Post-Plett Rage

For the last few days we have had a semi-comatose post-Plett-Rager lying around on her bed or on the couch in front of the TV. In fact, anywhere that she could drape her body and settle down to catch 40 winks. In between she has been coughing and sputtering as a result of the “Plett Plague” that has afflicted a number of them. The “real” food I made on Sunday, was also very much appreciated as an alternative to the “Provitas-and-cheese” diet she has been on.

But in spite of the after-effects, she has had so much fun. It seems like they slept and partied, slept and partied to the sounds of Goldfish, Jack Parow and many more. The “Rage” was well-organised; there was ample security, as well as taxis and concerned community members looking out for the thousands of post-matrics who descended onto the beaches and surrounds of Plettenberg Bay.

I admit to being more worried about Plett-Rage than about sending her off to build water tanks in the hills of northern Thailand. But this has been as much of a rite of passage - letting her hair down, partying up a storm with her friends and saying goodbye to school books, uniforms and bells. I am glad that she is safe. I had to smile quietly when I read her sms towards the end of last week - "feeling green from eating junk, not enough sleep and too much partying". That was something she had to find out for herself!

A Mezcla of a Wedding

Last week I attended a real mezcla of a wedding. In Spanish mezcla means a blend, a mixture or a medley. Spanish, Jewish, Catholic, South African and American cultures came together in what I like to think of as a new South Africa celebration. The bride, a friend’s daughter, is Jewish/South African/American, while the groom is Basque and Catholic.

A female rabbi, Dr Azila Reisenberger, was performing the ceremony and she took care to explain the meaning and origins of the different rituals that formed part of the union. The bride’s parents walked her down the aisle accompanied by a traditional Basque tune to the chuppah  or canopy under which the ceremony took place.

We had a little giggle when the rabbi asked the groom to identify his bride when the veil was lifted. This, the rabbi explained, has its origins in biblical times when Jacob, who was in love with Rachel, was tricked into marrying the wrong sister after working for their father for 7 years in lieu of a dowry!

The part of the ceremony that I loved was where each person in the retinue read out a blessing to the married couple and poured a little wine into a silver cup. By the time 8 people had done this, the “cup was running over” with blessings and it was given to the couple to drink from and share with their parents. Then it was time for a Jewish song and after the signing of the register, the groom’s sister played the flute while her father did a traditional Basque dance for the couple.

We followed the bridal party down through the vineyards (stopping to nibble on biltong and nuts) to the reception hall where a marimba band contributed the South African flavour.

Mazeltov! to these young people who have embraced the differences in each others’ cultures and traditions and at the same time enriched everyone at the wedding with the opportunity to be a part of a beautiful medley. 

Thank You St Cyprian's

Last Monday my daughter wrote her last school exam, ever. When she was finished she took off her school shoes tied them together by the laces, and put them in a big box for Mama Amelia, along with the shoes of all the other girls who had finished writing. Mama Amelia will distribute the shoes to those who are in need of them.

She walked out of the school grounds barefoot, leaving behind 14 years of formal schooling and stepped towards a new phase of her life. She has been nurtured and prepared for her adult life all the while being made aware of the needs of those less fortunate. Leaving her shoes behind is just one of many reminders that have helped her on this path.

St Cyprian’s has proved to be a very special school. The ethos of social responsibility, tolerance and respect, runs deep. The school is working hard towards being as diverse as it can be – teachers and students of different cultures, colours and creeds work and learn side by side. At one stage there were 20 different languages being spoken in the boarding school. The French students had petit dejeuner with pain au chocalat and croissants; after the Afrikaans exam their teachers were there with koffie en melktert to sustain them.

For Human Rights Day this year they came to school barefoot with a pair of their own shoes to donate. By the end of the day they were able to trace out a giant ‘140’ with all the shoes on the sports field, for the 140 years the school has been in existence.

Every year Africa Day is proudly celebrated – everyone dresses up in the colours of one of the African countries, classroom doors are decorated and food pyramids created.  From grade eight they are challenged to complete a certain number of hours of community service. The school enables this by organising various projects. In December senior girls are chosen to go off to work on one of the Round Square International Service projects.

As a Round Square school, St Cyprian's subscribes to the ideals of internationalism, democracy, environmentalism, academic excellence, and leadership. They are certainly fulfilling these aims. And year after year the girls come back to celebrate St Cyprian’s Day in St George’s Cathedral, ending with a scrumptious tea in the school grounds and a dance around the cypress tree!

Cypress tree in front of the school

A Free Press

This week I have felt tired. Tired with the government for its controversial information bill – I don’t expect us to be having to defend the right to a free press this far into democracy.

But I am equally tired with the media who would like us to think that it is a sacrificial lamb led to the slaughter. I feel that they have lost the plot – it seems like it has stopped being about our right to know but more about the money.  In my book the plot is to provide us with independent information, to increase our awareness of the world we live in so that we can make up our own minds about what to believe. For too long we have lived in a nanny state where we are told what to do and what to believe.

When I pick up a newspaper I feel like I am being manipulated, being steered in a certain direction. Why should I care that Malema wore a purple suit to a wedding in Mauritius? And do I care about who is eating sushi off who? Even if I don’t want to know about it, I can’t ignore it because it is on the front page of not one, but a few newspapers, and on the television when I switch it on. Good karma to them if they think that that is a good way to spend their money. It all feels a bit like the old apartheid propaganda of swart-gevaar – look what these blacks are up to now that they have power/money.

