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Petition to stop parole being granted to the two men who attacked Alison Botha, and left her for dead.

2012-01-18T13:44:00.001+02:00

Please consider signing this petition. Please read the bit of background given here if you do not remember much about the case or know nothing about it.

Having met Alison, read her book, and listened to what actually happened, what these two ghastly excuses for humans did and how they were during the attack, then what she had to go through to even make it to a hospital [after many cars drove around her on the road], I say there is no way either of these men should be released on parole. They were jailed for life for a very good reason.

If they are released Alison will spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder and live in fear, no matter how brave she is. If released these two pieces of excrement will very likely pursue a life of violent crime, and this may even include going after Alison again. We have no death penalty here in South Africa and they have nothing to lose if they do do anything after release.

Background (Preamble):

Johannesburg - Two men who raped Alison Botha in Noordhoek, in Port Elizabeth, in 1994 and then slit her throat, could get parole soon after serving just 17 years of their sentence.

Theuns Kruger and Frans du Toit, who'd left her for dead, were both sentenced to life behind bars in August 1995.

However, in terms of legislation which came into effect in June last year, all prisoners who were sentenced to lifelong imprisonment before 2004 and have already served 13 years and four months, can apply for parole.

Du Toit and Kruger raped Alison, stabbed her more than 30 times with a knife and tried to slit her throat 16 times. She was left for dead in the veld. They'd told the Port Elizabeth High Court that the devil made them do it.

Alison's aorta and larynx were not severed, which enabled her to breathe. She had to gather her intestines and tuck them into her shirt while she held her head on her body with her other hand.

She staggered to the nearest road, where a medical student saw her and rushed her to the Port Elizabeth Provincial Hospital.

The following morning Du Toit and Kruger used the bloodied knives with which they'd slashed Alison to butter their bread.

Kruger, who is doing his time in Pretoria, appeared before the parole board on December 14 and is said to be bragging to other inmates that he will be out of there soon.

Puleng Mokhoane, the Free State spokesperson for correctional services, said Du Toit had appeared before the parole board at the Grootvlei prison in Bloemfontein on January 10.

Frightened

She said the "necessary procedures" would be followed.

Alison had not been aware of the possible parole for Kruger and Du Toit before being contacted by the media.

She said she was extremely shocked as she'd already applied last year to appeal against their possible release should parole be considered.

"I now realise that I'd clung to a false sense of security and never even considered the possibility that they could be freed.

"I will be frightened if they are released and I would very much like to be part of their parole hearing."

Sonwabo Mbananga, the minister of correctional services' spokesperson, said parole applications were not granted or turned down by parole boards.

They are merely part of an "administrative process" after which the case is referred to the National Council of Correctional Services, where factors such as the Judge's comments during sentencing, psychological reports and the prisoner's rehabilitation are considered.

The final decision rests with the minister, Mbananga said.

Blog Hiccups make for Jumbled Posts

2011-08-06T14:48:00.009+02:00

Tsk tsk, I castigate myself for not writing and posting here - so much to write up on too. Well, dear reader, you will just have to take pot luck and bounce around the events in my life in no particular order! I will include dates etc., so you can identify when I went and did what, but if I sit and do the writer thing of procrastination any longer I might just as well delete the blog!

It is all in my head, my notes, photos, on Face ache and so on, but here it is not - as yet. I probably have no readers left by now. One of the things to keep readers interested - in blogs at least - is to write regularly, though in other things it is supposed to be best to not over populate and keep people keen.

I do wonder how people find the time to write each day in one blog, let alone several blogs - AND write other stuff AND work. How?

So, I beg your pudding and hopefully I will entertain you with my goings on, freebies and wins again and gain some further readers. Yes, no? Okay, well, no promise on either side then :)

Heavens! What have I been doing?

2011-03-03T14:17:00.000+02:00

I have just looked at my journal and wondered where the posts I surely must have written have gone. Can it really be I have not written here since the end of November? I always seem to be writing so why isn't my journal reflecting that?

As someone who writes do you find this?

I write short stories, emails, all sorts of stuff. I know some people have more than one 'blog' and write regularly in each one once a week, sometimes more. I suppose I tend to forget that I also work, so a lot of what I write is work related and cannot be put in my journal, and then there are the meetings I go to - organisations that I belong to for the most part. One of these is a creative writing class with U3A, and of course that has 'homework' to do during the month. Then there is the writers circle I belong to, where we have a writing box at our monthly meeting. Into the box go any contributions from members following the theme given the month before, and I usually have one to put in.

Writing takes time no matter what form it takes - short story, email, letter to the paper/editor etc. Even business emails and advice take time, as does research conducted on the internet.

My problem is that my ship sank on the way here and so will not 'come in', therefore I have to work, which tends to mean that I battle to make time to write. I would do a lot of writing if I had the time. And I do not mean that to sound like a cop out; it really isn't meant to be. Oh, if only I could properly retire, but my misbegotten youth made no provision for this end of my life, thinking it was a long way off - and then one day, whoosh, there it was, eish.

Well, I suppose I had better get on with some paying work eh? In the meantime I have loads saved up for you, journal - and my poor followers. You must be really bored with me by now. *smacking sound* I really, really must knuckle down and write something for you all here.

Toodle pip old things, I'll be back. That's a threat and a promise, heheh.

The Female Role in Violence against Females & Children

2010-11-24T18:00:00.003+02:00

A colleague asked me if I could blog about violence against women and all that means, what the impact is for all who may be involved, in support of 16 Days of Activism Against Gender Violence, an annual campaign that runs from the 25 November - 10 December. It set me thinking.

When you think about violence against anyone, how do you picture it in your mind? Do you see one person physically beating someone else up? Do you see it as a man on man thing, a fight, where two men beat the hell out of one another for some reason? When most people think of violence I am guessing that that last is probably one of the first pictures that spring to mind.

If that were the only kind of violence it would be bad enough, but sadly there are other layers to this – like an onion, particularly if you are female. Violence towards females can take many forms, from the level of violence that shows no blood or external marking, to violence that ends in death. And the age of the female is no barrier. Do you think of violence against women as being something perpetrated only by boys or men against females of any age? If you do STOP – and think again.

I am not going to start listing some of the truly awful violent ways in which small children are so often treated, but I can say that violence is not necessarily something that only men/boys participate in. Violence against females of any age is committed by female siblings, cousins, nieces, aunties, mother’s and even more sadly by grandmothers and foster mothers. I am not a social worker but I am pretty sure if you were to talk to one who has worked in that field for a long time you would be horrified at some of the stories you would hear. And the perpetrators would usually have, to them, valid reasons for that violence. I am not talking the occasional smack here either. It goes on all over the world, all the time, and with a small child it is easy to cover up until it is too late. If you are ever told by a child that she is being abused by a female relative, or if you even suspect it, don’t just ignore it, anymore than you would ignore a female child saying that they are being abused by a male relative or friend. Children are most at risk because they look up to adults, and even more so with the women in their lives; women are the carers, and if they are told they are wrong or naughty and that is why they are being ‘punished’ in some cruel and violent way, then they will believe it. And worse, if they survive that treatment and grow up they will then visit that same violence upon other girls, both as adolescents and adults. Do you consider girls bullying girls as violence? Bet you don’t, but even bullying can be violent and will go unreported for fear of reprisals. And in many of today’s societies around the world women are becoming more violent.

And violence against women may well have always been there in one form or another, but it does not excuse it. Violence by women on women is not excusable either, but where people might notice and comment on, or even report, violence by men against women, I do wonder how often female on female violence is reported.

Don’t ignore it if you see it. It is as bad and damaging as that of men ill treating women. Report it. Speak up. If you live in a community, go to the elders of the community and report it, go to the police, call the police, speak to a relative – family members might not be aware of what is going on. If you have a boyfriend or husband or other male that you can have with you [if you are female yourself] as back up, then stop it. Don’t just turn a blind eye. Aside from any other factor, anyone who gets away with violence will use it again and again because they think that no one is going to stop them, it is their right to behave that way, and if you do something to stop them you are also helping them – they may end up severely injuring someone or killing them, child, girl or woman, and you will definitely be saving others from suffering from that same violence in the future.

Look at it this way. If that were you being beaten up or treated in some other violent way by another woman or women, would you hope and pray that someone would help you? You bet you would, so don’t ignore female on female violence – do something about it, ALWAYS.

