Bongo dog looking cute!
From the front of the farm looking towards the mountains
Flowering Yucca in front garden
View from back of farm ,overlooking drying slabs
From the front of the farm looking towards the mountains
Flowering Yucca in front garden
View from back of farm ,overlooking drying slabsWe have our own address
For all that have asked we now have an official address at the farm:
Plot 2131
Die Plaas De Bult
Augrabies Road,
Marchand 8873.
Northern Cape
South Africa
Post is taking easily three to four weeks to get here, Jessie sent a birthday card for me from London ,before she left for Ethipia inlate November..it arrived on the 19th January, so I was surprised [and delighted] to receive a letter from Marie, which was sent from UK on 9th January…I really think that’s it’s a case of pot luck, there appears to be no pattern to the postal system here at all. It’s a case of “WH E N E V E R”.
Weavers nests at the farm
Clunking cars in the desert.
I’m starting this section by explaining that Bossy and Little, have been avidly watching
The Dakar rally on the box, they were both overjoyed to watch the VW Taureg`s come
in First and Second, [would have been 1st 2nd and 3rd, if one hadn’t fallen off the edge
of a cliff!], and have been crowing over the prowess of this vehicle, both becoming utterly
insufferable because we drive the much tamer, “on road” version, and in their minds eye they
can now see themselves hurtling across deserts and then roller coasting up and down sand dunes in it.
Tuesday 20th January, and we set off at 7.00 a.m., in our “Dakar winning vehicle” for the long road to Cape Town and the school run again. All of Little`s bags packed, his hair cropped and in every sense, other than his mind, ready for the first term of the new school year.
As we were driving towards the Cape, Nikki Van Zyle and Magda, his wife, were returning [having dropped their daughter off at University for her first term], and Marrika Gerrit, GJ and their two small boys: Hans and TR, were about two hours behind Nikki & Magda, traveling back to Marchand from Cape Town, after GJ [their water skiing boy], had returned from Peru, he had another competition in The Cape, which he had won! Now all three boys now have to get back to school for the start of the New School year.
So we had planned to meet Nikki and Magda in Springbok for a late breakfast and Marrika and Gerrit, et al, for Lunch en route, wherever we happened to cross paths. This would break the long journey brilliantly, and we were all looking forward to seeing them, we hadn’t seen Marrika and GJ since they departed for Peru a month ago.
As we accelerated, southwards, onto the main N14 ,direction Poffadder, the car gave a shudder and thumped from somewhere deep within its bowels, we all heard it, raised our eyebrows and collectively decided it was “one of those things”, communally overlooking it ,distracted about cracking on to Poffadder and beyond to Springbok to meet the Van Zyles.
Looking at the map, I realize that, two thirds of this 558 mile [900 kilometers] trip, is either desert or semi desert, and apart from the towns of Poffadder followed by Springbok, then Vanrynsdorp, there are no towns on the highway for about 350 kilometers of this sparsely populated zone, of course if you pull off the main road and head into the sandy rock strewn wilderness, there are eventually villages, but even these are sporadic.
Sure enough, at around 10.00am, we met up with Nikki and Magda in Springbok. We enjoyed a delicious breakfast with them, Little, likes them both very much, and despite feeling full of trepidation about his start back, chatted to Magda at length about school [she is head of English at Kak high school],which I encouraged furiously, so that he could get his head in the “right mode”. With fond farewells and plenty of kissing on the lips and cuddles, and wagging fingers at Bossy, to “keep to the speed limit”, we departed, heading in opposite directions.
Onwards to Vanrynsdorp our next “BIG” town, lying another 300 kilometers in front of us. From Springbok, the highway simply splices through swathes of scorched desert with outcrops of great round boulders [“iron rocks”] deposited here, thousands of years ago, when this area was unbelievably, covered in ice. This area is referred to as “Bushman land”, although from my sojourns along the highway, I have never glimpsed a “Bushman”, and imagine if this nomadic people still exist, that they might, very sensibly, keep well away from tarmac.
Each time I have driven this section, I have wondered exactly how far you can see the tarmac road ahead of you, it being a perfectly straight and painfully boring , until it is punctuated by a hill/mountain or bend…Little and I had reckoned on it being between 15 and 20 kilometers, I have now discovered, the longest visible stretch of road, with desert either side is 41 kilometers! [25 miles]
To our great concern, the banging noise underneath our seats became more intrusive and persistent. Each time Bossy attempted to increase the speed beyond 70 mph, and was now accompanied by a grating/thumping sound. Enduring this noise for a hundred kilometers, we eventually pulled off the highway, mid desert, heading for a garage at Garies, and to take a look under the car. Disappointingly, the only garage in this sleepy single street village was closed; someone gave us the telephone number of a mechanic who owns a garage about 70 kilometers further up and off the highway in Bitterfontein.
We nursed the car to the next garage, where a great guy, who happened to have done his mechanical training with VW, but had never worked on a Tuareg, suggested he put the car up on a hydraulic lift, with the help of Little…who knows the Tuareg and all of its peculiarities, like the back of his hand, who told the mechanic, that the suspension had to be locked first, and hopped into the drivers seat and promptly did this!!!!!! Big , the mechanic and I DEEPLY impressed.
This guy, immediately saw that the main rubber flange of the drive shaft was missing. After a little phoning around he discovered that the part was, strangly, not available, and suggested that we nurse the car a further 200 kilometers or so, to Vanrynsdorp where there was a VW garage with a qualified Tuareg mechanic, and we stood a better chance of them resolving the problem..
Having pulled off the highway, we missed Marrika and Gerrit, They called from Garies asking if they had missed us on the road. By this time missing our lunch date with them, was the last thing on our minds as we joined the road again, thumping and clanking. I kept staring at the wilderness that stretched out either side of us, wandering how we would cope with a complete break down, especially as great tracts of this road are “out of mobile transmission” and being around 1.00 pm it was around 43 degrees!
Onward, very noisily and painfully slowly, we could now only do 30 miles an hour before the thumping and grating started. When we had a mobile signal the phone was buzzing. Calls from Nikki and Gerrit who had by now arrived home in Marchand, checking on our progress, calls from Johan [great buddy and guy who gave Bongo to us], who was tracking our slow progress with increasing concern, from Cape Town. We had hatched a plan by this time: to try and get to VW in Vanrynsdorp, leave our car there for repair and hire a car to complete our trip to Cape Town,and get Little to school. Johan told us, if we had any problems that he had a cousin who worked at VW in Malmsbury [100 kilometers our side of Cape],and that this VW garage were now “on call” to help, if needs be.
Once again, Car up on lift in Vanrynsdorp, they confirmed it was the drive shaft, but that the entire unit needed replacement, they were able to locate 14 Tuareg drive shafts in South Africa, that may or may not fit our chassis number, but that they would take several weeks to access, we were then informed that there was not a single hire car available in the entire town.
After a great deal of discussion with their engineer Big made the decision to crack onto Malmsbury in the Taureg, if the drive shaft broke, then it broke, at least we were now in a more populated part of the country and stood more chance of acquiring a hire car the closer we came to Cape Town.
So with a deep breath we boarded the car, me, obsessing over our ALL making sure we were firmly belted in, for the drive to Malmsbury. Having looked under the car twice now, I realized what an enormous thing the drive shaft is and imagined, that should it break, it would catch on the tarmac and send us cart wheeling down the side of a mountain. Or rise up through the cars undercarriage, and spear us like fishes.
From Vanrynsdorp, the landscape changes and we move from desert plains to mountain ranges,the level of tension in the car was almost unbearable. Little worrying that he would be late for his 5.00pm deadline to get back to school and Big and I worried that we wouldn’t even make it to Malmsbury let alone school. Big began using the engine to go up mountains and disconnecting into Neutral to cruise down them, in order to give the car, and us, a rest from the interminable bagging and shuddering. It must have been a very difficult way of driving, requiring intense concentration, after so many miles of difficult conditions anyway.