Two weeks ago I went to my favourite annual dinner for awards for ordinary philanthropists. It buoys me up. I didn’t read much about it in the newspapers. Are we really a nation of negative, pessimistic people? Or is it the media who is feeding us doom and gloom? I think sooner or later we will become immune to the shocking. Sometimes days go by and I ignore the newspapers which get delivered to our door. I am tired of the negativity and the manipulation.

If you read the newspapers you will believe that the government is evil. While we have a far way to go still, and much needs to be done, we live in a country with a democratically-elected government. We should all stand up to defend a free press. We should also demand more responsible reporting from that same free press.

My sister works on the other side of the “boerewors curtain” and on Tuesday was texting me some of her colleagues’ comments - among them, the feeling that democracy was going down the drain and maybe we would need an underground newspaper again. Well, Viva! Let’s go for it. Maybe the press needs a bit of pressure to get back to the plot.

Plett Rage

One more matric exam to go – and so ends 13 years of formal schooling. The exams have gone well as far as stress levels are concerned. It has been a bit of a military operation with the mocks being the practice run. We have combined modern medicine and complementary health approaches with good diet and exercise. Yoga and Boot Camp have been useful when she felt like knocking her brother over the head (or me). But, as someone commented last week, for someone who has been writing exams for weeks, she is looking damn good!

And now looms another rite of passage – the dreaded Plett Rage. Traditionally after the final exams, the matrics from all over the country hit the beaches for one big party. In the Western Cape it’s off to Plettenberg Bay. This is a newish tradition, certainly not one that was around when I was doing matric. Every maternal instinct is screaming out against it – I keep thinking of hundreds of teenagers, newly empowered with driving licences and legally able to imbibe alcohol, wanting to shake off 13 years of institutionalised learning – sounds like a lethal mix to me.

But everyone is going. Everyone. I know there are other parents who are concerned, especially about getting to Plett which is 5 hours drive away. I have made one rule, which is that she is not driving up in a car operated by a teenager or someone who recently passed their driver’s licence test.

There appears to be structures in place and activities seem to be organised in so far as they can be. I guess this is the part where I have to trust that she can go out there and have a good time while holding onto all that she has learnt at home. And hope that she will be safe.

The Gaza Doctor

Hate is an easy option. It takes courage to not hate. That is the message that has come through strongly for me from Dr Izzeldin Abuelaish’s book, I Shall Not Hate.  Dr Abuelaish is also known as “the Gaza doctor”. In 2009 he suffered unspeakable tragedy when three of his daughters were killed by Israeli Defence Force shells, three months after he lost his wife to acute leukemia.

A month ago I attended one of his lectures at the UCT medical school as part of the alumni program. I was blown away by this man who spoke of the tragedy with tears quietly streaming down his cheeks. But it is his response to this tragedy that is remarkable. He refuses to sink into hatred, although he acknowledges the anger he feels. Anger is important, he says, if it is accompanied by change and propels you toward necessary action to change the situation and make it better for everyone.

He spoke for close on an hour with a passion and quiet strength that points to how he has managed to survive with dignity and compassion. He says that as a medical doctor he has been trained to save lives, to treat people irrespective of who they are and that it is this belief that has helped him to search for the humanity in everyone that he has come into contact with.  

I had to buy the book to learn more about what makes this man tick. It is hard to imagine the daily life in Gaza that he describes in the book, the immense difficulties that he has overcome to achieve what he has. In spite of the immense loss that he has suffered, he believes that peace is possible. He hopes that the deaths of his daughters will be the last sacrifice on the road to peace in the Middle East.

He urges us to act now – that it is up to all of us to speak up and take an active role in promoting peace. During his talk he quoted a passage from the German Pastor Niemoller whose words I remember having up on my notice board during the apartheid years:

In Germany they first came for the Communists, 

and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Communist. 

Then they came for the Jews, 

and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew. 

Then they came for the trade unionists, 

and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist. 

Then they came for the Catholics, 

and I didn't speak up because I was a Protestant. 

Then they came for me — 

and by that time no one was left to speak up.

I Shall Not Hate by Izzeldin Abuelaish is published by Bloomsbury

Cape Town, beautiful Cape Town

Cape Town is beautiful. Seriously. And I am not just saying so because I have had an overseas visitor who I have been going around with! Yes, I know that Capetonians are guilty of taking their beautiful city for granted.

Apart from getting out there with my friend to Kirstenbosch Gardens and Kalk Bay, I am also week 3 of Boot Camp. Last week we had a session in Newlands Forest - I had no idea that there were so many people out there at 6:00 pm on a week night - joggers, people walking their dogs and, of course, the silent army of boot-campers marching along with yoga mats under their arms!

On Saturday morning, braving the rain we hiked to Elephant's Eye in the Silvermine Nature Reserve - the scenery was breathtaking and was certainly worth the sweat and pain to get there. I cannot remember when last I walked through the Reserve. Most of the sessions are on the sports fields of a local high school, in full view of Table Mountain. I can assure you that crunches, push-ups and lunges are a little less painful with the mountain, the fresh air and the grass beneath your feet for distraction! 

What attracted me to the program, was the chance to reacquaint myself with the outdoors and get my fitness levels up so that I can once again do regular hikes. Long may it last. Any takers for a regular hike (when I am fitter, of course)?

Check out the links Newlands Forest and Silvermine Reserve and Kirstenbosch Gardens for a little reminder of what's out there.

A Friend indeed

As I write this my friend is winging her way back home across the Atlantic Ocean. She was here ten years ago but we had seen each other in the US, where she lives, in 2007. This visit has been both sad and joyful for her, with a wedding and a funeral to attend.

