THE NATURAL RHYTHMS LOST IN URBAN DEVELOPMENT

Three weeks spent in a Mozambican beach village brought the realisation sharply home – we’ve lost the plot.  Completely.  And we’re too full of our own supposed magnificence to even realise it!

South Africans are so lucky to have marvellous Moz on our doorstep – we can drive to places every bit as exotic and wonderful as the indulgent, exotic beach brochures from the Caribbean or the Philippines that we’ve ever sighed over.  Sand as soft and fine as icing sugar; blood warm, translucent water in endless shades of cool blues, turquoise and pale green.  Sun that greets you every morning without fail, and the heat.  Oh, the heat – it sucks the breath out of your body in an involuntary gasp.

Happy and Gentle Mozambicans

The gifts graciously provided by Mother Nature are perfectly balanced by the happy and gentle Mozambicans themselves.  Yes, we run in with the execrable officials, from the minute we arrive at the border, the dreaded dash through Maputo and the long journey up coast on the EN1.  Not to mention the beach police on their dinky quad bikes or lounging about in the sad little offices that seems to be the lot of port officials.

It’s rather amusing the way that South Africans, ruled in a supremely controlled manner for 40 years, bang heads and shriek in rage at the communist style of Mozambique officialdom.  You’d think we’d be used to it, but clearly not.  And yes, frustration barely begins to describe the red mist that boils up when a neatly uniformed and hatted figure steps into your path.  Admit it, who HASN’T briefly thought of pushing the accelerator to the floor...

Putting the bad eggs and self important government employees aside for another day, the Mozambicans we meet and interact with during our holidays are the friendliest, warmest people imaginable.  Always ready to chat to tourists, proudly sharing the treasures of their villages and simply enjoying a cheerful moment with visitors.

Their serene and dignified manner, evident pride in their country and supreme comfort in just being – whatever their financial and living circumstances - totally at ease with themselves, is in stark contrast to the rather manic manner of the average visitor.

Natural Rhythm and Flow

We recently survived our second matric ‘experience’ and an icy 2M or several, slurped down while we watched the to-ings and fro-ings of the villagers on the beach at Inhassoro brought into sharp focus the idiocy of the urbanised world rat race. The villagers have a natural rhythm and pattern of daily life that just flows along at its own pace.

It’s patently obvious that we can’t all pack a rucksack, sell the earthly possessions, head off for the wilderness and home school our kids, whilst living off nature’s bounty. 

But we can take note of and learn from the stability of the simple community life unfolding around us.  The feeling of reassurance radiating from the villagers, of a place for everyone, and everyone in their place.  The human conveyor belt, hauling in the fishing nets every day, utilizing at least three generations of men and boys, has the dependability of a daily chore performed across the ages. 

Each team member has a role, and the assurance that over time, their role within the team would change, but they know how and when.

The grandparents know what their descendents will be doing far into the future and how.  The children know what their lives will look like.  Secure in the familiar, the community lives and thrives contentedly. 

What about Our Future?

Meanwhile, we developed city dwellers frantically search for our children’s place in the future.  What, where, when, how – we can’t keep up with rapid fire technology, and the new jobs and lifestyles the changes bring.  We can’t visualise how our children will live, let alone our grandchildren.  We stress about distinctions and tertiary education, and heaven forbid our children should want to become bus drivers or deliver pizza!

When climate change threatens food supplies, fossil fuels run out, financial systems collapse - how will we live?  These things have moved beyond science fiction horror movies and into our daily lives NOW.

Despite spending a not-so-small fortune on a range of fishing rods and accessories to suit every possible type of fishing, Him Outdoors has yet to catch a single fish, meaning that when the supermarket shelves are empty, my family will be starving!  (I’m not supposed to tell you about his legendary casting abilities, snaring first a duck in Dullstroom, and more recently a Fish Eagle at Cahorra Bassa!)

And yet for some odd reason, we feel superior to the self sufficient, confident and assured communities living so simply.  It’s true they don’t have wall sized plasma screens, huge vehicles with long range fuel tanks, enormous houses in which only about 25% of the floor space is really used – neither do they have the anxiety about getting, securing and keeping this stuff!

Remote or Helicopter?

