Magic in the Music Part 2

The little orange classroom was bathed in sunlight and vibrated with the sounds of old South African greats like Miriam Makeba and Hotep Galeta, as well as newer ones such as Mango Groove and Mafikizolo. The seven teenagers, with shiny faces and new hairdos seem to have grown in confidence and stature since I first saw them just over a week ago. They were smiling, animated and comfortable with their performance.


In smart costumes with a clever blend of traditional African and modern Western, they represented both the past and the future of our country. They debated whether the colourful collars of their white shirts should be up or down. The girls had braided their hair  and looked chic in their fitted dresses of many colours with beads around their ankles, wrists and neck.

We had come to see the dress rehearsal. The chief supporter, in the form of one of the grannies was in the small audience while Ian, the director, looked like a proud father.  It had been a challenge because of the age limit of 18 – they are the Delft Big Band beginners, but the performance was anything but beginner.

Yesterday my daughter and I went to wave them off at the airport. It was quite an emotional departure – many tears mixed with a lot of excitement. As they waved goodbye to the small group of family and friends, they were saying farewell to many familiar things – they were about to get a taste of the big world out there, broadening their minds along with their horizons – a story to tell their grandchildren. 

Changing Seasons

From where I sit at my desk I can see the squirrel at the bottom of the garden scurrying around all morning collecting sustenance for the winter that he probably feels coming in his bones. On my walk this morning leaves rustled across the path in front of me and crunched under my feet. Tall oak trees leaned into each other as if bracing themselves for the loss of their scorched, end-of summer leaves. There is a nip in the air, the nights have become longer almost without our noticing it. But like a teenager with too much choice, the Cape Town weather seems to have not quite made up its mind. Yesterday the temperature was a scorching 28 degrees in spite of forecasts of an approaching cold front. And as anyone who lives here knows, the weather can be relied on to swing wildly from one extreme to the other for pretty much of the year.

That's why, on my first trip to Sweden, I marvelled at the clear distinction between seasons: leaving you in no doubt where you are and what to expect. This was early April and the locals were excited at the advent of spring. I have been to in January (-25 deg), Mauritius in December +(36 deg) and even Madrid in springtime (sunny mild days) – but this was the first time that I had been so far north and experienced the change of season so dramatically.

We stepped out in 2 degree, bright sunshine and clear blue sky - “A good day for a funeral!” as a British friend remarked. My African self was warmly wrapped up in a winter coat and boots. Bright yellow daffodils bravely pushed their faces up out of the cold, hard earth, heralding the spring.

daffodils in Mariefred - April 2008

This time when I go, I am looking forward to the bonfire held on the last day of April. All the leaves are gathered and set alight – bidding the winter farewell once and for all and making way for warmer weather. It occurs to me that we may be more affected by the weather than we think. As a Swedish friend has observed to me recently: the Swedish way is to gather all the information so that plans can be made;  in South Africa we tend to wait and see what happens. 

Magic in the Music

Right next to the Cape Town International Airport is a township known for its high crime rate, poverty, unemployment and controversial housing project. Curiously, it is named after one of the leading cities in Holland, well-known for its porcelain and famous painters. It is also known as one of the prettiest cities in Holland. The Delft that I visited this morning was anything but pretty. The wind swirled plastic bags around, people and dogs milled about on the streets, and informal traders tried to earn a living from their meagre stalls.

We found the grim-looking Voorbrug High School behind barbed-wired walls and tall gates. It looked safe enough, but I was wary – this was not on my usual route. We parked, wondering if we were in the right place as there was no other car about, but as we opened the doors the sounds of jazz beckoned. One of the classrooms is being used as a rehearsal room for seven teenagers who are about to embark on the journey of their lives. They have been chosen to perform at the Award ceremony for the WCPRC in Sweden at the Gripsholm Castle in front of Queen Silvia. None of them have ever been on a plane.

When I was asked if I knew of  a group who played anything jazzy to recommend for the WCPRC ceremony, the Delft Big Band immediately sprang to mind. I have been privileged to be in the audience on a few occasions when the band performed. The band is directed by Ian Smith who has been working with them for two years. Using hand-me-down instruments and a lot of passion and energy, Smith is giving these children something to aim for, to take them out of the cycle of gangs, drugs and poverty. I have written about the project in my blog on the Tenth Sekunjalo EduJazz concert. 

The seven teenagers have been chosen from this project. They are hard at work practising their repertoire of South African jazz and are promising to do us proud. I feel so privileged to have experienced the magic that is coming out of a township as bleak as Delft. As we left the school we watched an airplane come into land as another took off. Living next door to the third busiest airport in Africa, these children must see planes arrive and leave every few minutes. Next time they will be on one of them. 

A Photographic Morning

I have had a good week, photographically speaking. This week our 10-week photography course came to an end with the last lesson a session in Kalk Bay harbour. I was looking forward to having a guided photo shoot - a little bit of help with setting up and experimenting with shots in the real situation would be very helpful. Of course, after all these glorious sunny days we have been having, Tuesday morning dawned heavy with mist. The 30-minute drive was punctuated with us peering nervously at the sky, willing the mist to lift.

A grey Tuesday morning in Kalk Bay harbour

On our arrival, our lecturer and two classmates were stomping around to get to warm, but raring to go. We  were disappointed with the weather, but Max felt that the show must go on! (or something like that). He said that these were the moments that the best photos were taken, when others were put off by the weather. We listened to the voice of experience... 

local school outing

There was a wealth of subject matter - boats, sea, people, fish and, of course the resident seals.

lobster boat

I was surprised at the number of people out on a weekday morning. There were three elderly women out for a stroll who we later spotted at Kalky's - a popular institution which serves generous helpings of perfectly-battered hake and chips. There were fishermen out to catch "the big one" and a group of children on a school outing. As well as some people having quiet moments and I picked up a few foreign accents, too.

lobster coming in - ready for inspection

All in all, quite a productive morning - a fitting end to a very informative course. Now it is time to start practising! And the sun made an appearance as we were leaving!

Cape Town School of Photography

Chalk and Cheese

I find it fascinating how children who are birthed from the same parents, who grow up in the same house with the same circumstances turn out so differently. I guess when you throw two different adults together and make a baby; you take potluck with how they are likely to turn out.

Sailing and horse riding are sports with a certain genteelness that I certainly did not grow up with. My son is a fan of both and it matters little to him that no one in the family shares that passion. Similarly, he plays the clarinet. Although we all love music, none of us play an instrument. My daughter briefly played the recorder in grade one, as a requirement of the syllabus but dropped it with little further interest. She did not even try out for the school choir, dismissing it as being for children who needed to learn how to sing.

She sleeps like a log, since an early age has invited all she meets to come round and visit and leaves everything till the last minute because she “works best under pressure”. She's travelled like a dream since she was nine months old. My son on the other hand does not mind his own company (choosing solitary interests to occupy himself) sleeps like a flea and is more focused and conscientious about his work. If it wasn’t for the fact that he looks like me and shares other characteristics too, I would be inclined to believe my daughter’s assertion that he was swopped at birth.

I spent the first two and a half years of his life comparing him to his sister before I accepted that this little boy had his own agenda and was blazing his own trail. Now that adolescence has dawned I find myself comparing them again. My daughter breezed her way through but it seems like it may be pay-back time with my son. 

Both of them have enriched my life in so many ways, teaching me so much and often pushing me out of my comfort zone (like when I decided to take horse riding lessons). If sailing proves to be a lasting passion, I might have to take to the water soon.