Mirror Image Strangers

Motes of dust hanging in the air dance in the rays of light sliding slowly down the paneled walls.  Johnny's Pub is filled to capacity with six tourists, Johnny and the Bar Wench so the bubble of conversation along with the musty smell of old wood peculiar to old, tin clad buildings is overpowering.

But hey, it's Friday night in Pilgrims Rest and Johnny's is the place to be.  We're the vanguard for tomorrow's photographic club outing to Pilgrims.  OK, I admit, under the guise of "wouldn't it be lovely to get away for the weekend and combine that with the club outing?" there may have been some ulterior thoughts of getting a jump on the group and unearthing some photogenic nuggets but nonetheless Him Outdoors enjoys any excuse to get away and so we did.

A friendly stranger called Stuart introduced himself, adding that he'd been sitting there longer than he ought to and the wife was beginning to make noises.  We, however, apparently looked like fun people so he graciously called for his ABF and we began the discovery process of getting to know each other.

In the odd way of Africa, Him Outdoors found out that he and Stuart had worked for the same company in days of yore and had many acquaintances in common. And Stuart's wife, Anne, lived in Pilgrims Rest while Stuart lived and worked at Sun City, returning home once a month.  Another Long Distance Marriage - We Are Not Alone.

You could play the opening bars of the Twilight Zone theme music here, I guess. Anne turned up in search of her husband and magically an ABF appeared in her hand while Stuart, having finished the practise round, began his real ABF.  That Bar Wench is really good!

The War Story swopping changed from sales to LDM's. Anne, according to Stuart, is totally entrenched in Pilgrims Rest with her work at a nearby luxury hotel, her social group, painting and lifestyle.  Which he grinds away under difficult circumstances to financially support.

Anne (displaying an impressive array of facial expressions behind Stuart's back) gave the true account.  They both really enjoy living apart for much of the month and getting on with their individual lives.  Time spent together is heartily enjoyed until that magic clock ticks over just before departure and the niggle factor roars in, leading to the huge sigh of relief that accompanies the cheerful hand wave she directs at his departing car.

It could have been Him Outdoors and I telling this tale and interestingly, both Anne and I were highly entertained by the male versions while the men's indignant cries of 'woe is me' rose higher and higher.

Proof that women lead full, engaging lives and don't need a full time partner? Or that life is so frantically busy we don't notice they aren't there?  

It was wonderful to meet two lovely people and to discover that we aren't abnormal.  Unusual and not mainstream, but not completely off the reservation.   

The Big Issue

This Blog is named "Lightly" for a reason.  It's a space for lightness - of soul, of humour and of being.  There is plenty of angst, anger, frustration and forceful opinion in the world without adding more fuel.

But today, Friday 23rd September, I'm drooping with Issue Fatigue.  Over the past few months, I've consciously avoided diving too deeply into the daily news, or entering the social media fray about anything.  A bit mushroomy, yes, but my head is exploding with the constantly growing and endless fug of rage over Issues.

The list is endless - it's quicker to itemise the South African politicians, Councillors and Government officials NOT mentioned in dodgy deals or trough hogging than to name and shame those unveiled daily.

Then, of course, the relentless squawking over municipalities and Government departments who are not doing their jobs properly, infrastructure collapsing, water (when we have it) a poisonous morass, poaching, theft, abuse of power, neglect, crime, students, incomprehensible and obviously moronic decisions affecting the country and a bunch of spouses murdering their dearly beloved fills page after page, airwaves and bandwidth to bulging.

And as the Issue Platform groans and sags beneath the ever growing pile of Issues dumped upon it daily, the keyboard experts and specialists rub their hands in glee and jump in.  Before you know it, a shared post about so called 'students' smashing a venerable, and valuable, education property has been hijacked by social media trolls and insults between the commentators fly like horse dung. The main Issue is trampled under foul, abusive language thrown around by people who don't know each other at all, let alone well enough to have an opinion of the other's intellect, social standing, upbringing, morals and beliefs. Which doesn't hold people back for a minute from publicly airing their views and judgement about someone they have never, nor will ever, meet.

It's the very lowest form of discourse, yet grows like a horrid virus.  Even the Issues have Issues now, nothing ever seems to be resolved and removed from the pile as we build a wobbly Tower of Babel.

Please, for the love of all that we hold dear, can we Stop, Pause, Touch and Re-engage?  Quietly, politely and respectfully?  As any veteran of marital strife will tell you, shouting at and over each other doesn't sort out issues, it just leaves the combatants hoarse and exhausted.  (Maybe those murderous spouses realised this and chose a more active option?!)


Don't get me wrong - I love living somewhere that has real issues to solve.  It's just the infinite number that continue on and on, growing little issues of their own like pimples upon carbuncles, that are getting me down at the moment.

