Moments in Thyme

The Final Chapter - A Thousand days

2015-01-24T09:03:00.003-08:00

You all know how this story ends - our hero didn’t make it.

How long have I been staring at this line, the empty page.

I do not want to write about it

But I have to

No I don’t

I will not write until I want to

Not yet

I am at the Dubai Mall in a restaurant overlooking the fountains and the Burj Khalifa. Italian music plays in the background and there are little bubbles stuck to the slices of lemon in my glass of San Pellegrino water.

I am broken and I feel as if I cannot breathe, yet I stand in deep gratitude to so many people who held and helped and cared and love us.

Look at how much I’ve already written.

Laptop battery ran out.

Do we have batteries? I think mine is also running out. Once someone I didn’t know thought it was very funny when I said ‘battery aziz’ – I still don’t know why.

A little boy who loves me said to me

“Your husband died and you are very sad.” Without giving me time to answer he carried on

“ .. and your heart is broken

<pause>

into a million pieces.”

And I could feel it happening, like a frozen hand relaxing its hold on my heart and I was filled with the beginning of blinding white pain. Just for an instant, before I smiled and chatted to him about strings and giants’ rings and other magical things, of stardust and moonbeams and undreamt dreams, and things that never rust, pirates and gypsies and far off lands and all such splendiferous stuff.

Let us make much ado and raise a hullabaloo

for this moment will n’er come again

The coffee pot is on and the tea kettle is too

There is sugar and cream and honey for the brew

There are cakes and crumpets and sconces

and creamy butter aplenty, enough for one and all

So come on by and sit for a spell

in the parlour or on the porch, or out around the garden well

where the air is so sweetly scented with honeysuckle.

I miss honeysuckle.

Dubai does not smell of honeysuckle

and the people are see-through.

I am back in South-Africa. Psychologists believe human nature is to move away from pain towards pleasure. I have had the tendency to run away from pain ever since I was little, and yes, sometimes I just ran. But there is nowhere to run - the pain is everywhere. They keep telling me that it will get better, but it keeps getting worse.

And the endless paperwork and words like

It has been six months. Six months. I cannot believe he is dead. I cannot believe that Tinus died – I never once thought that he would not make it. I type letter by letter and that is a bit how my world feels. Letter by letter, I keep waking up in the mornings in my bed, the same window the same curtains, the same surreal feeling of Groundhog Day – again, another day. Another day. Another day. And he is still dead.

How am I going to do this?

We agreed that morning, I don’t remember what the date was, that he will collect his scan results from the doctor and we will meet at Uno, (restaurant) since I had a morning job which finished at 12, and he could collect the results at 12.

When I walked in he was sitting there – and in spite of agreeing not to look at the results before I am with him I could see that he did – that the news was not good. The tumour in his liver grew by 7cm in 18 weeks. I remember holding his hands – I remember how tightly he held onto me, and I to him. Tears were running down his face as he said “I am going to do chemo again.” And after looking down at our hands he looked up into my eyes and said – as if angry with himself: “How quickly am I giving in.” Meaning that he will not be carrying on with his regime of alternative treatments and instead go back to chemo … giving in to the accepted norms.

I told him that when you have a big cut on your hand that is spewing blood you put a big plaster on it very quickly – we know that chemo worked before, it is completely understandable that he opts for chemo, and that doesn’t mean that he should stop with the lifestyle and alternative treatments. I suggested that Skye and I cancel our plans for the Camino and that instead we all go to SA where we have more support from our friends and family and he can do both chemo and alternative treatments. He and Louis had separate “boys-only” holiday plans ... he never told me what it was and I don’t want to ask Louis about it.

On the 8^th of June I came home from work in the afternoon and he was pale and clammy and very tired. At that point he stayed at home permanently with the approval of his boss – what an incredible gift that man (David Greer?) gave us. Tinus spent his days with Louis, who finished his IGCSE exam by that time and was home as well. They played a lot of “Age of Wonders” together (computer game.) Tinus also won a playstation 4 at the Video Games Live (VGL) show and the two of them played some flying thing on that as well. I am not sure of the exact order of events … dammit I keep forgetting things, I never forgot anything.

Point being Tinus lost a lot of weight and he was very weak. I was painfully worried about him all the time and constantly had to keep myself from loading him into the car and pitching a tent on the lawn of the City Hospital. But that afternoon/evening he started complaining about a pressure on his chest – so off we sped to the emergency room, (apologies from here on for grammar etc mistakes, I know some of my readers have issues with my creative use of tenses – I am not re-reading this) me thinking … heart attack! We waited in emergency room, nurse came to ask regular questions, name age etc. So Tinus tells her he is 66 – no jokes. I became cold to my bones and I think in that moment I realized something was badly wrong. I hugged him gently and told her he is 45. That morning at 2am he became aware of his surroundings again, looked up at me with those beautiful blue eyes of his and smiled that deep “I love you” smile and said: “Oh my love, it is your birthday, and I had such plans.” I just laughed and said that we will celebrate my birthday when he is all better.

I am owed a birthday.

I never got to know what plans he had.

Our family have .. I guess now it is had … a few birthday traditions. I found the Swiss Army Knife where he hid it in his cupboard only in September. The kids told me that he bought me that for the Camino.

Yes, the Camino. We finally convinced him to go to South Africa and he asked me to do the Camino for him. If you are not sure what I am talking about google Camino pilgrimage. He and Louis left for South-Africa and I keep running that whole day before they left though my mind over and over again. We sat in the ‘red lounge.’ He love sitting on the sofa on the right where the morning sun shone. We sat there and just chatted all day – two of his companies’ HR people came to see him for something or other but the rest of the time it was just us. That was a perfect day, we packed, I think that was the first time in our 25 years together that I actually packed his suitcase. And for the rest of the time we chatted, about things that mattered. It was not on purpose, or perhaps from his side it was – me stupid optimist – but that was the last day for just us. Then I took him and Louis to the airport, he travelled as an assisted passenger because he was so weak, and I hugged him tight and someone pushed him away.

The Camino is another unfinished chapter. We were so worried all the time. We spoke to Tinus on a daily basis but I also called Ulrich every morning and every evening. I made Ulrich promise me to be honest with me; to tell me how Tinus is really doing – and I will come home only when Tinus or Ulrich tells me to come home. Tinus’ health improved so much that he took walks with his mother by the river, he spend a lot of time doing what he loves best, just being with friends, celebrating life. I was told afterwards by Tinus’ mother that that was some of the best times of her life, I also know that this time was very meaningful on different levels to almost each and everyone of our friends and family. Tinus spent a lot of time with Louis, one of his best friends who lives in Canada just happened to be in South Africa and the two of them spent some time together. Yes, everything seemed to be going so great. And yes, everyone was upset with us for not being with Tinus - we were upset with ourselves for not being with him. But we couldn’t not do the Camino, because he asked us to do it for him, so he can get better, and if we give up, we give up on him getting better. So we prayed in the Notre Dame, we walked the streets of Paris, we watched the French country side outside the TGV window change to mountainside, we climbed a huge bloody mountain in the pitiless rain alone next to each other, the sucky sounds of our sodden feet the only words on the mulch covered path under ageless trees. In this deprivation of light our skin is all the more sensitive to the freezing rain. It did not pound or sting, but fell on our faces like bitter little kisses of ice and ran down in tear-like drops from our jaws that were clenched tight to prevent the chattering of teeth or perhaps our screams of worry and fear to escape. We stopped somewhere high for a moment as the sun broke through the gloomy clouds in shafts of light; looking at the incredible distance our feet carried us and our worries. It was one of those golden sunlight moments. Drops of water trickled down my body as I stood there, my gaze fixed on the horizon, staring at the beauty of this world we live in when Skye said: “If you want to go to South Africa we can.” As the clouds continued crying, I felt the rightness of that idea fall around me like a velvet cloak. When we got to the next cloister I called Ulrich and he said it is time for us to come home. Ulrich told me later that when he told Tinus we were coming home his face lit up, but then he said he hope it isn’t because we were worried about him, and Ulrich said no, it is because of the rain.

We travelled for two days, dragging our worries with us as our soggy shoes squelched through airport after airport until my brother collected us from Cape Town International and took us to the hospital and I didn’t recognize Tinus until he looked at me with those blue eyes and Skye burst into tears.

And that was where the world stopped being nice and the days were one long nightmarish moment where I was silently screaming in my head without taking a breath until he stopped breathing and everything became blinding white and silent.

I couldn’t sleep if I wasn’t with him so the hospital gave me a squeaky lazy boy-type chair to sleep in and one morning we sat on his bed like teenagers, cross-legged, with our knees touching and our fingers entwined and he asked me:” Do you think I am going to make it?” And for the first time I wasn’t sure, and I told him so, but said that I am not ready to give up yet. And I asked him – what do you think? And he said he is not sure either, but he doesn’t want to give up yet. It was then that he said to me “I want to get out of hospital and I want to be with you and the kids.” And although I knew it was a bad idea, I put if off as long as possible, and then I got him out of hospital. That first night was a nightmare. We were going to stay in my brother’s house since my parent smoke in their house. Tinus was in pain and extremely nauseous and a disorientated, and there were many many people all making arrangements, saying what needs to happen, being there – trying to help. And friends of a friend of Tinus’ wanted to come and pray for him and inbetween all of this these lovely people are arranging to come from a far away town and then Tinus decided he doesn’t want to see anyone and I have to let them know please don’t come and then Tinus wanted to go to Cape Town for an appointment at an alternative doctor he made and I had to find a way to transport him without causing him too much pain and I couldn’t find a place where I could refill his oxygen bottle and eventually I paid an ambulance to take him to Cape Town and the alternative doctor didn’t have proper facilities for him and I eventually managed to book us a place which ticked all the boxes I needed ticked caring for my terminally ill husband – I arranged for a night nurse and in the dark night I opened my door to a Zimbabwean I have never seen in my life before and I shook his hand saying “please come in, look after my husband, I need to sleep.”

I slept for a few hours and the little bit of recuperation made me realize I am being unreasonable, unrealistic, insane. Tinus belong in the hospital. At that point already he displayed three states of consciousness – completely aware and alert, sleepy and disorientated or deep sleep. I waited until he was completely aware and alert and apologized to him, saying that I am so sorry but I am going to cancel the rest of his alternative therapies and take him to hospital, I am being irresponsible keeping him out of hospital. He needs to be at a facility where he can receive proper care. He needs qualified medical care.

It was raining and misty, I could barely see as we drove through the Southern Suburbs, the long way to Panorama in the Northern suburbs, past so many of our memories. He had his hand on my knee, and every now and again I would cover his hand with mine (manual car) and I wished I could just keep driving, just keep driving in that perfect moment. Where he is with me, gently snoozing, occasionally lifting his head to look at me and smile into my eyes.

The time at Panorama was a bit of a blur, but there are moments of such intense clarity. I was beyond exhausted. Tinus’ brother Cobus and Tinus’ mom took to staying with Tinus alternatively some nights. There were so many people, his mother, his brothers, friends and my family. Lizana told me about the angels. On the Saturday I asked my brother to bring Louis and Skye to come and say goodbye to their dad. I said to them that we need to sit on Tinus’ bed and talk about what we will do so that he will know that we are going to be ok. “But Mom, Louis said, “I don’t know if I will be ok.”

Louis and Skye were with Skye’s friend Ronita’s family in Melkbos. It was a Monday. Tinus wanted me to get the money out of his bank account into mine. I have signing powers on his account but on the Saturday the bank manager wouldn’t believe me: “I can see your signature here Mrs. Olivier but there is no covering message accompanying it.” That Monday morning the oncology ward’s social worker spoke to me and explained to me what to expect when Tinus dies. She said to me that people say that you take three months to recover from the loss of a loved one, and some say that you take a year. But, she said, it takes a thousand days. Three years. Three years. And I remembered – three years ago the oncologist in Somerset-West told me that if we didn’t find the tumour in Tinus’ lung, he would have been fine, and then in three years’ time he would’ve just died. And I wondered if it was worth it, was it worth it, knowing for three years, for three years hoping and fighting and fearing and be-f-king-lieving that he will be fine, that he will recover, that somehow it was a gift that we discovered the tumour and that he could fight it? Wouldn’t it have been better if he just died? ‘Cos he was about to die… three years later.

Ronita’s mom called me to say unfortunately a friend of hers is bringing the children to me as her other daughter has taken ill and needed to be taken to emergency. I took the children to find alternative accommodation where all of us will be able to fit. The bank manager called me to let me know that I can transfer the money from Tinus’ account to mine. I took the kids with me to a nearby restaurant which had internet access and I transferred the money from Tinus’ account into mine. We went back to the hospital and the four of us were together. Tinus’ brother had to go somewhere and his mother went to the little patient lounge to have tea or a break, I can’t remember, but it was just us. Skye sat on Tinus’ left hand holding his hand, Louis sat by his feet and I sat on his right where all the drips and things were. We spoke about what the kids did over the weekend when Tinus started breathing very deeply – if you climbed Kilimanjaro you may know – that deep-deep breathing you have to breath when at the top, like there is not enough oxygen in the entire world to fill your lungs. I could see that it was upsetting the kids. So I asked them if it made them feel worried, and they said yes. And I asked them if they wanted to go to the lounge and be with Ouma Alma for a bit, and they said yes, and I told them to kiss and hug Daddy and tell him that they love him and they did – Louis laid his head on Tinus’ chest while he held him for a long moment and then it was just the two of us. I went around the bed to his left-hand side and Tinus put his arms up and stretched them out as if wanting someone to pick him up, and I knew what was happening, from what Lizana told me. “Oh my love, God sent his angels to come and fetch you, go with them.” I needed him to go in peace, I told him that I love him, and then I kept saying peace, peace my love, peace. His breaths became further apart, still deep long breaths, but with longer and longer spaces in between. And then he just didn’t breathe again. I waited in that unbelievable silence for a while, and then I pressed the call button and told the nurse I think Tinus is dead. And things became blurry again.

