Wedding Season Part 2

It seems that the 20-second wrap-pleat-tuck-and-drape sequence that looked so effortless in the shop must come with a lifetime of practice. They had offered to sew in the pleats for me, but that sounded like it would be taking away from the authenticity of the experience. The offer of sending someone to the hotel to dress me, also sounded a little too indulgent. Imagine braving the Delhi traffic for a 20-second duty.

Well, getting into the sari in my hotel room was a rather more complicated process than I thought. The person, who housekeeping sent up after my frantic call, was as flummoxed by the slippery, heavily-embroidered material, in spite of being dressed in a sari herself. Hers, part of the uniform, was a much simpler, lighter affair but she confessed that she arrived at work an hour earlier to dress. Half an hour, some compromise and many safety pins later, I reasonably resembled the real thing.  I decided to leave my camera behind at the hotel, unsure of how I would manage taking photographs while trying to negotiate my way around without stepping onto my sari and coming undone.

My daughter, who was dressed in a sort of Indo-Western fashion, didn't have the same navigation concerns and could wield her camera more easily. Our first function was the Sangeet, attended by about 2 000 guests. I alternated between gawking at all the beautiful people around me and at the decorations. Flowers adorned every surface, competing for attention with colourful chandeliers hanging from the ceilings. There was enough lights, music and dancers with bare midriffs for a Bollywood movie set. It took us at least an hour to distinguish the bride and groom amongst all the other leading stars gathered around.

In spite of all the glitz and glamour, the evening was relaxed and friendly and we made many new friends who had also been wandering around gawking, to keep us company over the following few days of celebration. At the end of the evening, heaving a sigh of relief that I had not unravelled, I leaned over sideways and flopped into the back of the car...not quite as Grace Kelly would have done it. 

Hamba Kahle, Madiba

Kruger Park July 2013

We sat quietly, each one with their own thoughts, watching the sun sink down into the land which stretched before us. The silence of the bush seemed appropriately reverent. Far from the city lights and noise, we said goodbye and thank you to Madiba.

It was the first week in July and Madiba had been very ill. Everyone thought that his death was imminent. We were in the Kruger for three days and were out of cell phone range. We asked our game ranger to please inform us if he heard any news. We had just stopped at this spot when he told us that he had a radio message that Nelson Mandela had died. This piece of land, which belonged to all of us, thanks to the sacrifice and forgiveness of Nelson Mandela and others who had strived for freedom alongside him, seemed the best place to say farewell. 

When we returned to camp, it was a very apologetic ranger who confessed that there had been confused messages heard on the radio. In light of the seriousness of his condition, though, we all felt at peace with the time we had spent saying goodbye. In the months that followed, when there were rumours about his condition, news of fighting over his legacy and speculations over whether he was still alive, I felt fortunate to have had that opportunity to meditate on what he had meant to us. 

Last night I was sad to hear the news of his death, but this afternoon when I stood on the Jammie steps at UCT, the sadness was mixed with pride and a deep gratitude that I was able to stand on those steps as a free South African. Hamba Kahle, Madiba. Thank you for your sacrifice, your ability to forgive, your inspiration and the wisdom with which you guided us to democracy. May we never forget. 

Wedding Season

It's wedding season in India - not too hot, not too cold, just right.  We are having the full experience, starting with shopping for the right clothes to wear to a wedding. This is a rather more complicated process than popping into a boutique and buying what catches your eye. 

Already overwhelmed by the sights, sounds and smells of Delhi I might have turned tail and run off when presented by four floors of shopping at Frontier Raas. Luckily, we had the able services of Sumeet, who knew exactly what we needed."Green is such a Mehndi colour." and "Black will be good for an evening wedding."  I was happy to be guided. 

Once we were settled in with tea and biscuits, the viewing began. Before long there was a pile of possibilities in front of us. How is it possible that there are so many choices and combinations? Not only was I distracted by what was in front of me, but people behind me and next to me seemed to be viewing the most sought after fabrics too. 

    

                                                 

All around us people were faced with a similar dilemma. Perhaps draping the sari would help? Quick as a flash an assistant had me standing on a little raised platform in front of the mirror, with a cord tied around my waist, while he deftly folded pleats and started winding fabric around my body. I stared at the reflection of a graceful, slimmer me. I should wear saris all the time! For those men who were buying saris, for their daughters or wives, I presumed, the assistants were only too willing to drape themselves. 