No wonder there's no room for happy stories, the Issue Platform bulges sky high.  And deep down I KNOW that what is out there on the Issue Platform, like the protesting students, is a fraction of what is really going on day to day. There are good, generous hearted people getting on with their lives and being kind to those around them.  Bank clerks and mechanics who go the extra mile. Car guards who beam cheerfully as they help unload into your car a staggering amount of groceries they couldn't afford in a month of Sundays. The warmth of the Police sergeant eager to show off his K9 partner's skills. 

Anyhow, with that all off my chest and seeing as it's Friday, and I really, really want to begin the weekend with a smile, here's a chirpy song especially for you from the awesome Pharrell Williams.  If this doesn't cheer you up and get you smiling and bopping, there is just no hope!

Happy weekend everyone.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y6Sxv-sUYtM

Home Town Through Outsider Eyes

It has to be said that we see more of many of our far-flung network of friends and family now that we live in a little, out-of-the-way town than we ever did when we lived in the big smoke.

Jacaranda season - Chief Mgiyeni Khumalo street becomes a lilac dell

Some, bless them, make the journey east over the escarpment specially to see us but an astonishingly large portion visit the area regularly anyway, and naturally drop in to while away an hour or a few days with us.

Lekker! (an Afrikaans word difficult to translate but usually uttered with glee, approbation and a great deal of satisfaction.  You get the drift.) Our home at times has a revolving door, spitting out ex-pat-now-Australians as it envelops Joburgers. Along with a birdsighting list, we should have an Origins list, which this year alone includes Australians, Yanks, Brits, Joburgers, Durbanites and more ranging from 11 years of age to 77 and with diverse interests. 

And that's before we include the guests we've hosted in our small accommodation venture, so you can imagine the bustle of busyness in which we live. Exhausting indeed but always so special to retie those friendship knots more firmly and to meet an assortment of lovely people for the first time.

Water, agriculture and town all in one view

The second duty of hosting after ensuring guests are comfortably ensconced with a glass of wine is, of course, to play area travel guide.  Kruger, naturally, generally tops the list (but if ONE more visitor returns with tales of seeing the Big 5 before lunch, travelling the same road we've driven ruts into in our regular vain attempts to do the same, they will check out sooner than planned!)

And going to Mbombela Stadium to watch rugby will never be the same again after watching SA-Argentina with the Karlsson mob, supplemented by running into a few of Him Outdoors' old rugby mates who'd travelled all the way from Hartebeespoort to support the Boks.

Unexpectedly, it was the Wobblie's eating and drinking tour of White River town that opened our eyes to the lovely places under our noses that we haven't popped into yet.  Dad's honeymoon with Val had us in stitches, as the Lovebirds posted photograph after photograph onto Facebook (yes, really!) of them washing samoosas down with a craft beer at Phat Boys and buying game pies, game pate and naartjie preserve at Carmel (which they swear has the best cake in town). Until they went to Sip and were entranced by the Alice in Wonderland decor and decadent pastries.

And it wasn't just the gourmand offerings, either. Rae Kirton from Dynamic Vision spent ages repairing Dad's spectacles and refused to charge.  Overall, the travelling Wobblies fell head over heels in love with White River.  The people, the friendliness they encountered everywhere, the beauty, pace of life and the myriad of special little offerings, nooks and crannies that make up the town.  They commented on how clean the main street was and how much they enjoyed being able to wander on foot from one coffee shop to the next, browsing at all the shops in between.

Listening to their excited recounting of the day's adventures every evening for a week was a sharp reminder about how easily we are blinkered to our closest surrounds.  It's time to ramp out of the rut and utilise more of what's in our backyard instead of travelling the same old path.


  


    

Groundhog Day on the Bucket List

Long before the phrase 'bucket list' was coined, I had a list - places I wanted to visit and experiences to have before shuffling off this mortal coil. There's nothing unusual about having a list nor the choices on mine:
Zanzibar
Cuba (before McDonalds and Holiday Inn get there)
Morocco
The Camargue
Russia
The Great Migration (particularly a hot air balloon trip above it)
Sossusvlei 
Mexico
Tunisia
Turkey
Antarctica
Norwegian Fjords by boat
Northern Lights
Okavango swamps and delta
Madagascar
Goa

Way back in 2003, Zanzibar got a look in when travel companies started pushing it as the destination de jour. So off we went, a friend and I, and oh, my, Zanzibar delivered everything imagination had conjured up, and more, soaring way above expectations.  How delicious it was to tick off a listed item and discover it went beyond what was hoped.

What more natural decision, then, to want to share this treasure with Him Outdoors and honeymoon there in 2005?  Life Lesson number 4876 - never, ever revisit a ticked off list destination, disappointment is sure to follow. 