The funeral was beautiful – as they say. But it was, the light was unbearably beautiful.

The norm is to say someone lost his/her brave battle against cancer. Tinus didn’t lose his battle, Tinus NEVER stopped fighting. God came and stopped the fight. I am so glad Tinus found the faith of his father again; he went straight into his God’s arms. Have you read that book “The fault in our stars” ? If you did you will know about the bit where the girl posted on Facebook “I feel as if we have all been injured in your fight.” And we all have lost much.

In Dubai I was watching CSI or NCIS or something similar and in the story the woman realize that her husband faked his own death. And there was a voidspace nanosecond where I was so excited – maybe maybe Tinus isn’t dead!! And then suddenly I was crying breathlessly and I felt something inside my shoulder ripping apart, Louis and Skye held me as I clawed myself out of that pit of frozen blades. I wake up in the mornings with tears streaming down the sides of my face, making little puddles in my ears, but no pain, no sadness, just void.

The kids are settled in hostel and I have sort of gathered myself. I almost – but not quite – feel as if I live in Hopefield. I still feel a bit like running. Sometimes I cannot bear to have anyone close to me, I want to sit alone in the dark and hurt and not let go of the hurt as if it somehow still connects me to him. But I can now look at photos of Tinus with a smile. This morning, as the three of us sat on our beautiful stoep having breakfast they told me of their week - many moments of intense happiness and I said to them; look at those moments, how happy you were there. Can you see that we are ok? Aren’t our minds interesting - almost like a toddler: When the toddler is crying bitterly and you say with your oh-so-happy voice “Oooo look adda pretty panda” up comes the little face and if there is a pretty Panda quite soon the little frown has turned upside down.

We will always have a great sadness because we miss Daddy so terribly much, but we have gotten everything from him that we need to be fine. We have the deep sadness because we had such happiness. The sadness sometimes just jump on me out of nowhere. The clouds, the grass, the sunset, my happy children, my breath – all of these things make me cry. But I have these times where I realize that I am not hurting all the time anymore. Tinus was so worried that we are not going to be ok. He was so worried about me. But I think we are ok, if not quite yet, we will get there we will get there.

Thank you so much, for each and every one of you who loved Tinus. Thank you each and every one of you who love me and the kids. Thank you for standing with us, for helping us, for holding us. Please don’t let go just yet.

Eating Praying and Loving

2014-05-24T23:45:00.001-07:00

Last night as I walked outside and the warm night folded around my body I realized the summer is really back now. We've had such a nice long winter and cool spring; every time the Shamals blew their dusty reminders of the coming summer over our desert we cringed and hoped that we'll have a few more weeks or a few more days before summer returns with it furnace breath, sweltering humidity and bleak skies. But it’s here, it returned, and so did Tinus’ cancer.

Cancer is classified into stages and what Tinus has is considered stage IV (four) cancer. This means the cancer has spread (metastasis) and has reached “distant organs.” If you are not one of my Facebook friends or missed a post somewhere you may not know; about a year ago Tinus finished a second series of chemotherapy treatments. His scan immediately after the treatment showed that most of the tumours (at that time he had a tumours in his lungs, lymph nodes and bone) have shrunk. The oncologist wanted him to continue with chemotherapy. “Until when?” was Tinus’ question to him. “Indefinitely, until it stops working,” was the reply. “And then?” Tinus asked. “Well, then we increase the dose,” the good doctor said.

Quick insert here:Please please understand that I am writing here from Tinus' perspective - if you or your loved one opted for chemo it is great, I hope it worked. Every cancer cure is a miracle, like an aeroplane flying (as Tinus puts is) the fact that thousands of aeroplanes fly each day, doesn't make it less of a miracle. There are over a hundred different kinds of cancer and around seven billion different bodies. This is just about him.

At that point Tinus decided to stop with chemotherapy. We adapted our eating habits in such a way that we eat good food that is mostly alkalising. After three months, when Tinus made an appointment with the doctor for his next scan, the doctor initially refused to see him, saying he refused treatment. Tinus pointed out to him that he refused one kind of treatment. He had the scan and the doctor was very impressed; all the tumours were mostly gone. Over December we let the good habits slip, and Tinus developed a cough and eventually lost his voice. The Ear Nose and Throat specialist told him that it is nothing to worry about; a possible result of one of the surgeries. Fortunately Tinus decided to go see a homoeopath and he strongly advised Tinus to consult his oncologist again, and that’s when we got the bad news: Recurring cancer in his lung, lymph nodes and a 4cm tumour in his liver. The oncologist again told Tinus he wants him to have chemotherapy. I have mentioned in a previous blog how the doctors won’t commit themselves; well Tinus asked him straight up: “Will chemotherapy cure the cancer?” And the doctor said no.

Tinus has had an amazing amount of support, he has been “relieved from the responsibility to report to work” in order to fight this time, but his boss urged him to consider seeing the “good” doctors. There are so many wonderful well-meaning friends, friends of friends, colleagues and relatives who have voiced their discomfort or unhappiness with Tinus’ decision not to undergo more chemotherapy. And that is the main reason for me writing this blog. When we are passionate about something, we sometimes come across as irrational. So I am going to try and rationally explain Tinus’ reasons for choosing not to undergo more chemotherapy.

This choice of his lies in the realm of home-schooling your children or leaving the country of your birth: If you've ever done or considered doing any of these you will know almost every single person who criticizes or give well-meaning advice has never actually done what you chose to do and therefore really know nothing about it. What you do they find strange, it may scare them because you are doing something they can’t: with your action, you take responsibility or control. Someone else is not responsible for your well-being any more, you are.

I pray that you don’t know anything about cancer and chemotherapy, because really, the only reason why you’d know about this (unless you’re an oncologist) is because it affected either you or someone you love or care for.

Firstly; what is chemotherapeutic medicines actually?

Did you know that chemotherapy agents (I am not going to call it medicine any more) is a derivative of mustard gas? “The nitrogen mustards are cytotoxic chemotherapy agents similar to mustard gas. Although their common use is medicinal, in principle these compounds can also be deployed as chemical warfare agents. Nitrogen mustards are non-specific DNA alkylating agents. As with all types of mustard gas, nitrogen mustards are powerful and persistent blister agents and the main examples (HN1, HN2, HN3) are therefore classified as Schedule 1 substances within the Chemical Weapons Convention. The original nitrogen mustard drug, mustine (HN2), is no longer commonly in use for reasons unknown. Other nitrogen mustards developed as treatments include cyclophosphamide, chlorambucil, uramustine, ifosfamide, melphalan, and bendamustine. Bendamustine has recently reemerged as a viable chemotheraputic treatment.” Quoted from Wikipedia

Google Nitrogen Mustard – see for yourself.

How is it administered?

When medical personnel handle the chemotherapy chemicals they are wearing full-body chem suits. It is really disconcerting to think that the medical personnel protect themselves with these chemical suits - have you seen it? It has the thickness and feel of thick rubber gloves, and then the patient must mainline those poisons …oops losing the rational attitude there. Tinus has a ‘port’ which is a subcutaneous (under his skin) catheter connected to a port which was surgically inserted (tunnelled) under the skin of his chest. When he gets chemo, a special needle is inserted through his skin into the rubber seal which gives direct access, or is actually in, a vein.

Why do the medical personnel wear these protective suits? Danish epidemiologists used cancer-registry data from the 1940s to the late 1980s to report a significantly increased risk of leukaemia among oncology nurses and, later, physicians. Another Danish study of more than 92,000 nurses found an elevated risk for breast, thyroid, nervous-system and brain cancers. The Seattle Times ran an article that told the story of a pharmacist who died of cancer she believed was caused by her merely handling chemotherapy chemicals:

“Lifesaving drugs may be killing health workers: Nurses, pharmacists and others who handle chemo drugs have been getting sick. Despite multiple studies that indicate the drugs actually may cause cancers, the federal government doesn't require safeguards on the job.”

Read the article here:

http://seattletimes.com/html/localnews/2012327665_chemo11.html

Another article read: “A study conducted over ten years from the U.S. Centre for Disease Control confirmed that chemotherapy drugs continues to contaminate the work spaces where it's used and in some cases is still being found in the urine of those who handle it..."

If these drugs are so dangerous to the medical personnel, how can they be considered "safe enough" to inject into patients who have cancer? Are you thinking it is because of ‘continuous exposure’? There are reported cases of medical personnel spilling these drugs on themselves once – a single exposure – and becoming seriously ill. But let us assume it is a question of continuous exposure – remember the good doctor wanted Tinus to have chemotherapy – indefinitely. I think that can count as more of less ‘continuous’ don’t you think?

Right, so how do chemotherapy chemicals work?

This is copied from the Cancer Research UK website in order to maintain the rationality aspect:

“Chemotherapy damages the genes inside the nucleus of cells. Some drugs damage cells at the point of splitting. Some damage the cells while they are making copies of all their genes before they split. Cells that are at rest, for instance most normal cells, are much less likely to be damaged by chemotherapy. The fact that chemotherapy drugs kill dividing cells helps to explain why chemotherapy causes side effects. It affects healthy body tissues where the cells are constantly growing and dividing. The skin, bone marrow, hair follicles and lining of the digestive system are examples of cells that are constantly growing and dividing. Because these tissues have dividing cells they can be damaged by chemotherapy.”

Six months after his last chemotherapy Tinus has still not recovered from some of the side effects of the chemotherapy that he has undergone. Chemotherapy attacks rapidly reproducing cells, which includes some types of cancer cells, but it also attacks your white blood cells, a major player in your immune system. Your immune system is what keeps you alive.

“The majority of the cancer patients in this country die because of chemotherapy, which does not cure breast, colon or lung cancer. This has been documented for over a decade and nevertheless doctors still utilize chemotherapy to fight these tumors.” (Allen Levin, MD, UCSF, “The Healing of Cancer”, Marcus Books, 1990).

Now, you have chemotherapy but it doesn’t kill all the cancer cells. It is a real possibility – also something the oncologist will tell you if you ask him. How will your body defend itself without an immune system? You have very little defences left to prevent any remaining cancer cells from reproducing. If you still have cancerous cells in your body, they will take over like wild fire. I’ve seen it happen, and if you know Tinus, you have too.

How well does chemotherapy work?

The Cancer Research UK website says:

The chance of the chemotherapy curing your cancer depends on the type of cancer you have
·         With some types of cancer most people are cured by chemotherapy
·         With other types of cancer fewer people are completely cured
With some cancers, chemotherapy can't cure the cancer on its own. But it can help in combination with other types of treatment. For example, many people with breast or bowel cancer have chemotherapy after surgery to help lower the risk of the cancer coming back.
With some cancers, if a cure is unlikely, your doctor may still suggest chemotherapy to
·         Shrink the cancer
·         Relieve your symptoms
·         Give you a longer life by controlling the cancer or putting it into remission

I think if we look at Tinus’ history so far and what the doctor said, we can infer that he possibly fall in the latter category. And although he understands that the doctor has the best intentions to try to help him, Tinus is no longer willing to risk the destructive side effects associated with chemo.

Does this mean he is not fighting back? He is fighting, trust me, he is fighting. But how?

In June last year CNN ran a story under the headline:

“No more chemo: Docs say it's not so far-fetched.”

Another article the year before that in Time Magazine read:

“On the Horizon at Last, Cancer Drugs that Harness the Body’s Own Immune System. Researchers have long hoped to corral the immune system in the war on cancer. Now, antibody-based compounds show new promise. “

Tinus has opted for what is generally known as “alternative therapies.” Naturopaths believe that cancer is not an illness but the symptoms of an illness. Causes of illness are toxins in the body, lack of oxygen and a weak or deficient immune system. As you read this you may think quackery or whatever, but it dawned on me at some point, if chemotherapy has to be judged under the same criteria as the thing people normally have against alternative therapies the picture is pretty much the same: Does it always cure cancer? No.

Tinus is currently undergoing an intense body detox by managing what we eat in conjunction with the Three Wells Therapy. Three Wells produces food supplements. The special composition of the nutritional supplements was designed by Rob Nijsen, father of a child with autism. The nutritional supplement must be administrated in a specific order (in accordance with a protocol), step by step. The goal of the treatment is to support the immune system. This method is not scientifically proven. Read more about this here:More about Three Wells

In order to help increase the oxygen levels in his body he is undergoing ozone therapy twice a week. The idea exists that cancer cells thrive in low-oxygen environments. It is believed that adding oxygen to the body creates an oxygen-rich condition in which cancer cells cannot survive. Supporters of this type of treatment claim that it increases the efficiency of all cells in the body and increases energy, promotes the production of antioxidants, and enhances the immune system. Ozone is forced into a pint of blood that has been drawn from him using special equipment. The blood is then returned to his body. The use of ozone in small amounts under controlled conditions for treating limited parts of the body has shown some success in mainstream medical research studies.

The third therapy he is undergoing is Quantum Biofeedback resonance. This therapy was once accredited by the FDA but the accreditation has since been revoked. Sale of some of the specific machines used for this therapy had been banned in the USA, Canada, Europe and even South Africa. In amongst all the media hype surrounding the inventor (heavily criticised for being a transvestite) I could find very little about the actual technical workings of these machines themselves. Quite often people add the word quantum to something they can’t quite explain but here is a short explanation by a practitioner:

“It scans the patient's body like a virus-scan on a computer, looking for everything from viruses, deficiencies, weaknesses, allergies, abnormalities and food sensitivities. It reports on the biological reactivity and resonance in your body and indicates needs, dysfunctions and vulnerabilities. The information provided is fundamentally different from X-rays, blood tests, etc.., as it tells us about the energetic state of your body and the direction in which the body is focusing its energy.”