                                                          

Three hours later, having been offered Starbucks (we have one just down in the road!) and something to eat, we emerged happy with our purchases. Some bargaining had to be entered into in order to have our blouses and skirts sewn. "Tomorrow is not possible. How about two days time and delivered to your hotel!" And if we were not sure about how to drape the sari, someone could be sent to the hotel to help.

Oh, maybe  I should have gone with the fuschia and orange instead...

Wise Women (and Dr Spock)

I have had quite a woman's week. It started and ended with two of Cathy Eden’s Midlife Matters workshops, exploring the concerns, challenges and strategies of being an aging woman in our society. We all threw up our arms in protest at the idea that we could possibly be “wise women”. Perhaps we have images of old crones bent over bubbling pots and can't quite face that yet. 

On Monday evening I had the almost surreal experience of attending the first in a series of antenatal classes with a friend who has asked me to be her birth partner. There I sat in a circle with 12 sets of prospective parents – all first time and about half my age. One of the exercises that they had to do was to list all their birthing and parenting concerns.

Well, the session was indicative of one of the challenges that we face in this 21^st century – too much information and too little knowledge. People had lists that filled A4 pages - I couldn't believe how worried they were about everything - postnatal depression, choosing between natural birth and a Caesar, breastfeeding, routine, and balancing work and parenting in general. All valid I suppose, but I wanted to shout, “All your baby needs is you!” The internet has become their enemy because they suddenly are faced with the worst-case scenarios of every aspect of what is essentially one of the most natural stages of life.

I had to sit on my hands to keep myself from jumping up and responding to each one. It wasn't appropriate for me since I was there in a different role and didn't want to step onto the toes of the facilitator. But I realized that I could have dealt with each of those concerns through the experience that I have as mother, occupational therapist, yoga teacher and traveler. It was especially hard to keep quiet when one of the future dads said spontaneous weekends and travel were soon to be thing of the past. I wanted to wave my hands in the air and say, “Look at me, we've travelled the world with our children!” I’ll have to tell him that during the tea break next time.

It was an unexpected reminder of how much I've learned; without being aware of it, life has made us wiser and we still have a role to play in a society challenged by the technology revolution, climate change disasters, wars and conflict, and all the anxiety that this brings to giving birth and raising children. As Dr Benjamin Spock said way back in the 1940s, "You know more than you think you do." (The Common Sense Book of Baby and Childcare)

Yesterday I attended a talk with another wise woman Dr Azila Reisinberger, who officiated at the Mezcla of a Wedding I attended little while ago. She is Head of the Hebrew Department at UCT, a champion of women’s rights and gender equality, acting rabbi and member of MENSA. She spoke about women in the bible, which was fascinating and entertaining and appealed to the Christian, Muslim and Jewish woman in the audience. Her real gift is her ability to highlight the traditions and beliefs which are common to different people and cultures and bring them together in a celebration of humanity. Wise Women of the World, Unite!

World Prematurity Day and a New Nephew

This is my brand new nephew, born on Wednesday 13 November. He has arrived about six weeks too early and looks much bigger in this picture than he actually is. Actually you cannot grasp how little he is until you pick him up, all 1,8 kg of him. He's all skin and bone and wrinkly as anything. He seems far too fragile to be out here.

Perhaps with a nod to making the right entrance, he decided to put in an appearance during World Prematurity Week. Today, 17 November, is World Prematurity Day, celebrated around the world to improve awareness of premature birth and how it can be prevented. Millions of babies are born prematurely every year of which 1 million die, about one baby in ten. It has become the leading cause of newborn deaths. (Premature babies are babies born before 37 weeks.)  Simple care like warmth and feeding support are essential to improving the chances of survival of these babies.

Giving birth is such a common occurrence that we tend to forget what a miracle and blessing it is that everything proceeds without a hitch. In spite of his early arrival, he has all the reflexes for survival and here he is holding onto his father's thumb for dear life.

And here he is three days old, already looking a little more handsome.

May he and all the other preemies go from strength to strength and live long and productive lives. 

Halfway through the Masters

This morning when I got back from my walk, the dogs were under attack by an angry swarm of bees which had made their nest under the eaves of the garden shed. So just when I thought I had a quiet morning after the builders left, I was phoning around for a "bee-man". It's no simple problem. As I write this they are being smoked out and then the roof has to be sealed, including every single corrugation it has, so that the bees don't come back to the nest. 