I made a quick call to Little`s housemaster explaining why we would be delayed and that we would call when we had some idea of how we were going to get to school! Edwin still in a twitch and I realized, despite this call, that Little is actually VERY scared of Matron or Maam as she prefers to be called.
A brother in law, of Johan’s called to say that he lived in Vanrynsdorp and had heard of our plight, he had checked and there were indeed, NO hire cars available anywhere in the area, but that if we needed a bed for the night we could stay at his house, Edwin explained that we were going to try and make Malmsbury.
Nikki called to say that we were welcome to stay at his daughters in Clanwilliam, and Marrika called to say that if we needed a bed at her Mums in the outskirts of Cape they were ready and waiting. Johan called to say that VW at Malmsbury were alerted to our decision to try and get there and would wait for us to arrive [it was looking as though we would get there “after hours”! if we made it at all], he had given them our mobile number and they would make direct contact with us to find out chassis numbers etc.
This they did ,just as we were approaching the Riekmeirskloof pass, appx 30kilometers of mountain pass with steep upwards climbs, sheer downward drops and long sections of thin, mountain spanning bridges…Tense or what!!!!!!!!During the course of traversing the passes, I was required to thumb through the service booklet and provide chassis numbers etc, with a failing mobile signal, whilst Big fought to maintain some kind of stability using the gears. What an ordeal, Poor Little, normally incredibly laid back, but who was, by now, showing clear signs of anxiety!
Not helped by the cars continual banging and grating, so that the entire cabin shook and rattled, and all three of us felt like we were in a food mixer…The “injury” sounded and felt quite terminal and Big and I both knew we would be lucky to make Malmsbury.
But get there we did, at 5.30 we limped in, to a waiting team of 4 mechanics, who to our great surprise, immediately put the vehicle on a hydraulic lift and began removing the drive shaft!!!!...It was like a “pit stop”. They had removed a drive shaft from their demo Tuareg, this drive shaft, thankfully, matching the required spec from our chassis number; they all beamed at us, saying they planned to have us back on the road again within the hour. [Beginning to feel even more like the Dakar now].Little and Big were starting to cheer up again; the buoyant attitude of the mechanics was becoming quite infectious. The consensus was, that we were all crazy, them for stripping their demo car and attempting a re fit, and us for driving from Marchand with a broken drive shaft.
Back on the road at 6.30 with a new drive shaft fitted and 12,000 rand lighter!, we couldn’t believe that the car had sustained no lasting damage, it was scudding along at top speed feeling smooth and safe and all three of us were too relieved to worry about the costs.
Arrived at school for 7.15,[having been on the road since 7 that morning] just as all the boarders and parents were getting stuck into a “welcome braai”, Edwin’s housemaster, Mark, was very pleased to see us and wanted to hear all of the drama, which the two Edwin’s fought to tell him about. All that heard the saga could not believe that we had managed to find a replacement drive shaft, let alone have it fitted and be back on the road within an hour.Nor that Big had driven close to 500 miles with an increasingly failing drive shaft.
Although this story is almost as long ,and grueling, as our journey,[for which I apologize] it serves as an amazing example ,of the sort of people we share our lives with, they look after each other in the most proactive of ways, there is such a strong sense of community, that “your problems” become theirs, and they all leap to help, in whatever way they possibly can.
The reality of our situation was actually quite dire. The worst case scenario, of a desert breakdown, with no mobile access, and in extreme heat is horrifying [I realize how drastically under prepared we would have been ,with little drinking water on board]...however, if the worst had happened, I now know that, given time, we would have been picked up by a car or lorry and dropped somewhere where we could make a call, and we would have been collected by someone who knew us, or by one of their relatives, who maybe did not know us, but is bound by the rules of kinship that exist here. REMARKABLE and all very comforting when you are in the mire! So next time I get bitchy about how nosey/inquisitive/intrusive the local folk are, I will check myself and remind myself of this sequence of events.
Potential dragon fight at the braai & valuable lessons learned for Little …..I hope!
As mentioned it is clear to me, that Edwin is very scared of matron, she is all sweetness and light to Mums and Dads, but a harridan to the boys, and openly admits to ruling them with a rod of iron. Admittedly she has a great deal to contend with, however I have rubbed shoulders with many matrons in the 20 year,s my children have been at school, and this one is defiantly “one of a kind”.
What I find most troubling is that Edwin is by nature a courageous child, but also quite biddable, in that he will not proactively seek to upset or behave badly, nor is his malicious ,so I am quite taken aback that he is quite as scared of her ,as clearly, he is.
When we arrived at the braai, Maam greeted Bossy and I, very sweetly…all kissy kissy, and then whipped around to Little, accusatively saying:
“You did take all of your school uniform, games kit and linen back home, at the end of last term didn’t you”, it was such a prosecuting statement that, seeing him immediately wobble, I leapt to his defense.
”No we most certainly did not, Edwin had been told by you, specifically not to. The only items that we had your instructions to take back were Edwin’s “civvies”, and these were all we took!”
She blanched and then flushed. And Little, who was studying her intently, was at the point of being sick… eying Little slyly, and with the merest hint of threat, she responded:
” Well what a mystery…none of your kit/uniform or linen can be found Edwin”.
Returning the gaze ,equally directly and with an equal amount of implied threat, I responded
“As they were all left at school, they must still be somewhere at school, along with Edwin’s brand new white duvet cover, that you told him, never came back from the laundry” [more pressure being heaped on Maam! Deliberately so, I might add]…Little, I could tell,
was now wincing at the thought of an imminent dragon fight in the middle of the “Welcome Braai”.There was a pregnant pause and it seemed that all around us froze…………………
With an irritated flick of her golden curls, Maam backed off “There must be a sensible explanation, I shall arrange for an immediate search.” [How very Harry Potter!]
At this point I whooshed Little towards the food [ in the drama of the day, we had completely overlooked lunch, and were ALL feeling quite queasy]. He was looking petrified and pale, So arming him with a large sausage tucked into a roll, I took him aside, and told him that it was NOT his fault that his uniform, sports kit and linen were all missing, that he and I, both knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that we had not taken them home, and that this had been at Matrons specific request.
It was therefore Matrons responsibility to locate it…Further, that he now HAD to stand his ground with her, and not budge , it would help him stand up to her during the rest of term.
She was very cleverly, making him feel like it was his fault and it WASN’T.
He said that he knew that he was in the right, but said that she made him feel as though everything was always his fault! …I know that I am his Mum, but he is such a well meaning child..and really unused to manipulative behavior. We generally adopt the attitude with him…if you have a problem; then get it out of your system and talk; we just don’t do all of that ambiguous threatening stuff…
We weren’t in the right place, nor was there the opportunity for a long talk about this. So I told him that he knew that he was a good and responsible boy [which he is], and that when he knew, unequivocally, that he had or had not done something, then he needed to stand up for himself honestly and not waiver in his response [good or bad], if he kept to this rule then she would begin to trust him. I explained that I couldn’t always be there to stand up for him, and NOW, from this moment, he must start his term, by taking this responsibility himself. This is really hard ask, I know, as he has to stick up for himself against a “grown up” a figure of immense authority, she is a fearsome soul and used to having things her own way. Poor Little, I know that by simply being firm and honest he will succeed with Maam.
I really can’t bear seeing my child so petrified of someone! Yet know that I can’t undermine his respect for her, he has to live with her for a lot of the time now, and needs to negotiate some form of working relationship, at the same time he needs to know that I support and trust him even if she doesn’t. Judging from the length of this seemingly pedestrian tale, you may assume, quite rightly, that I am very concerned.