Something I know is that one doesn't have to believe in something for it to work or to be true. SO this is the way Tinus is fighting cancer. What I have written about here is not all, there are numerous other things; we've discovered that most of the local bottled water has a ph of lower than 7, so we drink only a specific type of bottled water and he bought a water alkalising unit. He drinks spoonfuls of apple cider vinegar at mealtimes and we use sacred frankincense oil (this I believe in) he meditates and read inspiring cure yourself type books. No meat, no milk products no gluten and more and more and more…

You must be weary of reading now – I am weary of writing. Does this sound like the desperate measures of a desperate man? It is. He is scared and so am I, we all are. My two wonderful children are so brave. We try to make future plans but it feels forced, like laughing at a non-funny joke. We try to do other things but it’s always there. So we eat, we pray and we love as that amazing book says:

“Happiness is the consequence of personal effort. You fight for it, strive for it, insist upon it, and sometimes even travel around the world looking for it. You have to participate relentlessly in the manifestations of your own blessings. And once you have achieved a state of happiness, you must never become lax about maintaining it. You must make a mighty effort to keep swimming upward into that happiness forever, to stay afloat on top of it.”
― Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

It’s not what you eat

2013-05-02T00:23:00.000-07:00

I think I told you I found this quote somewhere:

“It’s not what you eat – it’s what’s eating you.”

But eating right – “The right stuff” – is soooo important. So this, I hope, will help all of you, whether or not you are dealing with cancer; this is practically the recipe to a long a happy life.

So my story today starts in 1931 when a Dr. Otto Warburg was awarded the Nobel prize. He discovered that cancer is caused by weakened cell respiration due to lack of oxygen at the cellular level. He also proved that cancer thrives in anaerobic (without oxygen), or acidic, conditions. In other words, the main cause for cancer is acidity of the human body.

Here is the technical bit – but take your time and read it slowly; I believe we have to understand something to take away our fear of it. So here goes: In his Nobel Prize winning study, Dr. Warburg illustrated the environment of the cancer cell. According to him, damaged cell respiration causes fermentation, resulting in low pH (acidity) at the cellular level. Ok so far? The damaged cells start to ferment causing acidity.

He also wrote about oxygen's relationship to the pH of cancer cells’ internal environment: “Since fermentation was a major metabolic pathway of cancer cells, cancer cells maintain a lower pH, as low as 6.0, due to lactic acid production and elevated CO2.”

HE PROVED CANCER CANNOT GROW NOR DEVELOP IN BODY ALKALINITY OF 7.36.

He firmly believed that there was a direct relationship between pH and oxygen: Higher pH (alkaline) means higher concentration of oxygen molecules while lower pH (acidic) means lower concentrations of oxygen.

A normal healthy cell undergoes an adverse change when it can no longer take in oxygen to convert glucose into energy. In the absence of oxygen, the cell reverts to a primal nutritional program to nourish itself by converting glucose through the process of fermentation. The lactic acid produced by fermentation lowers the cell pH (acid/alkaline balance) and destroys the ability of DNA and RNA to control cell division. The cancer cells then begin to multiply. The lactic acid simultaneously causes severe local pain as it destroys cell enzymes. Cancer appears as a rapidly growing external cell covering, with a core of dead cells… And there you have it: We have known the proven cause, prevention & cure of cancer since 1931:

Eat alkaline forming food

Funny thing is that things which appear acidic e.g. lemon juice and tomato are actually alkalizing foods while food that appears to be alkaline e.g. milk is actually highly acid forming. For a detailed list on alkalizing foods feel free to Google but here is the bottom line: All meat and animal products are bad – i.e. acid forming. But a surprising amount of vegetarian go-to options are also acid forming: Here is a list of the things we would think are alkaline but are in fact acid forming:

Almond Milk, Black Beans, Chick Peas, Green Peas, Kidney Beans, Lentils, Pinto Beans, Red Beans, Rice Milk, Soy Beans, Soy Milk, White Beans, Cashews, Legumes, Peanut Butter , Peanuts, Pecans, Tahini, Walnuts , Corn, Lentils, Olives, Winter Squash, Blueberries, Canned or Glazed Fruits, Cranberries, Currants, Plums, Prunes …. And my dears the list goes on.

SO WHAT DO WE EAT??

The key is balance. We should aim for a 60-40 balance where most of the food we eat will be alkalizing. Tinus aims for a 80-20 balance, where the 20% is literally left for accidentals, I try my best to ensure that not one thing we eat will contribute towards acidifying his body. But we have problems like fruit that are highly anti-oxidant e.g. blueberries but which are acid forming, coffee, same thing, high on anti-oxidants but also highly acidifying. I’ll tell you now how I deal with it – but for you, just remember the balance 60-40. And please don’t stress – because stress undo all the good you try to do with eating right, so if you love cheese – cheese it up, the happiness factor balances it out :D

Here then are some of the foods I have in our arsenal and links to why:

Broccoli: http://www.naturalblaze.com/2013/04/broccoli-kills-stem-cells-that-make.html

Mushrooms: http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2011/06/110606092736.htm

Dark chocolate: http://www.livestrong.com/article/465878-what-are-anti-cancer-benefits-of-dark-chocolate/

Red Beets: http://www.keelynet.com/biology/beets.txt

Rocket (Arugula) http://www.naturalhealth-solutions.net/healthy-eating/arugula-is-your-best-friend

Babana (with dark patches) http://lifestyle.beiruting.com/2012/bananas-with-dark-patches-on-yellow-skin-anti-deadly-cancer%E2%80%8F/

Green tea and Rooibos mix http://www.foxnews.com/health/2012/10/19/green-tea-anti-cancer-secrets-revealed/ the rooibos ‘cos its yummy and good and I don’t have to say anything else – oh yes, just one thing: It makes the green tea drinkable : D

Bazil nuts for Selenium but Tinus also takes a Selenium supplement: http://www.naturalnews.com/016446_selenium_nutrition.html

Spinnach: http://www.spinachwords.com/anti_cancer.shtml

Honey and cinnamon: http://www.livestrong.com/article/517771-honey-cinnamon-powder-for-cancer/

There are many more – spring onion, garlic, kale and and and .. but these are the ones we have on a daily basis. And then our morning smoothie – I have a few standard ingredients and then I may add a few optionals. But before we start: Blue berries are our daily basis BUT it is acid forming – actually most fruit are because of the sugar in fruit. Happily I have discovered that the fat in coconut milk slows down the absorption of the fruit into your blood stream. http://www.livestrong.com/article/557506-coconut-milk-cancer/

Anti-cancer smoothie:

I use mostly frozen ingredients, it’s great in our summers here, plus easier to have on hand every day. Just a note – please peel your bananas before you freeze them – if you don’t, you’ll remember that I said you should J

1 cup blue berries / blackberries (or both)

1 cup mixed berries

1 cup young coconut milk

1 banana

Piece (about 7cm) of fresh ginger root chopped small

1 tsp Cinnamon

Optional – if I have – theses always fresh

Melon (cantaloupe)

Red beet

Cucumber

Alpha alpha sprouts

Celery

Blend and serve – in pretty glasses, to enjoy if possible sitting down in your garden or in your favourite place without rushing, thinking how blessed we are to have so many beautiful things on this planet to help us heal and grow – especially the people who love and support us – like you.

It was the worst of Times

2013-04-07T04:34:00.001-07:00

It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.

Another long stretch of no blogging – so sorry – like I said, sometimes I don’t blog because we’re so happily busy, and sometimes there are the dark days when I don’t dare blog for fear of spewing pain over the lovely white pages waiting to reflect my sadness and despair. A few diary entries to help us catch up:

18 January: Happy day. The results of the bone scan will be available on Sunday, 20 Jan. One of the highlights for me yesterday was late afternoon: We drove out and found a sand dune not far from our house, where we could see the airplanes come in to land (on final approach) we listened to Nightwish and watched the planes land and the setting sun painted the sky orange and pink and everywhere around us, and in us and through us swirled delicate ribbons of Octarine.

24 January: Happy day. Oh my word, I still haven’t posted this – it is an old weakness of mine, unwritten letters used to clutter my desks from home to home. So on Thursday it was Tinus’ birthday, on Friday we went to his company’s beginning of year function, it was lovely – based on the X-Factor idea, people in the company performed singing, dancing and acting pieces. Sadly the guys far outshone the girls. Saturday was the appointment with doc, the bone scan result: “The appearance of the activity at the left humeral head medially with the subtle CT change is probably suggestive of solitary lytic lesion.”

This is very typical of what we are dealing with on a regular basis. Firstly the doctors are very reluctant to commit to any opinion, and then there are the words. Having cancer in the family certainly increased our vocabulary. Anyway, so if you ask Google you will see that a lytic lesion is an area of a bone that has been infected by cancer, or a fungal infection, another type of infection or TB.

So we’re still not sure. On Sunday I had the first meeting with the new South African Women’s Association’s photography club – it was great, really looking forward to seeing where this is going. On Monday Tinus was scheduled for a biopsy (EBUB), I scrambled around trying to manage the logistics around getting Tinus to the hospital and the kids to and back from school between their various extra murals. The Monday biopsy was then postponed till Tuesday at which point I decided to let the kids stay home from school for the day. Sometimes I just wish all the other things can be put on hold so we can focus on this one thing. The biopsy went fine but I didn’t see the doctor afterwards, appointment scheduled for Saturday.

Tinus said that he now wants to start the chemo even if the doctor thinks he’s got a good chance of removing the cancer in the lower lung by means of surgery. If he gets surgery now it will be another six weeks before they can start chemo and he doesn’t want to take the risk of waiting any longer.

Today is Thursday, the Prophet’s birthday, a lovely lazy stay-at-home day. We actually fled to miss the volumous joyful celebrations we expect to be echoing from the mosque speakers shortly to a lovely little place I’ve recently discovered called Café Retro. The two of us are sitting here side by side on a sofa with the faces of The Beatles quilted onto it, jazz music playing in the background and the remnants of our two “shots of ginger and honey” on the table in front of us. (Dis lekkerrr want dis gesond) Mmm yeah, here and now, life is good.

7 April: And here we are today; Tinus is busy getting his 3^rd session of chemo in this series - after this they are going to do another PET scan to see if the cancer reacts to the chemo – if it’s going away. This is so scary. The worst thing is that you do not actually know if what you’re doing is the right thing. Everywhere you read about how bad it is to get chemo – how chemo causes cancer to come back stronger (like Tinus’) and that it shortens your life, instead of lengthening it.

We are trying so hard to eat right, to reduce stress, to be happy. Surprisingly hard. A while ago Tinus said to me that after this chemo he’s not going to have any more – irrespective of the outcome – and that scares me. It feels as if we will choose not to do anything, but you know what, I do think living well is a good strategy. Interesting point in case:

We’ve been focusing on the alkaline vs acid food. Tinus measures the Ph levels of his body every morning; And in spite of us (when I say us I mean me) making sure that we eat the right food some mornings his body Ph is completely acid. Which is rather demoralizing, but we carry on – fortunately its really easy – I love the pretty food we eat, lots of veggies and fruit, over here of course we can get the most interesting fruit and veggies from all over the world. I also make sure that we only eat organic, non GM food.

For the past week we were on holiday in Fujairah. Eating hotel food – and although you can choose healthy food from the buffet – some people - I don’t specifically want to mention Tinus :p – doesn’t, and when the waiter comes to take our drinks order, the same people would order Sprite or Coke. Then when we got home we had the weekend at Comic con, where the healthiest thing we could buy was beer ^^ However, this morning, when he did his Ph test it was 9!!! Completely alkaline – my opinion: De-stressing way more effective than diet in maintaining a good healthy body.

The drip here next to me has a surprisingly soothing putt putt putt sound, pumping poison into Tinus’ body. What are we doing? Is this good, is it working? Tinus said to me just now he is fine, as long as he’s not in hospital, but as soon as he gets here he gets this ”Oh fuck I’ve got cancer” feeling. This time around the nausea is less than during the previous series of chemo sessions. The chemo this time is stronger – they actually keep him overnight, and he’s got this port thingy implanted under his skin to prevent his arteries from decaying too rapidly. Scary scary scary. He gets five different anti -nausea medications, as well as an anti-nausea patch, then there are at least nine more bottles and boxes of medication. At the end of the first week after the chemo, he gets a series of subcutaneous injections to prevent his bones from deteriorating – I don’t think I actually said, but yes, the cancer has spread to his bones.

There is a part of me that wants to stay right here, in this moment in time. Here in hospital, at the beginning of spring in the desert, Tinus next to me, safely in the hospital bed, happily working on his laptop with the chemo running into his veins. Here in this moment where we are safe in the knowledge that this could work. I do not want to move to tomorrow, where Tinus will feel sick and weak, where he will suffer from fever and cold sweats alternately, where his body will hurt and rebel in agony as it try to reject the poison that we fed it. I do not want to move into that day somewhere after tomorrow’s tomorrow where we know for sure if this was worth it.

We think we know so much, but we know so little. We try to believe so hard, and we find it so hard to believe, we try to do what is right, and we do do what we think we know is wrong. It is not easy, but it rained last night and rain in the desert is always wonderful. This was doubly special, because it was possibly the last rain of winter – tomorrow will be spring. Let it be our spring of hope, after the winter of despair.

It was the best of times

2013-02-11T01:05:00.000-08:00

Sunset at Bab al Shams (Gateway of the sun)

2013. I know a lot of you think when I don’t blog it’s because it’s not going well. Well, sometimes, a lot of times actually, I’m just having too much fun, seizing the days of brilliant sunshine and floating in bubbles of happiness.

Bab al Shams in the moontlight

17 January: Happy day; It is Tinus’ birthday and we’re having a lovely day. The reason why I’m blogging now is because he’s busy getting a bone scan. So a quick catch-up for those of you who missed the bits in between: There were more spots … out damned spot … there was the TB and lots of medications but spots are not going away, so doc says let’s take them out .. de ja vu .. operation, took five lymph nodes out some tested positive for cancer, yet another PET scan was scheduled but we had to wait for op scars to heal. It was Christmas then Lizana and Ulrich came to visit for ten days and it was the best of times:

Having the two of them here was such a treat! They are part of our Hopefield family, our neighbours and such good friends. Upon arrival Ulrich announced that they will take care of meals, which couldn’t have been more perfect. Many of my fondest Hopefield memories feature an afternoon/evening spent with the rest of the family around some interesting and or exotic culinary creations by the master chef extraordinaire team aka Lizana and Ulrich.