She phoned on Saturday and we quickly arranged an impromptu pizza evening for later. She had hardly walked in the door and said hello when we were in the study deciding on the pizza order as if it was last week we had seen each other, and not four years ago.

This last week, we have caught up over countless cups of tea, explored the little shops in Kalk Bay and revisited memories in Kirstenbosch Gardens. Our children connected face to face, not via Face Book and made some memories of their own.

Over the week many memories have come flooding back – memories of carefree university days, spending Christmases together, travelling to the Eastern Cape, being one of the bridesmaids at her wedding, having babies and spending time together in the US and here.

I love how you can have such a deep connection with someone that you effortlessly pick up where you left off. What a blessing to have shared such good times that you can enjoy again. 

Kirstenbosch putting on a display for us

No Pain,No Gain?

“I am going to get fit if it kills me” was the thought that occurred to me last night as I “jog-walked” - going a little faster than walking but not quite jogging - around the sports fields of Westerford High School.  The jogging-walking was interspersed by step-ups, push-ups and crunches, and other mean things involving weights and stretchy bands. This morning the muscles underneath my muscles are complaining.

I know I have just finished the yoga challenge, but the truth is that I need to up the cardiac exercise, being of a certain age now. I hate the gym – the thought of exercising indoors is a foreign concept to me. I don’t even like the smell of the gym, the fluorescent lighting, the noise of weights knocking on weights, and the smell of chlorine wafting up from the indoor pool.

Yet over the years I have tried to overcome my aversion numerous times, but never lasting very long. In fact the longest I did stay was at the Sports Science Centre and that was about five years ago. It didn’t seem quite so “gym-y” and there were few designer-leotard-clad people about. It seemed more serious. Like business was happening there. One of the reasons I did stay, was that we went on a run through the leafy streets of Newlands and along the canal once a week.

This time I have been seduced by the promises of sessions in Newlands Forest, Silvermine Nature Reserve and Lion’s Head, and, apart from assessments, we don’t have to set foot inside the gym. I did balk at the thought of “Boot Camp”, picturing a sergeant-major-type screaming instructions at me while I dragged my body from one torture site to the next, but it’s not quite like that – or not yet anyway. In any case, I am the boss of my body and I know how far it can go.  So bring it on!

 Visit the Sports Science Institute - http://www.ssisa.com/

Surviving 14 or Grunting through grade 8

I have just been deleted as a contact on my son’s BlackBerry Messenger because I was making comments on his status. I am not sure what I have done wrong – isn’t that what you are supposed to do?

My 14 year old son has, in a very short while, become the tallest in the family. I remember I spent his first two years comparing him to his older sister (she didn’t climb the burglar bars or do a back flip off the top of the couch) before I accepted that he was different. But now I am back to comparing...

About two years ago, I became “untouchable” – any public displays of affection suddenly and without warning, stopped – no hugs, certainly no kisses and a display of indifference as to whether or not I was watching games (although I know that last one is all an act when he asks “Did you see me score the goal?”). Now I have to suffer being picked up, mauled or nearly bowled over, in a display of manliness. It reminds me of the Golden Labrador we had when he was two years old – it was a six month old puppy in a dog’s body.

Doors are being slammed and pointedly locked – this from someone who once streaked from our chalet at a resort in Mauritius, all the way down to the water. He seems to have lost the power of speech and only speaks in monosyllables or grunts. SMS is no better – ‘Y’ (why) and ‘K’ (okay). At the same time I now strangely seem to have lost my hearing, in my "old age". I am also not as clever as I used to be, and when I sing along to a song on the radio, it must be a remix from “my day”.

He does manage a full sentence - as in “What’s to eat?” – spoken in a very low growl. I swear he is eating us out of house and home. Which brings me to all the shopping over the last 6 months - we have replaced his entire wardrobe including school uniforms, sports kit and shoes. He is now making noises about nothing fitting him – if you are not careful, you could be bankrupted in the process. 

And talking about clothes – in the last week I have sewn buttons on shirts, shorts and blazer more times than I care to count – I have mental images of boys swinging each other around by their clothes, buttons popping off. Or maybe there is a Hulk-like conversion taking place?

So, if you are a mother to sons, I wish for you a secret trust fund, a large fridge, a wallop of patience and a thick skin. 

Moving On - St Cyprian's Day and other rituals

Last week was St Cyprian’s Day, as celebrated by my daughter’s school.  It is celebrated every year but this year had special significance for her as it is the last one of her school career. In an age-old tradition the matriculants went off the previous day to a farm in Stellenbosch where they picked lilies to decorate St George’s Cathedral for the St Cyprian’s Day service. They ended off with a picnic.

On the day the girls dress in their summer uniform with their hair in French braids, done up with a blue ribbon. They walk down from Oranjezicht, through the Company Gardens to the Cathedral for the evensong service. Old girls come from far and wide to join in the celebration and afterwards there is a sumptuous feast on the lawns of the school.

At the beginning of the year they had their matric dance. Each matriculant has mentored a grade 8 student, passing on the knowledge and experience of the last 5 years. Last term they handed over their portfolios to the new batch of leaders and last week she had a reunion with the girls she was in junior school with, before they all go their own ways – on gap years or to university. In the next two weeks she will be having the valedictory service and lunch and a dinner with her teachers before the final exams begin.

The feeling of the end of an era has been all around us this year as she has turned 18, voted for the first time, learned to drive, applied for university and looked at a life after school. All of these rituals have been marking the passage of one phase to another.