I really don’t think I’m a good “Boarder’s Mummy”, I have such difficulty “disconnecting”, and go immediately into “Dragon” mode, if one of my children appears to be being treated unfairly. Will I ever get used to having to let go at the start of every term?
Neither Skint nor Bling in Cape Town
Big and I spent the night at The Winchester Mansions in Cape Town, preferable to last terms “quick turnabout”. Quite apart from breaking the immense road trip, it offers an emotional oasis and to my surprise a welcome return to civilization.
So delighted was I, that if I could have cuddled Cape Town, I would have. The busyness, the noise and bustle the twinkling lights of night time Cape were a much needed reminder that I still have access to the rest of the world. A night in Cape Town was like manner from heaven, it prickled at my desert skin, and I was very content to let it burst the little bubble that had grow around me since my November return to Marchand.
Clearly one can have too much of the “quiet life”.
At breakfast [they serve the best croissant this side of the Dordogne!], the manager came up to ask about Bee and chat, I began bleating to him, that I just couldn’t find any drinkable wines in the Northern Cape, he sent us off to . Mr Vaughn, wine merchant extraordinaire[ and I sense something of an eccentric] at the waterfront, Mr Vaughn’s response was:
“Well you wont my dear, its simply too hot up there to produce a decent wine!!”, he rooted through his amply stocked shelves and picked out 8 assorted bottles of white for me…explaining that they were “everyday drinking wines”, neither for the “Skint nor for the Bling”.
He suggested that I kept a book of responses, and we made a date to discuss them, when we were next in Cape Town on the weekend of the 20th Feb.
Incidentally the price for 8 bottles of mixed ZA whites was 300 R = 23 pounds sterling ,I would normally buy, three bottles of reasonable drinking white, for this in the UK. Will report on my findings!
Set off for Marchand, we had a mercifully smooth and totally uneventful trip back …arriving at the factory around 5.00pm, to catch urgent emails from our letting agent. I was hopeful that there would be something from Jessie, sadly not [I’m really starting to fret now!].
I did received an apologetic email from Matron, to say that Edwin had “taken it upon himself” to search the dormitories and laundry, and had located all of his effects [including the white duvet cover], in a cupboard that the painters had moved during the holiday. When I spoke with him later on the “house telephone” ,he was in great spirits, apparently he was in Matrons “good books” [so he should have been, doing her job for her!...but I kept my mouth firmly closed], in short it had been a great first night and day at school. All bodes well for the start of term; let’s hope it stays this way. Joint promises to email each other, and for me to send pictures of Bongo weekly [negotiated, from daily!].
Then dashed to the farm to see how the dogs had fared. Both delighted to se us.
Siege Mentality
I am starting to worry about myself and my shopping habits…long gone are the days of mooching around Oxford, or Winchester, London or Newbury for that matter, looking for something that grabs my fancy. Shopping here is wholly more purposeful.
For a start, any hope of buying something unusual, quirky or fascinating, for the house, or any one else, has long since gone.
Shopping happens with the clock and the sun running, everything is purchased with a melt down factor attached. So I tend to focus only on the practicalities of grocery shopping, browsing does NOT happen.[there’s very little in the shops, to “browse” at here anyway.]
I find myself buying vast quantities of groceries now. I have adopted a siege mentality, and our cupboards are stocked with copious amounts of all the basics, along with any little delicacy’s that happen to be on the shelves when I am in town…I don’t grab one tin of anchovies [these have only appeared once in OK Food]. I grab the entire stock of…..yes… four tins. I buy lemons and oranges in bags of dozens and either juice them and freeze or do strange things like make lemon curd!!![Which I have never made in my life until now ]…
I am beginning to worry that I am metamorphasising into an Edwardian matriarch of the house, a veritable Mrs Beeton, occupying her idle hours with chutney making, fruit bottling and cleaning of rugs .soon… I shall become one of those ladies who know how to get yolk stains out of her linen napkins, I have visions of myself sailing around the house, with a huge bosom strapped down under chintz, and even larger backside draped in an overflowing skirt. The moment I start tatting, I have vowed I will book a return ticket to England.
With work at a halt on the farm, Little at school, Bossy at the office, I spend my days in the house as it’s just too hot to be outside. So determined am I, not to sit around getting lonely and grumpy, I find or create “stuff to do”, or reciprocally choose to irritate Bongo & be irritated back by him……
Roll the long awaited drop in temperature in March, when I can get stuck into the garden.
Party time in Clanwilliam .
Last Saturday saw us back in the car early morning, retracing our steps towards Cape Town, heading for a Van Zyle “family party” in Clanwilliam [about 2 hours north of C.T], Nikki & Magda joined us in the car, and because of new company we all enjoyed a seemingly fast trip down and checked in to a hotel before a rapid change and departure for the bash..
The party was a 30th birthday celebration for Niki and Magda`s son in law,Petrus.The entire Van Zyle clan arrived from all parts of ZA,as well as similar amounts of Petrus` family, plus a few “hanger oners” [ourselves included] making a total of around 80 guests, all reveling at the local rugby club.
Two sheep being spit roasted, waterfalls of Brandewine and dance music that took ME back 20 years “ If I told you that you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me” was played at least 10 times, and that was after I started counting!, Everyone [young and old alike] doing Long arm…children playing chase on the rugby field, as their parents became steadily merrier around the braai and on the dance floor.
A very sensible 12.00 midnight heralded our departure, much to my delight, one too many renditions of golden oldies, and Big and I were getting increasingly bored [and dizzy] watching the same people swirl around the dance floor getting more and more adventurous with their long arm styles, as the evening progressed. It will not surprise you to hear that Bossy and I DO NOT “LONGARM” together!
Sunday morning and as is normal after much kissing on the lips, we waved a bleary eyed departure and wended our way homewards again, arriving at the farm at 3.00 to find two very grateful dogs. During this journey, I had the chance to chat at length with Magda; she was born and raised in Cape Town, trained as a teacher and made the move to Kak about 35 years ago to join her new husband [Nikki] on his farm.
She is a mine of information and a hugely interesting person, taking her job as head of the English dept at Kak high school, very seriously. We share an interest in reading, she asked if she could scour my reading material and in return she would give me the address of what sounds like one if those “reading club “outlets. Where you get four books a month and two for free if you sign up for a year…In my experience these things are a waste of money and never seem to have the books that you want after the first month. [I shall simply have to stock up in the UK in March]. In spite of this, she has been given free reign over my books and been instructed to sample at will.
Insights into the “Rainbow Nation”.The dangers of Carpe Dium
During our trip I noticed a huge, government sponsored bill board at the side of the road, the slogan was “A CHILD IN SPORT, IS A CHILD OUT OF COURT” …..I couldn’t believe my eyes, what a negative message.!
Magda explained that the message was aimed at the black youth, who are perceived as “trouble waiting to happen”, by the government…traditionally the black communities of the Northern Cape, place little importance on an education, they have very different attitudes and standards, to those more familiar to us. The government is therefore sponsoring an initiative to encourage these kids into sport…with 2010 looming on the horizon, sport and particularly football, is in the ascendance.
During our few months here in the Northern cape, I had already noticed, that the poorer and little educated, black community’s attitude to life, is very much “live for the day”. School and any long term benefits that it may offer are quite frankly, perceived as unnecessary and tedious. The children watch their fathers drink away their wages from Friday to Sunday and return to work on a Monday [if they are not still drunk], with little or no money in their pocket, the joy and enthusiasm that alcohol has bestowed upon them during the weekend, by now depleted. The mums have a stronger work ethic, generated by the immediate need to feed their families, its really hand to mouth stuff. The cycle of life turns in this depressing and repetitive cycle from year to year, generation to generation.