On the way here Lizana sat next to someone who said a weekend is all you need to see and do all that there is to see and do here … good response word here : incredulous … Lizana and Ulrich were here for ten days and I think we got about halfway through everything we could have seen and done. Dubai and the UAE is such an amazing place (how many times have I said that :D ) and there are so many things to experience here that I actually worked out an itinerary to make sure that we get as much out of the time we have together as we can. I wanted to make it so special, for this was also a holiday for Tinus, in the normal course of living here he sees very little outside of his office walls or boardroom windows.

Lizana and Ulrich in front of the Burj Khalifa

Destination Dubai:

Dear Lizana and Ulrich

Thank you so much for choosing Olivier tours for your vacation operator.

Please find attached a suggested itinerary.

27 Dec: Arrival: 05H35 @ DXB followed by lots of hugging and kissing :D Relaxed morning, possible early afternoon nap. (R&R) We were thinking of sun downers at Bab Al Shams followed by Baskin Robbins (Ibn Battuta Mall) and a night drive home via Shk Zayed rd

28 Dec: Sunrise from highest building in the world - tickets booked for 06H30

Breakfast at Tiffany’s not available (yet) but perhaps Armani ^^ or one of the many other places.

Possible afternoon nap (R&R) for evening out. ~~Possible Festival City with water and light show.~~

29 Dec: Ain trip: Camel chocolate factory, Camel souq, tea at road side tea shop with ultimate aim for late lunch at Jebal Hafeet which will linger till sunset and then drive home.

30 Dec: Bastika Heritage tour – tickets booked for 10H30 The tour takes place in old part of Dubai, after tour (which I think includes dates and coffee) ~~we can take an abra (water taxi) to the spice & gold souq,~~ lunch at the creek side café. ~~Possible movie under the stars in the evening at Wafi rooftop garden.~~

31 Dec: ~~Sharjah Blue souq, Aviation museum, quick trip to the beach to dip our toes in the Persian Gulf and back home for afternoon nap.~~ (R&R) Desert Drumming – starts at 20H30 … return home next year.

etc etc ...

“Olivier Tours” actually managed to stick to their schedule fairly well. The strikethrough showed the ones we didn’t do. I loved the way Lizana would say “When last did you do something for the first time? Oh yes, today, and yesterday, and the day before that.”

Ulrich in the Old Souk

The time passed so quickly – ha ha – I just had this in my head : <disembodied dramatic voice> “… like sand through the hour glass..” get it… sand .. desert… anyway.

Before we knew it Ulrich had to leave. His sister and her family moved to Dubai quite recently and on the second to last evening that he spent with us we had a lovely braai at our place with them as well as a long-time friend of Ulrich’s who lives in our area and his family and a few of our friends and parts of their family. The evening turned out to be so much like the evenings at the Merry Widow, a perfect end to a lovely holiday.

Lizana striking a girly pose in Rak Al Khaima

Lizana stayed on for a couple of days more and it was exactly what I needed, girl time :D On the last day of Lizana’s stay she was part of one of our more regular experiences – an appointment at the oncologist:

We went to the doc to get the results of Tinus’ most recent PET scan, the one after surgery in December. He showed us the scan on his computer screen - it lit up like a macabre Christmas tree: bright lights showing hot spots from his left clavicle to his lower right lung. His oncologist suggests that we prepare for the worst – because of the lymph nodes all being connected he wants us to consider the possibility that the cancer cells could be spread all over his body and that he would now classify the cancer as aggressive. And it was the worst of times.

Palm Trees and Pigeons

2012-10-25T09:35:00.001-07:00

So you know I have these three palm trees in the garden – one that is now officially dead, one doing ok-ish and one which had lots of dates on, enjoyed by our multitude of bird-residents. I think they – the palm trees – have never really been looked after and I thought the time has come for them to be pruned. I bought a saw and luckily we have a ladder. This ladder normally looks like a very big accordion –rather complicated. The kind of ladder which one woman cannot operate by herself , she may very possibly loose some fingers in the process - there are these clips and levers and things that make it un-collapse, so she asked her kind husband to pretty please drag the ladder outside and make it look like a ladder and he said he’ll do it. Now if a man says he’ll do something, he’ll do it – there’s no need to remind him every six months about it.

Great joy when the ladder was dragged outside and made to look like a ladder last weekend. I did a little happy dance, went inside and got the saw. One two six and I was up in the palm tree merrily sawing away at the dusty –surprisingly spikey - branches for several minutes before I realized that the saw makes absolutely no impression on the branch. Upon closer inspection I realized the saw came fitted with some kind of plastic protective sheath-thingy, covering the blade (which I never saw.) That went flying off quickly before anyone (Tinus) could see and by the time he appeared outside again I had a neat (ok, more like scattered all over the lawn) pile of palm leaves – if you think one has to call them fronds – I refuse to use that gentle word to describe these leaves – these have several extremely sharp spikes just where you have to grip to stop yourself from falling out of the tree.

If you look real careful you may
see the mom and little one

Even though it is turning nicer out these days it was hard work – Tinus soon pitched in (or up) as I took a break and we slowly progressed. One done and we were about two thirds finished with the second when all of a sudden (Tinus was up on the ladder) a pigeon fluttered out from between the palm leaves and from the ground I could see a little wing frantically flapping as the little pigeon in the nest tried to stop itself from falling out. We almost broke a nest with a little one still in it! Tinus made sure the nest was secure and steady and we decided to leave the pruning to be finished on another day.

Little Lives by Tshepang Makofane

I was so worried that the mom had such a fright that she’d abandon the little one, but the next morning I saw the two of them in the tree. With most of the leaves cut away I had a clear view of the nest and saw the little one came out of the nest to practice his/her little wings with the mom on a nearby branch looking on. Now, every morning when I have my morning coffee in the garden I see the two of them and it makes me happy. When I told her about this, Maria remarked that the mom must be very happy that we didn't destroy her house and for some or other reason I thought of this painting which one of my children from Boys High (Tshepang Makofane) did, called “Little lives.”

He explained to me – I hope I can bring the idea across correctly – that these two kids’ lives are seemingly insignificant compared to the famous faces on the wall, if they should die (the little one in a hospital gown – possibly aids) the world will not know. I guess it may be because I now know about the life of this little bird.

And after having read this - so do you :)

In the City of Life

2012-10-19T22:16:00.001-07:00

We've now been here for a year and things are finally at a point where we can focus on just living. Tinus and the kids have settled in their respective routines and now - without any major supportive and motivational functionality in the family I find myself itching for something meaningful to do.

For someone without a job I'm actually quite busy :) My life circles around various social activities - this is the City of Life - so I'm just living. Many of us live in places people pay lots of money to come and visit - yet we hardly ever do any of the touristy things ourselves; so I've decided to live, when I can, as if I'm a tourist myself.

After a year I'm now over the malls - we do go there, but I still prefer the more traditional places. A while ago my lovely friend Petra took me shoe shopping; Petra has many talents, one of which is knowing where to shop and so we set off to Karama.

This is the place where wonderful words like abra and dhow, souk and Bastika become part of the conversation. Traffic is crazy and the minute you enter the narrow streets flanked by alley ways stuffed to the brim selling any kind of merchandise available from East to West, you become part of the old traditional Dubai.

You have to haggle; best price for good luck, hands and voices raised trade gets done and both parties - normally - walk away satisfied. The reason why Petra is the shopping guru is this:
Trader: "Lovely scarf for you - today only 180 dirhams!"
Petra: "Is that your best price?"
Trader: "Always best price for you madam."
Petra: "I'll give you 20."

She eventually bought it for thirty I think, but this is the thing; I would've bargained him down to 150 and thought I got a good deal. It's a great gift to have her to shop with.

From the old souk we crossed the creek on an Abra - for two dirhams!! To get across to the spice souk side, but like I said, our aim was shoes. We eventually found the Aerosoft outlet and I bought EIGHT pairs of shoes...for the price of one pair. Just so you know - not all for me, but WOW!! I'm told in South Africa they sell for R250 a pair - so when you come visit, come with an empty suitcase :)

This blog is getting long and I feel as if I'm not saying much. I think this is more a what we did since last we spoke kinda blog :) So, Petra's daughter had her 21st on a Dhow - it was a nerd dress up thing, which was hard for me to dress for, so I went as myself :) It was amazing!! Lovely full moon on the creek with conversation and music happening around you while the city drifts past decked out in her evening lights. Food was middle eastern - yummy and pretty.

The South African Women's Association asked me to host a monty coffee morning here in Mirdiff and we had the first of that. New faces who turns into new friends - all good. They've also asked me to take photos at a fashion show - Baruni - check her out on facebook - lovely stuff. Took Petra's older daughter with - up and coming photographer, had fun with that. Been to the beach with Maria and Cobus - lovely relaxing day, had a few dinners over the weekends and those are all the noteworthy events I can think of at the mo.

The weather is brilliant - I'm outside at the moment under my trees with all the birds singing happily as I'm writing this. The kids have started mid-term break, they're off for a week. Skye's just back from another outdoor adventure with the school and Tinus is leaving for Cape Town in a week's time.

Hopefully, by the time I write next I'll have something more meaningful to say - in the mean time life is good, here in the City of Life.

The Happy Ending

2012-09-26T00:24:00.002-07:00

Now where were we? Right, so we had this brilliant holiday in the Western Cape with all we love, care for and enjoyed while waiting for the results of Tinus’ final CT scan. The flowers were the best I’ve seen over the past almost ten years since my love affair with the West Coast started. Most of our days were sunny, people opened their hearts and houses for us and took time out of their lives to be with us. There were so many highlights – if my holiday was a photo it might have been very nearly overexposed.

My memory snapshots will include scenes from my parents’ house – my dad probably standing next to the indoor barbeque watching rugby/cricket while tending the fire, my mom with her laptop/kindle and definitely a small “Hanepootjie” somewhere in the picture. Another one will be on the stoep of the River Cottage with Lana and the three Antoni’s … yes, three - you’re not counting Cous-cous. There will be one of all of the Hopefield family around a long table in the Merry Widow. There will be one in Mathe’s new kitchen – Once upon a Bread central, showing her, slightly floury yet elegant, with both her hands either working the dough or gesturing as she colours her dream. Ilze’s garage will feature – she will be covered in sawdust, smiling her trademark smile, possibly wielding some dangerous looking power tool and there may be more than one snapshot featuring the walks with Margo and her kids.

There will only be two photos with no one in them: One showing Geraldine’s stylish – surprisingly comfortable – lounge set, with no one in it, symbolizing the many hours we spent draped over the couches discussing things which shall not be named…again. The other one without anyone in it is a photo of a dream house in Hopefield, with walls newly painted in happy hues waiting to begin the story of Mr and Ms Malmal and son. There will be a photo showing my sister laughing in the sun – you won’t be able to tell where she is, because wherever she is, she’s always in my heart. And there might also be a slightly blurry underexposed photo of someone who may be my brother.

Apart from all of these will be a stack of photos showing scenes from the observatory in Cape Town. Of all the people I spent time with, the time with my “old” friend Chantal was by far the shortest – but it left the greatest impression on me. I love seeing how my friends build their own happy endings. Thank you Chantal, for making time for us, for sharing your amazing world – what am I saying – universe, with us. And thank you, for leaving footprints in my heart.

And so on one of the few rainy mornings my phone rang – it was Tinus. The kids were still sleeping. I went outside to have a smoke in the rain while he told me that the CT scan showed that the spots they saw the previous time were bigger and there were more. And I thought of how Tinus says he does his crying in the rain – but I didn’t.

I don’t like using a flash when I take photos. You know that feeling you have in your eyes after someone used a flash on you. It is as if your head, your mind … your soul is filled with never ending blinding white. (No wonder some natives think you steal their soul when you take a photo of them.) The rest of the holiday was like that.

Then on the plane back to Dubai I watched the movie “The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel.” And in the movie the young man says:”Everything will be all right in the end... if it's not all right then it's not the end. “

Two days after we were back TInus had another biopsy. The week of waiting was endless as usual. And finally the result came back – we had to go see the doctor for this: During the appointment the doctor said that he’s not sure though why the nodes are still showing red – so whatever it is, he wants to have it removed. (Déjà vu) There is a doctor at the same hospital who can take out little bitties using the same technique he uses to get biopsies using the swallow-the-camera thingy. (Ai, die Engelse is darem slim.) But he’s positively negative for cancer. Negative.

Does it sound like an anti-climax? It was, strangely. I think we were both so coiled with tension, we were afraid that if we released it would be like when you open the back of a watch – coils and bits everywhere. But it was all right, wasn’t it? So we made a date to go and celebrate with a nice dinner somewhere that evening.

It never happened. You remember how I said this doctor doesn’t believe in giving good news over the phone? That afternoon at three he called Tinus at the office. Tinus tested positive for TB. He has to see the doctor urgently first thing the next morning. So that evening, instead of having a nice dinner out somewhere, we sat down, all four of us, making plans on how to move all of us back to South Africa, preparing the kids to cope with the idea of – yet another – school move. How to manage the move back, where we will stay, how long can we manage without an income. You may not believe it, but it was actually a fun evening. I think we all tried so had to pretend that we’re ok, goofing around, and coming up with scenarios – one more ridiculous than the other that we ended up all feeling better than we had in weeks. We all went to bed that night, happily convinced that we’ll be deported the next day.

When we arrived at the doctor’s office he was wearing a face mask – way to be subtle dude. But once again good news conveyed in person. It seems that one no longer gets deported if you should contract TB whilst in possession of a residency visa. (Tiny tiny bit of me disappointed – can you believe it? But we had some good plans the previous night when we were high on panic-induced adrenaline.) Tinus was given tons of medication and booked off for two weeks (quarantine.) The two kids and I were x-rayed and we had several vials of blood draw. My social schedule came to a grinding halt, fortunately the kids’ school hasn’t started yet so we waited for twelve long days.