Rituals have been practised since time immemorial to help us to move on in life – there are rituals for giving a baby a name, for marriage and burial. As we move from one stage to another we say goodbye to the old way of life and embrace a new set of rules for behaviour. As she moves on with life, I find that the rituals help me too to let go and enter a new phase of my own life. 

Hello Dubai!

"Hello Dubai" jumped off the shelf at the local bookshop last week. "Skiing, Sand and Shopping in the World's Weirdest City", seemed a very apt subtitle. 

Years ago we spent a week in Dubai on the way home from an extensive trip to India. Landing at the airport was like landing on the moon – wide open spaces, futuristic-looking buildings and an almost eerie silence after India. At the time most people were coming to Dubai to shop for jewellery and electronics. We took a 4x4 safari in the desert, barbecued in the middle of nowhere, beneath the stars, and checked out the camels up close. At the end of the week we piled into the fullest bus I have ever been on (South Africans and their shopping) and made our way home. 

I haven't really thought about going back - in many ways it does seem like "the weirdest city" in the world. - I worry about all this desalination, buildings on sand and the materialism it seems to represent. From all accounts it has become more so in the last 15 years since we were there. And yet, everyone seems to be going there. We even know people who live there. My husband is currently travelling overseas via Dubai. It seems like you can go anywhere via Dubai these days. 

In "Hello Dubai", Joe Bennett gives a cynically sympathetic  take on the city-country as he embarks on his journey to  discover the real Dubai. He points out that in a very short space of time, Dubai has become a global hub of trade and finance, has attracted people from all over the world, both to work and as tourists, and has erected buildings that everyone knows. On the other hand, there is the excess and opulence combined with what seems like the exploitation of migrant labour. 

Bennett is very funny and I have had a quiet giggle at some of his anecdotes and rolled my eyes at others. If you are planning to visit or know someone who lives there, I would recommend this book.

Bennett Joe, Hello Dubai is published by Simon & Schuster

Thought for the Day

Every time I open the newspapers my heart wants to break for the people in Somalia. I read that 6 of the 8 regions in Somalia have been struck by famine, affecting three-quarter of a million people. There are haunting images of malnourished babies and toddlers, queues of people hoping for food and water, against a background of an unfriendly landscape. People are dying every day and it seems that aid cannot be delivered fast enough to keep pace with the crisis.

There are also disturbing pictures of war and struggle while people fight for their freedom in other parts of Africa. The pictures don’t show the most vulnerable women and children who are being displaced, who have had their whole lives turned upside down. In Greg Mortenson’s book, Three Cups of Tea he says that “in times of war, you often hear leaders say ... ‘God is on our side’. But that isn’t true. In war God is on the side of refugees, widows and orphans.” I hope that he is right.

It is overwhelming to watch the suffering of people and I realise that I cannot help everyone. I do believe that if we do our best to help the people around us, in any small way, we contribute to the greater good of all humanity. Often we don’t do anything because we think that the need is so great that we cannot make a difference, but in the words of Rabindrath Tagore:

“Not hammer strokes but dance of the water sings the pebbles into perfection.” 

Yoga Lent comes to an end

This morning I did the last class of my 30 day Yoga Challenge. I feel a little sad that it is all over but happy that I have completed it. I feel stronger, more focussed and my body is thanking me for the detox that went along with the yoga.  I am proud to have risen to the challenge, to have dragged my body through the “mud” to show up on the mat and I’m humbled by the many friends who have supported me.

Over the last month I have attended classes by 13 different teachers, been to class morning, noon and night, and experienced Vinyasa Flows, Ashtanga, Pilates Fusion and Hatha Yoga – it has been a veritable smorgasbord from which I have been fortunate to sample.

It feels like each muscle in my body has been acknowledged, and those that complained have been soothed. This last week I have felt so good – full of energy and in that ‘golden space of yoga’ as Melissa calls it. I have been a good enough advert that at least three people are ready to join in next year!

Like many challenges, it seems that it has come to an end so quickly, after the slow grind to the top of the hill or the halfway mark. But once you crest the hill, it’s freewheeling all the way down and you feel the wind in your hair and the smile on your face. 

“For in truth it is life which gives unto life - while you, who deem yourself a giver, are but a witness.”

                                                                                                                                  Kahlil Gibran 

Kahlil Gibran on Giving

Thank you!

to everyone who supported me and encouraged me me on this yoga challenge.

Kahlil Gibran on Giving: 'via Blog this'

Part of the Group

A little while ago I chatted to one of the hockey mums who commented that she did not see me at the matches. My son has been telling me that I didn’t need to come and watch. So off I went a few weeks ago and to my surprise, found a little supporters group of parents who have been valiantly cheering them on all season. (Kind of like the feeling at varsity when everyone assures you that they are not studying and you find them all in the library!).

 It was freezing cold at 800 yesterday morning, watching the last under-14 hockey match of the season, huddled up with other parents on a stand which the sun failed to reach. It was a good game and the opponents were evenly matched.

It felt good to be part of the group as I find that in high school one seems to lose the contact with other parents. I seem to only fetch and drop. It was the same with my daughter, perhaps more difficult since she went to a different high school and he has stayed with the same group of boys from his Prep school.

I am not sure if this is part of his separation from my protective wing, which started with not being kissed goodbye in the mornings, way back in grade 4 or 5. He did the same with the Eisteddfod last term. He was playing his clarinet, and also told me it was not necessary for me to come. I was very glad that I did decide to go and witnessed the atmosphere at the school.  Since he came back from Sweden, I have felt the independence.