It is heartwarming to hear that there are some notable exceptions, poorer black kids, who against all odds find a key that unlocks the door to an education and an improvement to their lives.
Magda told me of a local boy who fought to carry on his education to high school, went onto uni and became a lawyer and now practices in Cape Town. I asked if he was held up as a role model and example, she baulked at the question and replied that most black students felt that he had betrayed his family/culture, and that the white students resented him.
She explained that Black and white students may sit in the same class, but have totally disparate cultures, life styles, values and belief systems.
A simple example of this, is that the black community hold a belief that they have to talk loudly to each other [ Little and I had really noticed how they do tend to shout at each other…sometimes it can be very intimidating]..Magda explained there is a cultural reason for this. They believe that if you shout when you are talking, everyone in the vicinity, can hear what you say, and know that you are not “bad mouthing” them. So Magda has to teach a class of 38 students [usually 50/50 black and white], half of whom are shouting at each other and/or her, the other half, who sit ridiculing them.
All she can hope for and encourage is that the students try to accept the difference between each others cultures, she asks them to foster a tolerance of and for each other. Where cultural differences cause outright upset in the class room, she puts her foot down and demands a cessation, either black or white.
In general, The black community here in the Northern Cape, is made up of mix of tribes, their lives ruled by tribal influence, suspicion, superstition, rumor, alcohol and a fundamental mistrust in each other.
The many, very complex, tribal backgrounds and cultures from which they come, often harbor long standing ancestral grudges against each other. These, they consider, still require settling, and they place little value on the lives of those from rival tribes.[for this reason they are of far more danger to each other than to the rest of the population,].
I am reminded of a brilliant book about India : V.S.Napaul “A Million Mutinies Now” discussing, with great passion, how the many disparate cultures of India weave both active and reactive threads into the fabric of the continent. This is also very true of the “rainbow nation”.
Consequently, the poorer black communities’ ability to trust anyone, who offers outside help, is a BIG ask.
For most poor black kids [and their parents] they generally will not accept, that education is anything other than a torturous governmental edict, that has to be endured until 14, at which point they hop of the education train, and if they are fortunate gain employment on a local farm, they are then catapulted into the cycle of behavior, that they have learned from their parents. Or even worse, take to begging, at the local petrol stations and outside the supermarkets for enough money to buy liquor or drugs, the momentum of every day punctuated only, by the threat of the local police, who seem to chase these kids around in circles all day.
Magda, teaches students who have chosen to continue their education beyond 14, she says that each year, as part of their course they are asked to write an essay on how they see their lives in 5 and then 10 years time, whilst her white students have no difficulty in expressing their hopes and dreams, the black kids struggle to project over this period of time. In view of the “Live for the day” mind set, this is understandable but incredibly sad.
White kids, generally come from farming backgrounds here in the Northern Cape, and generations of families who have been used to more clement political times, where they could make use of the black communities in an altogether different way. These kids now have to learn to live and be educated, side by side, to understand and respect their fellow South Africans, in this new “Rainbow nation”.
Immensely difficult when their parent’s attitudes have changed very little from 100 years ago added to which their elders are openly resentful of the restrictions that the “new government” has placed upon their freedoms ,and this resentment wheedles its way into white student’s attitudes and then into the classroom.
I don’t envy Magda `s job, she had to be a saint. Especially when she explains that funding for the school is at best erratic, they have no new books, [text or exercise] to start the new year with, when a raft of new curriculums were scheduled to be introduced by the government.
Whilst Magda comes across as being incredibly tolerant, she is utterly enraged over the abuses of funds set aside for the local infrastructure. Explaining that since the “new” regime. Local black government officials [who have precedence in being appointed to these positions, and who very often, have little or no experience of local governance] had simply delighted in accessing huge amounts of money, and had tended to “misdirect” it, often into their own pockets. She said many had given themselves important titles and salaries higher than that of the countries Prime minister. Inevitably, over a number of years, gaping holes started to open up, in the local infrastructure systems, as a result of lack of funds, lack of management skills and no long term planning.
Faced with having to publicly explain the short fallings, these officials had [as in the case of one of our local municipalities,[much like our Counties]], simply locked their offices up, and disappeared. They, along with the allocated funds cannot be found and there is NO ONE running the municipality now. As a result it has come to a grinding halt.
When one of the remaining officials was asked to explain why there was no effective local government, providing funding support and services to the people who elected it, the response was “No One has the keys to open the council offices up”.[I really don’t think that the reporter asking the question was expecting such a literal response] .
What culpability can you expect, when the Prime Minister of this country, famously suggested that his people would be sufficiently protected from HIV if they ate plenty of beetroot and took a hot shower and used plenty of soap after sex!
I can’t help feeling that for a people, so long denied any sort of self determination, any kind of future prospects, and with little understanding of the value of a decent education ……having now been swept up in the access to self determination; there is bound to be misuse, by those with an attitude of “carpe dium”.. I am sure there is somewhere, a core of educated and truly” rainbow minded” politicians, they are for the moment overwhelmed by the abuse and misuse ,the shortsightedness and the rancorous attitude of others.
Under non white governance, the pendulum of fortune has now swung in an equally opposite direction,. Examples of this are government driven legislation, that those white students applying for university places have to present 85% pass rates …to secure the same place a black student, needs to offer a 65% pass rate, and in general, places are weighted in favor of black applicants, this ethos is true of the job market as well. People openly refer to this as “reverse apartheid”.
This has to be a recipe for mediocrity and a lowering of standards. And an invitation to every frustrated bright student/ambitious career minded individual, to move away from the “rainbow nation”.
Eventually, for those prepared to ‘hold out” [or simply unable to exit]. Some sort of balance, I am sure will eventually be achieved. But there are sure to be battles of all kinds, along the way and may take many years to achieve. With excellence being actively discouraged, I fear it will be a much diluted rainbow that emerges in the years that lie ahead.
I make no apologies for the solemn nature of this section of the blog, the reality of living in the Northern Cape, for all its aesthetic pleasures, starts to take a grip, and inevitably this means beginning to forage beyond the sunsets and the braai`s.
To wrap up
Always…. my deepest thanks for the texts, the emails, letters, cards and photos. They give me a great deal of pleasure and entertainment
To Loops, thanks for the pictures of your work…I really am going to start one day soon…and yes an installation in the sand dunes sounds like a great start! And to Di, good luck with the first assessment of your masters work..
There have been so many occasions that Taz and David ears should have been burning [nicely], On hearing that all the music, I had religiously uploaded to my itunes account, during our last months in the UK, had somehow been corrupted in transit to ZA, I had been very smug about how much had been uploaded. I chose not to pack any music CD`s.
Tazzy and David, sent me back in November with a few of my favorite CD`s :Santana [ the best of]..Corrine Baily-Rae, The Commitments, Plus two CD`s I purchased at Heathrow, [Van Morrison and Kings of Leon], all of which I now know backwards inside out and upside down. I am truly grateful to them, each time I play this music I think of them.
I scoured the music shop in UP last time I was in…no chance…all very Villam Vinpomp… Northern Cape Long Arm material. Or, as I have christened it “Techno Dunebilly”…the “modern” music of the Northern cape, IS something that I’m prepared to be openly rude about.
I have received an email from the Mum of Jessie’s co traveler and fellow medic, Jess Longley…To say the girls had returned safely from the hills [huge relief!]And were now traveling around Ethiopia. Whilst I have not yet actually spoken or heard from Jessie directly,
[For which I cannot quite forgive her yet! I do constantly remind myself, that of all people, I should understand the communication difficulties on the African Continent. ] I can at last sleep at night knowing that she has “returned from the hills”!
Jess and Jessie, fly back to London, on the 14th February, to discover, what job options the NHS have offered them, all subject to final results of course. [Truly a nerve racking time]
Love and kisses on the lips to everyone [so used to this custom have I become….. you are going to have to fight me off when I return!!!!!!!!!]
DawnXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxx
For all that have asked we now have an official address at the farm:
Plot 2131
Die Plaas De Bult
Augrabies Road,
Marchand 8873.
Northern Cape
South Africa
Post is taking easily three to four weeks to get here, Jessie sent a birthday card for me from London ,before she left for Ethipia inlate November..it arrived on the 19th January, so I was surprised [and delighted] to receive a letter from Marie, which was sent from UK on 9th January…I really think that’s it’s a case of pot luck, there appears to be no pattern to the postal system here at all. It’s a case of “WH E N E V E R”.
Weavers nests at the farmClunking cars in the desert.
I’m starting this section by explaining that Bossy and Little, have been avidly watching
The Dakar rally on the box, they were both overjoyed to watch the VW Taureg`s come
in First and Second, [would have been 1st 2nd and 3rd, if one hadn’t fallen off the edge
of a cliff!], and have been crowing over the prowess of this vehicle, both becoming utterly
insufferable because we drive the much tamer, “on road” version, and in their minds eye they
can now see themselves hurtling across deserts and then roller coasting up and down sand dunes in it.
Tuesday 20th January, and we set off at 7.00 a.m., in our “Dakar winning vehicle” for the long road to Cape Town and the school run again. All of Little`s bags packed, his hair cropped and in every sense, other than his mind, ready for the first term of the new school year.
As we were driving towards the Cape, Nikki Van Zyle and Magda, his wife, were returning [having dropped their daughter off at University for her first term], and Marrika Gerrit, GJ and their two small boys: Hans and TR, were about two hours behind Nikki & Magda, traveling back to Marchand from Cape Town, after GJ [their water skiing boy], had returned from Peru, he had another competition in The Cape, which he had won! Now all three boys now have to get back to school for the start of the New School year.
So we had planned to meet Nikki and Magda in Springbok for a late breakfast and Marrika and Gerrit, et al, for Lunch en route, wherever we happened to cross paths. This would break the long journey brilliantly, and we were all looking forward to seeing them, we hadn’t seen Marrika and GJ since they departed for Peru a month ago.
As we accelerated, southwards, onto the main N14 ,direction Poffadder, the car gave a shudder and thumped from somewhere deep within its bowels, we all heard it, raised our eyebrows and collectively decided it was “one of those things”, communally overlooking it ,distracted about cracking on to Poffadder and beyond to Springbok to meet the Van Zyles.
Looking at the map, I realize that, two thirds of this 558 mile [900 kilometers] trip, is either desert or semi desert, and apart from the towns of Poffadder followed by Springbok, then Vanrynsdorp, there are no towns on the highway for about 350 kilometers of this sparsely populated zone, of course if you pull off the main road and head into the sandy rock strewn wilderness, there are eventually villages, but even these are sporadic.
Sure enough, at around 10.00am, we met up with Nikki and Magda in Springbok. We enjoyed a delicious breakfast with them, Little, likes them both very much, and despite feeling full of trepidation about his start back, chatted to Magda at length about school [she is head of English at Kak high school],which I encouraged furiously, so that he could get his head in the “right mode”. With fond farewells and plenty of kissing on the lips and cuddles, and wagging fingers at Bossy, to “keep to the speed limit”, we departed, heading in opposite directions.
Onwards to Vanrynsdorp our next “BIG” town, lying another 300 kilometers in front of us. From Springbok, the highway simply splices through swathes of scorched desert with outcrops of great round boulders [“iron rocks”] deposited here, thousands of years ago, when this area was unbelievably, covered in ice. This area is referred to as “Bushman land”, although from my sojourns along the highway, I have never glimpsed a “Bushman”, and imagine if this nomadic people still exist, that they might, very sensibly, keep well away from tarmac.
Each time I have driven this section, I have wondered exactly how far you can see the tarmac road ahead of you, it being a perfectly straight and painfully boring , until it is punctuated by a hill/mountain or bend…Little and I had reckoned on it being between 15 and 20 kilometers, I have now discovered, the longest visible stretch of road, with desert either side is 41 kilometers! [25 miles]
To our great concern, the banging noise underneath our seats became more intrusive and persistent. Each time Bossy attempted to increase the speed beyond 70 mph, and was now accompanied by a grating/thumping sound. Enduring this noise for a hundred kilometers, we eventually pulled off the highway, mid desert, heading for a garage at Garies, and to take a look under the car. Disappointingly, the only garage in this sleepy single street village was closed; someone gave us the telephone number of a mechanic who owns a garage about 70 kilometers further up and off the highway in Bitterfontein.
We nursed the car to the next garage, where a great guy, who happened to have done his mechanical training with VW, but had never worked on a Tuareg, suggested he put the car up on a hydraulic lift, with the help of Little…who knows the Tuareg and all of its peculiarities, like the back of his hand, who told the mechanic, that the suspension had to be locked first, and hopped into the drivers seat and promptly did this!!!!!! Big , the mechanic and I DEEPLY impressed.
This guy, immediately saw that the main rubber flange of the drive shaft was missing. After a little phoning around he discovered that the part was, strangly, not available, and suggested that we nurse the car a further 200 kilometers or so, to Vanrynsdorp where there was a VW garage with a qualified Tuareg mechanic, and we stood a better chance of them resolving the problem..
Having pulled off the highway, we missed Marrika and Gerrit, They called from Garies asking if they had missed us on the road. By this time missing our lunch date with them, was the last thing on our minds as we joined the road again, thumping and clanking. I kept staring at the wilderness that stretched out either side of us, wandering how we would cope with a complete break down, especially as great tracts of this road are “out of mobile transmission” and being around 1.00 pm it was around 43 degrees!
Onward, very noisily and painfully slowly, we could now only do 30 miles an hour before the thumping and grating started. When we had a mobile signal the phone was buzzing. Calls from Nikki and Gerrit who had by now arrived home in Marchand, checking on our progress, calls from Johan [great buddy and guy who gave Bongo to us], who was tracking our slow progress with increasing concern, from Cape Town. We had hatched a plan by this time: to try and get to VW in Vanrynsdorp, leave our car there for repair and hire a car to complete our trip to Cape Town,and get Little to school. Johan told us, if we had any problems that he had a cousin who worked at VW in Malmsbury [100 kilometers our side of Cape],and that this VW garage were now “on call” to help, if needs be.
Once again, Car up on lift in Vanrynsdorp, they confirmed it was the drive shaft, but that the entire unit needed replacement, they were able to locate 14 Tuareg drive shafts in South Africa, that may or may not fit our chassis number, but that they would take several weeks to access, we were then informed that there was not a single hire car available in the entire town.
After a great deal of discussion with their engineer Big made the decision to crack onto Malmsbury in the Taureg, if the drive shaft broke, then it broke, at least we were now in a more populated part of the country and stood more chance of acquiring a hire car the closer we came to Cape Town.
So with a deep breath we boarded the car, me, obsessing over our ALL making sure we were firmly belted in, for the drive to Malmsbury. Having looked under the car twice now, I realized what an enormous thing the drive shaft is and imagined, that should it break, it would catch on the tarmac and send us cart wheeling down the side of a mountain. Or rise up through the cars undercarriage, and spear us like fishes.
From Vanrynsdorp, the landscape changes and we move from desert plains to mountain ranges,the level of tension in the car was almost unbearable. Little worrying that he would be late for his 5.00pm deadline to get back to school and Big and I worried that we wouldn’t even make it to Malmsbury let alone school. Big began using the engine to go up mountains and disconnecting into Neutral to cruise down them, in order to give the car, and us, a rest from the interminable bagging and shuddering. It must have been a very difficult way of driving, requiring intense concentration, after so many miles of difficult conditions anyway.
