Love across the Line

Last night my son and I rented the movie Our Family Wedding - a story about a cross-cultural wedding and the difficulties the bridal couple endure. I didn’t expect it to be a good movie (it wasn't) but was curious to see Ugly Betty’s America Ferreira and maybe have a bit of a laugh.

It was interesting to see the levels of racism portrayed in the movie. It's the same issues which have been highlighted in many movies like My Big Fat Greek Wedding, and many others which portray love across the “line”. But this movie was quite explicit about the differences between the families, and even the workmen were making fun of the wedding between "Mexicanos" and "Negritos". It's one thing when the two families hold onto their traditions so fiercely that life becomes difficult for the bridal couple but quite another when a whole community is against the wedding. I know it's hardly the definitive word on the state of racism in the US but I believe that it's a close reflection of reality. It's certainly an issue here in South Africa.

I have written about racism in a previous blog but it is a topic I will probably keep coming back to as I battle to make sense of where we come from. I believe that we are not born racist. But we have this instinct to hold onto what is familiar and to protect our traditions to a level where we exclude others. It is such a limiting standpoint. We close ourselves off to new experiences and viewpoints that can only enrich our lives.

I had a very interesting chat to a woman at dinner the other night – she is Swiss-German, her husband Italian and they are living here temporarily. For a while French was their common language until they had children and then decided that they should speak Italian. The children went on to be educated in the UK. The daughter married a Brazilian who she met while working on a project in India. They now live in Australia. The son who was living in the US, not to be outdone by his sister, has a partner of Japanese and American origin and they live in Spain. I think I got that all right!

I find the lack of borders and artificial boundaries wonderful. The family is truly international. They have travelled and worked in different countries and been exposed to diverse people and cultures. They have rich experiences and I am sure that there has to be tolerance and respect for it to work. I am rubbing my hands in glee waiting to see how the grandchildren turn out!

Like Mark Twain said, travel is fatal to bigotry, prejudice and narrow-mindedness. But we don’t need to go far. We can travel to our neighbours and communities, read, watch movies and be open to different experiences. It comes down to respecting each other, embracing differences and understanding that our way is not the only way.

Dinner invite for one

I have been to three social functions on my own in the last ten days.  I am not sure how this has happened since I would normally choose to decline rather than go alone. My husband being away provides the perfect excuse. However, the Inyathelo Philanthropy Awards, held last week, is an annual function I enjoy going to, and, on Friday night, a close friend was hosting a charity table. So I did want to go, although that awkwardness of arriving and not seeing anyone that I knew, was evident on both occasions. 


This evening's function however, purely social, I sort of got talked into and before I knew it I received an email about how nice it would be to have me. As the week progressed I found myself making a hair appointment and thinking about what to wear, alternating with what am I letting myself in for? However, by yesterday I had decided to keep an open mind and go with the flow. If nothing else, I would have a story to tell. Last week I noted that "So, do you work?" has changed to "What industry are you in?" Although that conversation progressed pleasantly enough. It seems yoga has become rather popular recently.  


I love to people-watch, so actually going to a function is not all effort. Last night there was plenty to watch. Like the little Asian man who was wearing the brightest green jacket that I have ever seen -  as if he was trying his utmost to make up for his size and be noticed. There was also the unlikely blonde, surely surgically-enhanced, who when introduced to a tall Xhosa gentleman, let out a string of isi-Xhosa. It was delightful to see the connection it immediately made. He leaned in closer and a for a few moments spoke animatedly. The conversation continued in English but had been lit by the spark of that connection. It reminded me of a quote by Nelson Mandela, "If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his language, that goes to his heart."  Also another reminder not to put people into boxes!


Our hosts were a lovely couple who have raised truly international children - speaking six or seven languages between them and mixing as many cultures with their choice of partners! Their two children are now on opposite ends of the planet while they will be here for the next while.  


I sat next to a very charming gentleman from Portugal, who told me that if you needed to find your daughter a husband the best place to do so would be to send her to hotel school in Switzerland! Apparently there are many unions between hotel students. Not unlike medical school, which has the same phenomenon for many of the same reasons. When you work so hard and such odd hours, you need a partner who will understand what you are going through. 


The restaurant was casually elegant and the food good - not "child portions arranged by an interior designer", as one guest at the table observed.  Although I could have foregone all just for the most sublime chocolate dessert! I had a pleasant evening and met some interesting people. Sometimes you just need to go with the flow. Or maybe it doesn't matter so much anymore what people think. 