Just a note here – last year Tinus was tested three times in two different countries using three different methods – one being a biopsy – for TB, and it was negative. Three times. Conclusion – he contracted TB here somewhere, possibly when they deactivated his immune system with the chemo. See how effective this let’s-not-have-anyone-with-TB-get-a-residency-visa policy is?

When we finally got our results back they were all negative. Yeah for our immune systems. The kids went back to school, in time to start the new academic year, I dived back into the social whirl pool and TInus went back work after his period of quarantine. He still has to be on medication for about six months. So now, finally my dear friends, I think everything is all right, and therefore it must be the end.

I always wonder what happens after the happily ever after bit. I will carry on with the blog – initially I intended it as a tool to keep the loved ones far away up to date with what we do here in the City of Life. I hope you will. It is so exciting to see how many people read my blog. Thank you for having shared this with me.

Much love

Only in Dubai

2012-07-14T05:17:00.001-07:00

One of the many future(istic) building planned for Dubai

And so it seems the hurley-burley is done - the battle won – for the moment and we are on the West Coast of South Africa for the summer (which is winter here) holidays. I have been thinking of writing an “Only in Dubai “blog for a while now and I thought before I tell you more about the winter on the West Coast I should get this done.

Dubai in many aspects is beyond belief, larger than life, an amazing place where east and west meet in a delicious blend of tradition and opulent splendor. Leopards at the Vet, Lamborghini traffic jams, houses that can be mistaken for shopping malls, shopping malls the size of small countries and then livestock in the passenger seat and wives in the back.

Stretch Limos are so last Tuesday - stretch Hummer

This is the place where the middle class car is a long wheel base 4x4, a license can cost more than a car and recently in a name-and-shame campaign it came to light that a gentleman has accumulated 300 000 Dhs - around R700 000 – worth of traffic fines over the last year. Dubai is the birthplace of the (DON”T TRY THIS AT HOME) driver stunt where you tip your 4x4 so it drives on only two wheels while the passenger lights his Zippo on the tarmac outside his window.

Click here for Youtube video showing the stunt

I opened my bank account at 9:30 at night, sitting in deep leather armchairs while waiting – and I am just a regular housewife-not-allowed-to-work, I can’t imagine the treatment reserved for high powered executives. We do grocery shopping as a rule around nine at night since most stores are open till midnight – some later.

Diamonds - not on the soles

The norm is to stop outside smaller shops (this include fast food places) and hoot. The shop attendant will then rush outside, take your order and deliver it to your window, while you wait in the comfort of your air conditioned car. Pizza- and other fast food places deliver to right where you are – be it in the park or on the beach. It is perfectly acceptable to have your seven year old’s birthday party at a five star hotel - you can always progress to seven stars for later birthdays.

For little Princesses

There are Prada, Gucci, Fendi and Calvin Klein baby gear in shops and the smells of a thousand spices in the streets. Men and Women smell equally nice and if you think perfume vending machines are a bit OTT: an Indian businessman has recently announced that they will be placing gold (jewelry) vending machines in some of the larger malls. I have also discovered the first “Hello Kitty” day spa for little princesses that recently opened in Jumeira Town Centre.

Perfume vending machine

The cherry on top of this Burj of delights came when Cat Boy and Geordi Bird (morning show on Dubai radio) told the story about a submarine found on the JBR beach:

So there was this 34 year old Turkish Marketing manager who bought himself a two-seater submarine ( …… ) which he took out for a test drive (dive) only to discover after about a half an hour that is was leaking. He steered it over to the closest dry land and - I imagine - huffed and puffed a bit dragging it out of the water, but gave up after a while and left it there - it weighs 567kg – after having removed the battery “so no one can use it.”

The police finally tracked him down after two days and he was charged with illegally cruising in Dubai waters in an unregistered submarine.

… only in Dubai :)

Miracle on 55th Street

2012-07-06T17:14:00.000-07:00

It is - once again - night. But a very different night. Raindrops shimmer on the windows and the soft sound of the waves drifts in from outside. A different night, in adifferent country on a different continent. I haven’t written in a long time. So many things happened – the children in the meantime finished their school year. It was not easy - having jumped six months, started two months into term, in a new country, new curriculum - added to this now doing Arabic and French - they both passed really well. Tinus also had his second PET scan and the dogs ran away.

I need to add a sigh here – those two stupid dogs, I love them so much! Those of you who know me, know that I am not a dog person. They slobber and shed, smell and sniff – not only do they sniff each other’s’ butts but they also have the tendency to smell humans in rather impolite places. They are messy eaters and abundant poopers and tend to be loud and irritating when you really need them to be quiet. And they need attention. But those of you who really know me know that the reason why I never wanted to own dogs was because in spite of all their negative attributes you cannot help to love them – completely,deeply, helplessly. Which is exactly how they love you.

The day we got the new puppies, the then nine year old Skye was romping on the lawn with the two brand new bundles of joy when I realised Louis was missing. I found him standing in the lounge crying inconsolably. I will never forget his little boy face turned up to me, tear streaked as he stammered: “I am so worried I’m going to love the puppies so much that I won’t love Tanzanite anymore.”

The majority of our introductions to our new neighbours in our lovely little village came through the two dogs. The children would bring strangers home with them whenever they came back from their walks with the dogs after being introduced by the dogs. If you haven’t read the introduction to my blog page – they are Bassets - carefully chosen as a breed which has the least amount of the negative attributes listed earlier. One thing I have never realized though is that they tend to get distracted. They are bred for their brilliant ability to track. They have excellent noses but the world is full of lovely interesting smells and since we’ve not raised them as trackers they tend to get lost. Much like someone who suffers from attention deficit dis-oh look at the pretty butterfly, they will start to follow a smell, then get distracted by another more interesting smell, which then leads to another and another and another and then several hours later they realize they are lost.

In Hopefield this was not too much of a problem. Normally someone in the village has seen them and called me long before they even realize they are lost – or more regularly –brought them back home to us. If however they do realise that they are lost before they were returned home (normally in the warm summer months) they would simply find the closest shady tree and sit there and wait for us to come and collect them. But Dubai is not Hopefield. Hopefield has a population of about 6000 people compared to Dubai, where,at any given time, there are at least 150 000 people in the Dubai Mall alone.

When we looked for a villa all the requirements for the villa were dog related: We needed an outside maid’s room with its own air conditioning system, so that they can have a nice place to stay. We needed a kitchen with a door that opens to the outside; (initially they were only going to be allowed in the kitchen, but that changed in the interim.) We needed a free standing villa so that they wouldn’t bother the neighbours, (and the neighbours won’t bother them;) a fairly large garden with a lawn for them to run and play in, we needed electronic gates – because it’s a nightmare to open the gate, get back into the car drive in or out without the two of them running out and then we needed solid walls, because Brigid (aka The Great Brigini) was an escape artiste extraordinaire in one of her past lives.

But in spite of this, we got back from school one afternoon and the two happy faces with the big floppy ears didn’t come racing around the corner of the house to greet us. Somehow they got out. It was around this time that Tinus got the results from his second PET scan back showing two hot spots – it would appear that the cancer was back. You have heard people say their world collapsed but you don’t realise that it really does. It collapses around you – you can hear the bits tinkle as they disappear into the void left around you and then there is this great silence.

The thing is that I have no right to collapse,I do not have cancer, I am not facing the fact that I can expect to live for approximately three more years, I do not need to think about leaving two young children without a father. I do not have to plan for university funds and support for a flaky wife who believe in not doing something if you don’t enjoy it.

Master Brandon

We searched for the dogs for hours, we talked to every person we saw, we literally followed sounds of dogs barking for kilometres only to find that it is another dog. When the prayer call sounded we listened to hear if we cannot hear Brigit howl, we went to every shawarma shop in the area, gave them full descriptions of the two and left our phone numbers. Skye raised the possibility that they were stolen and at around midnight I was hoping that this was the case. It would mean that they were taken somewhere because someone wanted them, that they were taken care of, that they were warm and fed and not lost and lonely somewhere, hungry and thirsty. Not hurt because they were injured on one of the many building sites or hit by a car. The world felt so big and I felt so very very small and helpless.

Over the past few months we have travelled between Al Ain (The oncology department at Tawam Hospital) The American Hospital in Dubai and a few other cancer and thoracic places in the UAE on a regular basis. The problem with the hot spots appeared to be the location, deep in his chest, close to the heart,larynx and obviously the lungs. So keyhole surgery is not an option. A doctor in Al Ain decided on radiation – six weeks, small daily doses together with chemo. During this time my aunt passed away unexpectedly from a very aggressive form of leukaemia – which can be caused by radiation. When Tinus called to schedule the radiation therapy the doctor has left on holiday and his replacement refused to do radiation before they have confirmation that the hot spots are indeed cancer. Tinus need to see another surgeon. The new surgeon declares that the only way to confirm that the new spots are cancerous is to remove the lung.

So many hours, so many waiting rooms. Tinus’ strength through all of this was incredible. Walking down the stairwell of one of the hospitals I say to him I cannot believe how strong he is. All these dreadful things they say, and I look at him asking technical questions - so together, and he says – the worst that can happen is I can die. And then of course it was me who broke down and cried. He held me and said: “But I am here, now.”

If you don’t know Tinus you really are missing out on one of the most incredible people in the universe. When the kids were really little they loved playing with minute toys. These little things usually marked with not for under 3 years, danger choking hazard. One of their favourites was a tiny little plastic penguin named Pengui. About one and a half centimetre high, black and gray with a white tummy. One day Tinus trimmed the bougainvillea hedge and had finally maneuvered the massive pile of cuttings to the front ready to be collected. It was just then that the children realised Pengui is missing - I cannot remember how - but they were convinced Pengui ended up in amongst the bougainvillea cuttings. My wonderful husband, already covered in scratches, sighed and started taking the mountain of thorns apart and found dear Pengui.

The Great Bridgini - escape artiste extraordinaire

Nights are never quiet in Dubai. At around three in the morning you hear the roosters crowing. The roosters were crowing when I finally went home and fell into bed, physically and emotionally exhausted - trying not to think how empty my life would be without my two constant companions. But as I closed my eyes I remembered the cute way their back sides waddle when they walk, how they smile with their whole bodies but especially their eyes, how they lick you to show you they love you and care for you, how Brandon would come sit next to me and lay his muzzle on my lap and how Bridgy would lie on her back in total surrender to anyone who looks as if they might be remotely interested in scratching her tummy. I didn’t cry –there was this big dryness in my throat and then I dreamt that I heard their toes clink on the marble floors as they ran into our bedroom.

More waiting rooms, more hours but finally there is a doctor who remembers he has heard about someone in Dubai who brought a machine that can do an Endoscopic Bronchial Ultrasound Biopsy. One of those camera thingies that you swallow (read get pushed down your throat, but infinitely more preferable to the “let’s remove your lung to see if you have cancer” option.) The wonderful thing about this thingy is that it can do biopsies. Tinus had one of these – there was a problem in that the doctor couldn’t quite get it maneuvered quite to where it needed to be but he did manage to get a small sample. And so we waited – 2 to 3 days. It felt like three months, but finally the call comes from the hospital – the doctor wants to see Tinus. We go together. And we are very scared – if it was good news the doctor could have let us know over the phone.

We had to wait for an hour and a half before the doctor saw us. He is Russian or Polish – hard to understand – but very friendly, the kind of person you would use words such as congenial and warm if you had to do a personality profile on him, but a bit of a flutterer. He works his mouse like an artist (wide sweeps) and took ages to find the images he wanted to show us on his computer. He took as long to again to give us the details of why he couldn’t get a bigger sample and went on to repeat technical details on why he thought right from the start that the PET scan results were in fact a false positive. Everything happened in slow motion and when he finished his lengthy account with “and I just couldn’t tell you this over the phone” it slowly dawned on me that this is good – this is good news – this is good news! It was a false positive. Tinus had a chest infection which sometimes shows up as “hot spots” on the PET scan. He has to have a CT scan at the end of July to absolutely confirm but it would seem that Tinus is fine – no cancer!

The first prayer call of the day is the dawn prayer call which happens one hour before sunrise. Tinus woke up on the Wednesday morning after the dogs went missing and started searching again. He did a standard search and rescue pattern(his words – which means he started searching from the point of where they were last seen – our house – and carried on outwards in ever widening circles.) He was just about to give up when he saw Brigid running into a building site across the road from where he was. He had to drive a fair way before he could turn around to get to their side. By the time he got back to where he saw them, they were – predictably – on the other side of the road. He parked on the shoulder of the road by which time they were gone. He went to the median stood there and called them. I can imagine the picture – floppy ears, they came screaming around the corner of a building straight to him. He had them wait with him till the road was clear, they ran to the car and when I thought I dreamt I heard their clicking toes I wasn’t! It really was our dear lovely stupid dogs who ran into our room to tell me they are back.

Sleepless in .... you know where

2012-04-13T15:15:00.001-07:00

It is night – or actually very early morning and I cannot sleep – again. Tonight it is possibly because I have to pick Tinus up from the airport in five hours. It’s not very hot, or at least not for nighttime in Dubai - around 24 degrees Celsius according to the weather on my phone. I have opened the French doors leading out onto the small balcony outside our bedroom. The Mosque glows like an alabaster lamp through the palm leaves of the dead palm tree in our garden. There is a lovely cool breeze dancing around the curtains and I can hear the guys from the small Mosque grocery close up for the night. They have 7-11 written on their sign but they close after midnight on most nights and are very seldom open by seven. In that way a large part of Dubai is very similar to the large part of Africa that consider any reference to time a mere suggestion and find it strange when you are upset when they are not there when their signs say they will be.

It was in Malawi when I first really thought about the significance of time – Tinus and I were on our honeymoon (two months with backpacks in Africa) and we were planning to take the bus from Livingstone in the Northern part of Malawi to Lilongwe to the South were we needed to get a flight to Zimbabwe. We stayed in the lovely Livingstone Hotel where the service was good (everything is relative – we are talking Africa proper.)