And as I have mentioned here, if you are scared to be seen or heard doing something about it, report it in other, less open ways. You can go to the police, you can call the police, you can report it to a teacher or a headmistress/master, you can even call The Samaritans and ask for help.

Lunch at the Bar Bar Black Sheep, Riebeek Kasteel - Review

2010-11-20T16:48:00.000+02:00

If you haven't been to the Riebeek Valley, and in particular, Riebeek Kasteel, then do yourself a favour and take a drive out there. It is not too far - my partner and I used to go out once a month on a Saturday, to get our hair cut at my hairdresser [who moved there from Jo'burg]. I had not been for the last six years, but I recently won a meal for two at the Bar Bar Black Sheep Restaurant, and jumped at the excuse to go back again.

I probably know what you are thinking - that I am bound to give it a rave review because I won the meal as a prize. I have been in the restaurant trade and I enjoy good food, so, no way. If it was no good believe me I would not be bothering to write this now.

If you are into Facebook you can 'chat' with them via their home page. And if you visit their website you can find out all sorts of things aside from the menu, which changes with the seasons, like what is on in the area and when, where you can go to visit while you are there and so on. So, if you go plan to make a day of it; heck, go for the weekend. When I booked I chatted with Mynhardt, the owner and chef, and he kindly told me he would hold a table for us from noon onwards so that my friend and I could visit an olive farm, farm butchery and the market in Riebeek West, We appeared at about 1.30pm - no problem.

Do not expect a posh place with linen serviettes or lani decor, with muted voices and the feeling that you have to behave as if you are eating at the Savoy in London. The place is rustic, friendly and comfortable, and has character. Do expect good food and good service. If it is a hot day there is plenty of shade outside under the trees or on the veranda, under the covered area and the umbrellas, and if it is a bit cool or damp you can be inside. As we are coming to tourist season it is a good idea to book, but there is a lot of seating so if you want to take a chance I am sure Mynhardt and his friendly and helpful staff will try and accommodate you. Oh, and if you have a pooch, they are also welcome, though I am guessing well behaved ones – humans are not on the menu that I could see.

My prize was a starter, main course, dessert and bottle of wine for two, and since my friend Pat had a birthday on the following Monday I decided to take her along on Saturday, November 6th, to help me enjoy my prize.

We introduced ourselves to Malusi, the head waiter, who is really friendly and helpful, and were duly seated on the veranda and asked if we would like anything to drink. Pat opted for some iced water and I was erring on the side of teetotalism because of driving. I can’t drink dry wines as I get heartburn so I tend to lean towards sweet wines and this often equates to a rose. Mynhardt came to the table and said he did not have any sweet wines or rose that day. I know I am considered a pleb when it comes to wine, but I also believe in a person enjoying what they drink, rather than drinking something because everyone else says they should. After a bit of discussion on the subject Mynhardt disappeared and came back with a bottle of a local rose, which he is planning on using as a house wine. He said I might try that one if I wanted but also admitted honestly that he had not as yet tried it himself. I decided to be the guinea pig and the bottle was set to chill. In the meantime a jug of iced water was brought to the table for Pat and me.

Pat and I set about perusing the menu, which is not large. You might think a small menu is a bad thing but actually I like a smaller menu as it usually means the food is fresher, and the kitchen can pay more attention to the dishes they are working on. To me it is a sign of a restaurant / owner / chef that cares about the restaurant’s reputation, the food and the clients. Some of their vegetables are grown by Mynhardt and he sources as much produce as he can locally. I decided to have the Roasted Baby Fennel and Pernod Patagonicas [squid] for my starter and Pat rather liked the look of the Salmorejo with Prawns and Avocado Salsa, but cannot eat spicy foods. Mynhardt came to the table to see how we were doing and he was more than happy to accommodate Pat by making the dish for her without the spices. Now that is not just good service but shows that the food is freshly cooked as well. I was undecided on the main course, but was tempted by the Red Thai Fish Curry. I am not into really hot foods and Mynhardt offered to ‘tone it down’ for me, but after discussion the Fillet au Poivre was recommended and that is what I plumped for. Pat decided to go with the Pan Fried Rump with Oak Smoked Mash and Malusi disappeared towards the kitchen with our order, leaving Mynhardt to open and pour the wine. I tasted it and have to say it had a definite initial taste of strawberry/peach on the palate but was also quite sharp – for me at least. Mynhardt also tasted it and quite happily offered me something else if I would prefer. Pat and I did not want to waste the wine, and I was only going to have one glass anyway because I was driving, so we waived the offer, and Mynhardt left us to natter.

Our starters arrived, and I am sorry to say I was really hungry and they looked so appetizing that I completely forgot to take a photograph of them! For myself, I found the baby squid tubes really tender and the whole meal was well flavoured with nothing that overpowered the dish as a whole. Pat was also very happy with her prawns. Both starters were a reasonable size and I prefer a seafood starter as it is not too heavy. Malusi and Mynhardt came by to ask how we were enjoying our food and we had quite a chat with both of them during the course of the meal.

In due course our steaks arrived and I was really glad that I had had a light starter! Both steaks were a good size; eish, my mouth is watering at the remembrance, and Pat and I both commented on how tender they were. It is difficult to make a fillet tough, although it can be done, but sirloin and rump are prone to being chewy I usually find – hence me plumping for the fillet, but Pat’s sirloin was really, really tender and she kept commenting on it. Mynhardt told us that all his meat is aged properly and the proof was in the eating.

My fillet came with home made wedges, served on a bed of fresh vegetables such as peppers and red cabbage. As you can see I wasted no time in tucking in. This picture is to show you that this was what I was served.

Pat’s sirloin and accompanying oak smoked potato also looked very tasty and she wasted no time in trying her steak too. We were so enjoying our meal that we nearly forgot to take pictures of our food again!

We took time over enjoying our main course and chatted about all sorts of things. It was just the kind of lunch I enjoy, with no one trying to get you to leave; and Malusi kept his eye on us, popping over to top up our glasses, chatting and later re-corking the bottle so that we could take it away.

Having putting away a starter and main course I was not sure I could manage a dessert but Malusi had just the thing for me – an Affogato, which is strong espresso coffee with a shot of Frangelico in and a dollop of vanilla ice cream sitting floating in the middle. Pat decided to go with the cheesecake, which was served in rather a novel way with a smattering of fresh berries. I tasted it and it was delicious, very rich and filling.

Whilst we were finishing our dessert I asked Pat what the time was, and was shocked to find out it was 3.30pm already. We had enjoyed a really relaxing two hour Saturday lunch, away from the pressures of Cape Town, the phone, TV, whatever. Having read other reviews I can see that our experience is the norm, so I do not believe we received any extra service because I won the meal as a prize. And the Bar Bar also serves a variety of breakfasts, so if you decide to go out really early you can start your day there even!

No restaurant is going to suit everyone of course, but Pat and I enjoyed the place and the food, and since it is less than 45 minutes from where I live I would visit again. Pat also said she wants to come back and bring visitors. If you leave early there is little traffic on the road and you whizz through the edge of Malmesbury and then out and up to the top of the pass that leads down into the valley. There is a lot to do in the area and it is well worth taking a break and spending a really relaxing weekend there.

As I previously mentioned, since tourist season is upon us it is probably a good idea to book if you are going out for a special occasion and to check the opening days and times as this will be changing as well. You can check on the website http://www.bbbs.co.za/ , contact Mynhardt on 022 448 1031 bbbs@telkomsa.net, and as I mentioned you can also find Bar Bar on Facebook.

Maiden Voyage of City Sightseeing Cape Towns' evening bus tours. Friday, 29th October, 2010

2010-11-07T12:13:00.001+02:00

Let me first say that viewing yours and my favourite city from a height of approximately 4.39 m and at night, is far better than being down at normal car height, and worse still, being the driver who has to pay attention to the road and traffic.

I landed a trip for two on the maiden voyage of the new City Sightseeing Cape Town night tour for Friday, 29th November, and having collected a friend of mine, ex-teacher Pat Steere, took an easy drive against the home-from-work traffic down to the V&A Waterfront. We arrived in plenty of time, parked at the undercover parking opposite the Aquarium [where the City Sightseeing buses leave from] and walked across the road to the assembly point. We were welcomed by Carmen Lerm and her assistant, and having got our little orange stickers for being good and arriving we repaired to a bench to listen to the band of Alexander Sinton High School, from Crawford, playing a selection of music.