Becoming humble: Lessons teaching yoga in a township hall

We are in a big dusty hall. African drums are beating outside and I am trying to get a group of 12 year olds to zip their mouths and eyes and be quiet. I put the music louder in an attempt to drown out the outside noise. Someone shouts through the slit in the door and they all jump up as I try to see what is going on. There is no way to do this quietly - I have to wriggle the chair out of the door handle and then push the door open. There is a little boy standing there pointing to the culprit, who has run away. 

Back to the class. The little boy they call Beyonce has completely lost focus. It has been difficult to begin with - I am not sure why he wants to do yoga - he bounces around all over the mat, and off the mat and I despair of getting him to focus. He talks to the girls on either side of him. They complain and I remind him that if he doesn't want to be there, he should leave.

They lie down again and expectantly wait for me to come around and adjust them. I have a little pot of lavender and peppermint cream which I rub onto their foreheads. I hope the effect is going to be worth the distraction of them wondering what it is I am doing.

For five whole minutes, they manage to sink into a quiet space. Even Beyonce has pulled it together and is still. Two of them have fallen fast asleep and I gently wake them before the others shake them less gently. As I pack up, the manager asks me how it went. "I am sure I have a few more grey hairs," I tell him. He leans closer as if to check this. "Hmm," he says. "I can see they are making you humble."

Once a week I have the privilege of introducing yoga to a group of children at Project Playground in the township of Langa. I feel that I am learning as much as they are. At every turn I am challenged to re-think my idea of a yoga class. Some sessions have had more than 18 children,with some crying outside to be given a chance to participate. During one session food was being served from the kitchen at the back of the hall - the staff in the kitchen was carrying on a conversation as loudly as they could. We have a bit of a language barrier, but it generally works well with me demonstrating, although they all jump up when I get up to come round and check their postures. So I have to make sure that they know that I am getting up but expect them to carry on.

But if yoga is about finding your focus and accessing that inner peace, then my challenge here is to help them to do just that in the spaces that they find themselves in. For many of them that space is even more chaotic than the solid structure that is the hall we are able to  use. For a short while they are able to access that quiet place and I hope that they have realised that each one of them possesses the ability to make themselves feel good.

My reward is seeing them relax so deeply at the end of the session that they fall asleep in spite of the drums, the shouting, the distractions.  I am humbled. 

Doing Good, Feeling Good

Anybody who knows me well, will know how I feel about going to business dinners or functions where I am expected to make small talk - see my blog on "So do you work?". But there is one annual function that I really enjoy - that is the Inyathelo dinner. 

Inyathelo is also known as the South African Institute for Advancement and their mission is "to build an enduring culture of 'giving' that results in a strong and stable society and democracy in SA". They do this by growing local philanthropy and supporting non-profit organisations. Every year they have a dinner to celebrate the people who have made a difference to the communities that they live or work in. 

Last week there were no fewer than 11 awardees. Gentlecare which provides a hospice for sick and homeless people, the Kay Mason Foundation which provides bursaries for exceptional children from disadvantaged backgrounds to high school, and 18Twenty8 which empowers young women through personal development, were just some of those honoured at the dinner last night. 

What I am always impressed by is how little it takes to change someone's life and how giving someone a hand up can make such an enormous difference. So many of us don't do anything because we think that the problems are so overwhelming that it is useless to even try, but if we all give what we can, whether it is money or time, we can help to change society. 

One of the young recipients of the Kay Mason bursary, who grew up "in a hell-hole, overwhelmed by drugs, alcohol, poverty, teenage parents and gangster-ism", notes in his testimony that he may look just like all the other students at his school but when compared with children from his neighbourhood, he is one of the most privileged. He has been given the opportunity to break the cycle through education at a good government school outside of this hellhole. And, suddenly a host of opportunities has opened up to him.

It was also very encouraging to hear about the trend that I hope will catch on here. Bill Gates and Warren Buffett have decided that they would give away their money while they were still alive. They certainly have enough to live on, and why not do it now when they can see what effect their philanthropy is having? That way you get to enjoy it twice!

Back to the dinner - it is a real feel-good occasion. To hear what people are doing, some people with very little, and the stories of what they have achieved is truly inspiring. It's good practice to sit back, every now and then, and celebrate what we are doing right.