Ferocious marketing of package tours during the intervening two years had changed the atmosphere.  No longer were we frequently accosted in Stonetown by eager locals, keen to shake hands, say 'Jambo' and welcome us to Zanzibar with no further expectations than just welcoming friendliness.  Now, constantly buffeted by salesmen and panhandlers, the final straw was Him Outdoors being scolded by an elderly lady one evening when out for a stroll.  It was far too dangerous for Mzungus to be in the streets of Stonetown after dark, she said. Drugs had established themselves on the island and desperate people would knife you for a fix.  Innocence lost.

Now, before you strike the island from your list, don't.  It's awesomeness outweighs the consequences of an influx of outsiders.  The beaches, diving, historic places of interest and sheer beauty are hard to match elsewhere.  The point is this - once you've visited a longed for destination, tick it off and don't return, it will never be the same.

Back to the list.  The second item to be crossed off was Tanzania's Serengeti National Park during the migration and again, it lived up to expectations despite our not being lucky enough to witness a river crossing.  My heart was truly sore when we left, though. Somehow it didn't feel like enough and a little part of my soul remained behind on the savannah.

How lucky am I?  Him Outdoors got a contract in Kenya so in 2015 we watched the migration from the other side of the border.  We've just relished our second in-season trip to the Maasai Mara, returning to loll in the magnificent luxury of Spirit of the Masai Mara lodge and yet again, their Maasai guide delivered us into the core of the Mara.  We couldn't want for more, getting up close and personal with lion, cheetah, hyena, leopard, jackal, elephant...you name it, we saw it and were lucky enough to have many sightings to ourselves where we could just sit and watch the behaviour rather than tick off the mammal sighting list and move on.

And like the previous two visits to East Africa's magnificent spectacle, a little bit of my soul was left behind and I'm already counting the days til we can return.

What hope of clearing the bucket list now when I'm so happily reliving the same experience over and over? What happened to Rule 4876?!

Maasai Mara Road Mechanics

The scene could be anywhere in the African bush.  A group of people leaning back into well-worn canvas chairs, icy beer in hand and booted feet casually resting near the flames of a wood fire.  Overhead, gazillions of stars blink like crystals nestling on a blanket of plush velvet. The deep exhalations of sheer contentment push thoughts of anything outside the circle of presence as far away as can be.

And then it begins.  Landrover vs Landcruiser with everyone firmly in one of the camps, for life. There is absolutely no room for fence sitters in this debate, ever, and there's definitely no option to select Nissan, Mercedes or even Porsche (snigger!)

Toyota have the lead on bumper stickers, memes and spare wheel covers, cheekily nose thumbing Landrover's reputation for breakdowns and yes, we've certainly chortled at our Rover friends many mechanical failure experiences. Although truth be told (shush, don't tell Him Outdoors I've let this out of the bag!) our Cruiser was once pulled out of deep Mozambique sand by a Range Rover...   

East Africa, in finest Colonial tradition, is Landrover country.  Or was.  A veritable Pearl Harbour assault on the motor industry is making inroads for the Japanese Johnny-come-latelies. But the iconic square nose and body of Landrover still covers the plains in droves.

If you follow this blog, you'll know that very few of our travels are breakdown-free and the latest Maasai Mara adventure didn't let us down, although we weren't in our own vehicle or even driving!

Barrelling along in the Landrover towards Sekanani Gate after a long, twelve hour day filled with exciting sights and experiences, our minds were saturated with colour, dust, noise and the overwhelming sensation of watching Mother Nature in high resolution. Conversation ebbed and eyelids struggled to stay at full mast until a weird 'cluck cluck cluck' rattled us out of inertia.

Rumbling to a halt, the XY Chromosomes exited and assumed serious expressions of concern as they clustered around the front end.  Apparently some split pin thingy had broken and fallen off, meaning a crucial nut followed and now the right front wheel was gaily following it's own track, completely oblivious to the demands of either it's partner wheel or the steering apparatus.  Whoopsie!


Safari vehicles rushing past to make the gate deadline were flagged down and asked for parts while some of our lot hiked down the road looking for the nut (yes, I know, it was a long shot!) One helpful passerby produced a hooked bungy cord and, in true African style, within minutes a repair plan was made and we were off.

Africa - this is why we live here. 

Nutters searching for a nut!

It was quite disappointing, really, as an enormous herd was making its way towards us and, with plenty of picnic left and warmly lined ponchos we could have made a night of it in the Mara.  But another rule of Africa is that the adventurous prospect of an unplanned camp-out is only going to happen accompanied by a beer.  And our coolerbox was empty of Tusker!  Soon rectified when we got through the gate, however, with a pitstop at Rex's Bar for everyone to celebrate the latest escapade with a brew.  And to reminisce about the last time we were in that same Landrover, which failed to start just minutes away from a lion sighting.  

Would have been a perfect campsite, those herds were moving...

Times change and this particular Landie is about to be replaced by a Landcruiser, and Japanese efficiency will deplete us of some wonderful tales to tell.  