I made a quick call to Little`s housemaster explaining why we would be delayed and that we would call when we had some idea of how we were going to get to school! Edwin still in a twitch and I realized, despite this call, that Little is actually VERY scared of Matron or Maam as she prefers to be called.
A brother in law, of Johan’s called to say that he lived in Vanrynsdorp and had heard of our plight, he had checked and there were indeed, NO hire cars available anywhere in the area, but that if we needed a bed for the night we could stay at his house, Edwin explained that we were going to try and make Malmsbury.
Nikki called to say that we were welcome to stay at his daughters in Clanwilliam, and Marrika called to say that if we needed a bed at her Mums in the outskirts of Cape they were ready and waiting. Johan called to say that VW at Malmsbury were alerted to our decision to try and get there and would wait for us to arrive [it was looking as though we would get there “after hours”! if we made it at all], he had given them our mobile number and they would make direct contact with us to find out chassis numbers etc.
This they did ,just as we were approaching the Riekmeirskloof pass, appx 30kilometers of mountain pass with steep upwards climbs, sheer downward drops and long sections of thin, mountain spanning bridges…Tense or what!!!!!!!!During the course of traversing the passes, I was required to thumb through the service booklet and provide chassis numbers etc, with a failing mobile signal, whilst Big fought to maintain some kind of stability using the gears. What an ordeal, Poor Little, normally incredibly laid back, but who was, by now, showing clear signs of anxiety!
Not helped by the cars continual banging and grating, so that the entire cabin shook and rattled, and all three of us felt like we were in a food mixer…The “injury” sounded and felt quite terminal and Big and I both knew we would be lucky to make Malmsbury.
But get there we did, at 5.30 we limped in, to a waiting team of 4 mechanics, who to our great surprise, immediately put the vehicle on a hydraulic lift and began removing the drive shaft!!!!...It was like a “pit stop”. They had removed a drive shaft from their demo Tuareg, this drive shaft, thankfully, matching the required spec from our chassis number; they all beamed at us, saying they planned to have us back on the road again within the hour. [Beginning to feel even more like the Dakar now].Little and Big were starting to cheer up again; the buoyant attitude of the mechanics was becoming quite infectious. The consensus was, that we were all crazy, them for stripping their demo car and attempting a re fit, and us for driving from Marchand with a broken drive shaft.
Back on the road at 6.30 with a new drive shaft fitted and 12,000 rand lighter!, we couldn’t believe that the car had sustained no lasting damage, it was scudding along at top speed feeling smooth and safe and all three of us were too relieved to worry about the costs.
Arrived at school for 7.15,[having been on the road since 7 that morning] just as all the boarders and parents were getting stuck into a “welcome braai”, Edwin’s housemaster, Mark, was very pleased to see us and wanted to hear all of the drama, which the two Edwin’s fought to tell him about. All that heard the saga could not believe that we had managed to find a replacement drive shaft, let alone have it fitted and be back on the road within an hour.Nor that Big had driven close to 500 miles with an increasingly failing drive shaft.
Although this story is almost as long ,and grueling, as our journey,[for which I apologize] it serves as an amazing example ,of the sort of people we share our lives with, they look after each other in the most proactive of ways, there is such a strong sense of community, that “your problems” become theirs, and they all leap to help, in whatever way they possibly can.
The reality of our situation was actually quite dire. The worst case scenario, of a desert breakdown, with no mobile access, and in extreme heat is horrifying [I realize how drastically under prepared we would have been ,with little drinking water on board]...however, if the worst had happened, I now know that, given time, we would have been picked up by a car or lorry and dropped somewhere where we could make a call, and we would have been collected by someone who knew us, or by one of their relatives, who maybe did not know us, but is bound by the rules of kinship that exist here. REMARKABLE and all very comforting when you are in the mire! So next time I get bitchy about how nosey/inquisitive/intrusive the local folk are, I will check myself and remind myself of this sequence of events.
Potential dragon fight at the braai & valuable lessons learned for Little …..I hope!
As mentioned it is clear to me, that Edwin is very scared of matron, she is all sweetness and light to Mums and Dads, but a harridan to the boys, and openly admits to ruling them with a rod of iron. Admittedly she has a great deal to contend with, however I have rubbed shoulders with many matrons in the 20 year,s my children have been at school, and this one is defiantly “one of a kind”.
What I find most troubling is that Edwin is by nature a courageous child, but also quite biddable, in that he will not proactively seek to upset or behave badly, nor is his malicious ,so I am quite taken aback that he is quite as scared of her ,as clearly, he is.
When we arrived at the braai, Maam greeted Bossy and I, very sweetly…all kissy kissy, and then whipped around to Little, accusatively saying:
“You did take all of your school uniform, games kit and linen back home, at the end of last term didn’t you”, it was such a prosecuting statement that, seeing him immediately wobble, I leapt to his defense.
”No we most certainly did not, Edwin had been told by you, specifically not to. The only items that we had your instructions to take back were Edwin’s “civvies”, and these were all we took!”
She blanched and then flushed. And Little, who was studying her intently, was at the point of being sick… eying Little slyly, and with the merest hint of threat, she responded:
” Well what a mystery…none of your kit/uniform or linen can be found Edwin”.
Returning the gaze ,equally directly and with an equal amount of implied threat, I responded
“As they were all left at school, they must still be somewhere at school, along with Edwin’s brand new white duvet cover, that you told him, never came back from the laundry” [more pressure being heaped on Maam! Deliberately so, I might add]…Little, I could tell,
was now wincing at the thought of an imminent dragon fight in the middle of the “Welcome Braai”.There was a pregnant pause and it seemed that all around us froze…………………
With an irritated flick of her golden curls, Maam backed off “There must be a sensible explanation, I shall arrange for an immediate search.” [How very Harry Potter!]
At this point I whooshed Little towards the food [ in the drama of the day, we had completely overlooked lunch, and were ALL feeling quite queasy]. He was looking petrified and pale, So arming him with a large sausage tucked into a roll, I took him aside, and told him that it was NOT his fault that his uniform, sports kit and linen were all missing, that he and I, both knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that we had not taken them home, and that this had been at Matrons specific request.
It was therefore Matrons responsibility to locate it…Further, that he now HAD to stand his ground with her, and not budge , it would help him stand up to her during the rest of term.
She was very cleverly, making him feel like it was his fault and it WASN’T.
He said that he knew that he was in the right, but said that she made him feel as though everything was always his fault! …I know that I am his Mum, but he is such a well meaning child..and really unused to manipulative behavior. We generally adopt the attitude with him…if you have a problem; then get it out of your system and talk; we just don’t do all of that ambiguous threatening stuff…
We weren’t in the right place, nor was there the opportunity for a long talk about this. So I told him that he knew that he was a good and responsible boy [which he is], and that when he knew, unequivocally, that he had or had not done something, then he needed to stand up for himself honestly and not waiver in his response [good or bad], if he kept to this rule then she would begin to trust him. I explained that I couldn’t always be there to stand up for him, and NOW, from this moment, he must start his term, by taking this responsibility himself. This is really hard ask, I know, as he has to stick up for himself against a “grown up” a figure of immense authority, she is a fearsome soul and used to having things her own way. Poor Little, I know that by simply being firm and honest he will succeed with Maam.
I really can’t bear seeing my child so petrified of someone! Yet know that I can’t undermine his respect for her, he has to live with her for a lot of the time now, and needs to negotiate some form of working relationship, at the same time he needs to know that I support and trust him even if she doesn’t. Judging from the length of this seemingly pedestrian tale, you may assume, quite rightly, that I am very concerned.
I really don’t think I’m a good “Boarder’s Mummy”, I have such difficulty “disconnecting”, and go immediately into “Dragon” mode, if one of my children appears to be being treated unfairly. Will I ever get used to having to let go at the start of every term?