This school band is currently trying to raise funds to go to Beijing in 2011 and is ably taught and supported by their music teacher, Ronelle Nagfaal and encouraged by the head of the arts department, Brian Adonis. They have performed at Artscape and the Baxter, and had a one hour slot at the FanFest for the FIFA World Cup, and they were very easy to listen to. After we left on the two buses they were going on to Bergvleit for some further fundraising. Good luck to them and I hope they get enough funds and sponsors to get to Beijing. It is great to see music coming back into our schools.

While we were listening to the band and enjoying some rather tasty and refreshing non-alcoholic drinks, one of the City Sightseeing travel consultants, Mzukisi Lembeni, changed 'hats', or in this case donned a wig, and became an entertainer, involving the audience in magic tricks and making it look really easy to blow up those little thin balloons that were then made into animals. Then we had a draw for some prizes followed by the cutting of the official launch ribbon.

And so, the time had come to board the two buses. Two buses so that everyone could sit upstairs and enjoy the views from the best point. Picnics and warm clothing were duly lugged up the stairs and once we all had our free earplugs in and plugged into the sound system the two buses trundled quietly out into the road to begin the tour. We were very lucky and it was a splendidly clear and sunny evening, although there was a stiff breeze blowing.

Whether you are on the day or evening tours you will be able to listen to a commentary, in a choice of languages [great if you have friends from overseas] and these commentaries are done so that they mesh in nicely with the time it takes the buses to move from one area of interest to the next. And if you think you know everything there is to know about your city, think again! They have managed to dig up many interesting bits of information that even someone born in the city probably doesn't know. Since the buses trundle along at a nice comfortable pace you are able to look around you at the scenery and spot things that you would not be able to see from a car or, because you are not having to worry about driving or parking, things that you had just never noticed before.

The bus left the Waterfront via the road past the old Somerset Hospital and from our vantage point we were able to look right over the wall at the beautifully painted building whilst listening to some history about the old hospital. We followed the road along the seafront past the oldest working lighthouse in South Africa, with information being given about wrecks along the coastline there, and turned onto the seafront road in Seapoint, where we were able to look past the tall blocks of flats to the mountains behind, or to the sea and across to Robben Island - and I shan't spoil it by telling you why the island is so named either - take a trip on the bus and you can find out for yourself.

We continued along the narrow road that wends its way along the coast amongst the houses built into the rock to Camps Bay, all the time listening to the commentary and looking around at the amazing views, including that of paragliders coming down on the air currents from Lions Head. My companion exclaimed time and again about what wonderful views she was seeing, and how she had always meant to do the bus trips but had never got around to it, and now wished she had. She is already planning to take visitors on the bus next year. We passed other City Sightseeing buses going in the opposite direction back to the V&A and waved. I should just say here that the day bus tours operate on a hop on/hop off basis, so if you want to get off somewhere and visit you can do so. They even have a stop at the cable way for Table Mountain. This is fantastic as parking up there now is a nightmare. So much easier to park at the Waterfront and catch a ride, with fantastic views, there and back again once you finish your visit to that famous backdrop to Cape Town.

Having waved at, and been waved back at, various cafe and restaurant patrons at Camps Bay we travelled up out of Camps Bay with the most fantastic views of the 12 Apostles and backwards over the sea. This road winds upwards and at the top you can either turn towards the cableway or left to Signal Hill and Lions Head. We took the steep, winding and narrow road up towards Signal Hill and passed many cars that were parked near the spot most used by hikers of Lions Head. The commentary was quite full on this part of the journey as we looked out over the Mountain, the city, the harbour and the bay towards Robben Island. We reached the top, causing a bit of consternation amongst the car park guards because of parking, and having clattered down the winding steps, alighted with our blankets, picnics and cameras, to enjoy the uninterrupted view out over the Atlantic towards the setting sun.

It was all very friendly and people sat around eating their tasty picnics, chatting, taking photos, looking out to sea to watch the small fishing boats go to and fro, and the container ship, presumably at anchor. The sun slowly slipped away leaving some wonderful streaks of colour in the sky on the horizon with the small band of clouds out there, and twilight slowly took over, with the ugly bulk of the container ship becoming more attractive as twinkling lights came on all over it. Everyone packed up their leftovers and containers and climbed back aboard the two buses ready for the second half of the journey that would prove to be quite stunning in its own right. It was as I walked to the top by the buses that I realised the lights were on, on the mountain, lighting it up in all its night time splendour. What a bonus, they must have done it just for this trip.

The road out of the car park back down the hill is quite narrow and this time we were on the edge of the drop down the hill - glad I was sitting on the other side! The buses stopped at the top for people to take pictures across the bay with all the lights stretching away across the bay as far as the eyes could see. Sadly I am not as au fait with my camera as I should be and the flash spoiled the lighting effects of both the lit up mountain and the stunning views of all the lights across the city. It has to be seen to be appreciated but I can tell you that it looks like a myriad of different coloured jewels twinkling and winking away below. And the illuminated mountain is as overwhelming, if not more, than it is during the day. I felt like a visiting dignitary - the mountain is rarely lit these days for conservation and economic reasons.

We drove carefully down the hill and as we went we could see the tiny blue flashing lights of people hiking up near the top of Lions Head, looking for all the world as if there were a whole load of fireflies flickering away up there, with the odd flicker of people coming down. The lighted view of Table Mountain was absolutely stunning and I am so sorry that I was unable to capture pictures of it.

The buses drove down past Higgovale and into the city with ongoing commentary, and as we got to the bottom, near the huge and beautifully lit Wheel of Excellence [a smaller version of the London Eye], instead of turning left back to the Waterfront we turned right, going past the modern conference centre, around the roundabout and up towards Adderley Street past the newly refurbished Cape Town Station. We could also see the work currently going on to uncover the Adderley Street twin grachts that run down towards the sea, and some history linked to the statues at various points was given. These channels are part of the City of Cape Town's plan to extend a water channel along the axis of Adderley Street to the Heerengracht, along the path of the original canal. It was interesting to think that until relatively recent times this site was once ocean.

Driving up towards the Company Gardens, that once supplied ships coming into the bay, we had to stop at traffic lights and I spotted, tucked away between two buildings, a clock on an old building I had never noticed before, in the area where slaves were once sold. We followed the road right, past St. George's Cathedral and the road leading up to the Centre for the Book and Planetarium, before turning right back onto Buitenkant Street and the short drive back to the Aquarium.

Back from our magical evening tour with City Sightseeing! What a wonderful trip and one I would highly recommend to anyone, whether you have overseas visitors or not. The whole trip took approximately two and three quarter hours, so you really get your money's worth not to mention a wonderful experience - and all for the paltry sum of R80 per adult and R40 per child. There were children on our trip and they all seemed to thoroughly enjoy themselves. Real adventure stuff for young children particularly, although I would have to say, please don't let your children hang over the side of the bus!

Now to the nitty gritty. The tours start daily from 1st November 2010 and will run until 27th February, 2011, but will not be available from 31st December to the 3rd January. The bus will leave Stop 1 at the Aquarium at 18.00 [6pm] and arrive back at approximately 20.45 [8.45pm]. The cost, as I have already mentioned, is R80 for adults and R40 for children, but if you purchase the two day ticket, which allows you to do the Blue and Red Routes [or two Blue or Red should that be what you want to do], you will receive your evening tour ticket free. Now that is real value for money and my advice is to take a couple of days off, purchase the two day ticket and do all three trips. You won't regret it. Just one thing. Although the day time trips are operated on a hop on/hop off basis the evening one is not. It only stops at the top of Signal Hill for those who are already on the bus so that they can see the stunning views from there, and weather permitting, enjoy seeing the sun set before setting off back on the rest of the drive. Don’t forget to take some warm clothing as it can get chillsome.

You can buy your ticket at the kiosk opposite the Aquarium, which is located where the buses leave from, or on the bus or by visiting the website www.citysightseeing.co.za. City Sightseeing also has a Facebook page where you can go to read comments from people who have been on the tours and leave comments and pictures yourself, and often stand the chance of winning tickets. You can also follow them on Twitter - @Blatjan.

