Heavenly Massage

I am drifting off far away. Thoughts of a to-do list enter my mind and then float away as if they are getting the message: “do not disturb”. Something heavenly is happening on my forehead – it feels like someone is very gently stroking my hair, soothing my forehead and inviting me into a state of pure bliss.

Before that my body had been rhythmically stroked with warm oil by two pairs of hands, working in perfect synchronisation. Then I had been covered with a towel and a mask placed over my eyes.  A steady stream of warm oil was slowly trickled over my forehead and allowed to run through my hair.

I was being treated to an Abhydara massage, a combination of Abhyanga and Shirodhara. The treatments are part of Ayurvedic treatment. Ayurveda is the 5 000 year-old Indian holistic healing system which literally means “the science of life”. Body, mind and soul are treated to bring about a state of health and wellbeing.

Ayurveda encompasses diet, yoga, meditation and breathing. And then there is the massage...Abhyanga and Shirodhara are just two of the techniques. Abhyanga is designed to release toxins and improve circulation and is done by two people working in together on your body, covering it from toe to head. Shirodhara involves the pouring of a continuous stream of oil on the forehead. It is useful for insomnia, anxiety. It induces a feeling of deep relaxation.

The treatment had started with a short prayer, my feet were bathed and then my head and neck massaged before I was laid down onto the bed for the full body massage. At the end of the treatment, I was invited to “take steam”. This was followed by a shower using a mixture made with chickpea flour to absorb some of the oil. As I patted my skin dry, I felt like I had been massaged inside and out.  

Afterwards, I was left alone to sip my ginger tea and bask in the afterglow of the treatment. I could get used to this...

Keeping the Perspective

In many ways matric exams are the most important academic exams that students will write, determining their future study and job options. But I do agree with my friend, Mary, from Canada, who commented on the overwhelming importance matric exams seem to have in SA. She said that all around the world children write final school exams, they pass or they fail, and life goes on.

Here the whole country seems to be geared towards it – you can’t switch on the radio or open the newspaper without hearing or reading about the impending exams. The daily newspaper features interviews with learners about how they found each examination paper. There are advice columns in the newspaper about how to cope with stress, including suicide help lines. No one should have to want to kill themselves because of an exam.

A few weeks later the results get published in the newspapers and the whole country knows not only whether you passed or not, but how well you did. And then the post-mortems start - the comparisons and the laying of blame.  The next year it starts up all over again.

I found myself getting caught up in the hype. “Has she ever failed an exam?” asked Mary. The answer is no. And it is no for most of them. So why all the angst?

This year the matrics could go to their schools the day before the newspapers published the results, to see how they did before the whole country sees it. Hopefully this will be the start of changes to take some of the pressure off the matriculants. While school exams are hard, life exams can be harder. Let’s keep the perspective.  

Reaping the Benefits

Having been swept up in the flurry of the end of the year, I am a little shell-shocked to find myself landed in the third week of January with my daughter about to start university. It has been a long time of concentrated effort – mock exams first and then a month later, the finals. It seemed that they had no sooner done one set of exams when they started the next. I could almost see all the adrenalin draining out of her body after she wrote her last paper.

I am happy to report that the exams have gone well from all perspectives. Our military-style operation (yoga, shiatsu, diet, boot camp) has paid off and here we are, reaping the rewards of hard work. Not only has she been accepted at the University of Cape Town, she has been offered a scholarship based on her academic performance....very proud family!

She only applied to UCT (“because you and dad went there”). Dad and I needed special permits to attend the university as we were not white. It makes me even prouder that here she is, no baggage, in her own right and on her own merit, entering UCT. I’m looking forward to this new phase in all our lives. 

Like Coming Home

This morning when I got on the mat, it felt like coming home. For the last two weeks, I have been paddling furiously to keep up with all the end-of-year goings on.  It hasn’t helped that there was no routine with schools as well as the yoga studios I attend, all closed. My body has been protesting the absence of a good stretch and the grounding it gets from a regular practice. The little I have been doing by myself at home has not been focused enough for real satisfaction.

All the rushing around culminated in getting onto a plane to Mauritius, not a moment too soon.  The rush to the airport included a stop at my daughter’s school to get her exam results – more of that later...And so I woke up in paradise and took myself off to a yoga class. As I sat down, breathed in and settled down, I felt a sigh escape my body. It really was like coming home. I allowed the sing-song voice of the yogi to guide me through the familiar postures my body knows so well - though not without muscles protesting from disuse and abuse. Yes, even two weeks can make you lose it. It was a pure Hatha yoga class which took me right back to my roots in the Ananda Kutir ashram.

A gentle breeze was blowing in from the ocean and the sounds of birds singing and frogs croaking, was all the music we needed. As we chanted “Om Shanti” to end the class, I was at peace. 

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