Horse-riding and other mid-life challenges

On Friday night I sat next to a show-jumper at dinner. He told me how riding had kept him out of mischief as a teenager when all his friends were going off clubbing, and doing other things that teenagers do. Horse-riding did not rank high on any list I might have had growing up in South Africa, when I did. Fortunately, I could contribute to the conversation since my son has been riding for a few years now. He has always loved animals and one day declared that he would like to go riding. I think I might have dismissed it as a passing phase. Many holiday trips found him longing to go riding. 

One holiday we did a horse safari in Addo Elephant Park - I am not sure how I get talked into all these things. My husband assured me that he had told the guide that we were Absolute Beginners, so off we went. Things started off simply enough until we had to duck to go through a bridge under the highway. We had to wait our turn and the horses got a little restless, bumping into each other. It was my son's horse  which reared up and dumped him on his bottom. To our surprise, he stood up and got straight back on. This was not very confidence-inspiring in my daughter who was even less enchanted than I was at the prospect of being on a safari on an animal in an area where we knew lions roamed! However, there was no turning back and we spent the longest 2 hours of my life trying to enjoy the experience!

On our return home, my son reminded me again that I had not done anything about his earlier request for riding lessons. After a little research,  we were recommended to a riding school which had a waiting list of 9 months (which, I admit, I hoped would put him off). He waited patiently and, now, four years later, we are still taking weekly trips to the "mink-and-manure" side of the mountain. He loves riding and has changed his lesson to a Friday afternoon as it is "a good way to end the week."

Of course now that he can ride he is even more keen on tracking down places that offer riding when we are on holiday. I may add that he has dragged his similarly riding-challenged father off at dawn to ride Arabian horses in the desert of Sharm-el-Sheik! 


Last year we had quite the year of the animals - shark cage diving, whale watching, riding elephants and bottle-feeding tigers in Thailand. In between the adventures on the sea in Hermanus, my son dragged us off to do some horse riding – "gentle ponies that even you can ride mom!" After an hour in the saddle on Lukas, who had ideas of his own about whether he should in fact move, I needed to be prised off and was not sure whether I would ever be able to walk upright again. I spent the rest of the week sporting a John Wayne swagger from those Westerns we watched as children. 

After the Lukas experience, I decided that perhaps I should have a few lessons to get the hang of it since it seems like this riding thing was here to stay. At least I could learn to sit properly instead of being thrown around like a sack of potatoes. While the idea of riding (being outdoors, the graceful rhythm that seems almost meditative) is peculiarly appealing to me, I have to admit to a certain reservation about the whole business. 


I am so aware that this is an animal - bigger and stronger than I - with its own mind. And when the teacher says give him a whack - I mean what is that?  - an open invitation to fly over its head? Neither does riding a horse called Hercules conjure up visions of gentle canters through the forest. I bravely attended a term of lessons and would like to say that I am prepared for the next Lukas. Alas, the longer I went for lessons the more convinced I became that the odds of being thrown off were stacking up against me. Images of the late Christopher Reeve (aka Superman) started to appear in my dreams. I felt like I was playing Russian Roulette and decided to quit before I met my end. 


I have to admit I do feel just a little bit proud of stepping out of my comfort zone and adding riding to one of my mid-life challenges. But I can ride an elephant, and I did that bareback. 

The Tenth Sekunjalo EduJazz Concert

I don't think that there were many people with dry eyes as the concert hall at the Baxter Theatre in Rondebosch vibrated with the energy of jazz musicians, culminating in a poignant rendering of the national anthem. On Friday evening I was once again privileged to attend the Sekunjalo EduJazz Concert. The concert raises funds for learners from the poorest communities in the Western Cape and currently, 75 schools benefit from the initiative.

The money raised goes to bursaries and workshops, promoting and developing young musicians, encouraging the spread of music and culture and contributing to the alleviation of crime in our townships. The annual concert gives these young people the opportunity to perform on stage in front of an audience. The programme usually follows the format of the children playing during the first half, followed by a headline act in the second. 

One of the products of this initiative is the Delft Big Band from one of the poorest communities in the W. Cape with high unemployment and crime levels. Yet you would not know it to see and hear these young people, proudly making beautiful music with secondhand or borrowed instruments.

This year, we were treated to the sounds of Ifidyoli Strings (a Beau Soleil Project) and the EduJazz Collaboration featuring Alexander Sinton, and Heathfield High School and the EduJazz ensemble (made up of students from various schools). The headline act was provided by Jimmy Dludlu who is a South African Music Awards winner for Best Contemporary Jazz Album. He plays traditional and modern jazz, music from West and Central Africa and Latin America.