We managed to get a time schedule for the bus somewhere; it would arrive on Tuesday at eight in the morning. We got the friendly porter / waiter / bellboy / curio-shop-assistant to wake us up at six, we had breakfast, settled our bill and arrived under the tree (honestly – under a tree, no bus stop sign, just under a tree) with our backpacks neatly packed at seven thirty – just in case the bus ran ahead of schedule. In the context of this blog I’m sure you would not be surprised to find that we were still sitting under the same tree at eight o’clock that night. It was in fact only two days later that the bus finally did arrive loaded with happy smiling people and their animals. The bus journey to the South was a story by itself but it was in the two days between the scheduled time and the actual arrival of the bus that I became aware of the fact that time is not real, and the keeping thereof is optional.

SO … have you thought of time? One of the first rhymes I remember reciting is Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock … We have to be on time for school, for planes, trains and other means of transport that takes us from one appointment to another. In the military I was taught that you are always seven and a half minutes early for an appointment. When I left the military I adjusted this rule to read seven and a half minutes early for a professional appointment and seven and a half minutes late for a social appointment. I know of a couple who eats lunch at exactly 12 every day, we live our lives by the frequency generated by crystals embedded in electronic circuits and we do

not

live

the

now.

The present is a moment just past.

And there is another one …. Gone. Do you know why we don’t remember stuff? Because we were not there when it happened. You, body-you were there, but mind-you wasn’t. Most of us are always either planning for something that might / is planned to happen, or thinking of something that has already happened, and that already narrow space of now we have, slips by, never to be relived. I have a little trick I’ve discovered that I’ll share with you. If you want to be in the moment become aware of your feet touching the ground, or your hands on the table or look into someone’s eyes – not glace, look! These are the three things I know about that connects you to your now, don’t ask me how, I just know it works.

Uhhhhgggggg!!! Low battery warning, what am I gonna do now? This might be a good time to go and sit with my bare feet in the garden and listen to the night – to be in the now, while you, somewhere in the great out there in time and space read my words and make our times connect. Now is not now anymore – or is it - because you touch my thoughts?

Gotta go – love you – NOW

On the Creation of Beauty

2012-03-05T04:43:00.001-08:00

A few years back I heard of a study done in South Africa, although the exact details are a bit vague and I’ve not been able to find any references to this on the net (well, not on the first page of Google’s search results ) the broad idea was this : Three areas with similar demographics were chosen in order to study the possible roots of crime; let’s call them Area A, B and C. For the duration of the study in area A free medical services were provided, in area B security measures were enhanced and the only thing done in area C was to clean up and beautify the area. The researchers were very surprised to find that crime rates dropped significantly in area C. If you have met Maslow you’ll notice that this topples his triangle. It would seem that no matter where on Maslow’s triangle we are, we humans react positively to a beautiful environment. (Aesthetically pleasing Maslow says, but I really don’t like that word, it feels cold and clinical whereas beauty is warm and soft.)

My own energy levels lower as my immediate environment deteriorates and I feel happier – more alive, as my immediate environment becomes more beautiful. I love beautiful things and beautiful people, and people who create beauty. In my fourty five years living on this beautiful planet of ours, I have fallen in love more times than I can recall. There were Vincent, Salvador and Richard (van Gogh, Dali and Lovelace) - they were, perhaps, a bit old for me. David with his golden voice was a bit closer to my own age (Bowie) but he lived quite far from me. Honestly, I doubt he knew I even existed. Even sadder are the great loves of mine, whose names I never knew, their work strewn all over Europe in chapels and monasteries.

Photo by Lawrence Boatwright

One of them I still recall quite vividly – well, not quite him (or her) – but his work. It was a cold autumn day – crisp and smelling of hearth fires, as Europe tend to do in winter. I walked into this chapel, looked to my left and literally stopped breathing. A bowl of simple white flowers was framed in ornate gold, a single petal dropping, suspended eternally in a perfect moment where light floods the translucent curve showing the delicate pattern of lace-like veins – captured exquisitely by an unknown artist, left there for me – and thousands of others to see.

An artist friend of mine once told me that the moment she finished a painting, she’s lost all emotional connection to her work – the process of creation over, the moment of perfection achieved, savoured and then released - searching for the next great inspiration, before her brushes are even dry. Perhaps this is why the unknown artist of the white flowers could just leave the canvas without a signature – once the last stroke caressed the canvas and gave the flower life, he was done, and moved on.

I am so blessed to be able to count among my friends a large number of bona fida artist; photographers, glass blowers, singers, actors, computer programmers, movie makers, beauticians, sculptors, writers, wood wizards and bakers of magic bread. And these are just the ones who have their art as their trade – there are others who go to their offices or do the mom thing and then, once home, create gorgeous dishes from whatever can be found in the pantry, create quiet dream spaces in their gardens or in the wee hours of the night sew a few pieces of fabric together to fashion a creation to make her daughter feel like a princess or pour over shards of glass and turn it into panels of glorious coloured light.

In imitation of the Wood Wizard

We all have that inherit need to create programmed into our DNA. We are after all – according to most religious myths – created in the images of our gods and in almost all our collective stories we meet our creator in the act of creating. As I write these words my atheist-friends spring to mind – each and every one, whether they teach, or fly, or move millions for a living – are great artists themselves. Funny how our little big world is made up of this spectacular collection of imperfect perfect specimens, each a unique work of art in themselves. And how we create!

Have you looked outside your window recently? Just look at everything we humans have made – not all of it beauty, but we created almost everything you see. And we all love different things, beauty – as the old cliché goes, is in the eye of the beholder. Look at everything, and everything you see, is beautiful - you just need to see it in the right light. Now look at what you made, the space around you, the curtains you chose, the colour of the wall, how you placed your desk or chair to make the light look just right. A small frame or a plant – placed with care, exactly there. Why? ‘Cos YOU are an artist my friend.

May you walk in beauty.

From the Kitchen Witch’s Kitchen

2012-02-25T23:18:00.000-08:00

Part one: Amazing-naise

Just in case you’re one of the few people who hasn't tasted it yet, Amazing-naise is my own home-made mayonnaise with a twist, and one of the most popular brews I came up with in my kitchen. I’m proud to say I’m one of a long line of master makers of lovely stuff in the kitchen. For a really long time I actually thought that gene skipped me, but thanks to one of my new friends, the pretty perky Petra, I have seen the oven light, smelled the lovely smell of freshly baked cookies and got with the recipe. Yes, Yan is not the only one who can cook – I CAN too, and not just ‘cos I read so good.

For those of you who have daughters that still need to do home economics or whatever it’s called in your part of the world, at school – don’t let her! That was where my irrational perception of my own domestic in-abilities first started. Not to let the past hit us on our behinds or anything, but it took me making my own wedding dress to finally let me realize I can sew and like I mentioned, Petra only recently enlightened me to my own cooking skill. So, on to the mayonnaise, or as we all know it today; Amazing-naise.

The history : The consumer industry’s need to add preservatives to everything is what drove me to my grandmother’s well worn Royal Recipe book, which I had on loan from my master maker of lovely stuff in the kitchen mom - which turned into a gift - dankie Mamma ;) Fortunately I have never been one to stick to recipes and luckily at that point I had big bunches of beautiful green Basil in my garden in Hopefield, and the rest – as they say – is history. So here is the recipe:

1 handful of fresh Basil

1 egg

1 teaspoon of mustard

1 tablespoon of sugar

Add all of the above IN THIS ORDER in your blender and blend until everything is combined together completely, then add…

1 tablespoon of white vinegar

Blend again, just to combine and then, very very slowly, almost one teaspoon at a time add

1 Cup of vegetable oil.

When you've added half of the oil and the mixture isn’t runny anymore, add

1 tablespoon of lemon juice

Now add the remaining oil …. still slowly but now not so crucial anymore.

Secrets and tips:

In my opinion the secret is the adding of the oil - real slow AND fast blending speed. I have once used an electric beater and it also worked but I felt the beater was getting too hot. Bottom line: oil slow, mixing speed fast.

The mixture will be quite bubbly in the beginning

What the mayo looks like when it's right

The herbs: My favourite is Basil but I have made this with Coriander (cilantro), which worked nicely. I’ve tried using Rocket leaves (because I love the peppery taste) but that didn’t work, it was quite runny which will still be ok for a salad dressing but not what I was after.

Coriander or Cilantro

Spices: When I make regular mayonnaise I use honey instead of sugar - you can add any spice you like when making regular mayonnaise to spice it up, I’ve done some spicy mayo using paprika and fresh chili peppers. All spices must be added together in the beginning and blended together before you add the vinegar.

Oil: I use canola oil, it is light, got lots of good stuff in and doesn’t have a strong flavor, olive oil’s flavor is too strong but I’m sure you can use it if it works for you, it didn’t for me.

Quantities: You’ll see that it is pretty much one of everything, and doubling, tripling or however many-ing of the recipe works, I can fit five cups into my blender and it was still as perfect.

Enjoy

Our own lovely home made honey and mustard mayonnaise

Not quite a blog

2012-02-19T02:04:00.001-08:00

For a while now these frames with "What people think I do" have been circulating on Facebook, some are nice, some are scary and I eventually saw one (about teachers) that I thought was worth sharing. A friend of mine then posted a link to a site where I can do this myself, and voila!!

So this is my poor excuse for a 'make-up' blog since I didn't do one last week

A Thousand and One Coffee Mornings

2012-02-16T04:24:00.000-08:00

You can say a lot about the English, their taste in food, their socio-political system, and the English weather, but one thing that the English are good at – really good at, is socializing. Have you been to a good ol’ English pub or belonged to one of the Hash clubs all over the world, or met someone for afternoon tea? - it is all about the socializing. The same with coffee mornings. There are coffee mornings which girl friends arrange at their houses, or in coffee shops, there are coffee mornings arranged by groups in order to help people make new friends and there are coffee mornings arranged for charity. You meet at the allocated time and place and usually coffee and eats will be provided. You then sit down and join in one of the conversations that happen around you.

The first time in the UAE, around 2 BC (Before Children,) coffee mornings were the worst things on my agenda, I accepted the invitations because in those days the ex-pats were a close knit community and everyone knew I had nothing else to do. I viewed the coffee mornings as time spent with ambitionless wives-of-someone wearing pearls and cashmere with high heeled shoes, vicariously living through their children, grand-children or husbands. Talk was quiet and centered mostly around other people, TV programs or cleaning products, and then of course the, when-I-gave-birth horror stories.

It took me a long time to join the ex-pat women coffee morning arranged on Monday mornings in Mirdif City Centre. I arrived fully expecting to see the pearl and cashmere clan, whispering quietly together with cups tinkling delicately on saucers. Instead I saw a group of women, some in jeans and Ts, with coffee in mugs, eating muffins with their fingers and you know what, I still don’t know who their husbands are, how many kids they have or what they use to get stains out of their dishcloths. I did, however, get to know this great Italian broad who used to farm in the outback before she came to Dubai, a funky Lebanese interior decorator who doesn’t want kids and want to learn to tango, an ex-teacher who teaches aerobics to guys, a British quiz master who plays golf and a stunning French girl who struggles to speak English but who will be great at charades.

Is it the general make-up of the ex-pat community that changed or is it just me that landed among a great group of girls? As I grow older I find that my attention deficit … o look at the pretty butterfly .. disorder becomes more pronounced. I can’t stand being bored, I might have mentioned before that I consider being boring to be particularly rude. I refuse to spend time with people or things that bore me. Sometimes I find myself terribly boring. It is then that I look up interesting people or places, or just loose myself in a good book. I think someone famous once said “I’d rather be quite alone than in bad company,” well, it looks as if I don’t have to be quite alone, there are so many interesting people around.

There is, however, a small small part of me that thinks maybe it is not the community that changed, but me. Maybe I can now, fifteen years down the line, discover the adventurer inside the nifty fifty year old next to me, because even though I am also a wife-of, (thankfully without the cashmere and high heels - if you ever see me wearing pearls and cashmere smack me) like most other women, just a person with dreams and ideals, and I can now see those dreams and ideals in others. In the end we are all, much more, the same and it’s nice to know. Let’s drink a coffee to that.

Letters to Juliet

2012-01-29T08:49:00.000-08:00

Chick-flicks; aren’t they the greatest? Here in the UAE Tuesday nights are chick-flick nights on OSN and last week’s was “Letters to Juliet.” The movie tells the story of an American girl who wants to be a writer, arriving at Juliet’s house (in Verona, Italy) where she sees women sticking letters to the wall addressed to Juliet. Late afternoon another woman came along and collected everybody’s letters in a basket. She follows this lady and finds a group of women, calling themselves Juliet's secretaries, answering these letters on behalf of Juliet, giving advice or guidance. She ends up going with the next day to collect letters and finds a letter hidden behind a brick that went unnoticed for fifty years:

“I didn't go to him, Juliet. I didn't go to Lorenzo. His eyes were so full of trust I promised I'd meet him and run away together because my parents don't approve. But, instead, I left him waiting for me below our tree - waiting and wondering where I was. I'm in Verona now. I return to London in the morning and I am so afraid. Please, Juliet, tell me what I should do. My heart is breaking and I have no one else to turn to.
Love, Claire”

She decides to answer the letter; Claire then comes to Verona accompanied by her grandson (whose name slips my mind) which, predictably, becomes the love interest of the letter writer and of course after a few tears and misunderstandings they all end up together, living happily ever after. But it is only at the wedding of Claire and her Lorenzo (Claire is played by the elegant Vanessa Redgrave and Franco Nero (playing Lorenzo) is her real-life love – there is one place in the movie where she looks at him with such love and trust - and I thought, this is either real – or real good acting, that’s why I Googled it,) anyway, it is only at the wedding that the letter writer’s letter is read:

“Dear Claire,
"What" and "If" are two words as non-threatening as words can be. But put them together, side-by-side and they have the power to haunt you for the rest of your life: What if? What if? What if? I don't know how your story ended but if what you felt then was true love, then it's never too late. If it was true then, why wouldn't it be true now? You need only the courage to follow your heart. I don't know what a love like Juliet's feels like - love to leave loved ones for, love to cross oceans for but I'd like to believe if I ever were to feel it, that I will have the courage to seize it. And, Claire, if you didn't, I hope one day that you will.
All my love,
Juliet

What if … how many times have you said, or cried, or thought, or screamed those words? Many, many times have I tortured myself with what-if thoughts. Sometimes things happen to us that make us feel as if we’ve been in an industrial sized washing machine on the spin cycle. Things, which we cannot control in spite of our feeble attempt at claiming control with what-ifs: Someone close to us dies; we lose a job; get divorced; get diagnosed with cancer - we are made aware of how little control we have.

