Doctor's Orders

The aroma of freshly cut stems fills the carriage, mixed subtly with the smell of freshly smoked cigarette, the sweat of a long day. "Kruie...Kruie" croaks a peaceful voice of a Rasta as he passes each row of faux leather seats filled with liquorice allsorts of people. "Vir jou suiker....ja" a well dressed middle age woman starts discussing her health problem as normally as one would expect in a doctors consulting room..."Ja, net een keer 'n dag...vir suiker... So jy vil hoeveel he? 40grams..." He holds up 4 fingers and disappear up the carriage to his dispensary to collect the patients prescription.

"Blessed is the man who giveth, or the one who does not worry" sings the herbalist before he abruptly stops to have a political discussion with a young cape coloured... "Kyk, almal sal mos huise kry...hulle moet net wag..." His voice fades as he leave the carriage on his mission unknown.

I love South Africa...the rich tapestry of life away from the sanitation of wealth refreshes my hope in mankind.

The Lobbyist who cried wolf.

This subject requires qualification before embarking on. For the record, let me state that a single human being trafficked, is one too many! The idea of vulnerable women and children facing extreme distress and abuse as result of the greed and lust of humankind can only cause a horror reflex in the response of any normal individual. Anecdotal evidence of exploitation of vulnerable workers by immigrant Chinese factory owners in South Africa, the media storm surrounding recent policy changes relating to Labour Brokers, and stories of Fictitious Employment Agencies in South Africa recruiting and enslaving citizens drawn by promises of a better life ( http://bit.ly/at8O6m ) point towards significant human rights abuses by a criminal element within South Africa. This is well documented.
However, in reference to recent shock-tactic emails circulating regarding hundreds of thousands, and in some versions millions of victims facing human trafficking in South Africa, let me say that the misrepresentations and exaggerations of data by lobbyists and campaigners discredit the cause of the hundreds of people trafficked in or from South Africa annually.
The educated public is no longer shocked by big numbers and shock predictions when it comes to environmental issues, health claims, politicians promises, nigerian scamsters', and sadly, lobbyists' exaggerated trafficking statistics. Or are they?
I encourage those who forward these trafficking emails to exercise caution and commonsense. By over guessing the prevalence of this activity will only sensitize the public to the issue and so harm the plight of the unknown number of victims.
The only credible study on the occurrence of Human Trafficking within the Southern African context, was recently carried out and published by Carol Allais of UNISA who states:-"... these huge numbers...are...alarmist and exaggerated. The number of people trafficked...is currently not known, but that the real figure is more likely to be in the hundreds than in the thousands..."
Let me again repeat that a single human being trafficked, is one too many! But the exaggeration of the real statistics by well meaning, but ill-informed lobbyists misrepresents the true nature of this crime, and cries wolf to the detriment of the real victims of this crime.

Churchill's Black Dog

I have never really believed in Depression. For most of my life I have considered that it is the luxury of the rich, the attention seeking of the bored, the theatrics of the pained drama queen, and the clutching at straws of the hypochondriac. This may not be so strange a view to you, that is until I confess that I have found myself fighting off Churchill's Black Dog for most of my post pubescent life. It may seem ever further alien when you discover I was once hospitalised following a parasuicidal drug overdose, or that I have been under the care of at least two Psychologists and a Psychiatrist since my 16th birthday. Why do I mention this background colour?

I had the privilege of meeting a best selling author recently. He was the Wunderkind of his time. I am not relegating him to retirement yet, but just giving perspective. At 18 he published a novel that shot to the top of sellers lists worldwide, and 15 years later and a number of bestsellers later, he is still weaving the tapestry of tales that keep a diverse readership begging for more...BUT...he suffers from depression. I am fully aware of the new nomenclature for our shared condition. Polite society has decided to allow us to avoid the stereotyping of 'Manic Depressants' and has couched the condition in the fluffiest of terms: 'Bi-polar'.
Suddenly with the single stroke of a pen, my own condition made perfect sense...I could identify the extreme vacillation between sparks of creative genius, and trenches of deep despair and heart crushing heaviness. I always considered my brilliant,creative self the normal me...but I am beginning to realise that the more normal me may in fact be the middle of the road kind that is neither churning out Picasso's, nor writing my own Eulogy.

My new author friend has found his middle of the road with the help of Psychotrophic medication, and still manages to captivate any audience, in person or in script. I on the other hand have not yet found that middle road. I no longer take medication, and by choice chose to deny my condition as I again have lined myself up for the most glorious of fall through my creative explosion over the past three months.