Jimmy Dludlu is a genius. With his pork pie hat and black-rimmed spectacles he cuts a stylish figure. He has an amazing stage presence and ability to engage the audience and had people dancing  in the aisles before long. At the end of his set he invited the young musicians up on to the stage to join him. Playing with Jimmy Dludlu on stage must be enough for these kids to build memories on, but when he actually gave his guitar to the kids to play a few bars, I had goosebumps. I have these new South Africa moments that I collect (things that would have been unthinkable pre-1994) and this definitely ranks high on the list. The emotion in the hall was palpable and it seemed like the most natural thing to lead into the anthem. 

Well done to Sekunjalo for walking the talk of empowerment. And we had fun doing it. 

The Purple Shall Govern

This morning I went to Caledon Square Police Station to report an accident I was involved in last night. It brought back some memories. The last time I was at that police station was in 1989, being arrested following a protest march at which I was assisting with first aid. In what famously became known as the Purple March, a peaceful protest was held in the area around Greenmarket Square, as part of the Defiance Campaign. When the crowd refused to disperse, but sat down in the road, the police attacked with teargas, batons and a surprise weapon -  a water cannon that was filled with purple dye, with which they proceeded to spray the marchers. In a further act of defiance, one of the marchers jumped onto the cannon and turned the hose onto the policemen, causing great jubilation amongst the rest of the marchers.

Our jubilation was short-lived. The police then went around arresting everyone who had been stained purple. Hundreds of us were arrested, piled into vans and taken to the nearest police station, which happened to be Caledon Square. Needless to say the police station was in chaos with more people than they could handle. It took them forever to process us - mugshots, fingerprints, the whole deal.

I well remember the camaraderie in the cell with about 40 of us, all women, bonding. We sang freedom songs, chatted and harassed the police by demanding to be taken to a toilet outside of the cell (not the less than private one in the corner of the cell) and asking for food. We knew that we had friends and supporters rallying around at St George's cathedral, and that kept us going through the night.

One of my "cell-mates" was my high school maths teacher (an Irish nun) - which came in handy as an introduction when telling my parents that I had been arrested - "Well, you know who I met yesterday...?".

I was accompanied by two friends, fellow-occupational therapists, both of them blonde, who l walked around with purple hair for weeks, comparing notes about the effectiveness of domestic bleach and other products for removing purple rinses. Which did not go down well with the powers that be at the school we worked at.

We were all released later, more resolved to carry on with the campaign. A few days later a friend presented me with a T-shirt emblazoned with the words "The Purple shall Govern" - an off-shoot of the line from the Freedom Charter - The People shall Govern. Such was the spirit of the anti-apartheid movement.

When I mentioned this to the policewoman taking down my statement, she said "Yhu, yhu!, I was in primary school then. What is the Purple March? Oh, illegal march..." She had no clue. In many ways it does feel like a lifetime ago.

Safety First: Cycling Helmets and Seat-belts

This morning after dropping my son at school I took a walk around the neighbourhood, a lovely walk, through the park and adjoining cricket grounds ... lots of trees and a view of the mountain. It is good to see so many children cycling and walking to school but I find it disconcerting that so many of them are cycling either without helmets, or with helmets perched on top of their heads, with the straps dangling down. If they were to fall off their bikes, the helmets would go flying.

It may not be cool (I am guessing that that is the reason they are not wearing them) but it will certainly offer some protection if necessary. A study by Schwellnus and Derman in the SA Family Practice Journal in 2005 cited that the use of cycling helmets can reduce head injury by 85% and that wearing a hard shell cycling helmet was the most important measure for preventing acute injury.

And to come to one of my favourite bug bears - people have much the same attitude to wearing seat-belts in this country. Wearing of seat-belts was a non-negotiable for me when it came to my children, even though there were no laws in place at the time. They were placed into their seats and belts done up. The car was "not able to ride" if for any reason there happened to be a protest about being belted up. Having worked at a school for children with cerebral palsy and head injuries, as well as a hospital for spinal cord injuries, I had seen firsthand what the effects of being involved in a car accident could be, especially if no-one was wearing a belt. 

Even though wearing a seat-belt has now become law, I shudder to see the number of children, without seat-belts, sitting in the backseat in a position where they could be catapulted through the front window if the car should brake. And even worse, are the adults who hold babies on their laps in the front passenger seat!

A visit to the Arrive Alive website will show that wearing a seat-belt reduces the probability of being killed by 50% for drivers and front seat passengers and 25% of passengers in the rear seat. The risk of death for infants is 70% and for children aged 1-4 years, 50%. And consider this - 75% of vehicle occupants who are ejected from the vehicle (not being restrained by a seat belt) during a crash die, while only 5% of restrained occupants do. 

