Water on My Mind

I joined the gym two weeks ago to swim – it’s a risk-free form of exercise which works the whole body and encourages proper breathing. I also find it meditative. It’s taken me about a year to get my act together – I hate gyms but I have always loved swimming and some form of regular and sustainable exercise has been long overdue. I am quite impressed with the local gym’s water-saving measures (buckets to collect water in the showers for use in the toilets, 2-minute timers and the sauna and steam rooms have been shut down).

Access to something that I have taken for granted all my life has taken up so much of my consciousness. Ignorance, mismanagement and laissez-faire attitudes to preparing for the water crisis in Cape Town have led us to the point where it is very likely that access to water will be highly controlled. As the crisis deepens those who can afford to, are waiting months for boreholes to be dug, trucking in water for their pools and gardens, stockpiling bottled water while others are squabbling in queues to collect water from springs. For the last few weeks the council comes to flush out the sewage drain in our road which keeps blocking. They say it keeps clogging because of old tree roots in the system. I have my own theory – there is so much less water going through the system as we cut down on flushing that it’s bound to cause the system to back up and block.

The waft of sewage, not flushing the toilet and using the least possible amount of water leaves me with a constant feeling of not being hygienic enough. It’s scary. Which brings me to a a book I came across about four or five years ago, written by a South African writer, Karen Jayes, For the Mercy of Water, a speculative fiction work which actually, at the time, didn’t seem too much of a stretch to imagine. Now, of course, the ideas of a world where water is at a premium and guards have to watch over the source and supply have become much more real.

Image from Google Books 

In Jayes’ book, a country, which she hasn’t identified, is in the midst of a severe drought and water has become a very valuable resource. She has chosen to only name only the girl characters, as she said in a seminar, that often it’s the girls who are most abused in situations of conflict. She steers away from any identifying descriptions which may be interpreted as racial. This ‘anonymity’ creates an equality, albeit a surreal-ness, but reinforces the view that this could be happening to any of us, anywhere in the world.  And, indeed, water has been an issue of conflict in many parts of the world already – the Middle East, Africa and India – and access to water has been used as a political tool.

The narrative focuses on the journey a young writer takes to uncover a story that emerges when an unexpected rainfall leads guards to a remote town thought to be abandoned.

Jayes, K. 2012. For the Mercy of Water. Penguin. Johannesburg 

To Blog or Not to Blog

I enjoy the start of a new year and welcome it as a time to take stock, declutter and start afresh. This year I am taking stock of this blog which, according to the statistics, seems to have far more readers than I imagine. It has certainly served its initial purpose from seven years ago when I wanted a space to flex my writing muscles, blog about positive SA stories and other issues that interested me. 

After I completed my creative writing MA, I did a small revamp of the header and changed the content to reflect more of my current interests in South African history and its legacies. Since becoming immersed in further studies, I don't seem to have the time to keep the blog updated as regularly as I would like. This is my first post since October - eish!  That was just before a trip to the USA and my first Thanksgiving with all the trimmings.

Our Canadian hosts had welcomed us as well as foreign students, their Canadian neighbours and a Lebanese/Ghanaian/Japanese friend. So out of a party of 15 or 16, there were only two Americans, but Venezuelans, an Indian, a Romanian, and someone from the Dominican Republic ... it was my favourite kind of gathering, sitting around the table, sharing food and stories from all over the world, with people of all ages and cultures.

The turkey had been soaked in brine for four days in preparation, our host had planned it down to the last detail but happily extended her table to fit in more. The Venezuelans brought starters, and we had an Indian and Romanian dessert.

Our host with her magnificent bird

A cornucopia of goodness - company, food and conversation

                   

The festivities were preceded by a walk in the cold, bright, fresh air.

So, I started out this blog wondering if I should suspend my irregular writing habits but I seem to have taken stock (which is what writing helps me do) and perhaps this isn't the last you will hear from me. Wishing you love, peace and understanding for the year ahead.