Once again I marvel at how differently boys and girls seem to grow up. My daughter has no qualms about kissing me in a busy mall, outside the movies or wherever it is I am dropping her. I hear that it is part of becoming a man and then they come closer again. I guess he is going to have to get used to having me around for another little while longer! I am not quite ready for this empty nest!

New Drugs for TB

I was pleased to read in this weekend’s newspaper that there is new research into a vaccine booster for Tuberculosis (TB) in people with AIDs, in Khayelitsha. South Africa has the second highest rate of TB in the world and in 2008 more than half a million people died of TB here. The disease is exacerbated by the high incidence of HIV/AIDS, of course.

A few years ago I volunteered at the state hospital, Brooklyn Chest. Specifically, I did baby massage and helped with bathing the babies and generally spent time with them. It broke my heart that there were so many children in the hospital, from the poorest social background – single, unmarried mothers, unemployed, AIDS, etc. TB is a preventable disease. It is one of the childhood vaccinations along with measles, mumps, polio and rubella. Yet children are dying or becoming permanently disabled from the effects of the disease.

Some children had had the disease for a while before presenting for treatment and it had spread throughout their bodies and to the brain, resulting in meningitis. I saw children permanently disabled because they had not had the BCG vaccination that all babies have to have.

I discovered that very little research had been done on new medication and the drugs being used were the same ones that had been used for 50 years. It seemed that drug companies had little interest in developing new medication since there was little money to be made. The treatment for TB involves a cocktail of antibiotics which make the patients feel very ill and compliance is poor because of the length of treatment (6-9 months) and is compounded by the poor socio-economic conditions of those affected.

I continued to volunteer for about three years before the scare of the outbreak of drug-resistant TB. I felt that I was putting my own family at risk and it was with a heavy heart that I decided to stop. I hope that this is the start of more research into prevention and treatment of this disease.

  

Almost There - proving our identities

30 days, 30 yogis and 30 sponsors...that was the plan...all very rounded and neat.

But this challenge has taken on a life of its own and has flowed out of any boundaries we may have set. There are certainly more than 30 yogis, some have joined in later and will continue for longer, others have to make up time afterwards due to hectic schedules. Some have been doing yoga in weird and wonderful places.  And many people have way more than 30 sponsors which means we are going to be raising more money for Home from Home than planned.

By all accounts, it has been a hectic journey for many. This morning someone cursed as she unrolled her mat, but she showed up and was a much nicer person at the end. Someone injured her foot on a hike and is now doing a Pilates Challenge instead. And yesterday, I overheard someone say that she was so full of aches and pains but reluctant to say so “because everyone else is lying around looking so happy!”

The challenge has been exactly that – ‘a demanding task or situation, a call to someone to take part in a contest, invite someone to do something difficult’ and I like this one: ‘to call on someone to prove their identity’ (Oxford Dictionary). The contest has been within ourselves, testing the boundaries but at the same time learning to respect our bodies. And I think we have learned more about who we are over the last few weeks than we may think.

This last week I have felt full of the joys of yoga. Something has shifted and the challenge has gone from being hard work to providing a deep sense of satisfaction. It truly has been a gift to me too.

Melissa in the warrior pose
We're all feeling like warriors right now

Day 21: the home stretch

I feel full of the joys of yoga today!  At the end of the class this morning, everyone was beaming and wanting to know when we could do it again. I felt this urge to hand out hugs to all.

I haven’t written a blog about the yoga since day 15 – I was a little shell-shocked about still being so achy and tired last week.  I had to pay the chiropractor and the massage therapist a visit and it felt a little like I was being held together. I have never done such an intensive practice before – and I have only come lately to the style of yoga we are doing.

But today it feels like something magical happened. Perhaps it was all the postures for opening of the heart area we did. Or perhaps it was the music which we encouraged to focus on and use rather than have it provide the background to the practice. Perhaps it was this unassuming man in his grey tracksuit pants and white T-shirt (no vest showing off rippling muscles) who introduced himself to each one with a handshake before he placed us into a circle.

We floated and flowed to the music, tuning in to the rhythm of the breath, so close to each other that we often touched, but each one in their own space. At the end we drew right into ourselves with knees onto forehead in a shoulder stand and glided down into a resting place. Bliss!

If you see someone doing a Charlie Chaplin-type jump in the air  –  look closely, it’s probably me.

Future Choices

It may seem like there is only yoga happening at home at the moment but we are writing Matric, and note I say “we”!  This is such a defining time in a young person’s life and there are so many decisions to be made that will affect their futures. Of course, there is also the pressure of the exams. Our mantra is “a healthy body in a healthy mind” and she has already started to balance the work with yoga, gym and shiatsu.

We hit a little wobbly about a week ago when she was filling in university application forms and realised that maybe what she had been thinking about doing next year was not really what she wanted to do. Problem is she hasn’t thought about anything else and is a little overwhelmed by the choices. There is such a wide range, with degrees that never even existed five years ago, and she is the queen of procrastination.

I find that in our desire to help out and offer advice it so easy to impose our own ideas and desires onto our children. Perhaps we see them in a different space to the one they have in their minds. I was reminded a little while ago about how we sometimes overlook their strengths, because we are so busy trying to make everything perfect.

At a dinner, someone was talking about the reaction we have to a school report where for example the child might be doing really well in History and not so well in Maths. Our first response is that they should get extra Maths, try to get the mark up, etc. What about if we said: “Wow, look at your History – you are really good at that!” and then focussed on giving them more opportunity to develop the very subject that they love.