The academic year ended three weeks ago and apart from builders I have also had to deal with the city council and pest control because apparently it's rat season in Cape Town. And then a small matter of root canal surgery. Seems this was all on hold while I was indulging in the student life. 

I can hardly believe that the first year of the MA programme has come and gone. Half the time I was ecstatic about the opportunity and couldn't believe my luck. I probably irritated a few people by being on an almost-constant high about all that I was learning and didn't need a second invitation to talk about the course. The rest of the time I felt slightly inadequate about my illusions of being writer. There was more than one occasion when I huddled with my fellow-students outside the Arts Block after a seminar where a hallowed-published author had just given us a talk on how difficult it was to be a writer. 

The course work is done and now the real work begins - writing a 65-70 000 word thesis - putting all that I have learned into practice. I have no intention of spending 3-5 years on this masters programme but am a little worried about being able to dish up a book in a year. On the other hand, I am a late bloomer and want to get the MA behind by my back. There are many more projects to get on with.

As I was recently reminded, everyone feels inadequate at one time or another, you have to use it to your advantage, to spur you on. So, I intend to stay focused and see this through as best I can. At the end of the day I believe that you write because you can't help yourself. You create a work of art and if other people love it, that's great. If I worried about whether or not everybody else was going to like it, I'd never do it. In any case, my supervisor says that I should be writing to one reader - him. 

In the words of one of my teachers, "Onwards and upwards!"

Walking through History - Celebrating our Heritage

I have no problem with Heritage Day turning into Braai Day. After all, cooking over a fire goes back to the days when man first discovered that fire might make his food taste better and cuts across many cultural boundaries - that's quite a heritage to celebrate. But I do believe that we still have a lot of work to do in order to get to know each other in this country.

In that spirit I was happy to see that Footsteps to Freedom City Walking Tours had joined IzikoMuseums and the Taj Hotel to offer free walks exploring the places of historical significance in the city centre during Heritage week. It seemed an appropriate way to spend Heritage Day and I invited an Australian visitor along. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the crowd of about 40 people who turned up consisted of mostly South Africans, eager to learn more of their own heritage. 

Traders on Greenmarket Square

Old Town House

We started off in Greenmarket Square, the second oldest public space after the Grand Parade, which served as a general meeting place and where water was collected from the public water pump which stood in the centre of the square. I didn’t know that the front door of the Old Town House, which stands on the edge of the square, is the place from which you measure distance in Cape Town. 

Pincushion Proteas or Waratahs

Next was the colourful flower market, Trafalgar Place, where there were beautiful pincushion Proteas on sale. My Australian friend pointed out that she knew them by a different name back home – Waratahs (yes, the name of one of their rugby teams). 

The City Hall

The Bell tower of the Groote Kerk

The Slave Memorial on Church Square

A slave memorial, consisting of slave names engraved on marble slate, has been erected on Church Square.  Slaves socialized here while their owners attended church services in the Groote Kerk. Opposite the memorial and church is The Slave Lodge which housed slaves, convicts and political prisoners between the 17^th and 19^th centuries. 

Government Avenue used to be the place to see and be seen.  

Our walk continued down Government Avenue past Tuynhuis where guests of the colony used to stay and which is now the president’s office. A blocked-up water channel which was originally dug by slaves runs in front of this house. We were reminded that the fresh water which runs down from Table Mountain was the main attraction of the Cape as a halfway stop on the way to the east. It seems a pity that we are not harnessing this water for use instead of letting it all flow into the sea. 

View of Table Mountain from the Company Gardens

Statue of Sir George Grey in front of National Library

The statue of Governor George Gray is the first statue of a person to be erected at the Cape. At the end of his term he donated his books to start the National Library. We ended our tour in front of St. George’s Cathedral which I remember as a safe place to gather during the apartheid years. Opposite the cathedral, in front of the Mandela-Rhodes building, is a piece of the Berlin Wall which was presented to Nelson Mandela on his first state visit to Germany in 1996.

Our guide was knowledgeable and fed us many interesting tidbits like the fact that the floor of the Groote Kerk was originally sand so that it could be dug up in order that members of the congregation could be buried there. 

I highly recommend this tour to locals and visitors alike. It was a worthwhile way to spend two hours.