Neighbourliness

What makes a good neighbour?  Someone who treats your kitchen as hers? Whose kids spend more time in your house than their own?  What about the other extreme - you have no idea what your neighbours look like.  You may have seen them once, pulling out of their driveway and studiously turning their heads to avoid your tentative wave, but that's it.

I have a very good neighbour and our neighbourly relationship is perfect, although some may find it odd.  Both single women living alone, similar ages, we work in the same complex, belong to the same bookclub and usually see each other once a month.  At book club.  

"How is that possible?" you ask.  Surely we are an ideal match to have a kind of revolving door situation, doing many things together almost joined at the  hip?

Well, no.  We get on very well, have children similar ages, love the same books, have the same interests but we are both, individually, busy people.  It's proven quite difficult to fix dates to get together so now we grab the odd moments (loadshedding candle light drinks on my patio and a very relaxed Friday night swinging in her uber comfy 'egg' chairs after a delightful supper.)  Occasional messages checking that one or the other isn't the only person without water or power and a friendly chat when we pass in the street is pretty much it.

But here is why she's the very best of neighbours and we have such an excellent neighbourly marriage.  I'm out of the country for a while and got a message from her to ask about a strange car which has taken up residence in my driveway. Heart pounding, I ask her to give security a call to check it out, which she did immediately and kept me up to date with events as they unfolded. Nothing to worry about, just a cheeky neighbour taking advantage of additional parking but still, my fab neighbour noticed an oddity and went to the trouble to let me know, alerted security and followed through.

Now that's a wonderful human being and a special neighbour.  Close enough to notice and care, reserved enough to respect our mutual privacy.

Viva Sherreen at No 4!

The Orange Cake

Gotta love how easy it is to be connected across the globe today.  I’m old enough to remember airmail letters, those flimsy blue gummed sheets we used to fill with childish letters written to longed for grannies a world away.  The yucky tasting edges were licked and the missives sent on their way and in a few weeks, we’d have a reply.  This is how we kept in touch.  Phones were large,heavy, Bakelite instruments firmly placed on a special telephone table and never used – call rates were pricey and international calls absolutely out of the question!

A shrinking world has resulted in many moves, either ours or friends, to distant places and caused tears a’plenty.  However, digital cameras, wifi, social media, email, Skype, What’s App - all accessible when we are on the move or stuck at our desks keep us in strong contact and it’s a wonderful thing.  We share special moments, bad moments, tears, giggles, drama and the ordinary and when we finally meet up in person it feels as though we just have a week or so to catch up on, not a few years.  It also allows us to ‘introduce’ current friends with faraway ones so everyone is familiar when we’re all together again.

And so to this morning’s tale.  A dear friend moved to the opposite side of the country 5 months ago.  She’s a tad homesick and I miss her dreadfully, so we What’s App every so often to share an electronic hug, as it were.  It was fab to see her message arrive earlier and good to get caught up on the news, even though the distance at the moment is further than usual – she’s in Cape Town where she should be but I’m in Nairobi though of course, you wouldn’t know it from the amazing electronic miracle that we communicate by these days.

Listening with a heavy heart to her struggles in adapting from a very small town to big city, an image came to mind.  Her popular, has-the-neighbourhood-fighting-for-the-last-piece Orange cake.  Its famous in our ‘hood and much missed now she’s no longer here to take orders for it.  A rich, fresh crumbly cake, sunshine hued with strands of orange peeping through, melt in the mouth, leaving the zesty hint of orange and richness of cream to embrace the pleasure centres and dusted with icing sugar, it’s as gorgeous on the eye as it is in the tummy.

But it doesn’t start out that way.

In the beginning, her famous Orange cake is broken eggs, a sticky mess in a bowl which is thoroughly beaten before being poured into the baking pans.  Blasted by fierce heat it firms up and rises to it’s dazzling maturity.  Reaching out to be the best it can be, a shimmer of white sugar completes the perfect picture and perhaps an orange blossom or two is scattered playfully on top (well, we do live in the Lowveld, citrus country!)

Presented on a beautiful plate, it elicits oohs and ahs and is appreciated and savoured slowly and with absolute pleasure. 

Are we not like this striking work of art?  Sometimes we’re bashed and broken and at our lowest, the beating continues.  Then gets worse until we see no end in sight, the intensity of our troubles (emotional or physical) burning deep. 

But lo, something is happening.  Be it an unexpected, tiny something, a flicker of hope and light emerges and slowly, slowly, we emerge from our ‘oven’.  And in time, this ordeal has passed.  Whatever we feel about our troubles, there is no doubt that having survived them we are wiser as to our strength, our friends, our ability to cope. 

And that extra line etched into our foreheads, the lovely fold of flesh that has appeared at our waist, is a beautiful reminder that we are maturing into the best we can be.