And that is what they need to learn for themselves too. It is all about learning to play to our strengths - which reminded me about a quote by Albert Einstein, I saw recently:

“...if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will spend its whole life believing that it is stupid.”

To all the matriculants (and their mothers) – good luck, and may you find your bliss!

Day 15 - halfway there!

Day 15 and halfway there! I can feel my body getting stronger and twice I checked my watch at the end of a class, not believing that the time had gone so quickly. I have 30 sponsors and so now I just have to keep going in honour of all the support.

It has been quite a journey so far. And as I look back over the last two weeks, I recognise the different stages of the journey. There was the enthusiastic beginning. Then moving through resistance and struggle when my body seemed to be in rebellion and for good measure threw a bad cold at me to cope with.

And now here I am in this sweet place, wondering whether I could actually get addicted to all this. I have a sore wrist right now which is serving to remind me to listen to my body and to be true to myself. Yoga is such a personal process, not about impressing anyone – it’s between me and my body. 

Day Nine - Look how far I've come!

Yesterday I was feeling like wounded-man-walking. The night before, I swear that my joints were communicating with each other in some kind of painful Morse code – throb-throb, throb-throb-throb.  Over the weekend we were invited to “the dance between yes and no” – ‘no’ postures close up the body and ‘yes’ postures open up the body to feel joy. It’s all about attitude – posturing yourself the right way; a bit like “fake it till you make it”. The next day I was on the mat opening up my heart to love. All the talk about love and joy distracted me from the hard work – so I was a little surprised that I was so achy. I was glad of the more gentle Hatha class I did yesterday morning.

The great thing about this challenge is the exposure to different teachers. Although I think I am pretty much at the stage where I know who and what I like, it is nice to have a change and get an injection of a fresh point of view.

Last night I was feeling like I was about to succumb to the flu or something so I got into a hot mustard bath and dosed myself with Vitamin C. I still a felt a little delicate this morning but I took myself off to class this morning (showing up on the mat) and I am glad I did. It’s a matter of keeping your eye on the ball, having the end in sight and riding out the rough patches.

This morning I looked back between my legs when I pushed into child’s pose. The sun had made a pattern on my mat as it shone through the shutters. It looked like I was standing on a ladder. It occurred to me that I could either choose to see this journey as: “Yikes! What a long way still to go up!” or as: “Wow! Look how far I have come!” 

Yoga Lent Day 5

This morning I felt like I was moving through mud! My body seemed to not want to take direction from my brain. As I pushed back into downward dog, I wondered what it would be like if my arms and legs simply collapsed and I landed, “splat!” onto the mat. No chance of that though with my new, earth-friendly rubber mat, which made sure that I was going nowhere!

As the class progressed, I could feel myself yielding, and allowing my body to flow through the postures it knows so well.  I think that is part of the journey, pushing through the resistance and onto the other side.

This afternoon I curled up into a little spot of sunshine on the couch of my bedroom and drifted off into a delicious little snooze. As I woke, I twitched my limbs and felt out the muscles which seem to be asserting themselves. All I can think of is that it is going to get better. I just have to show up on the mat.  

Yoga Lent Update

So, it’s day Four of Yoga Lent and 30 days is seeming like a looong time! Today it felt like more of an effort to get to class. Some creaks and cracks have shown themselves this week, in spite of me upping the yoga to four times a week during the last two weeks in preparation for the challenge.

Yesterday I was so tired it felt like I was dragging my body around. All I could think about was how long it was till I could go to bed. I had this slight headache just above my eyes, like my eyebrows had suddenly become heavy ... hmm, maybe I have been fooling myself about how much coffee I drink.

On the plus side though, I feel slightly leaner since I am not eating wheat and I swear my body is already starting to feel toned (even though I can’t see anything – maybe it’s just waking up). I have been detox-ing my environment as well and rearranged and cleaned a few cupboards and shelves. I have been writing quite a bit, and feel like my focus is turning inwards. I am excited at the idea of a stronger body in a more peaceful space. I connected with a varsity friend, who I have not seen for many years. She has been having a tough time – it made me feel thankful for my life. 

Building Cathedrals

This morning I had to remind myself that I was “building cathedrals”. My son has been involved with the school music concert which was held in the City Hall over the last two nights. Including the rehearsal the night before, he has had three long days and late nights. This morning it was a tough job getting him up and off to school – grumpiness all around. Talking to him, I felt like I was on one of those overseas calls where there is a time delay on the response. He seemed to be moving in slow motion.

“Nice mom” was being understanding and trying to make it easy on him by helping to get ready, grabbing the hockey kit, and all but attempting to carry him to the car (yeah, right!). But “bad mom” was thinking that half the school was probably feeling the same and he should just get up and go already! There it is again, trying to find the balance between nurturing and kicking out of the nest, so that they can fly.

But to come back to the cathedrals: a while ago there was an email doing the rounds which compared being a mother to the cathedral-builders of long ago. These people toiled for many years, sometimes working on cathedrals which would only be completed long after they had died. But the attention to detail and the craftsmanship was of a very high standard. Nobody may remember the names of those who did the work, but they laid the foundations for great buildings in the same way that mothers quietly lay the foundations for great lives.

So with Women’s Day coming up, here’s a salute to all the mothers out there. When the going gets tough, think of all the “cathedrals” you are building.  

Let the Yoga Challenge Begin

I have psyched myself up, gotten some support (not too late to still sponsor me) and have drunk my last cup of coffee. A few years ago I did a 30-day detox program and it was recommended that you see the programme as a gift to yourself. I started it a month before my birthday so that I could finish on the big day. I felt fantastic - it did feel like I had given myself a huge gift.