The place to improve the world is first in one's own head and heart and hands. 

- Robert M. Pirsig

Honest Chocolate

What do a juicer, a vacuum cleaner, rotisserie oven, a pressure cooker and a hairdryer have in common? They're all used to make Honest Chocolate at the Woodstock Exchange! I spent a delightful morning in a "bon-bon making" workshop yesterday learning to not be afraid of the dark - dark chocolate, that is. It was more about the journey of chocolate rather than actually making the chocolate but what fun!

Anthony and Michael started their chocolate-making journey at the same time, but in different countries and then joined forces. Michael sounds like a bit of a MacGyver, hence all the unorthodox gadgets to produce the chocolate. Beans are dried in the adapted rotisserie oven:

Then crushed in the juicer to remove the husks, which are sucked up by the vacuum cleaner:

Other tools of the trade:

                            

The warm chocolate is hand-tempered in a hypnotic display of handwork:

The chocolate is made from cacao paste, cacao butter and sweetened with agave; it is free from preservatives and artificial flavourings. The finished products are finally packaged in eco-friendly paper decorated with designs from local artists. I loved that the chocolate is made by hand and sourced straight from the farms in Ecuador and soon from Tanzania.  

As a little extra, we got to dip dried naartjie slices in the chocolate and garnish with a sprinkling of buchu leaves...which reminded me of my grandmother's koeksusters made with dried citrus peel and the buchu she boiled up for us to drink whenever we had a sniffle. Standing in the tiny kitchen, with the electricity tripping every now and again, watching Anele the chocolate-maker flick his wrists back and forth rhythmically, it all felt, well, honest.

Go check it out here: Honest Chocolate 

Looking for a Magazine that Grace and Frankie will enjoy

My brain has been rather over-taxed by academic reading and I long for something that I can get lost in, switch off and float along on the words and maybe doze off ... without constantly reading between the lines for hidden references to my subject matter. See previous blog on reading for pleasure...

I decided yesterday that a magazine might do the trick when I popped into the supermarket for an overdue replenishment of stocks. Rows of magazines were on display - home and garden, parenting, fashion and travel...I scrolled through the selection but nothing popped out at me. I didn't want a whole magazine on any of those topics but a maybe little bit of everything. My children have finished school, my home is pretty comfortable (besides I am subscribing to an old piece of advice from my new mother days - let your home be dirty enough to be happy and clean enough to be healthy), and I have been fortunate to travel a good part of the world.

There were magazines for "iconic black women", business entrepreneurs, and health nuts all half my age. I picked up a magazine that had a blurb about menopause and found the article - I swear that the woman used to illustrate that article isn't going to experience a hot flush for another 10 years at least.

Where are the people who look like me? Who aren't baring their all figuratively or literally, who aren't looking like slightly weathered versions of their teenage daughters? Where are the ones who are exploring new freedoms from their empty nests, going back to study, getting involved in their communities, reinventing themselves? The ones having real hot flushes or forgetting whether they actually did take the omegas which are supposed to improve memory? 

Does anyone do yoga in comfortable tops and pants, rather than sweating it out in figure-hugging designer gear, in rooms heated to above normal body temperature? I want to see women who like to look smart but are not looking for labels, who aren't afraid to try something new even if they fail and look silly. Where is the magazine that someone who rolls about laughing at the adventures of proper Grace and eccentric Frankie  will enjoy? Please feel free to recommend any!