Neither Skint nor Bling in Cape Town
Big and I spent the night at The Winchester Mansions in Cape Town, preferable to last terms “quick turnabout”. Quite apart from breaking the immense road trip, it offers an emotional oasis and to my surprise a welcome return to civilization.
So delighted was I, that if I could have cuddled Cape Town, I would have. The busyness, the noise and bustle the twinkling lights of night time Cape were a much needed reminder that I still have access to the rest of the world. A night in Cape Town was like manner from heaven, it prickled at my desert skin, and I was very content to let it burst the little bubble that had grow around me since my November return to Marchand.
Clearly one can have too much of the “quiet life”.
At breakfast [they serve the best croissant this side of the Dordogne!], the manager came up to ask about Bee and chat, I began bleating to him, that I just couldn’t find any drinkable wines in the Northern Cape, he sent us off to . Mr Vaughn, wine merchant extraordinaire[ and I sense something of an eccentric] at the waterfront, Mr Vaughn’s response was:
“Well you wont my dear, its simply too hot up there to produce a decent wine!!”, he rooted through his amply stocked shelves and picked out 8 assorted bottles of white for me…explaining that they were “everyday drinking wines”, neither for the “Skint nor for the Bling”.
He suggested that I kept a book of responses, and we made a date to discuss them, when we were next in Cape Town on the weekend of the 20th Feb.
Incidentally the price for 8 bottles of mixed ZA whites was 300 R = 23 pounds sterling ,I would normally buy, three bottles of reasonable drinking white, for this in the UK. Will report on my findings!
Set off for Marchand, we had a mercifully smooth and totally uneventful trip back …arriving at the factory around 5.00pm, to catch urgent emails from our letting agent. I was hopeful that there would be something from Jessie, sadly not [I’m really starting to fret now!].
I did received an apologetic email from Matron, to say that Edwin had “taken it upon himself” to search the dormitories and laundry, and had located all of his effects [including the white duvet cover], in a cupboard that the painters had moved during the holiday. When I spoke with him later on the “house telephone” ,he was in great spirits, apparently he was in Matrons “good books” [so he should have been, doing her job for her!...but I kept my mouth firmly closed], in short it had been a great first night and day at school. All bodes well for the start of term; let’s hope it stays this way. Joint promises to email each other, and for me to send pictures of Bongo weekly [negotiated, from daily!].
Then dashed to the farm to see how the dogs had fared. Both delighted to se us.
Siege Mentality
I am starting to worry about myself and my shopping habits…long gone are the days of mooching around Oxford, or Winchester, London or Newbury for that matter, looking for something that grabs my fancy. Shopping here is wholly more purposeful.
For a start, any hope of buying something unusual, quirky or fascinating, for the house, or any one else, has long since gone.
Shopping happens with the clock and the sun running, everything is purchased with a melt down factor attached. So I tend to focus only on the practicalities of grocery shopping, browsing does NOT happen.[there’s very little in the shops, to “browse” at here anyway.]
I find myself buying vast quantities of groceries now. I have adopted a siege mentality, and our cupboards are stocked with copious amounts of all the basics, along with any little delicacy’s that happen to be on the shelves when I am in town…I don’t grab one tin of anchovies [these have only appeared once in OK Food]. I grab the entire stock of…..yes… four tins. I buy lemons and oranges in bags of dozens and either juice them and freeze or do strange things like make lemon curd!!![Which I have never made in my life until now ]…
I am beginning to worry that I am metamorphasising into an Edwardian matriarch of the house, a veritable Mrs Beeton, occupying her idle hours with chutney making, fruit bottling and cleaning of rugs .soon… I shall become one of those ladies who know how to get yolk stains out of her linen napkins, I have visions of myself sailing around the house, with a huge bosom strapped down under chintz, and even larger backside draped in an overflowing skirt. The moment I start tatting, I have vowed I will book a return ticket to England.
With work at a halt on the farm, Little at school, Bossy at the office, I spend my days in the house as it’s just too hot to be outside. So determined am I, not to sit around getting lonely and grumpy, I find or create “stuff to do”, or reciprocally choose to irritate Bongo & be irritated back by him……
Roll the long awaited drop in temperature in March, when I can get stuck into the garden.
Party time in Clanwilliam .
Last Saturday saw us back in the car early morning, retracing our steps towards Cape Town, heading for a Van Zyle “family party” in Clanwilliam [about 2 hours north of C.T], Nikki & Magda joined us in the car, and because of new company we all enjoyed a seemingly fast trip down and checked in to a hotel before a rapid change and departure for the bash..
The party was a 30th birthday celebration for Niki and Magda`s son in law,Petrus.The entire Van Zyle clan arrived from all parts of ZA,as well as similar amounts of Petrus` family, plus a few “hanger oners” [ourselves included] making a total of around 80 guests, all reveling at the local rugby club.
Two sheep being spit roasted, waterfalls of Brandewine and dance music that took ME back 20 years “ If I told you that you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me” was played at least 10 times, and that was after I started counting!, Everyone [young and old alike] doing Long arm…children playing chase on the rugby field, as their parents became steadily merrier around the braai and on the dance floor.
A very sensible 12.00 midnight heralded our departure, much to my delight, one too many renditions of golden oldies, and Big and I were getting increasingly bored [and dizzy] watching the same people swirl around the dance floor getting more and more adventurous with their long arm styles, as the evening progressed. It will not surprise you to hear that Bossy and I DO NOT “LONGARM” together!
Sunday morning and as is normal after much kissing on the lips, we waved a bleary eyed departure and wended our way homewards again, arriving at the farm at 3.00 to find two very grateful dogs. During this journey, I had the chance to chat at length with Magda; she was born and raised in Cape Town, trained as a teacher and made the move to Kak about 35 years ago to join her new husband [Nikki] on his farm.
She is a mine of information and a hugely interesting person, taking her job as head of the English dept at Kak high school, very seriously. We share an interest in reading, she asked if she could scour my reading material and in return she would give me the address of what sounds like one if those “reading club “outlets. Where you get four books a month and two for free if you sign up for a year…In my experience these things are a waste of money and never seem to have the books that you want after the first month. [I shall simply have to stock up in the UK in March]. In spite of this, she has been given free reign over my books and been instructed to sample at will.
Insights into the “Rainbow Nation”.The dangers of Carpe Dium
During our trip I noticed a huge, government sponsored bill board at the side of the road, the slogan was “A CHILD IN SPORT, IS A CHILD OUT OF COURT” …..I couldn’t believe my eyes, what a negative message.!
Magda explained that the message was aimed at the black youth, who are perceived as “trouble waiting to happen”, by the government…traditionally the black communities of the Northern Cape, place little importance on an education, they have very different attitudes and standards, to those more familiar to us. The government is therefore sponsoring an initiative to encourage these kids into sport…with 2010 looming on the horizon, sport and particularly football, is in the ascendance.
During our few months here in the Northern cape, I had already noticed, that the poorer and little educated, black community’s attitude to life, is very much “live for the day”. School and any long term benefits that it may offer are quite frankly, perceived as unnecessary and tedious. The children watch their fathers drink away their wages from Friday to Sunday and return to work on a Monday [if they are not still drunk], with little or no money in their pocket, the joy and enthusiasm that alcohol has bestowed upon them during the weekend, by now depleted. The mums have a stronger work ethic, generated by the immediate need to feed their families, its really hand to mouth stuff. The cycle of life turns in this depressing and repetitive cycle from year to year, generation to generation.
It is heartwarming to hear that there are some notable exceptions, poorer black kids, who against all odds find a key that unlocks the door to an education and an improvement to their lives.