We don’t have the time to share knowledge, experience or stories with our sprogs – and even if we get home before they’ve gone to bed, who wants to untangle each family member from iPads, satellite television, internet and social media to exchange token grunts of interest?

The flip side to that scenario is, of course, helicopter parenting.  Guilt driven, we micromanage every moment of junior’s life, preventing self discovery and exploration and not teaching him that it’s ok to briefly  stand still, entranced by a small moment.

That’s not to say cellular communication and road transport haven’t been eagerly embraced by little villages across the globe – these innovations and advances have made life immeasurably easier for millions. 

You want more?

But what they’ve understood, and we’ve missed totally, is that innovations and advances are there to add a small amount of comfort and convenience, not to take over and colonise our lives!  Our obsession with being number one, and having it all, is removing spontaneity and joy from life.

Doing our best is good enough, no matter where that leaves us on the list. Fulfilment lies in living in the now and being aware of what and who is around you.  Having sufficient is plenty, anymore than that is just a waste, and bearing in mind that we currently require SEVEN planets to sustain us now, why would you keep holding your hand out for more? 

Sublimely Local

Local-Lish-Us hosted their second seasonal lunch yesterday, and what a follow on event it was!  

The crowd grew from 80 to nearly 130, the noise level rose accordingly (Poor Kate - brandishing her arm cast in an attempt to be heard, it was touch and go as to whose head it would fall upon!)

Eager beavers started arriving an hour before the advertised starting time, and earlier than expected we began manning the welcome desk and checking guests in.  Hilton, with impish glee, appointed himself the pourer of welcome drinks, filling glasses and extolling the virtues of the delicious locally brewed ginger beer and assorted Rottcher Winery flavoured wines.  We are very lucky to have local booze producers, how would White River function on Sabie Valley coffee alone?!

As usual, many laughs were had as the team, under Tamar's expert guidance, trimmed ivy leaves into hearts, laid the tables and scattered assorted leaves amongst the place settings.  Interesting herbs were pushed into old gin bottles (what sort of person collects old gin bottles?  and why does K.., er, she, have so many empty gin bottles?  hmmmm!)  

Proving himself man enough to keep up with the girlz, Hilton got comfy on the tiles and cut leaves with the best of us, then was exceedingly useful setting up the drinks and being the bar's first customer. Viv, claiming zero creativity, proved otherwise by painstakingly arranging leaves about the place.

And then they poured in, astonishingly punctual, so that by 1 o'clock we'd corralled the guests into the extended dining room and verandas, and the serving crew could begin the task of serving up the baby marrow quiche.

The concept of place, rather than table, booking, and seating people at long tables as they arrive, has taken off in a big way.  Perhaps many of the guests are missing their boarding school years, but rubbing shoulders and chatting away to strangers, who soon become interesting people whose details are entered into the assortment of iPhones, Samsungs and the reducing number of Blackberries (very out, I'm told) appears to come easily to space conscious South Africans, all of whom seem very glad to extend their circle to new acquaintances.

Bee Eaters lived up to expectations - a beautiful venue, with something for everyone.  Guests slurped up the food and cleared out the buffet, and sharp eyed arrivals noted the many European Bee Eaters lining the fence alongside the entrance.

A tribe of young 'uns ranging from 8 weeks (had Filo in full Gogo mode, and many others drooling) to 15 picnicked, ran riot, jumped to distraction on the jumping castle, and eventually discovered the stream and dam.  Thankfully, the scorching weather held and the kids splashed to their hearts content.

Competing with baby Isla was the 8 week old Beagle pup.  The women were pretty evenly divided on whether it was a new puppy or baby they hankered for.  None wanted both! 

It was an astonishingly broad  selection of tasty food; spinach and trout pie being my favourite, but the free range lamb looked juicy and tender, the oven roasted organic veges went down well, and by the time I'd got to the mango dessert, and macademia brittle icecream, not much was left!  

Which was a good thing, as no tummy room remained for the range of local cheeses and preserves.  An aromatic cup of local coffee completed a long, leisurely paced meal and it was with heavy eyes my feet moved my groaning body down the steps and into the car, beginning the drive home.

Quite how we'll come up with a third event to top the two we've already had, I don't know.  But the creative and energetic Local-Lish-Us team will undoubtedly pull another (local, and seasonal) bunny out of the (local) straw sunhat.