In conclusion I would like to say that my friend Pat and I thoroughly enjoyed the whole experience and felt that we would enjoy doing it again. We were both overwhelmed with the fantastic views, so different at that late time of day and evening to those you experience during the day, and Pat commented on the fact that she learnt a lot of things about the area that she had not known before. A big thank you to City Sightseeing Cape Town for this wonderful opportunity. We'll be back, definitely.

If you have read this to the end, live in Cape Town, are visiting Cape Town, then take my advice and go purchase those tickets!

Saturday 16th October, 2010-10-16 - CREW outing – 3rd

2010-10-17T09:52:00.000+02:00

http://www.bca.org.za/

http://www.bca.org.za/friends.html

Okey dokey. Well, you might might or might not know that I belong to the Friends of the Blaauwberg Conservation Area, and am on the committee too. [I also belong to Friends of the Tygerburg Hills Conservation Area - which is in the hills behind where I live].

The BCA incorporates land on both sides of the coastal road, Otto du Plessis, near Melkbos, the west side of the road including a stretch of beach/coastline. The whole reserve consists of an area of approximately 2 000 ha, which comprises a rich mosaic of natural, cultural and historical elements, including the site of the Battle of Blauuwberg. Also Blaauwberg Hill where there is a large pillbox/radar post and living quarters overlooking the whole area of Cape Town Bay / Robben Island, which was very important during the last war. The whole area is under pressure due to urban development and plant species [and fauna] around the whole of the Western Cape have been disappearing rapidly over the years. Many of these plants were catalogued but not properly and not with GPS coordinates either, which meant that they could not usually be relocated.

The BCA comprises three very threatened lowland vegetation types: Strandveld (or Dune Thicket), West Coast Renosterveld and Sand Plain Fynbos. Two transitional vegetation types also occur. The combination of these vegetation types is seldom found in one conservation area so we have quite a diverse flora base. If you click on the BCA drop down menu you can read loads about the area - more than I have time to write here.

Anyway, CREW (Custodians of Rare and Endangered Wildflowers) is a programme that uses volunteers from the public in the monitoring and conservation of South Africa's threatened plants. CREWs aims are to create a network of volunteers from different socio-economic backgrounds to monitor and conserve threatened plant species, particularly in their own locations. You can read more about that at http://www.bca.org.za/events.html [where you will also see mention of the Owl Farm Outing we went on last weekend.]

This Saturday was the third meeting to involve the FoBCA, the 2nd being held in September while I was away. Ismail Ebrahim, Project Manager of CREW, came along and we went out on a short trip in the back of a vehicle to what is known as 'The Friends Patch', since the FoBCA assisted with the final small financial hiccup holding up the transfer of this particular 400 or so hectares to the BCA, an important chunk as it also includes a small wetland. A lot of the land that borders the BCA Eerste Steen Reserve is owned by a development company and this piece was also owned by them. Much of their land is covered in alien vegetation, Port Jackson, and this has slowly been cleared from much of the reserve to allow the natural fynbos to grow back in. The Friends Patch has had a largish area more or less cleared of old growth but I saw some young aliens coming up when we were there today.

For us volunteers it is a crash course in learning some of the basic identification processes for plants and it will obviously take some time to start becoming au fait with these. Today when we got to the patch we went on a walk about with Ismail where we took some samples, which he later showed us how to press, were given some of the names of these, took photos [yes I will upload, but wak n bikkie!] and learnt how to fill out the special form that you take out with you and on which you try to identify plants, give descriptions of where you found them, GPS coordinates [if you have a GPS] and so on. Some of the ones we located were known as 'special' as they are not so common, but the form also has an area on the back of it for writing about other plants that you find in the area that you are looking at.

It was blooming hot out there, as although we had met at 9am at Eerstesteen, by the time we were out in the field it was around 10 am and we were out until around 1pm; the horse flies were SEEETHING and biting us, so it was not wonderfully pleasant I have to say, heheh. We will be having regular dates set up for these expeditions, but of course if any of us are out anywhere we can take these forms with us and note plants that we come across and where etc. The Tygerburg Hills CREW team have been doing this for a couple of years now and their model works well, so we shall probably be following a similar way of learning. None of that team knew anything about local plants either when they started.

I am now covered in two weeks worth of horse fly bites - very itchy. Nothing repels the blighters either, although the Woods impregnated cloth that I wiped over my bare skin did seem to keep them off there. Unfortunately horse flies have extremely strong probosci and are able to sting/bite one through one's clothes, although jeans are better than most.

There were also ticks and yesterday evening, when I went to bed I found one attached to the back of my thigh, and am fervently hoping I do not get tick bite fever as it is most unpleasant - I have had it once, years ago.

At any rate I have some homework now, looking up the plants written on my form from yesterday; watch this space!

Willa

2010-10-07T10:22:00.000+02:00

I have not written in my journal for a looooooooong time now - since my beloved Bassie passed away in my arms at Easter.

Since then Willa and I have joggled along with Willa becoming more nervous since she can no longer share the responsibility of defending me - the full responsibility now rests on her shoulders. I feel I should get her a companion; maybe an older pooch that would not get adopted, but I know that I would be stupid to take on more responsibility at a time when I should not, along with the probability of expensive vets bills. I loved Bassie dearly but she and Willa have cost a lot of money in vets bills.

Willa is a cancer survivor and luckily I had a small policy that I was able to cash in to pay for her operations and treatment. I am so glad that I was able to do that. She is such a loving pooch and I dread the day when i have to say goodbye to her too. I watch her like a hawk, checking for lumps etc., but of course I cannot see what is going on inside her and that bothers me needless to say. Still, I live in hope that she will die of old age. She is nearly 12 now. For sometime before Bassie died and for about six weeks after, Willa slept on the bed with me but she has now gravitated back to her [and Bassie] own large night bed in the bedroom, only coming on the bed to say goodnight and hello in the morning or to snooze with me on a weekend if I get back into bed with my coffee.

I have just returned from a three week trip to the UK to see my mother and be there to celebrate her 85th birthday, and I had to, with much trepidition, put Willa into kennels. I chose a kennel run at a stables not too far from home where they only take about eight pooches. The lady concerned is also a qualified veterinary nurse and knows Willas' vet, Dave. I warned the young Malawian chap, who looks after the dogs, that Willa would not want to be confined and that she would unpick the wire of the gate on her kennel. I could see he was not inclined to believe me, but I was proved correct! When I left her she was last seen going frantic [that upset me no end] and trying to rip at the fence. She chewed right through diamond mesh wire on two of the kennel gates. She refused to stay in the overnight fully enclosed kennels and spent the whole three weeks in the open runs with just a normal dog house for cover - which I doubt she used. She burns on her nose and it looks as if she had a scabby on her nose from the sun.

Anyway, we are home together again and I have to say I missed her. It would have been lovely if she could have come with me on the plane and met the other three pooches at home in the UK. They could have romped in the garden, gone out in the cricket field at the back, I would even have gone for a walk up on the Horseshoe if she had been there. I could have taken her to Warren Hill... just day dreaming here. Never mind. She is snoozing under my desk at the moment. Maybe I will take her out for a boring suburb walk later this afternoon, mmm.

My Beautiful Bassie

2010-04-12T23:29:00.000+02:00

This was the last picture I took of my beautiful Bassie Boo. I had to take her to the vet to go on her last long journey, poor baby.

Memoirs - I remember...

2010-04-02T11:05:00.001+02:00

I am currently doing a memoirs project course through the U3A and we have been asked to write a lot of memories, old and new, starting with 'I remember'. Here is one of the ones I have stored away for later this year when we actually put our memoir together. I will put a few more of the longer ones up in case anyone is interested in reading them.

I Remember…
Walking was different when I was younger and walked to and from school. When I went to the infants and junior school by the Green in our small town, Southwick, in West Sussex, the morning trip was mostly downhill and the afternoon mostly uphill. I have no real idea how far it was, but certainly not a mile, perhaps half to three quarters of a mile, and I did the double trip at lunchtime as well. This would have been somewhere between 1955 and 1959.

I seem to recall that in the early days after our house was built and we moved from Aunty Maud’s’ house in Whiterock Place, Southwick to The Drive, Southwick, that Mother would take me to school. We would have walked then too since she had one of those huge prams like the royal family had. I am sure on the odd occasions we caught the bus down to the bottom of the Green too. And when my sister joined me at the school we would catch the bus home from the stop at the bottom of the Green. But mostly I seem to recall the walks best. When the traffic on the main road, that I had to cross, became busy [not like it is today of course] a lollipop man was appointed to see us across the road. I doubt one would want to step out onto that main road now!