Anyway I have decided to see this yoga challenge as my time out, a detox, a present to myself and to six children who need a home.

So if you want to do likewise, a word or two about the detox: The benefit of doing a detox for longer than thirty days is that you are more likely to carry on with it (it takes about 3 weeks to learn a new habit). We pack so much junk into our bodies that it is always good to have a little time out even if we don’t carry on with it afterwards.

So here are some tips I have picked up along the way:

·         Drink lots of water – our water is amongst the best in the world, so open the tap and fill up.

·         Eliminate tea and coffee – replace with herbal teas, fresh juices, hot water with lemon (I add ginger, lavender, mint, a cinnamon stick – whatever is around – to make a fusion in a jug and sip from it all day).

·         Eat lots of fresh fruit and vegetables – soup and fruit salads are great. Now may be a good time to sign up for that organic veggie box (hint, hint)

·         Cut out meat, especially red meat. If you must, eat skinless chicken. Fish is fine.

·         Cut out wheat and wheat products.

·         Replace dairy with alternative products (goat’s milk, soya, etc)

·         To supplement the detox, Epsom salts baths are great every few days. A real treat would be a massage to get the circulation going, and to flush out all those toxins.

And then yoga, yoga, yoga - all the breathing, exercise and relaxation is perfect for detox-ing. Then visualise all those toxins leaving the body. I dare you to feel wonderful!

Now I feel like I should put a health warning on this blog. “Consult your doctor before starting this program!”

LISTEN TO YOUR BODY AND PRACTISE AHIMSA

Yoga Lent

It's one week before "Yoga Lent", as my daughter has dubbed it after hearing that Melissa was giving up chocolate. During class this morning I did wonder what I was letting myself in for. I wondered how my body would be feeling after 30 days of moving from warrior poses to balancing like dancers, and from aeroplane to triangle poses. But then we relaxed into corpse pose and all the endorphins went whizzing around my body. I sighed as I settled into that happy space that comes at the end of a yoga class. 

So just in case it is sounding like I will be having too much pleasure, I have decided that I am giving up coffee for Yoga Lent. I don't drink a lot of coffee but it is a small pleasure that I indulge in. I have become quite the "coffee  snob" and will rather stay without it than drink a cup that is not up to standard. I also like the image of me sitting in coffee shops with my laptop or notebook (in the old-fashioned sense of the word), being creative. I will have to replace the flat whites with a pot of Rooibos for August.  

So now there is no going back. Will keep you posted about my caffeine-free journey to centred, serene togetherness!

Yoga Challenge: feeling good, doing good

I have committed to a 30 day Yoga Challenge. Starting 1 August,  I will be doing yoga everyday for 30 days.  I need to find 30 people who will each sponsor me R100 so that at the end of it I will have raised R3 000 for a project called Home from Home. The aim is to get 30 people to do the challenge and to raise R90 000 towards the project. This will be enough to  care for a family of six children in a community-based foster home for a year. Home from Home has 21 such homes and this will be for number 22! 

The challenge is the bright idea of friends Melissa Brake, the owner of YogaWay Studio, and Pippa Shaper, the  Managing Trustee of Home from Home.

Initially, the idea was rather daunting (will I have enough time, where will I get 30 sponsors...), but the more I thought about it (and the more Melissa twisted my arm), the more attractive it became. I am picturing my new centred, together self at the end of August serenely handing over the money - how's that for a win-win situation - feeling good and doing good. And there will be 29 other centred, together people serenely doing the same. Hey! Imagine if more people did this.... we'll all be feeling good, doing good...or you could just sponsor me, please!

Pippa and Melissa in the YogaWay Studio

Cinnamon City

Morocco...Marrakech...Casablanca...the very words conjure up exotic smells of spices, visions of Arabian nights and belly dancers, mosaics, arched buildings and sounds of fountains tinkling in courtyards...Cinnamon City evoked all of that before I even opened the book. In fact I think that the cover of the book with its blue and white bowl of lemons set against a cinnamon-coloured sunset over a Middle Eastern skyscape is what attracted me in the first place. I was sold as soon as I opened the front cover to reveal the deep blue inside jacket.

The book is by Miranda Innes who seems to have a penchant for travelling to exotic places, buying property and living there. On a visit to a friend in Marrakech, she and her partner find themselves (unintentionally) buying up a riad with plans to convert it to a small hotel. 

What follows is an account of their adventure to restore the house to its former glory with the help of some very colourful local characters. In spite of going from one crisis to another, they fall under the spell of the city “where passionate music, magic potions and the drama of Africa are cooled by the intuitive genius of Arabic culture.”

I loved her descriptions of the challenges they encountered and the behind-the-scenes view of the old city. I could almost hear the calls of the muezzin. She has a gift with words that places the reader right there within the pink walls, in the mosaic-tiled courtyards and on rooftops, lolling about on cushions listening to haunting music. I could imagine searching for bargains in the souks - everything from jewellery to spices to leather goods, all business done over a glass of mint tea.

Look up Riad Maizie for more. It definitely looks like it should go on my to-do list. 

A very interesting fact that I learned, is that the world’s first university was started by a woman in 859 in Morocco – Al Qarawiyin by Fatima bint Mohammed ben Fehri.