Malema,ET,Viljoen,Dozi&Hofmeyer's Circus

What a great week to be a satirical political cartoonist or political commentator in South Africa.
Amidst the ANCYL choir warming their voices and Malema's heart to a rendition of "Ayasab' amagwala, awu yoh dubula dubula aw dubul'ibhunu" a well known voice is heard bitching about how 'black people' (substituted with liberal helpings of the K-word) do not know how to govern the country. One suspects that Dozi breathed a massive sigh of relief when the news of Eugene 'fall off my horse" Terreblanche was beaten to death over a pay dispute. One wonders whether the AWB's press secretary smiled as he strummed his neoNazi beard and in a gruff aside said to himself "there is no such thing as bad publicity', although he would be forced to swallow those same words as a bitter tonic a couple days later in the theatrical rendition of "touchmeonmystudio" ... Which entertained the nation in the genre of an absurd Monty Python Sketch.
During the intermission the News stations ran an exclusive interview with Mr Malema during a break in his conference with Bob Mugabe... "Mr Malema, how do you respond to the accusation that you are responsible for Mr Terreblanche's death", and with cheshire cat grin, Julius responds "but I cannot be responsible...I am in Zimbabwe!" One can't help credit Mr Malema with the observation, that the victim was in fact a man who recently used his 'get out of jail free' card after spending two years in the slammer for attempting to murder his farm workers, and for assaulting a petrol jockey. Oh, and let's not forget his involvment in the bomb that killed 3 innocent people, and ripped limbs of those unlucky enough to survive.
The week went from strange to bizaare when Steve Hofmeyer, who is obviously clutching at straws to revive a flagging career, was interviewed in a leading paper and shared how heartbroken he was at the death of his hero.
After the discrediting of the erstwhile AWB spokesman in the 'touchmeonmystudio-gate' scandal, where the white supremist aryan took affront to a 'maid' interrupting the 'baas', Steve appears to have taken it on himself to stand in as spokesman in the place of Mnr Andre Visage for the unity of all racists against the 'swaart gevaar'. One wouldn't find a more ridiculous script in a Rowan Atkinson script.
One can't blame Mnr Visage can one? He was afterall a good Afrikaaner boy who probably sat listening to the Dominee preaching about the chosen Volk, and their right to oppress the Third Crown like dogs! I wonder if Steve perhaps fell asleep in the part of the sermon that instructed good afrikaaner boys not have multiple bastard children outside of wedlock.
Oh yes, speaking of 'bastards'... Julius arrived back after his Hero Worship Tour of ZanuPF head quarters to little fanfare and controversy... He didn't see his name on the front page of any newspapers, and as any presidential candidate knows...its all about press coverage... So he decided to redirect the distracted and now weary spotlight with degree of vitriol worthy only of the seasoned drama queen he is... and kicked a 'white bastard' BBC journalist with 'white tendencies' out of Luthuli house...and then went on to announce the ANC's endorsement of Mugabe and ZanuPF in the next elections. It doesn't take a political analyst to see Bob Mugabe's grubby paws all over Malema's plastacine mind. Perhaps the most amusing commentary on the event was the fact that the BBC did not consider the event as newsworthy enough to report on... And the journalist probably welcomed the opportunity to take a break from the circus and head off for a long sauna and massage at his hotel room.

As a final comment, let me say how encouraged I have been to see that the majority of peace loving South Africans (of all race, colour, creeds, and language), while keeping one eye on the two tiny groups of extremists left and right, have kept their main focus on the goal of unity to create a better South Africa for all who live in it. One does however wonder whether we shouldn't ship the AWB and Andre Viljoen, Malema, Dozi, and Steve Hofmeyer off to Robben Island to play in the sandpit for 27 years. That way we could let them continue their circus while the adults get down to the business of nation building.

The irony of the situation is not missed.

On my final evening in the Northern Suburbs, I lay on my bed with my window open as the sounds of Bok v Blerk's 'DeLaRey Sal jy die Boere kom lei' floats on the breeze through the window. The irony of this does not escape me...Its final confirmation that the oppressive,racist attitude of the northern suburbs of cape town are not fertile ground for my core belief that every south african has a right to their place in the sun free from the hatred of those hankering after the past.So I dust off my feet and spit the slimy aftertaste of this cursed people out of my mouth as my car is packed and waiting for my departure on the morning breeze to the fair green pasture of Cape Town... Where a greater respect for humankind exists. I will not miss your offensive racial prejudice Durbanville, and if Vesuvius erupted in your midst I would not stop to mourn!
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Letter to God

Dear God.

I missed our relationship today. I had a moment when I was stirred by an inspiring discussion with someone when my thoughts were shifted to You.

Once again this week, when I had my hands elbow deep in creation's goo during our anatomy session, I realised how futile it would be to defend a belief that You are not there. I cannot refute the evidence of science and evolutionary hypothesis very confidently...but when I hold the human heart in my hands, or try and unravel the human viscera with their delicate blood supply and impossible arrangement of nerves and attachments, I realise that no amount of genetic material stirred in a pot, could result in the artwork of life and life's sustenance I see around me.