Once I was judged old enough to go on my own, oh, the wonderful treasures I found on those journeys. The Dutch Elms that no longer exist, due to the ravages of disease, had little puzzle shaped pieces of smooth bark that you could lift to find beetles and bugs under. In the autumn their leaves fell to the ground and sometimes these seemed so perfect I would have to take one or several home, where they shrivelled up in a draw in my bedroom, until my mother disposed of them. The rest turned soggy and brown in the rain, or gained a crisp white frosty edge on wintry mornings. In the spring and summer there would be odd wild flowers struggling into existence in odd little corners, like the two rather neglected nurseries on my route. Both have been built on now, but in those days there would be pretty grasses and flowers like poppies. My way took me down Southview Road, past a little post office that also had a small grocery section, and then on to the top of the Green. In the summer this was mowed regularly and smelt lovely. The sound of the tractor steadily going up and down the larger top half of the Green always heralded that special scent of newly cut grass.

Southwick Square was not there in those days and so my way to school went past the old Cricketers Arms, and a small shop that sold sweets and biscuits and the like [memories of Smiths crisps with the blue twist of salt for 6d and Wagon Wheels for 3d], with the Coop on the corner. Our school was very old; one of those old red brick Victorian edifices but with asphalted playgrounds that were hard on the knees. In the winter I seem to recall managing to find the odd conker; the fruit of the horse chestnut trees. These had huge green out casings with pointy bits sticking out, which made them look a bit like the old sea mines from the Second World War. First prize was to find a really big one with a beautifully burnished brown nut inside. You could then make these into conkers with a piece of string through the middle and take them to school to play conkers. This was where two of you would whack one another’s conkers in the hope of breaking the other's conker. One person would hold their string with the conker hanging straight down and the other person would hold their conker in one hand and the end of their string in the other, then aiming the conker at the other conker send it with a hard thwack to hit the opponents’ conker. People used to have different ways of hardening their conkers to try and make them last longer. I think one way was to soak them in vinegar.

My way also took me past odd little areas of trees and bushes, probably part of somebody’s garden, where Sticky Buds pushed their huge burgeoning heads through the fence in the Spring, tempting one to quickly break some off to take to school for putting in a jar of water on the Nature Table. Pussy Willow and Catkins also showed in the spring, and were duly taken to school as well if we had been out in the country.

Privet hedges were also a favourite source of treasures on my walk home, and if I was very lucky, at a certain time of year there would be wonderfully huge plump green Hawk Moth caterpillars, with black spiky tails poking up from their bottoms, nesting in the hedges. There was a particularly huge privet hedge half way up The Drive, and it usually had some fine specimens in if you poked about in there. I had to be careful not to damage the hedge as the lady of the house would not have been pleased. I loved those huge caterpillars. The tails fascinated me and the bodies felt like the softest cotton velvet, not to mention the beautiful markings on their faces.

Another area of treasure finds on my walks home in the afternoon [at least I thought so!], were the little holes in the banks under bushes on open ground, since these often held the best treasure of all – snoozing hedgehogs! Plimsoll bags came in very handy for transporting these prickly treasures home to be de-flea’d and given bread and milk in a saucer. I bet they wished they’d been for a walk elsewhere when I happened by! I was always late home from school because I ‘dawdled’ looking here and there for things of interest on my walks. I was one of those children who was always finding money and lost possessions because I was always keeping a beady eye out on the ground around me.

As a child I used to enjoy it when our family would sometimes go out in the country at weekends for picnics, and I would roam around over the South Downs too, which at that time backed onto the top of our road not far from our house. In fact, I used to play in the cornfields just up the road. Different times to now.

Those were good walks and times and my brain was always working. Looking back, oh looking back. It was good to be young, fit and slim enough to walk, and to be able to walk in a country and area where it was safe to do so.

Editing of the Ghostly Bushman piece

2010-03-27T19:07:00.008+02:00

Today I attended my monthly writers circle meeting and read out the Ghostly Bushman piece. It was generally well received and each person wrote a short anonymous critique on a piece of paper and these were handed to me. I shan't go into all the nice comments here except to say that most people enjoyed the description and felt they could almost see my San Bushman, as if they were watching a video or were viewing it. Three of these had advice/changes that the writers felt could have been made to the piece and I list them here.

Quick - quickly - quick, within few lines - try something different.
Repetition: round [this word was only used once actually]. Too many sentences starting with 'he' and 'his' - try a bit more variation.
Suggestions: Perhaps start with action and intersperse your description in between. Rather too much description to start with.

When you write something it is often hard to take critiquing, that you might not agree with, but I felt these were fair and they were the only ones. So, I changed some wording in relation to the first two suggestions. This necessitated changing wording around and subtle rewriting in a couple of places. I only found one use of the word round so I did not change that of course. The third suggestion I will take on board for future reference as it would necessitate rewriting the whole piece, and I think I would lose the whole sense of the piece, my vision of what I was writing about, and why I was writing this the way I did. I was limited to a set number of words for this piece and wanted to set the scene of my Bushman right at the beginning. I still feel it is relevant written at the beginning as I was trying to create a picture of him.

Perhaps a little history on the piece? I attended a U3A creative writing course last year, and we were given subjects to write our projects on each month. We were also limited to a set number of words. This meant then that one had to write a descriptive piece in say, 500 words. In this instance on a Bushman, maybe a ghostly visage or something similar. Without scrabbling for my hand written notes for that particular meeting I cannot remember any more than that. In any event the piece published in the previous post, the Ghostly Bushman, was the result. I did not edit the piece. It was one of several from the group; meant to be read by all the participants on the course without them knowing who wrote the pieces. I cannot now remember what the comments were. So, it was up to today's group to critique it. I submitted it today because we had been asked to submit pieces relating to the outing to !kwatthu, the San Cultural and Educational Centre on the West Coast, that a number of us visited for a day's peaceful writing back in February. I did not know of the San Cultural and Educational Centre at the time I wrote that piece, and had not visited the website obviously. However, I felt this piece was appropriate, as the other one was quite lengthy at nearly 1900 words.

Another important point to remember, as a couple of people have pointed out, is that a critique is only that particular persons' point of view. You are not writing just for that person, as you might at school, and you need to take this into consideration when taking comments on board. If, out of 14 comments, I only received three that made suggestions, but also said they liked the piece, then I would have to say that that overall my piece was well received. This is an important point, and one would do well to remember that we all like different genres and different styles of writing. If someone says, too many long sentences; okay, take that onboard but also remember that sometimes long sentences are necessary and are fine as long as they have the correct punctuation throughout. That point might just be someone's personal pet peave. Short and long sentences have their place.

I now post here the altered version of the piece. As I say, I have not altered it in relation to the third comment - only the first two, and further, I am not sure about the 'he' and 'his' starts to sentences, because I was after all writing a descriptive piece about him. See what you think. I would be interested in your comments.

Ghostly Bushman

Seen through the ghostly visage of time past he is brown, wrinkled and slim, almost to the point of emaciation. He has a round face that is mapped with the years, weather, experience – and laughter. Here is a man who loves life, loves his life; the simple but deadly earnest existence that he lives each day, his bulbous stomach, skinny buttocks and wiry, wrinkled legs belying his health, tenacity and strength. He is a Bushman, a SAN, and a 2,000 year old close descendant of primitive African man. His clothing comes from the animals he reveres and hunts, a loin cloth, with a cape of skin in the cold. The crinkly, sparse hair covering his head requires no washing or combing and he has no need of shoes; this man of the sand and the desert scrubland. His only decoration is a necklace of seeds and pieces of egg shell. Across his back he carries a small bow and a leather sack with arrows peeking out of the top. Hanging at his side is a hollowed out ostrich shell with a bung of skin.

This man is not an animal. He has a family, a history, a way of living, a way of feeling his world. He has beliefs; he knows his world, the animals, the soil, the weather, and lives and hunts accordingly. His small family depends on him to hunt the creatures that provide them with so much.