A very wise and wonderful friend of mine (thanks Chantal) taught me the three step method to “getting over it”:

1. Acknowledge, (say, write, scream if you need to, that it hurts, that you are angry and scared and feel helpless)

2. Embrace, (now allow yourself to feel weak and scared and angry and helpless)

3. Surrender, (and then, if you cannot do anything about it, you have got to LET IT GO.)

That saying about what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger… well, we’re not dead yet :) … have you noticed that wonderful little “it’s never too late” in the letter from Juliet? It really, truly never is, as long as you are alive, it is not too late, even if someone passed away. You may not agree with me, but I always think when we mourn the loss of a life, we mourn for ourselves, because we have been left behind. And I think the reason why we have been left behind, is because it’s never too late. It’s never too late to follow our hearts, to muster the courage to seize the next day, it’s never too late, to live happily ever after.

The End

Juliet's secretaries really do exist. They are called the Juliet Club and they volunteer to reply to letters left in Verona, as well as organize events in honour of 'Romeo and Juliet'.

Nights with stars

2012-01-23T01:54:00.000-08:00

The last few days here in Dubai has been positively cold and miserable. Yesterday was 18 degrees Celsius and today 19, the occasional howling winds are not really helping much. Over the weekend (Friday and Saturday over here) we even had rain. I miss my warm clothes - at my parents’ house in Saldanha – definitely bringing it back when we’re coming back from SA at the end of summer holidays.

The school here has the most interesting extramural activities for the children to choose from, they have to do three extra murals every week. On Sundays Louis does chess and Skye chose Manuscript Illumination (you’re going to have to ask her about it – I don’t know,) on Mondays Louis does Film Appreciation and Skye does 3D Art and for the Wednesdays extramural session both of them joined the Robotics and Astronomy club. Last week Wednesday the club had an overnight camp at the Dubai Astronomy group’s camp site, just outside of Sharjah. (I’ve included the link if you’re in the UAE and want to go yourselves – really worth it, they have programs or you can just go for the night – camping site or chalet-type accommodation available.)

Although I didn’t think the overnight on a school night was a good idea, the experience opportunity swayed the balance and since the school invited parents along we all decided to go. If you’re into sky-watching you’ll know that on winter nights the skies are generally clearer than on summer nights but the down side of that is that it gets really really cold. The school provided tents, food and drinks we just had to bring our own sleeping bags. And it was amazing; the astronomer looked like he could have been personal friends with Galileo Galilei with his long white beard, dish-dasha and wrinkles that almost completely covered his smiling eyes.

He entertained the children with stories of Cassiopeia and Orion, pointing at the stars he spoke about with this ultra-cool green laser-light thingy, and later on all of us had the opportunity to see the planets and stellar bodies that was overhead through his telescope. The camp is close enough to the city to be bothered by the light pollution, but nevertheless, being out under the stars, with a campfire and a telescope is still among my favourite things in the world. Around ten o’clock the academic stuff started to wind down and as a result the children - around thirty teenagers’ energy (read irritation factor) started to climb proportionally.

The parents who came but decided not to stay over started leaving around then and frozen as we were, we made a snap decision to also go home, rather than face the typical early morning after a desert camp, with sand in everything from your teeth to your toast, not to mention the close to zero overnight temperatures. Louis was quite happy to go, but Skye gave us the silent treatment (she’s so cute when she tries to ‘glare’ at you with those soft brown eyes of hers.) We will have to do a proper desert camp as soon as we have our own 4x4, hopefully that will be within the next two months.

On Friday evening Tinus’ company had a New Year’s function. I thought that was such a nice idea, instead of having another end-of-year party, a party at this time of year gets things started off on a (in this case – super spectacular) high. The company has grown so much, I knew very few people there, but it was wonderful to see some people I knew again, most of whom I haven’t seen in ten years. The theme of the evening was a night at the Oscars. I though the person who did the planning timed it perfectly, since, as those of you who follow things like this will know, the Oscar evening in America took place over the past week.

Not only was the theme great, but the idea behind the evening was this: Each department had to make their own version of a popular short film, starring the personnel working in that section. The categories were Action, Drama, and Musical or Comedy. The best per category films were chosen by the panel of judges (I think they were the company exec.) there were also awards for best actor and best overall film of the evening. The winners received actual Oscar statuettes but the most beautiful part for me was that each winner chose a charity; the company then donated money to the chosen charity on behalf of the winners.

The venue was the Raffles Hotel, next to the Wafi Mall. After our Egyptian holiday the beautifully done Egyptian hieroglyphs that adorn the hotel’s walls was even more striking and the décor for the evening was perfect. The tables were covered with ice white linen and golden brocade overlays with silver stars sprinkled – quite tastefully, everywhere. The shiny long stemmed glasses mirrored the literally millions of crystals hanging overhead off the chandeliers, grouped in threes over the vast ceiling of the hall, with gigantic prints of Oscar statues on the walls, strangely echoing the giant Egyptian statues of Ramses II on either side of the huge wooden doors. I love to dress up, and I think these days we don’t do it nearly as often as I would like to. Fortunately everybody was donned in their best elegant wear, the Indian ladies’ saris are stunning and the all the beautiful people in their stunning outfits made the evening complete.

Tinus’ group did their own special rendition of Braveheart – Al Braveheart, I’ll try to insert the video, the massive sword is the handiwork of Louis and Skye, and the narrator is Tinus - real good Scottish accent I think :) In the action category they were up against Terminator II, which sadly, won, many people agree with me that they were indeed better, but that’s how life goes sometimes. Max was nominated for best actor and their film was also one of the final three in the best all over movie, but sadly once again, they were bettered by the Terminator, but I believe they “will – be – back” next year.

Somewhere between Slumdog Millionaire and Mama Mia I went outside for some ‘fresh air’ only to discover that it has been raining. What a brilliant feeling! I tell you, even in the middle of a very modern city, rain in the desert is still special. I felt like dancing in the rain and had a bit of a moment with one of the locals I ran into. His face also bore one of those brilliant involuntary smiles as we stood outside, talking about the weather, both of us, almost, “singing and dancing in the rain.”

P.S. (After the update on 25 Jan) The video is the final version shown at the event, this version also includes the Terminator II movie, so what do you think, Al Braveheart or Terminator II ?? :) Click here to see if you can see video, it's very big so I hope you get it up/down loaded.

So ... Egypt

2012-01-14T22:57:00.000-08:00

This is going to be a long one – so go get a cup of tea first

“Going to Egypt” has been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember. The mystery, the history – the TIME. Walking where the Pharaohs walked, where magic was part of life; going to the one place on our planet where alchemists and academics and thinkers and adventurers and dreamers went in search of inspiration and truth and eternal life - for centuries. To say it was an obsession of mine, would not be an understatement. At some point, because it was such a great dream, I thought ‘going to Egypt’ would be the last thing I do in this life. This is why, when Tinus said: “let’s go to Egypt,” a thrill of excitement – and a tiny thread of fear – ran through my body. Strangely enough, the fact that the news media was painting a grim picture of the current state of affairs in Egypt did not deter me at all. Remember: “I’m from Africa, dahrling;” we don’t see a bit of civil unrest as reason enough to change our plans.

“Who sits by the window” has been negotiated and I drew the last leg, coming in to Cairo. As the view in my tiny window changed from desert landscape to city, I literally held my breath. And then it was there – hundreds upon hundreds of brown buildings in a brown landscape – like some alien slave camp – it stretched out below as far as I could see, disappearing in a murky brown sludge of foggy haze on the distant horizon.

Where was the Nile, shimmering blue against the green banks laden with crops? The Egypt of my dreams had blinding white buildings, populated by proud people – the children of the gods, who painted their houses in bold colours. As we circled and landed the realization slowly came to me – this is not the place I dreamt about. Where did it go? What happened? How did it get to be like this?

The tour representative, Abdul, met us as we stepped out of the bus and walked into the terminal building. He greeted us like old friends and with a friendly relaxed manner guided us through passport control, got our luggage and in no time had us standing outside in the huge - shades of murky brown and gray -parking area where we and our bags were loaded into a minibus. Abdul sat in front with the driver, and as we left from the airport he turned around to us and asked: ”Have you heard about the traffic in Cairo?” “Yes,” we said. He, smiled, and as he turned back he said, “Whatever you’ve heard – it’s worse.”

And it was. It took us two hours to drive from the Airport to our hotel in Giza. The traffic was unbelievable, but entertaining. Any mode of transport you can imagine, bicycles, motorcycles, horses, donkeys and little motorcycle-car-thingies crammed together on what I think is possibly a three lane highway – no regard is shown for road markings. The road traffic people possibly know this because we only saw one road sign – Tinus took a photo of it. The cars are all old –like 1950s old. For someone who lives in a country where one regularly sees at least three Maseratis each time you go out on the roads and Porsche SUVs are common, this fact stuck out like a pentagram on a Christmas pudding.

The passing scenery seemed to have been de-saturated. The buildings are mostly unfinished, with reinforcement steel cables sticking out at all angles, you can clearly see where the inside staircases runs and just about none of the buildings have been plastered – let alone painted. There was even a mosque, with the dome hanging precariously off one completed wall. But then I started to notice it: These unfinished buildings are occupied. People live in them, and where there’s life, there are little bits of colour, as if the people are rebelling against the ‘great nothing’ threatening to take over their city by splashing bold colours around them. And as I looked I saw more and more colours, blue and green, purple and orange, yellow and even a touch of red, bravely crying out against the mind numbing brown and beige murk I saw from the sky.

I thought I am going to tell you about our holiday, but it seems that I’m telling you about the truth I found instead of the splendor I expected. Egypt is a place where the true face of humanity has been carved in stone through the centuries. We saw testimony to the human traits of fear and hatred; the remnants of destruction caused by Christians and Kings, as they have attempted to destroy the faces of the gods and enemy pharaohs. We saw testimony to the human traits of pride and greed; where the occupants of tombs have listed – walls and walls filled with hieroglyphs – telling of what they owned, what great deeds they did and how wonderful they are. We saw testimony to the barbarity of the great pharaohs, which still lingers in the warmongers among humankind today, as we saw temple walls covered with battle scenes, where enemies are killed and great mounds of decapitated heads and other unmentionables are depicted with great precision and scribes are shown counting severed hands to determine how many enemies have been captured.

But we also saw testimony to the greater of humanity’s traits: that of love and the need to create beauty, the in the way in which the artists of the village of craftsmen created the temples and tombs, carved the figures of gods and men out of stone so perfectly, that you almost expect the figures to step out of the stone walls. And the colours! Bits of colours remained everywhere, and one can easily imagine the breathtaking site these temples must once have been. I always felt as if I was trespassing whenever we entered into a sacred space, where once only gods and priestesses where allowed.

The testimony to another one of humanity’s most beautiful traits, that of the need to worship and believe in something greater than yourself, by different names and in different ways, is evident all over Egypt, in the great temples built to honour the gods. We saw testimony to humanity’s adventurous spirit and the need to explore in the hieroglyphics telling us of Hatsheput's missions to the far reaching corners of the world, and with her we also see the strength of Women with an unbreakable spirit, doing what needs to be done, in spite of the cost to us personally.

Egypt’s modern history reads like the biography of a popular slave girl, passed from king to king to general, never loved, never cared for but greedily coveted, used and abused. I was struck by the humongous monument at Aswan built in gratitude to the Russians. But it made sense when I heard the story behind it: The Egyptians wanted to borrow money to build the Aswan dam. Nasser (one of many Generals in the biography) went to the Americans and Brits in the 1950s to try and borrow the huge amounts of money needed to build the dam. Our guide told us it was around 530 million US dollars; Wikipedia says it was $1,120,000,000. One thousand, one hundred and twenty million US dollars! Whichever one it was, it was lots and lots of dollars, and apart from something like 6% interest they also wanted to have the Egyptians make friends with the Israelis – we all know how that turned out, so instead Nasser went to the USSR, who said sure, they’ll give them the money at only 2% interest and they can pay them back in ‘produce.’ If someone borrowed me millions and millions of dollars in return for some onions and watermelons I would also build him a monument too.

Today the dam/lake behind the huge wall stretches for about 350km south from the wall to the border of Egypt and carries on for another 150km into Sudan. Personally I would never have built the damn dam. It seemed to have messed up everything, but that’s just me. As we all know, after the Egyptians built the dam the rest of the world jumped in to save the priceless legacy of temples flooded by the Aswan dam. We visited the Temple at Philae dedicated to Isis and I hurt physically to think that all of that would have been lost, has it not been for the great human trait of generosity. I think if one has to calculate it: the cost of moving all the temples, it would probably be more than the construction cost of that damn dam. There were more than 20 temples I think, which were flooded, or would have been flooded, including the magnificent temple at Abu Simbel that Ramses the 2^nd built for the love of his life, which sadly we didn’t see – next time.

Our guide described the process of moving a temple to us: First a mini-dam was built around the temple, usually with two sets of walls, and then the water was pumped out. The temple was then moved – stone by stone – to higher ground. Statues and larger blocks of stone were cut into moveable pieces and reassembled in their new locations, all of this done with money donated and by volunteers from all over the world. At many of these sites there are still pieces left over, I guess it’s a bit like the last few mystery screws remaining after you took something apart and then put it back together again.