Magda told me of a local boy who fought to carry on his education to high school, went onto uni and became a lawyer and now practices in Cape Town. I asked if he was held up as a role model and example, she baulked at the question and replied that most black students felt that he had betrayed his family/culture, and that the white students resented him.
She explained that Black and white students may sit in the same class, but have totally disparate cultures, life styles, values and belief systems.
A simple example of this, is that the black community hold a belief that they have to talk loudly to each other [ Little and I had really noticed how they do tend to shout at each other…sometimes it can be very intimidating]..Magda explained there is a cultural reason for this. They believe that if you shout when you are talking, everyone in the vicinity, can hear what you say, and know that you are not “bad mouthing” them. So Magda has to teach a class of 38 students [usually 50/50 black and white], half of whom are shouting at each other and/or her, the other half, who sit ridiculing them.
All she can hope for and encourage is that the students try to accept the difference between each others cultures, she asks them to foster a tolerance of and for each other. Where cultural differences cause outright upset in the class room, she puts her foot down and demands a cessation, either black or white.
In general, The black community here in the Northern Cape, is made up of mix of tribes, their lives ruled by tribal influence, suspicion, superstition, rumor, alcohol and a fundamental mistrust in each other.
The many, very complex, tribal backgrounds and cultures from which they come, often harbor long standing ancestral grudges against each other. These, they consider, still require settling, and they place little value on the lives of those from rival tribes.[for this reason they are of far more danger to each other than to the rest of the population,].
I am reminded of a brilliant book about India : V.S.Napaul “A Million Mutinies Now” discussing, with great passion, how the many disparate cultures of India weave both active and reactive threads into the fabric of the continent. This is also very true of the “rainbow nation”.
Consequently, the poorer black communities’ ability to trust anyone, who offers outside help, is a BIG ask.
For most poor black kids [and their parents] they generally will not accept, that education is anything other than a torturous governmental edict, that has to be endured until 14, at which point they hop of the education train, and if they are fortunate gain employment on a local farm, they are then catapulted into the cycle of behavior, that they have learned from their parents. Or even worse, take to begging, at the local petrol stations and outside the supermarkets for enough money to buy liquor or drugs, the momentum of every day punctuated only, by the threat of the local police, who seem to chase these kids around in circles all day.
Magda, teaches students who have chosen to continue their education beyond 14, she says that each year, as part of their course they are asked to write an essay on how they see their lives in 5 and then 10 years time, whilst her white students have no difficulty in expressing their hopes and dreams, the black kids struggle to project over this period of time. In view of the “Live for the day” mind set, this is understandable but incredibly sad.
White kids, generally come from farming backgrounds here in the Northern Cape, and generations of families who have been used to more clement political times, where they could make use of the black communities in an altogether different way. These kids now have to learn to live and be educated, side by side, to understand and respect their fellow South Africans, in this new “Rainbow nation”.
Immensely difficult when their parent’s attitudes have changed very little from 100 years ago added to which their elders are openly resentful of the restrictions that the “new government” has placed upon their freedoms ,and this resentment wheedles its way into white student’s attitudes and then into the classroom.
I don’t envy Magda `s job, she had to be a saint. Especially when she explains that funding for the school is at best erratic, they have no new books, [text or exercise] to start the new year with, when a raft of new curriculums were scheduled to be introduced by the government.
Whilst Magda comes across as being incredibly tolerant, she is utterly enraged over the abuses of funds set aside for the local infrastructure. Explaining that since the “new” regime. Local black government officials [who have precedence in being appointed to these positions, and who very often, have little or no experience of local governance] had simply delighted in accessing huge amounts of money, and had tended to “misdirect” it, often into their own pockets. She said many had given themselves important titles and salaries higher than that of the countries Prime minister. Inevitably, over a number of years, gaping holes started to open up, in the local infrastructure systems, as a result of lack of funds, lack of management skills and no long term planning.
Faced with having to publicly explain the short fallings, these officials had [as in the case of one of our local municipalities,[much like our Counties]], simply locked their offices up, and disappeared. They, along with the allocated funds cannot be found and there is NO ONE running the municipality now. As a result it has come to a grinding halt.
When one of the remaining officials was asked to explain why there was no effective local government, providing funding support and services to the people who elected it, the response was “No One has the keys to open the council offices up”.[I really don’t think that the reporter asking the question was expecting such a literal response] .
What culpability can you expect, when the Prime Minister of this country, famously suggested that his people would be sufficiently protected from HIV if they ate plenty of beetroot and took a hot shower and used plenty of soap after sex!
I can’t help feeling that for a people, so long denied any sort of self determination, any kind of future prospects, and with little understanding of the value of a decent education ……having now been swept up in the access to self determination; there is bound to be misuse, by those with an attitude of “carpe dium”.. I am sure there is somewhere, a core of educated and truly” rainbow minded” politicians, they are for the moment overwhelmed by the abuse and misuse ,the shortsightedness and the rancorous attitude of others.
Under non white governance, the pendulum of fortune has now swung in an equally opposite direction,. Examples of this are government driven legislation, that those white students applying for university places have to present 85% pass rates …to secure the same place a black student, needs to offer a 65% pass rate, and in general, places are weighted in favor of black applicants, this ethos is true of the job market as well. People openly refer to this as “reverse apartheid”.
This has to be a recipe for mediocrity and a lowering of standards. And an invitation to every frustrated bright student/ambitious career minded individual, to move away from the “rainbow nation”.
Eventually, for those prepared to ‘hold out” [or simply unable to exit]. Some sort of balance, I am sure will eventually be achieved. But there are sure to be battles of all kinds, along the way and may take many years to achieve. With excellence being actively discouraged, I fear it will be a much diluted rainbow that emerges in the years that lie ahead.
I make no apologies for the solemn nature of this section of the blog, the reality of living in the Northern Cape, for all its aesthetic pleasures, starts to take a grip, and inevitably this means beginning to forage beyond the sunsets and the braai`s.
To wrap up
Always…. my deepest thanks for the texts, the emails, letters, cards and photos. They give me a great deal of pleasure and entertainment
To Loops, thanks for the pictures of your work…I really am going to start one day soon…and yes an installation in the sand dunes sounds like a great start! And to Di, good luck with the first assessment of your masters work..
There have been so many occasions that Taz and David ears should have been burning [nicely], On hearing that all the music, I had religiously uploaded to my itunes account, during our last months in the UK, had somehow been corrupted in transit to ZA, I had been very smug about how much had been uploaded. I chose not to pack any music CD`s.
Tazzy and David, sent me back in November with a few of my favorite CD`s :Santana [ the best of]..Corrine Baily-Rae, The Commitments, Plus two CD`s I purchased at Heathrow, [Van Morrison and Kings of Leon], all of which I now know backwards inside out and upside down. I am truly grateful to them, each time I play this music I think of them.
I scoured the music shop in UP last time I was in…no chance…all very Villam Vinpomp… Northern Cape Long Arm material. Or, as I have christened it “Techno Dunebilly”…the “modern” music of the Northern cape, IS something that I’m prepared to be openly rude about.
I have received an email from the Mum of Jessie’s co traveler and fellow medic, Jess Longley…To say the girls had returned safely from the hills [huge relief!]And were now traveling around Ethiopia. Whilst I have not yet actually spoken or heard from Jessie directly,
[For which I cannot quite forgive her yet! I do constantly remind myself, that of all people, I should understand the communication difficulties on the African Continent. ] I can at last sleep at night knowing that she has “returned from the hills”!
Jess and Jessie, fly back to London, on the 14th February, to discover, what job options the NHS have offered them, all subject to final results of course. [Truly a nerve racking time]
Love and kisses on the lips to everyone [so used to this custom have I become….. you are going to have to fight me off when I return!!!!!!!!!]
DawnXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxx
Bongo in Bossy`s safe arms
Bongo swims