We watch him move forward at a steady pace, crouching down to examine the ground near a small shrub, lifting sand to his nostrils momentarily. Now he moves in a slight crouch, quiet and watchful, testing the air and beckoning with a spare movement of his hand to those behind him. Carefully he takes his bow and a tipped arrow from his sack, and snicking the arrow into place, he moves quietly forward, the only noises sounds of the desert. What is he thinking as he moves so carefully? Maybe only of the moment; that short long moment, when his arrow hastens towards the creature nibbling at a low shrub some way off.

A slight thwack and the buck jumps into the air on the end of the arrow as if impelled. It falls, and he runs quickly to cut its throat. He is joined by his brother, and his son who is learning to track and hunt. With a skilful slice of a stone blade the Bushman slits the animal open, removing the entrails and burying them deeply under the sand. In this ghostly view into the past, we see him placing the heart, liver and kidneys in a fleche of shiny leather, which he places in his pack. The animal will provide protein to go with the tubers and plants the women will have collected during the day.

This ghostly man of the desert, this hunter, gives thanks perhaps to the world around him; that he and his small family will eat well.

Ghostly Bushman

2010-03-05T17:53:00.010+02:00

I wrote this piece last year as part of a creative writing course. I think it is appropriate to put it in my journal at this point since I have just been to the SAN Educational and Cultural Centre. I have no idea if my description of his hunting is accurate or not. I fell into this piece and became one with it. I was physically watching him/them. I smelt the dryness of the sand, the slightly dry, toast like smell of his skin, and I felt his senses. So, who knows, maybe I was getting direct feed from him down the long reaches of time.

Ghostly Bushman

Seen through the ghostly visage of time past he is brown, wrinkled and slim, almost to the point of emaciation. He has a round face that is mapped with the years, weather, experience – and laughter. Here is a man who loves life, loves his life; the simple but deadly earnest existence that he lives each day, his bulbous stomach, skinny buttocks and wiry, wrinkled legs belying his health, tenacity and strength. He is a Bushman, a SAN, and a 2,000 year old close descendant of primitive African man. His clothing comes from the animals he reveres and hunts, a loin cloth with a cape of skin in the cold. The crinkly, sparse hair covering his head requires no washing or combing, he has no need of shoes; this man of the sand and the desert scrubland. His only decoration is a necklace of seeds and pieces of egg shell. He carries a sack across his back with a small bow and arrows peeking out of the top, and hanging at his side, an ostrich shell with a bung of skin.

This man is not an animal. He has a family, a history, a way of living, a way of feeling his world. He has beliefs; he knows his world, the animals, the soil, the weather, and he lives and hunts accordingly. His small family depends on him to hunt the creatures that provide them with so much.

We watch him move forward at a steady pace, crouching down to examine the ground near a small shrub. He lifts sand to his nostrils momentarily. Now he moves in a slight crouch, quiet and watchful, testing the air and beckoning with a spare movement of his hand to those behind him.

He carefully pulls his bow and a tipped arrow from his sack, snicking the arrow into place, and moves quietly forward, the only noises are sounds of the desert. What is he thinking as he moves so carefully? Maybe only of the moment; that short long moment, when his arrow hastens towards the creature nibbling at a low shrub some way off.

A slight thwack, and the buck jumps into the air on the end of the arrow, as if impelled. It falls, and he runs quickly to cut its throat. He is quickly joined by his brother, and his son who is learning to track and hunt. With a quick and skilful slice with the stone blade the Bushman slits the animal open, removing the entrails, burying them deeply under the sand. In this ghostly view into the past, we see him placing the heart, liver and kidneys in a fleche of shiny leather, which he places in his pack. The animal that is carried home will provide protein to go with the tubers and plants the women and children will have collected during the day.

This ghostly man of the desert, this hunter, gives thanks perhaps to the world around him, that he and his small family will eat well.

A SAN Writing Experience – Saturday 27th February, 2010

2010-03-01T14:24:00.006+02:00

As I sit here seeing my image reflected back at me in the screen of my laptop, my mind and my eyes wander idly. The sun is coming round behind me, throwing a relief of dark lines across us all and the rock sides of the boma; shadows cast by the sun striking the stick sunshade roof. The rock almost looks as if it has dark striations in it rather than on it. All around me the members of our writers circle who came along today to !Khwa ttu, the San Education and Culture Centre [http://www.khwattu.org/], are busy writing. The old farm we are on is about an hour or so up the R27 from Tableview. The R27 is the main road that goes straight up the West Coast of South Africa.

Shortly after we arrived at !Khwa ttu we were lucky enough to have the chance to listen to one of the SAN guides, Andre, whilst we were enjoying refreshments under the shade of an old fig tree. It was interesting to be able to ask him questions, and hear things that might not otherwise have come out in a normal tour. I think I will mentally store some of that away for future writing, as I think a different article can be written on the cultural centre.

This morning, when we first arrived at the kopje, I was typing up my Grandmothers’ notes of her trip to Rhodesia in 1967. I have had the notebooks for a long time but had not got round to typing the handwritten content to hand to my family to read. But now, in the afternoon heat, I am writing for myself.

Away in the distance is the Atlantic, with Dassen Island looking hazy a short distance offshore. The surf is breaking on the beaches but the sound cannot be heard up here. In the early afternoon heat a haze is blurring the edges of the horizon as well, so that the sea and sky blend into one another like a watercolour painting.

Pencils and pens scratching away on paper around me sound loud in this environment. In the hurly burly of modern living we have forgotten how loud some sounds can be when not drowned out by that same modern living. There is not even the almost imperceptible white noise of electricity up here. Even the occasional sound of a turning page is loud – as if one has had a hearing loss and then regained it. The cooling breeze ruffles and catches the edges of the pages, causing a ‘flackering’ sound. Down below us, at a distance, is the R27 with the sound of the traffic on it coming to us up here as a dulled sound, flattened by the wind, the distance and our height. All too soon we shall have to rejoin this constant flow of traffic that whizzes along; vehicles with occupants who sit entrapped and often bored, with nary a look to either side to appreciate what they might see. In the meantime I am enjoying myself up here.

We ate our lunches a while ago, sitting talking idly, with people occasionally wandering off to take pictures or to use the surprisingly fancy long drop higher up the kopje. The steps up to the throne with a view even have a ‘busy’ sign that you can use to show occupancy. When spotted by one of our members a small snake disappears with lightning speed, as if made of quicksilver. This elicits a short discussion as to whether it was a baby snake or not.

Now the abandoned picnic baskets sit atop a counter, adorned with coloured heaps of soft blankets; a bright splash of colour in the boma. Directly behind this is a set of windows set into rock and the windows contain plants and leaves, either sandwiched between the sheets or contained within. Very unusual and my eye keeps being drawn to them.

A solitary light brown goshawk or something similar coasts lazily by on the air currents that rise up to meet the kopje. It appears and disappears in lazy circles. Two black and white crows swoop by periodically too. A small bird that is well camouflaged in one of the bushes nearby, trills a beautiful tune. These things happened in less time than it takes for me to describe, and geologically/ecologically even less time; the effect these things have is timeless. The small hawk appears again, but closer this time enabling me to see the form of his wings as they curve back and away, almost like a falcon.

Earlier some springbok were standing on an outcrop of the kopje a bit further away, and down below we could just make out two zebra who blended in with the scenery unless you had a sharp eye. There are Eland here too, and we saw a small herd of them as we trundled up the road in the noisy, bouncy tractor and trailer.

I must get typing again as my battery has nearly run down, and this causes me to wonder why someone has not invented a plug in solar charger for laptops? It would be so useful, particularly if it had a long lead. Maybe I will do some research on the internet to see if someone has come up with something! [update: a friend in the UK sent me some information on just such a thing for £140].

My laptop battery dies on me and lacking anywhere to recharge, I now find myself writing by hand. Somehow the words do not flow the same as my hands cannot write as fast as I can type. Thoughts that came with a flash go the same way while I am still concentrating on my writing. Strange. I find that with using a keyboard my thoughts and hands work so well together! Writing by hand dulls the act of creative flow and within minutes I have cramp in my right thumb.

This kopje is so peaceful by comparison to the constant background ‘noise’ of a built up area. We are even talking in hushed tones if we talk. How I would love to live like this again. It reminds me of the smallholding my husband and I had years ago. It is so quiet here that I am sure we will hear our transport coming from a long way off! The tractor transported us along a dirt road, that gradually wound its way all the way to the top here, along with a whole load of picnic baskets, holding a tasty, light lunch and a small blanket. A snooze would have been delightful, but I am not sure any writing would have been done.