Offerings at the local supermarket

Women Surviving Lavender Hill

Kimdendhri Pillay-Constant (facilitator) with
authors Veronica Kroukamp and Naema Moses

Aunty Veronica is one of the many women living behind the headlines of:

LAVENDER HILL COMMUNITY 'LIVING IN FEAR' AMID GANG VIOLENCE

LAVENDER HILL TEACHERS CRY FOR HELP

WHERE DO THE CHILDREN PLAY? LAVENDER HILL’S DERELICT FACILITIES

LAVENDER HILL SCHOOLS REOPEN AFTER GANG GUN BATTLE CLAMPDOWN

Aunty Veronica remembers crying when she moved into Constitution Court No. 48 in 1981, because she had “always heard and seen what happens in this place”. Her children were afraid to play outside, they witnessed a gang killing, when she came home from work at night, neighbours would have eaten the food she had left out for her children. Through it all she was determined to make sure that her children would not be brought up “like the neighbours”. She speaks proudly about her children overcoming challenges to find a way to earn a living. 

In spite of this, her story is punctuated with headings like, Facing Danger and Change in the Community, The Life and Death of My Son, Tough Times with My Daughter Sonia, and My Daughter Roundel Who We Almost Lost a Few Times. The story is a rollercoaster of suicide attempts, battles with drugs, abuse and violence but a determination to overcome shines through and she ends her story with the words:

I will come out on top. I will achieve the things I want in life even if I must do the subjects over, I will do it because I still believe that I will get my grade 12 certificate before I am going to be 60 years old.

Aunty Veronica was one of the speakers at a meeting of the Non-Violence Vocal I attended recently.  She is one of the authors of a book, Women Surviving Lavender Hill, which emerged from a two-year writing project facilitated by New World Foundation. The project was started a healing process for women to address the trauma and abuse they have endured through living in a community such as Lavender Hill, a community of gang violence, drug and alcohol addiction and domestic violence. 

Places like Lavender Hill are the scars we bear from the apartheid legacy of forced removals when culturally diverse communities from District Six in the city centre to Claremont, Harfield and Bishopscourt, in the southern suburbs, to Simon’s town along the False Bay coast, were disrupted and the lives of ordinary people destroyed in the classificatory madness of the National Party. 

These depressing headlines immediately pop up on a cursory search on the internet, but I feel that I owe it to Aunty Veronica to share some of the good news stories that defy any ideas that we may have of the real people who live in communities like Lavender Hill. Like the Waves for Change surfing project, the Lavender in Lavender Hill job creation project, and the story of  Lavender Hill resident, Riaan Cedras ,who went from cutting grass to graduating with a PhD in Marine Science this year. 

The book is self-published and reflects the stories of the women in their authentic voices, is available from New World Foundation: admin@newworldfoundation.org.za.

Down South in the USA

I have visited the USA often over the last 20+ years, but this last trip was the first one that I spent any significant time in the south. An opportunity to present at a conference was the main reason for the visit which of course got extended because “if I was going all the way I should make it worthwhile”. Visiting the south was a very different experience, especially with my daughter beside me, whispering that she felt like she was on the set of the movie, Get Out. Suffice it to say that we had arrived from Mexico where we had blended in with the locals a lot more easily. 

The conference took place in Charleston, South Carolina (there are two Charlestons in the USA). Charleston, SC, was the American capital of the transatlantic slave trade, with 40 percent of enslaved Africans passing through it. The opening shots of the Civil War were fired in April 1861 at Fort Sumter in Charleston harbour. 

Inside Mother Emmanuel Church

The conference, “Transforming Public History from Charleston to the Atlantic World,” was organized by the College of Charleston’s Race and Social Justice Initiative and the Avery Research Centre.  The opening address was given by Dr Lonny Bunch, founding director of the Smithsonian’s National Museum of African American History and Culture, at the Mother Emmanuel church, where nine worshippers were shot and killed in a racially motivated attack. The church was built in 1816 and has survived natural disasters and burning for its association with slaves; civil rights activists gathered there, Martin Luther King Jr spoke from its pulpit. The church has survived the shootings and has become a site of pilgrimage and a symbol of forgiveness.