Despite my awe of your handywork, God, I often wonder why You chose, and still choose to handle us the way you do? I know the doctrines, the rules of the game...yet in the light of the pain and confusion and sense of loss we as individuals and communities feel everyday, I sometimes question the deity of a God and His fitness to govern in the light of His inability to set a world free from its problems without resorting to fairytales and mythological and religious routines contained within church structures.

Why do I feel so guilty asking tough questions and sharing my doubts and fears? Surely You cannot be intimidated? You have to be secure in who You are. Why am I afraid to call you 'unloving' when I see a world unloved and observe your lack of willingness to love them practically. I know the theory is that Christians are your hands to love the world, yet most of the world wants nothing to do with a Christian's expression of love. Why am I afraid to blame you for my lack of choice in life, why when I experience your involvement in my life as little more than a parachute of last resort, should I not be able to ask for evidence of Your commitment to see your Word through. I seem to be making up more and more excuses for You. The way I see it, I can no longer cover up and defend Your character to a disillusioned world. If you chose to allow suffering, then surely it is only fair to describe you as the God who allows the vulnerable to suffer.

God, I trusted you with my life two years ago, and with my heart...Am I allowed to say that "You took your eye off the ball?" My heart ache was due to Your failing to keep Your promise. If I as a man have had to carry the scars of my choice to act on Your failed promises...it would help restore my trust if You would at least own up to Your failure to protect and cover me when those promises dissolved.

Why do I feel so guilty?Surely You are able to defend Your right to my devotion? At the moment, I honour You and pay service to You because I cannot deny Your existence...but if I am honest, I have been hurt one too many times by Your hand to allow you too close again! Earn my trust again...not with wealth and riches....just with Honesty God.

I missed our relationship today... It appears to have become one-sided...

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Ding Dong! The Witch is dead!

I woke up to the news, on a sunny autumn Easter Sunday, that Eugene Terreblanche was murdered over this weekend. What shocked me more than the death of a right wing, racist, prejudiced, quasi-Nazi, White-Supremacist remnant of a very sad era in the history of South Africa… was the outcry from people I had considered reasonable people. I was silly enough to make a comment on my Facebook profile that said "White supremacist leader Eugene Terreblanche murdered in pay dispute…if you live by the sword of hatred and racial prejudice, it is likely that you will eventually die by that sword! Without condoning murder on any grounds, one can't help but wonder (in private consideration) whether justice in this world has finally been served?" I am all for differing opinions, but I saw a group of Afrikaans speaking individuals react angrily towards me in response to my statement. I cannot imagine any individual who claims not to hold prejudice views aligning themselves with this evil man.
The main English speaking newspaper then ran an interview with a popular Afrikaans celebrity who expressed heartbreak at his death. WHY? WHY I ASK, WOULD ANYONE WHO ISNT A RACIST, PREJUDICE, RIGHT WINGER ALIGN THEMSELVES WITH THIS MAN?
So in order to incite these people to face their demons, let me say:
"Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. She's gone where the goblins go, Below! Let the joyous news be spread. Wicked Old Witch at last is dead! "
There must be dancing in the streets!!!

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Racism and prejudice is alive and thriving like scum in this toilet bowl

(First Published: Thursday, 11 February 2010)

How ironic! On 20th anniversary of Mandela's release,a new right wing prejudice-racist organisation launches on Stellenbosch Campus! What a sad day. The rest of South Africa is celebrating the 20 year anniversary of Mandela's release which is so symbolic of our own freedom from our own ignorant racism. The day Madiba walked out of Victor Verster Prison we were forced to examine our ideologies, and given the grace by a forgiving downtrodden people to change (without recrimination for our hatred.) Sadly, on the 20th anniversary, a group of right wing afrikaaners in Stellenbosch University are launching a society that isolates them even more from the spirit of South Africa.

Written in 1955 the freedom charter declared that "South Africa belongs to all who live in it", that Education should be "universal and equal" and that higher education be "opened to all". The narrow minded few quote the part of The Bill of Rights that declares that "Everyone has the right to receive education in a language of their choice" but they selectively chose to leave out the proviso that this be a right only when "reasonably practicable", taking into account "equity, and the need to redress the results of past racially discriminatory laws and practices."

What man would attempt to defend the exceptional and superfluous rights of 3 million previously advantaged at the expense of the basic human rights of 45 million people who previously shared in none of the opportunity to educate themselves and their children. What a sad day it would be to entertain the demands of the advantaged.

The vocal minority 'reminds' us that the birthplace of apartheid is an "Afrikaan's University built with Afrikaan's money" ....