My left hand catches my peripheral vision and I see tiger stripes on that too. Gosh, it is warm, but the breeze wafts over us with the occasional stronger gust. I am probably sitting in the wrong place and should have plumped for a table further in under the boma shade as the sun is now striking my right arm. I could wish that there were small waves breaking against the boma steps so that I might paddle my feet in the cool Atlantic waters.

Glancing around at my fellow writers I see heads bent diligently over notepads, one person, the only male among us, looking at his writing critically before turning the page to start writing again. Another person sits with their head propped on their hand whilst writing, before looking up to stare reflectively out over the landscape. Yet another taps away at her laptop – she cleverly saved her laptop until after lunch! It all reminds me of a classroom in English Lit and Language, but without the odd whispers that would cause the teacher to look up and frown. Some of us sit with our feet on the solid bar under the table, others with their feet on the crushed stone floor and this crunches and scrapes as feet change position. I think that maybe those children who have to take their classes outside are not so badly off after all – in the dry weather at any rate. Who could ask for a healthier place to learn in? As an adult I think this would make a fantastic classroom.

I look up once again pushing my glasses up my nose, then continue to write whilst keeping a weather ear open for our transport. Flies buzz, land, take off, but are not as annoying here as they are in the house.

The bushes around us riffle in the breeze and I wish… what do I wish? I don’t actually know really. I just felt a yearning in me to live somewhere like this again with my pooches. I am sorry they could not come with me today. They would love it here. Small birds continue to trill and twitter in the shrubs around us, but now there is a somnolence to the afternoon and I think that many are taking an afternoon nap, waiting for the afternoon heat to dissipate somewhat. Oooh, a welcome gust of wind blows across my body and face. Thank goodness I brought shorts to change into and wore a sleeveless, low cut vest and NO BRA!

Suddenly there is a lull in the hum of traffic below us. No vehicles at all. Wonderful. It lasts a few moments at best and then two cars go past, hurrying to get somewhere. I look further and see the bush camp on the far side of the R27, where !Khwa ttu has tented accommodation that one can rent. It is in a large clearing and a relatively short walk from the ocean. I would love to spend a few days there. Closer by the two crows ride the wind and a loud fly lands on my hair. The horizon is a complete blur now and Dassen Island has all but disappeared in the haze.

I was thinking of something else to write too but it has now gone the way of many thoughts, blown away on the breeze. It is still very quiet, people writing diligently, trying to finish before our transport arrives. Someone near me tears a page from her book and in the ‘silence’ the sound is as loud as it might be in the hushed confines of a library, possibly even louder.

I sit, allowing my brain to slip into idling mode. No mental multitasking. Let it relax, wander idly and happily, drawing renewed charge from the environment about me. I should do something like this more often. I could happily lie here and doze – I am almost in full body meditation mode. I know that I miss this. The happiest that I have been in SA has been when I have been able to come home to a place that like this that is, even if only temporarily, FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD!

Coming Soon to a Blogger.com near You!

2010-02-26T22:49:00.002+02:00

I was just on my way to bed, as I need to be up early pearly in the morning, but just thought I would pop in here and mention that you should keep your eyes peeled for an article on my day out tomorrow with other members of my writers circle.

Having hopefully whetted your appetite, I will now walk down to the east wing of the stately pile, switch off the TV, close the windows and, having switched off my faithfull laptop, recline gracefully upon my night couch and go to sleep.

Toodle pip, old things!

Masque Theatre

2010-02-07T14:16:00.005+02:00

Yesterday I went to a matinee performance at the Masque Theatre in Muizenberg with other members of the writers circle I attend. It was an Alan Ayckbourn production, Improbable Fiction, about ill matched members of a writers circle. Rather topical. I have not been to the theatre in ages and was quite looking forward to the play.

A couple of members came to my house and the three of us pootled on out to Muizenberg, quite a long drive out along the False Bay side of the Peninsular. We arrived with plenty of time to spare and found jammy parking under a large tree in front of the theatre. Feeling thirsty and peckish we wandered off along the pavement to see if we could find somewhere to have coffee, but all the eating and drinking establishments along that part of the coast were much further along. Eventually we found a little place called Millys. I think it was called that, but stand to be corrected.

It was one of those arty, trendy places in an old house; rather interesting actually. The menu consisted of pancakes. Really simple, and what a good idea. The basic pancake, nicely light and thin and slightly crispy along the edges, was a set price and then there was a whole list of different things that you could have on it. I plumped for wild honey and nuts [walnuts in this instance], one of my colleagues had a plain lemon juice and cinnamon one and I am not sure what the other person had, but it is safe to say that we all enjoyed them. If I go back to Muizenberg I will eat there again. From the point of view of someone who has been involved in the restaurant trade it is a wonderful food idea. Nothing expensive, no huge stocks to keep, easy to make, no wasted ingredients like meat or fish. So simple yet tasty and, whilst not being a gigantic meal, also well able to fill the spot. I cannot remember if there were any savoury toppings - there were so many things listed on the board! And for going to the theatre, actually just the right light snack to have.

Duly fed and watered we walked back to the theatre, the foyer of which was, by then, seething with people. The theatre sells sandwiches, cool drinks and tea, but I think we got the better lunch personally. It was also rather warm and stuffy with all the people standing around and sitting eating and drinking. The theatre is completely staffed by volunteers, so hats off to them anyway.

Time for a visit to the small room and then the bell went, so we all moved into the theatre and took our seats. For a Saturday afternoon the show was well attended and the theatre was almost full, albeit of the wrinkly brigade.

Our row was mostly filled with our own writers circle members, and as the play got under way we were all to be heard laughing - often because we could see some of our members portrayed to a T in the scenes unfolding. There were only 7 actors, and they each played a number of parts, because as the story unfolded different scenarios were presented. It was actually quite interesting because the play started with you being introduced to each member by turn, all of whom had very different personalities and areas of interest - along with the attendant neuroses. None of the members of the circle had been published, except perhaps the host who wrote manuals! The first half of the play ended rather strangely with a complete change of scene to Victorian, a very large sharp knife and a girl screaming, but with the host still portraying himself.

There was quite a buzz as people left the theatre to refresh themselves, with people discussing what had happened or what they thought was going to happen.

All was gradually revealed during the second half of the play as the scenes changed rapidly, switching to and fro on the sound of thunder, portraying the different genres of writing of the members of this writers circle. It was very cleverly done, and I left the theatre at the end having enjoyed it. The write up on the play says it well:

'This zany comedy looks at the fears, longings and literary aspirations of a dysfunctional writers' circle. Ayckbourn turns the serious business of writing on its head with a gentle but fun-filled poke at a number of contrasting literary genres. With a clap of thunder, he plunges these would-be authors into a crazy world of their own unfulfilled aspirations – complete with goblins, detectives, Victorian ladies and aliens.'

Obviously the play did not please everybody in every aspect, but I enjoyed it. But then, I was there to enjoy it - not critique it! I hate it when people pick plays and films to pieces after watching them; it spoils my enjoyment of what was, after all, entertainment.

Roll on my next visit to the theatre!

Keep it clean

2010-02-07T10:12:00.002+02:00

A couple of month’s back I read an article titled ‘Sanitizers may boost bug growth’. Really? I am amazed, I thought, tongue in cheek!

This particular article was written about one particularly lovely bug that is thriving on an extremely strong sanitizer used in hospitals and the like, but I can't help experiencing a certain amount of amazement whenever I read these types of articles. Is the scientific arena worldwide living on a different planet to the rest of us? I ask because I think that every person with a couple of brain cells should have realised that not only does this happen but that we have come to the point of over-sanitisation.

I do not, in any way, advocate us becoming dirty, but, much as we ourselves live on this planet and fight to survive, grow, change and evolve, so do all the 'bugs' that also inhabit the world. They are also much better at evolving and adapting quickly. So we now have super bugs, and, probably, super, super dooper bugs, helped along their evolutionary path by us humans - aren't we nice?