That weekend happened to be the second anniversary of the racist shooting at the church in which 9 people were killed. In my experience, places of worship, no matter what faith they celebrate, are imbued with a sense of peace and spirituality. It’s difficult to imagine anyone violating that space. Sitting in the pews with sunlight streaming through stained glass window, reminded me of a visit we had made to Regina Mundi in Soweto, the site of police shootings in 1976. 

People around us were whispering about a noose that had been left at the museum recently and were wondering whether Dr Bunch would mention it in his speech. He didn’t, but spoke instead about the importance of public history, about remembering the history that is omitted from the official narrative and how slavery and race and ethnicity have shaped America. He concluded that it was important for everyone to be exposed to this history since it had shaped everyone. His speech, the venue, the anniversary of the shooting … all added emotional layers to the conference. With topics like, “My Skin – the Costume I’m in”, “Black Lives Matter in the Age of Trump” and “They wore white and prayed to the east”, the conference helped me to place my study in an international context. 

Charleston SC waterfront. Fort Sumter to the right in the distance

Given this history, it was a shock to walk along the waterfront on our last afternoon there and see statues and monuments to the confederacy. Even more so, since the Mother Emmanuel shooter had posted images of himself flying the confederate flag. 

On our last morning we visited the Mcleod Plantation, all “Gone with the Wind” – a long driveway lined with tall trees dripping with Spanish moss, leading to the mansion. A guide who had been on a panel the previous day gave us a more inclusive tour, taking us around the back to tell us stories of the people who had lived in the row of one-roomed wooden houses. It was chilling to think that, Dylan Roof, the Mother Emmanuel shooter had been on this same visit and taken photographs in the same places we did.  

On my entry to the USA, immigration officer, on hearing the purpose of my visit, remarked, I don’t think we’ll ever learn, do you? I’d like to think that everyone at the conference left with a renewed conviction to share the stories, to tell history with a multiplicity of voices.

Mind Your Language

It is doubtful whether there are many people out there who will take advice from gangsters or drunks, even less so if the person advocating caution was a drunk gangster. So I am not sure what the Western Cape Transport and Public Works department was thinking with this advert for their #BoozeFreeRoads campaign. See article by Robin-Lee Francke here:

http://www.dailyvoice.co.za/news/watch-anti-booze-is-an-insult-to-coloureds/

It seems that they don't see anything wrong with their "100% authentic" portrayal of drunk gangsters selected off the streets of Hanover Park on the Cape Flats. 

The stereotypes of drunkenness and violence associated with 'coloured' people is ingrained in the narratives which go way back to the 17th century, when those who were referred to as 'Hottentots' were described thus:  

... they are lazy, they love to drink, they swear and fight at the slightest provocation and are generally immoral... 

In his examination of the portrayal of ‘Hottentot’ characters in early 19th century theatre, Vernon February finds the same basic elements: their love of liquor, their irascibility, their moral looseness, and linguistic incomprehension. He remarks that by the early 20^th century, ‘coloureds’ were limited to certain roles in Afrikaner mythology – the labour syndrome, comic syndrome, Bacchus syndrome, incarceration syndrome, loud-mouthed syndrome, and bellicose syndrome.  The theme of alcohol is a recurring one throughout Afrikaans literature, enshrining the tot system and justifying alcohol as the ‘coloured’s’ greatest cultural heritage, he concludes. 

Questions of race continue to surface in South Africa more than twenty years after democracy, Albie Sachs, anti-apartheid activist and constitutional court judge, comments in his autobiography that we have to acknowledge the catastrophic effects of apartheid in human terms in order to move on. Not only do we need to acknowledge apartheid and repression, but we need to realize the social and emotional impact that it had. 

Unless we destroy the stereotypes which were used to oppress us and define us racially, we cannot move towards a post-apartheid society where 'black' and 'white' believe they are equal to each other. We need to create the optimum conditions on the ground in order for people to feel neither superior nor inferior to each other, but to view each other as human. 

Further reading:

February, V. 2014. Mind Your Colour: The 'Coloured' Stereotype in South African Literature