Will we count the cost of the blood of so many, and the sweat and tears of those enslaved as so cheap as not to challenge them... Who will remind them that it is first a South Africa University, paid for with priceless South African blood, and each brick laid by torn enslaved South African hands. Cry out the cry of 1955: "South Africa belongs to all who live in it"

So while the reasonable man remembers the powerful change of our universal consciousness in South Africa 20 years ago.... And while we gladly embrace the ideal that "South Africa belongs to all who live in it" in a common cry of celebration with the enslaved masses of 1955... Keep in mind that the battle remains simmering in parts of this grace filled land. That there are those who would once again choose to attempt to entrench as 'THEIRS' what people died to establish as 'OURS'.
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I blame my parents...

I love travelling... I love the feeling of stepping through the X-ray screen at security... its the gateway to new and exciting worlds. The fascination with the world beyond my garden gate began when I was very young. For as long as I can remember I recall dreaming of exploring old worlds and discovering new. I blame my parents and their love of books. Once a week on a Saturday morning, and if we were lucky on a Tuesday afternoon the family packed into our small Mazda or later the bread loaf VW Kombi...and the 6 of us went off to the local library. I often wondered whether mom and dad had read every book in the library. I remember marvelling at dad's method for choosing books for both himself and my mother. Initially I think he began with his favourite authors or in my mom's case her favourite genre... But I realised during a visit from University that he had long read all his favourites and to my fascination was working thought the shelves alphabetically. Mom had resorted to reading even the large print books, in the search for variety. I had to break a smile when mom told me that Dad now orders books through the library. There is a feud that exists between the retired police chief in the community and dad as to who gets to read the new books that arrive. I am afraid that the police chief has a "special friendship" with the head librarian, and so to dad's chagrin he has to wait a week before he can get his hands on the latest addition to the library.

I loved the travel section of our library, and used to plan my travels around the world carefully listing travel times, accommodation costs, visa requirements etc. The fact that my budget was limited to R1.50 plus 10cents for each year of my short life meant that most of my imagined travel plans considered only Africa with a tent in my backpack living off canned food and what I could catch with my fishing rod. In my last year of school when all my cohorts were planning their first year of university I had taken out every book I could find on Botswana, and was planning to escape my garden gate and run away to become a professional hunter/tour guide. When that plan was foiled once again by my parents sensibility (God bless them) I ran away to the seaside instead, and in a town a thousand kilometres away from home I plotted my great escape. I worked 16 hour days delivering bank mail in the day and pizza in the evenings. I bought a ticket to New Zealand and planned to finally escape the prison I considered myself in. I have never quite figured out what I was running from. Even though that flight never happened that year, my pursuit of freedom was established and by the following year I had travelled to China, Thailand, Zimbabwe, Zambia, Lesotho, Swaziland and a decade later the list continues to grow to most of continental europe and Southern Africa, the Middle East and Asia

My love for travel remains... I can imagine that the high of stepping through the boarding gate onto a plane, or train must be equivalent to the satisfaction an addict feels.... I keep coming back for more. Leave me without a stamp in my passport for more than 4 months and my spirit dies slowly in me...only to be revived by the smell of burning oil in Bangkok, the whiplash of a Tigerfish taking my bait on the Zambezi, the smell of ocre and burnt cattle dung in Zambia, the stern headmistress commanding me to 'mind the gap' in London, the smell of chestnuts roasting on the fire in a winter square in Prague....

Please excuse me while I book a flight to 'I don't give a damn where, just get me out of here........'
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Sazakhela Primary School

I am always amazed at how many unworn clothes are packed in my closet. I am busy moving home, and have packed 3 crates of clothes... most of which i havent worn in months... most brand new.

I am not suggesting we all pack up our clothes and send them to third world countries... I learnt many years ago that guilt driven aid to third world countries is often part of the aetiology of the collapse of home grown industry in these countries. In the same breath I see my excess in stark comparison to the boys at Sazakhela Primary School. We recently arranged for a UK based School to send the unclaimed school uniforms in their lost property bin to South Africa, and gave them to these deserving young learners. What we write off as 'lost property' would be a prized possession in these communities.

Planting in the dust

While packing up my apartment for yet another move, I came accross a scribbling on a post it note. I have a habit of having profound revelations in the middle of the night on long haul international flights, and at other inconvenient times when a pen and note pad are not at hand. On many occasions I consciously decide to make a mental note to write this thought down once I wake up. Sadly I can never remember the idea or sound bite of my dream. On a few occasions when I have written down my thoughts and allowed myself to fall asleep I have woken up to find incomprehensible drivel or very ordinary observations. This note was penned just before I started pursuing an amazing college flame. I decided to stand up out of the ashes of Cath leaving me in the way she did, and I felt that God was telling me to step forward in faith and pursue a girl in Cape Town. Two years on I am still smarting from a wound so deep I wonder if i will ever recover. My planting in the dust resulted in me allow myself to be vulnerable in love once again, only to be deceived and used by the angel that turned out to be a devil!