I am not sure if we can backtrack now, or if we are on a beltway that we cannot get off, but a start would be for each of us to practice basic hygiene, like washing our hands after going to the loo, particularly in public toilets - and this applies to you blokes as well! The thought of eating peanuts from a bowl on the bar, that has had people’s dirty mitts in kind of bothers me! We all use too many household cleaners anyway, so why not cut back on those and start using hot, soapy water on a regular basis to clean things? Use wooden chopping boards and toilet seats - wood has an enzyme in it that counteracts germs and is far more hygienic than plastic. Or use marble or glass chopping boards. Wash them thoroughly in hot soapy water after use.

Aside from anything else all these chemicals go back into the water system, the land and the water tables, ultimately ending up back in us, not to mention the things we eat. Think how much you will save on your housekeeping. Think how much less plastic rubbish you will have to dispose of too.

In the past disinfectants were only used for wounds and the like, not for cleaning every single surface in the home and elsewhere. It is a well known fact that elderly people whose homes are not sterile and pristinely clean are still healthy and living quite happily with their bugs and germs, because they and the bugs in their environment are adapted to one another. We all live in home environments that are filled with bugs that live in symbiosis with us. If you declare all out war on these, you create an environment where, to survive, they must evolve and adapt, and they do this very well, as I have already pointed out, and they change into bugs that your body cannot deal with.

In order to survive bugs have to keep their hosts alive and live in relative harmony with them. By creating super bugs that can no longer live in symbiosis with us we are creating a world where they kill us instead, and their cycle of working out how to live in symbiosis with us has to start all over again. This has happened with bigger bugs like yellow fever, polio, measles, bubonic plague, smallpox and a myriad other illnesses caused by bugs that are alive and well and have fought hard to stay alive - just like us, and have made come backs.

Germs, microbes, organisms, bugs, call them what you will, will remain on this planet until it is burnt to a crisp by our sun going nova, so learn to live with your bugs - many of them are friendly and help fight off the not-so-friendly ones in a more natural way. Stop using so many cleaners, soaps and the like that strip your body and everything around you of your symbiotes. Learn to live with them. In the long run you will benefit as they will boost your immune system, because it is not healthy to live in a sterile environment as a generality; it means that you have no immunity against bugs because your system will not be used to fighting them. More and more people are dying in hospital from bugs that have become super bugs; or to which the human form has become un-adapted due to overuse of antiseptics and cleaners.

People seem to think that they will be better off and not have allergies, sickness or things like asthma if they religiously clean everything with antiseptics. This is not so. Many of our modern allergies and so on are not caused by ordinary bugs, but by the chemicals that are in the very air around us from everyday things such as chemicals for cleaning, chemicals that make up the things in our homes, like carpets, bedding, curtains, and cooking utensils and so on, in our cars, everywhere.

So, keep it clean, don’t over preen!

Chameleons

2010-02-07T10:05:00.005+02:00

I know lots of people battle to spot them, but how many of you can say you have loads in your garden? I was one of those who could say that, but since these constant high winds – not anymore. I blame it on the wind and not on the fact that I talked to them - of course.

When we moved into our house 10 years ago there was no garden. Well, there was one moth eaten guava tree, whose sole aim seemed to be to drop tiny bullet hard fruit that played havoc with the lawn mower; dirty sand with patches of moth eaten grass, a succulent plant entwined with a basketball hoop and more cigarette ends than I have ever seen in my life - and I have worked in pubs and bars!

I love gardening, so I started to create a garden. To start with I had no money to spend on loads of plants, so my partner and I took his Kombi and paid a visit to the rubbish dump. This was 10 years back when no one stopped you taking away old tree roots and the like – now I have to pay the guy at the dump if I want old tree roots.

We loaded said tree roots and odd plants that people had dumped and brought them home. These and some sale plants formed the basis of the garden. I will not bore you with too many of the details but the logs and chunks of wood were strategically placed and somewhere along the line we must have brought frogs home with us too as we started getting merry ribbitting in the evenings, particularly after my granddaughter and I spent a day in the rain making a pond in one corner of the garden. So far so good.

Trees started to bush out, and bushes started to grow, creepers covered the walls, and things filled the beds and then one day I spotted a lady chameleon. Now, don’t ask me how you sex a chameleon, because I honestly don’t really know. I have ideas on the subject around the crest on the head, and that seems to work out, but in this case she was a lady and she was pregnant. She had a bad wound on her one side and I did wonder if a bird or cat had had her and dropped her in our garden. At any rate she proved to be the Eve of chameleons for our garden, as she popped babies like it was going out of fashion, and they popped babies, and they popped babies – the garden was a chameleon paradise and breeding ground! Thank goodness they do not chirrup! They can give a good hiss though.

Over by the pond I had planted a reed type grass and the chameleons seemed to like this and used it for a nursery. This was where you first saw the babies. It got so that I would see a large plump chameleon [okay, so chameleons cannot be called plump, but they swell out when full of chameleonettes], hanging around the area and know that we would have new additions to the family. It was my first port of call in the early morning, coffee in hand, to see if there were any on the reedy grass stalks. They are so cute and brown; about an inch to an inch and a half long from tip to tail. They only start changing colour when they get a bit bigger. The have big heads and eyes, like most babies. They look like little brooches, and on the grass stalks they looked like bits of lumpy stalk.

Anyway, the garden was veritably seething with chameleons. I enjoy spotting them no matter how well they blended in. Best time to see them is in late afternoon and early morning – when there is no wind, because in the morning they go high up on any bush or tree or plant to catch the first rays of the sun to warm up. Late afternoon on a still day they tend to be high up again to catch the last of the sun and catch flies and bugs. My partner could never spot them and used to get angry about this, but I have found the best way to spot them is to not look too intensely. Look, but more in a glancing over the shrubbery way. The Western Cape Chameleons are usually to be found as lime or slightly duller green colours with reddish pink patches along their sides. Each one has its own pattern, much like a fingerprint I would guess. I can tell them apart in my garden at any rate.

Eve was around in our garden for about 3 years or so, and then one day I found her dead on the grass. I presume she died of old age – and popping little chameleonettes! But the tribe was well established and we continued to have loads of chameleons. It got so that you had to be careful as you mowed the lawn as they would also take short cuts to a particular bush or tree across the lawn. Fortunately I never chopped one up, but it was a close call on a couple of occasions. I would have been really upset had I done so. I feel they are my family in my garden, and I really do talk to them. My X-lab, Willa, is not keen on them and if she hears me talking in my chameleon voice she is there like a shot to check on these little critters that walk on me. They do get used to handling as well if you do it regularly. I just love their little hands and feet too.

I had to go overseas for a while, but when I got back I was pleased to see a number of them in the garden despite the garden having suffered while I was not there to nurture and look after it. It was my first port of call actually, a tour of the garden to find and talk to my chameleons.

During 2008 they were again thriving as my garden came back to life and burgeoned, and I enjoyed my morning and late afternoon perambulations around the garden looking for my chammies.

I belong to a couple of ‘Friends of’ and have regular talks, and during 2008 we had a lady come and talk to us about the flora and some fauna of the area. She had grown up around there and had, as kids do, come to know the names of the various flora and fauna, and photographed much of it too. She mentioned the Western Cape Dwarf Chameleons and said that they were disappearing, so, after the talk I went to speak to her and tell her about my garden and chammies. A few people asked me what plants and trees I had in my garden that seemed to attract them, because they did not seem to have any in their gardens. I left feeling lucky that I had so many in my garden. Special in fact.

Through 2009, though the garden continued to burgeon – along with the irritating and constantly copulating pigeons and doves, the chameleon population seemed to dwindle. I cannot say I found dead ones either. But, the one thing that did become obvious was that the winds were not only picking up strength, but also becoming more constant.

The Cape has always had its windy periods, but you knew when they were and then they went away and you had weeks and months of fine weather. As 2009 galloped towards its close this was not the case. If there are constant strong winds like we now have, there are fewer flies cleaning their hairy legs whilst sitting on a branch within reach of a sticky, extending chammie tongue, and I think that they have either gone to ground or have died, maybe even moved off.

I had friends arrive in September and October, and fortunately there were several chammies around then for them to photograph and look at, but since around the middle to end of November I have not seen even one! From an extensive family to zilch. I am so sad, and I still look for them in what were their favourite places, as well as the more sheltered places, but I have not seen one.

So, there you probably have an effect of climate change, and this will affect other creatures as well of course. I no longer have frogs in the garden, and I do not hear them ribbitting every evening up the road as they used to do either.

I hope that we are not going to lose the Western Cape Dwarf chameleons. They really are cute.