My mother turned 95 this week.
It’s a figure so startling I can’t quite process it because the woman behind this fat number is simply, Mama – my 4’11, Greek Egyptian firecracker who unapologetically takes up more space than her slight frame would imply.
Here’s a glimpse into the world of my favourite, pentalingual nonagenarian.
Barbara Foundis boarded a migrant ship in the 60s and travelled to Australia as a single mother of three teens.
A talented singer with a bluesy voice, Mum did what most ‘new Australians’ did – she worked in factories, specifically as a machinist for Sydney’s burgeoning ragtrade. She single-handedly raised two daughters and one son from her first marriage. Then one day she fell for her Cairo schoolyard nemesis, Dino. And in 1970 I was born.
Mum’s lived without Dad for 14 years. But her feisty, hilarious and fierce independence remains intact.
She lives alone in the same small housing commission flat we moved to in the 70s. Hundreds of photos and porcelain knick knacks jostle for space here. Greek TV channels numb the solitude. My sons’ visits lift her spirits. And when she’s not ruminating over the family rejection she’s endured over the years, her determination to live loud is palpable.
One night last year Mum braved some wild weather to see my one woman show. As I shared my Greek-studded stories, her hearty laugh rang out. Joyful.
And this is what I celebrate the most about my mother, her joy – this birthday and beyond.
© Phyllis Foundis 2025