Meeting Mary-Jo | A memorable moment

Like an unforgettable novel, unexpected encounters with ordinary, everyday strangers can have a profound impact and leave a lasting impression on you.

Have you ever read a novel where the characters, pathos or storytelling moments linger with you long after you’ve turned the last page? It doesn’t happen with every book, but occasionally, there’s one that has something special, something that stays with you.

For the record, I have a few reads that have affected me in such a manner: The Beekeeper of Aleppo by Christy Lefteri, The Giver of Stars by Jojo Moyes, The Trouble with Goats and Sheep by Joanna Cannon, Miriam’s Song by Mark Mathabane, and Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens.  

This kind of literary experience can also take on a human form: an encounter with a stranger who unexpectedly and profoundly impacts your day.

They don’t do anything extraordinary or out of the norm. They aren't celebrities or politicians or influencers. They’re just ordinary, everyday folk who cross your path and unintentionally leave a mark on your life.

These are strangers you might meet in passing, during a planned encounter, or at a scheduled appointment, but they end up becoming more than a means to an end, enriching your life in surprising ways. They’re individuals you may or may not see again, but somehow, their presence and your interaction with them leave you slightly altered. 

Just like that unforgettable novel, these encounters are rare and remarkable. It's exactly because they're not everyday occurrences that makes them noteworthy. 

Mary-Jo - a rosarian - is one of these remarkable strangers. (Since crossing paths with her a few days ago, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her).

We met while on a mission to buy rose bushes for our garden from a farm out of town. 

We did get the roses, but we also got so much more than what we had come for. 

We met Mary-Jo, the most delightful woman whose humble and unrestrained passion, joy and enthusiasm - for life and roses - brightened our day. 

In modern job terms, Mary-Jo would be labelled a ‘farm labourer.’ But this green-fingered, self-taught ‘horticulturist’, with her hands-on experience and ‘in-the-field’ expertise, made me want to sit at her feet and absorb some of her knowledge and energy. 

Her animated chatter, ready smile, unapologetic ‘lus vir die lewe’ and contagious love for roses (and fruit trees), deeply affected me. 

I’m grateful that our paths crossed; she shifted my perspective in a small but significant way. 

Mary-Jo could be anyone, but these moments are rare. They make you look at the world a little differently; stirring something inside you that’s hard to put into words. (‘Serendipitous’ or ‘providence’ are probably the closest I can get). 

I’m not naive. I know that Mary-Jo’s and my contexts, backstories and cultures are vastly different. But sometimes the lines get blurred, and standing in that patch of iceberg rose bushes, her story intersected and impacted mine.  

To the world, Mary-Jo’s life might seem simple and ordinary, and yet, on that wintry Tuesday morning, she was extraordinary to me. (And I’m not going to forget that).

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