It is not worth taking the risk, even for that short trip down the road. I know. I have a nephew in his mid-20s whose life was irreversibly changed when he lost his leg from the hip after being tossed out of a car on the way to get takeouts one night two years ago. The 19-year-old driver was killed. No-one was wearing a seat-belt.

Where are the Heroes?

As much as I am always moaning at my children to read the newspapers, there are definitely times that I am glad that they don't. Like the last few days where the front page has all the details of the latest sporting "hero" to bare all  and come clean, no doubt to promote his career and line his pockets. This morning, yet another sportsman is telling his story and letting out secrets. Why do we want to know this? Why should we even care? 

Our children need heroes. We need heroes. We need people to look up to. People who lead lives that inspire us to be better people. People who have overcome adversity, people who are compassionate, respectful and tolerant.  Real heroes who are accessible and whose achievements are examples of what we would like to be.

Sports people encourage us with their prowess on the field and they spur us on to work harder, to go further, to be the best we can on the field. While I can think of many sporting people who are inspirational off the field, we should not expect them to be heroic simply because they have a skill which they shine at.


I think we are partly to blame for putting people onto pedestals, bowing down to them in glorification and adoration and expecting them to be icons. More money than anyone needs is thrown at them and they start to believe that they are in a class of their own and above the laws of decency. They lose respect for women, marriage, family, ordinary values. And then they are plastered on the front pages with their tales of drug abuse, sex exploits and more. Have we fallen so in love with fame that we need to draw attention to ourselves no matter what?

I can't remember who said this, he reads about society's failures on the front page and then turns to the back page (the sports page) to read about it's successes. Makes one think...

Bonfires and Fireworks

Yesterday the streets in the neighbourhood were awash with orange and black with all kinds of ghosts, vampires, witches and other scary creatures going door to door begging for sweets. I somehow got suckered into taking my two young nieces, aged 7, around. It turned into a little entourage as friends and family joined in. The local neighbourhood improvement district was quite organised, and had sent out an email to residents advising them to tie a balloon to their gate to indicate that they wished to be bothered by the spirits let loose on the night. Some of the houses had gone all out with decorations, dressed in black with skeletons, pumpkins and cobwebs.

Halloween certainly was not a day that we celebrated as children, or had even heard of for that matter. I think we owe it to globalisation and the influence of American television and movies for influencing our children thus. It is for this reason that I have largely resisted it, but got caught up in the spirit of things this year. I suppose I also have friends who live down the road to blame - they have opened up their home as a base for their family and friends to go trick-or-treating from - so all in all,  it is quite a festive time. The best thing for me is that we are taking back the streets - it is certainly not usual for our children to be roaming around the neighbourhood at night. They have fun and eat too many sweets, but also get to meet some of the neighbours and feel part of a community.

Halloween has its roots in the Celtic tradition, and over time blended with the Christian All Saints Day (which is on 1 November). It was celebrated at the end of the summer and marks the end of the lighter part of the year and the beginning of the darker part.The ancient people believed that during this time of the year, spirits were able to  pass through the world and, in an attempt to ward off evil spirits, dressed up as evil spirits themselves. As it was also the end of the summer, people gathered provisions for the long winter ahead, partied and lit bonfires.

Bonfires remind me of another celebration that is coming up in a few days - that of Guy Fawkes. When I was little we certainly celebrated that and it was even a holiday, us being part of the Commonwealth. People lit bonfires and fireworks. In much the same way as children went trick-or-treating and asked for sweets, children would go round asking for "penny for the guy". Guy Fawkes was one of a group of Catholic conspirators who tried to blow up the British Houses of Parliament 400 years ago, as they felt that the monarchy was not doing enough to stop the persecution of Catholics. Unfortunately for him he was discovered and put to death. One of the traditions was to make an effigy of Guy Fawkes and burn it on the bonfire. 

Later this week there is yet another festival celebrated with light and firecrackers - the Hindu festival of Diwali which celebrates the triumph of light over darkness. It is a joyous occasion with children getting up very early to have a ritual bath and then celebrating with family and friends. People go house to house to visit relatives and friends, taking something sweet as gifts.

Quite a week then, of bonfires, fireworks, sweets - but also of connecting with family, friends and neighbours. So may you be protected from harm, bathed in light and enjoy the company of loved ones.