the area served as the venue for the grand 50th anniversary. And grand it was. The function was compered by the oldest of their two sons, Wayne, who did an admirable job. The occasion was wonderful. I relished meeting old friends who I have not seen in many years and spending time with them was precious. The food was outstanding. Not surprising as Jessie is an exceptional cook. She did not cook the anniversary meal, but you can be sure she tested and tasted extensively to choose the evening ended with dance and here Paul showed the young attendees how to 'burn' the dancefloor. He is amazing for his age. When he was getting 'down' on the dancefloor, we were worried whether he would be able to get back up again. We had no need for concern. The old man still has the moves! My reason for writing this subject is not just to praise my godparents. Rather, their story is testament to the sacredness of marriage. Their marital longevity is a sterling example to young one contemplating getting married. It is also proof that two people can gel for 50 years through thick and thin, and make a go of the union. I am proud of them and I hope their community is too. They are definitely an asset to them. In a world gone crazy, where a marriage certificate is treated as not worth the paper it is signed on, we have the Peters. Paul and Jessie showing how it can and should be done. Ravi Govender Image: Supplied Ravi Govender is a former POST sub-editor and Lotus FM radio presenter. He is a published author, a freelance editor and film producer in training. He can be contacted at: [email protected] ** The views expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of IOL or Independent Media. THE POST
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I got to a bit on Roosevelt's New Deal. This would normally have fascinated me but I struggled to focus because I knew I had an essential task to fulfil: a prayer to deliver. Finally, I closed my eyes: 'Dear Lord, I know what I'm about to say will upset you, but I am taking a year off from being a Christian. I am having a year's break. Amen.' The ties that bound me to God were like synapses that had connected my brain ever since birth. It took the severing of parental power and the disembodiment of being in a tube above the clouds to find the will to break them. I needed the physical gap with my father before I could find the emotional and mental gap, the freedom and the courage, to make my move. Once I had done that, something unexpected happened – the very thing that had failed to occur when I was 'born again' and 'baptised in the spirit' and sang those hallelujah choruses in all those youth groups. I experienced an epiphany, an overwhelming sense of relief. My eyes opened and I began to process all those latent thoughts that I'd been pushing aside ever since I'd learnt that 'matter cannot be created or destroyed'. By the time the plane landed, I'd moved on from my little prayer. I was no longer sure about anything, but I realised that I was not a Christian in suspense for a year. I was no longer a Christian. Twenty-six years earlier, Bruce had gone from being a Jewish atheist to a born-again Christian in one night. I had just done something similar – in the opposite direction. The next day in San Marcos, Texas, I settled in with a Catholic family, who asked if I was an Episcopalian. 'No, I'm an agnostic,' I replied – the first time I'd used that word. I wrote home the next day, informing my parents I no longer believed what they did. I didn't yet know what I believed – atheism would take more than another decade to settle – but sitting at my desk in the bedroom, I felt open to ideas and to exploration. When I reached the end of my letter, I hesitated. The hand-out cards Rotary had printed for me said 'Gavin M Evans', and my host family took this cue. It was not too late to put them right by informing them that, actually, I preferred to use my second name, Mark. But as my pen hovered, I thought again of the apostle who changed his name after his eyes were opened, and it struck me that my eyes had been opened. I signed off: 'Love, Gavin'.