Cinnamon City by Miranda Innes is published by Bantam Press.
Also, by the same author: Getting to Manana published by Transworld Publishers

A Traveling Rite of Passage

As I write this my daughter is on a bus to the Eastern Cape on a school trip and my son is flying back from Sweden, where he has been on holiday on his own, for the last two weeks. Just over a year ago, I was on the back of an elephant in the jungle of the Golden Triangle, in the north of Thailand when it occurred to me that family holidays as we knew them were coming to an end. My daughter had been reluctant to come away with us then. She had been on exchange to Canada earlier that year and had a taste for hitting out on her own. My son was bemoaning the fact that there would probably not be anyone his age on that holiday. All in all, though, it turned out to be a great holiday. Besides the elephant trekking, we visited the Tiger Temple, and all got our PADI open-water diving licences.

And so here we are with them taking turns to leave the nest and giving me the opportunity to bond with one and then the other (or so I thought).  While my daughter has her exchange to Canada and her service trip to Thailand behind her, it is the first time that my son has been so far away from home by himself, for this length of time.  I think in many ways this trip has been a rite of passage for him. He has changed so much physically and emotionally over the past year, that it feels appropriate that we should mark it somehow.

He had to deal with the disappointment of not leaving as planned when we arrived at the check-in counter to discover that the UK visa he had would not allow him to travel without one of his parents, even though he would only be in transit. There was nothing for us to do but return home with the hope that we would be able to make a plan in the morning. He put on a brave face but I could see the disappointment.  

Thankfully we managed to get him onto another flight via Amsterdam the next night (and he didn't need a visa to use their airport!). As it happened, it did work out for the best (as mother said it would) as the KLM flight was more convenient.

By all accounts he seems to have had a wonderful time. It is hard to tell how much he has missed us since his communication is limited to one word, and at times one letter: ‘Y’ (why) or ‘K’ (okay). Our children have been travelling since they were babies and I believe that after every trip they have grown from the stimulation, the exposure to different cultures and the opportunity to leave home comforts and deal with change. I am hoping for a more detailed account and eager to see what difference this trip has made.

The Golden Rule

I am saddened and a little troubled by the recent suicide of someone we knew. While we were not close friends, our families have many connections through school, university and business. We also live in the same neighbourhood, a few roads from each other. I am disturbed by the fact that we could be connected to each other, live alongside each other and yet not be able to pick up the deep distress that would lead someone to take their own life.

There are always so many questions for the people left behind and always some guilt about whether we could have done something to help prevent the death. So many people attended the funeral service, which made me wonder why he could not find at least one of us to talk to. 

Technology has made us so available to each other all the time, and yet are we really connected to each other?  We actually don’t even need to talk to each other – we SMS, BBM, send emails from our phones and have information at our fingertips. We need to engage with each other with more than social media, to connect on a personal level. We all have a need to belong to a group, whether it is a family bond, or a group of people with a common purpose or a spiritual group like a church. We need to learn to live with one another, to care for each other and be cared for.

In her book, Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life, Karen Armstrong asserts that compassion is a true test of spirituality. We are urged to have concern for everyone, “to treat others as you would wish to be treated yourself”. Compassion is common to all faiths. All religions have their own version of The Golden Rule. 

“As we develop our compassionate mind, we should feel an increasing sense of responsibility for the suffering of others and form a resolve to do everything we can to free them from their pain”, she says.

I think tragic events occur to help put us on the right path. Let’s take time to connect, to take responsibility for each other, to care.

Read more about Karen Armstrong by clicking here Charter for Compassion
Contact The South African Depression and Anxiety Group for mental health information and resources.

A "Typical" South African - a sense of belonging

My son ended the school term on a high since the house that he belongs to at school won the singing competition. The house system is an integral part of the set up of the school. Everything the boys do reflect on their house – earning merits or demerits accordingly. It is not something that I am familiar with. The houses which we belonged to for sport when I was at school, don’t come close to this. There is a  sense of pride and belonging that is being engendered here. If you have seen any of the Harry Potter movies, you will have an idea of what I am talking about.

I have been observing this with interest since I have been exploring the concept of tribalism and the innate need we have to belong. From the minute we are born we are received into a family, a community and a country with certain belief systems, customs and culture and language. It makes us feel safe, encourages us to be loyal and to take pride in the group. It gives us a sense of belonging.

At a later stage we then learn to move away and become independent, maybe questioning what we were taught, exploring new avenues. This concept of belonging to a tribe can have both positive and negative connotations. I find this fascinating in a country like South Africa where we have such a fragmented national tribe as a result of the divisions of apartheid. So many times I have been asked to describe a typical South African and I battle with the answer. What is a “typical” South African?

I think that we came closest to the concept of a South African tribe during the soccer world cup, when we waved our flags, sang the anthem and stood behind our national team. I have started to think about what makes us uniquely South African.

• We have fought for basic human rights for all people to be treated with respect and dignity.
• When someone dies, we turn up to support the family left behind.
• We greet our neighbours in the street.
• When someone needs it we make soup or cookies and take it around.
• We recognise that we are all one and that we need to work to make it true.
• We are proud of our natural heritage, our parks and our animals.
• We know that all God’s beaches are for all God’s children.
• When we sing the national anthem we are reminded of the struggle and compromise that brought us democracy and peace.
• We know who our heroes are.
• We are a colourful people.
•  We sing, we dance, and we laugh at ourselves.
• We soak up the sun and welcome the rain.
• We create beautiful art works.
• We are sporty and love the outdoors.
• We look after each other’s children when we need to.
• We are not afraid to howl at the government when they do something wrong.
• We know how important education is.
• We fight for good health care for all.
• We look after our old people and listen to their stories.
• We love good food.
• We have a firm handshake.

 This list needs some work and is open to suggestion.