Travelling on the Nile was one part of the dream that was exactly as I imagined it to be. The cruiser itself was luxurious and I can well imagine a Pharaoh drifting down the Nile on his or her barge like this, looking at the people working their small fields, tending to their goats, looking pretty much like I imagine they looked thousands of years ago. On the cruise we were brought in close contact with the local Egyptians, in the form of the staff/waiters/barmen on board the cruiser as well as the hoards of extremely irritating, in-your-face- street vendors who wanted to sell us stuff. The staff on board was beyond good. They were always friendly and our favourite among the crew was our barman, who gave us a riddle every time he brought us our drinks.

Sadly, we didn’t buy anything from the vendors, we never even looked at their ‘wares,’ as they were apt to descend on you like a flock of hungry vultures the moment you looked interested in anything. We quickly learnt not to make eye contact with them. What I have seen though, is that in spite of the ‘hunger’ in wanting the sell you things, they had an incredible zest for life, there was exuberance and joy in everything they did, and laughter in their eyes. They are beautiful, old and young, their faces are full of expression and whatever they do, they seem to do with everything they have.

One of the highlights of our holiday was the hot-air-balloon ride over the Valley of the Kings. None of us have ever done it and I think it is something everyone should have on their bucket list. There is no way to describe that feeling of being part of the breaking day, soundlessly floating over the waking landscape as nothing more than a shadow in the morning mist.

The four days on the Nile slid past way too quickly and before we knew it we were back on the classic old train, taking us to Cairo. The train looks just like it did in the 1950s, and I can absolutely imagine Agatha Christy sitting on the very same chair I sat in, in the lounge, surrounded by (less faded) gold and green brocade. We have done and seen so much, temples and tombs flowed into each other but the incredibly artistry never ceased to amaze and enthrall me. I am so glad that we did get to see Deir El Medina, the village where the craftsmen lived. It is impossible to try and describe their artwork. If I had to tell you about everything it will take me another three pages, no, more, and I didn’t even really take photos of it – not even a photo can capture the perfection of what they did. I guess that is where the magic still lives, hidden in their work.

As much as Dubai is a testimony to modern man’s ability to create, Egypt is testimony to what we always were capable of. The pyramids are beyond words and I am so glad that Skye’s adventurous spirit inspired me to join her in going into an actual pyramid. We two girls also took a camel ride along the pyramids, dusty and smelly as they were, the camels, Mickey Mouse and Michael Jackson, were actually really sweet. Our last night was spent in the Mena House Hotel and that was an experience in itself. Situated at the foot of the great pyramid of Cheops it was built in1869, around the same time as our house in Hopefield J Agatha Christy and Winston Churchill are among the people who stayed at the hotel. I love the Moorish décor and the plush carpets you sink into as you walk along the dimly lit passage ways, and the smell – I cannot explain it, but it smells like home. As a grand finale to our holiday we went to see the laser and light show at the great Sphinx and pyramids on our last night in Egypt. It was as spectacular as I imagined. The show ends with the narrator in his very Omar Sharif-y accent saying: “It is said that man fears time, but time fears the pyramids.”

LIFE goes on

2012-01-08T10:50:00.000-08:00

New Years Eve 2011, minutes before 2012 and the moon hangs over the city as if she's smiling at us.

It’s a new year and we’ve lived through the annus horribilis. Tinus’ chemo therapy has been completed and is strong and healthy - for which I’m so grateful. The children has completed a whole term in their new school and new subjects; Arabic – which they’re excelling in, and French in which they are both doing exceedingly badly. Louis has connected socially, while Skye still hasn’t made any new close friends. Perhaps it’s because we girls need friends on a different level from what boys do. She’s also got glasses – not reading glasses, but to see far – like her dad – and surprisingly, she loves it –and looks really cool in it. (Perhaps kids today don’t look cool anymore but rad or sick or something similar.)

Over Christmas we were in Egypt, no tree, no gifts. The evening of the 25^th we four sat in the exquisite dining room of the Mena House Hotel at the foot of the giant Pyramid of Cheops and discussed our feelings on this over dinner. We all love the big family get togethers, the days and days of baking and cooking and decorating, planning and selecting gifts, the secretive wrapping and hiding and the sharing but above all, the being together. But how ok is it to celebrate a holiday of a religion you’re not part of?

Tinus suggested that we celebrate all religious holidays and we see Christmas as a day on which we celebrate God. We spoke about what we see as our family traditions and decided to focus on creating a few more. On New Year’s as we watched the mind-blowing fire-works display over Dubai two Chinese lanterns floated by our house and I thought I'd love to add that to our family traditions next New Year.

Our house begins to truly feel like home, more so since we’re back after the holidays. The pups and cat has settled; Tanzanite is slowly venturing out into the garden and Brigid has started to ‘sing’ with the prayer call, which is amusing, endearing and excruciatingly nerve wrecking.

I am ok, at times, and at other times, when I think I’d like to live my life being more than just ok, I’m not ok. But I learn. There are times these days when I’m not even snarling when I have to tell people I’m a housewife – you won’t believe how often you have to state or fill in “occupation.” It is one of those ‘quiet desperation’ things - being a housewife. Much as I know it is a noble thing, the thing which keeps families together and that millions of very wonderful women all around this beautiful planet of ours do it with great pride and dignity, I still have to learn.

I miss my amazing bevy of creative, free thinking, open minded, enthusiastic, inspiring, energetic friends. I miss the way they challenged and moved me, each in their own way, to be more, to discover more, to live more, to learn more. I miss teaching. I miss being close to my mom and dad. I miss being able to walk up to the Merry Widow for a coffee and a chat, I miss popping in at Ilze’s for a lovely glass of red wine as the sun set, sharing thoughts and ideas, I miss learning stuff from Mathe while supposedly teaching her Afrikaans and so many many more. I shall stop before the tears start.

So, I miss a lot and have left a lot behind, but as Ghada said to me the other day: “you must find something for yourself here.” And just now, as I thought of her I remember how I cried about leaving her and Ghaneema and Mizna when I left Dubai the last time. That’s the thing about life, you always leave things behind, beautiful things, but you get more along more the way don’t you?

I have learnt that I CAN cook; I have a beautiful garden - well, soon to be, as soon as the grass seeds starts to grow and the little plants I planted start to flower… oo and I’ve planted two Jasmines! I live in a beautiful house with my loving husband and two super kids; I live in Dubai, a city among cities where everything is possible and I have more time on my hands than what is good for me, so I can read all the books I’ve always wanted to read, and I can sew and cook and perhaps even take up painting again. The other day I played a CD we bought in Egypt (Nubian rhythms) and I donned my jingly belt and belly danced all over the house, here, all by myself, ‘cause I can!

Yes, life goes on, and I plan to live it, not always quietly, and hopefully less often desperately. This year (warning – New Year’s resolution coming up) I intend to be kind to myself, and blog regularly. I hope to be able to post a blog once a week. Next week I think I’ll tell you about our trip to Egypt. Till then, be kind to yourself too.

Happy New Year!!!!

… yes you’re right, you didn’t see anything about giving up smoking :

Gathering Happinesses

2011-11-15T00:02:00.001-08:00

It happened when I dived into the pool in Hopefield one morning; I used to go swim with Ilze in the mornings. I’m not much of a morning person, but that morning, as billions of tiny bubbles slid past my face in the somewhat green water – a smile burst out onto my face. No one was there to see it, Ilze was swimming, and nobody else was there. And I realized I smiled for no one, but me. That’s when it hit me: it’s because I’m happy. And from then on, I’ve been gathering happinesses – registering when exactly I smile, for no one but me, involuntarily, for that I think, is my happiness indicator.

And so I tried to become consciously aware of that involuntary smile: My first cup of morning-coffee; Louis and Skye arriving home from school; their faces when they’re sleeping; when they’re happy; when I take photos (even just thinking about it, because I just smiled;) brushing my teeth, the smell of wildflowers and rain and sunlight on my face and the chirping birdies … and many many more. Over the months I have been gathering happinesses, and I really needed these, a few months back, when we went through the cancer ordeal with Tinus. I could use my happiness triggers to give me moments where I smiled.

Marie-Louise and I were sitting on the stoep at the River Cottage talking about this when we saw two white-tipped Basset tails wag through the reeds next to the river – Brigid and Brandon, our two dogs! And I smiled. I ran down to call them. Brigid looked up at me across the clumps of brilliant green grass, and I am quite prepared to swear that she was smiling as well. She had this look of utter adoration, happiness and joy and everything in her said: “I found you!”

The puppies (as we call them – they will be two years old at the end of December) were taken care of by Eugenie and later by Marie-Louise, John and Cous cous while we were trying to organize our lives. Finally with visas and import permits organized, vet papers signed and delivered the long wait was over – they flew into Dubai and we could fetch them from the air port. We were overjoyed and the puppies settled in quickly. They became house dogs – with boundaries - but they still prefer to spend most of their time outside.

One Saturday morning, about two weeks after we fetched them, Tinus and I were sitting outside with the puppies having a slow morning, each with a book and a cup of coffee. It was a perfect morning, not too hot yet, birdies chirping happily in the trees when Brigid got up, took a few unsteady steps toward me and started convulsing. My heart!! It was dreadful, I held her until the attack was over and then we franticly called every vet and pet shop we found listed to find someone open on a Saturday. Eventually we located a vet in Jumeira. By the time Brigid arrived at the vet she was back to her old loveable self, charming and licking her way into every heart around.

The vet said it was quite possibly an epileptic seizure, I never knew dogs get these – it seems that there are a number of breeds who do. He said it could just be an isolated case but if it continues it can be controlled effectively with medication. I have such sympathy for parents whose children suffer from epilepsy, it was terrible to see her so helpless, and feeling so completely helpless myself. It hasn’t happened again, I hope this is an isolated case.

My happinesses are happy to be with us and we are so happy to have them here, we just need the last member of our little family to join us. We miss you Tanzanite and hope you’ll be joining us soon.

Canine Epilepsy

Beauty has an address

2011-10-03T03:12:00.000-07:00

I’ve been to Oman quite a few times – never had my passport stamped for it. Al Ain, a village in the UAE, shares its borders with Oman – in a very strange way; in the days before black gold, Al Ain was very important: In Al Ain, hidden deep under the desert sands, are huge caverns filled all year round with cool clear spring water. Al Ain (Arabic: العين‎, al-ʿayn) literally means the spring,and for years and years ownership of the small village was ferociously warred over by the Emirate of Abu Dhabi –later part of the UAE - and Oman. It was finally decided to share the village between the two countries. Somewhere in Al Ain there is a road with three speed bumps. Once you’re over the last hump you find yourself in Oman in a village, which after the speed bumps is called Buraimi. We used to live in Al Ain (BC - before children) and those three bumps were at the beginning of many of our scariest, most wonderful and most memorable desert adventures.

Bubble on a road-trip to Oman

This time however, we went into Oman very very officially. In order for me and the children to change over from our tourist visas to our residency visas we had to leave the country, have our passports stamped out and stamped in again. Since Oman is only about 100km from Dubai it was the most sensible destination. Our road trip got off after the second try - we forgot that our rental car doesn’t have international insurance, fortunately for us Richard and Marianne’s Bubble does. Around 20km outside of Dubai the last buildings disappear in the heat-born haze and the white desert sand stretch around you as far as the eye can see. The openness of the desert speaks to my soul – always has. Why it is that the desert landscape intrigues me so I cannot say – perhaps because the Little Prince said: “every desert hides a well,” perhaps because of the open skies and complete horizon, perhaps because here, life is precarious but uncomplicated, minimalistic and large at the same time, serene and scary, yes, perhaps that is it – the contrasts.

After a while the white sand dunes turns into red, shaded in deep brown, black and sometimes even purple. There is a sand dune known as Big Red, where there is always human activity. The monstrous dune is an eternal challenge for those who think their particular brand of 4x4 vehicle will be the one to make it to the top or their driving skills will prove superior to the rest. From the road the SUVs on the slope resemble toy cars and the odd incident where a vehicle come rolling down the side of the dune rarely cause panic – it just seems too unreal.

Shortly after Big Red one starts to see Mountains in the distance. Mountains with a BIG M. Resembling silk paintings they disappear into the distance in hues of blues and purple. I always thought Tolkien must’ve modeled his Mordor after these giants. High up in these rough mountains are little villages where roses are grown - some of the best rosewater in the world come from here. All along the road we find wadis,*some filled with cool clear water and some dry, treacherously waiting for the uninformed tourist to wander down. The wadis can become flooded in seconds with rainwater from the mountains - flashing down with tragic results for anyone trapped in its way.

Every now and again one glimpses green oasis hidden in the folds of the mountains. Proud villas perched on higher ground dots the area, their high walls undulating ownership across the rolling landscape.

We had our passports stamped out at the UAE border to bring us to the end of our stay on our tourist visas. At the Omani border we parked our car in the parking area, purchased Omani tourism visas and had our passports stamped as entering the country. The handsome fellow with his traditional Omani headdress (I like these much more than the UAE ones) meticulously filled in one line for each of us (Tinus included) in a very large book, more or less starting at the one end of the table, writing …. writing …. writing …. writing all the way to the other end of the table. He then took our passports again, stamped them out, and did a new line for each of us writing …. writing …. writing …. writing …. We got back into the car and returned to the UAE border post where we had our passports stamped back into the UAE, now on residential visas. On the way back to Dubai we stopped the green bubble somewhere in the red part of the desert and four happy UAE residents watched the sunset pour molten gold over the endless dunes.

Pots at a roadside shop from the days
when missionaries were still on the menu

Wadi (Arabic: وادي‎ wādī; also: Vadi) is the Arabic term traditionally referring to a valley. In some cases, it may refer to a dry (ephemeral) riverbed that contains water only during times of heavy rain or simply an intermittent stream.

Buyer's market - if you're willing to haggle

The man took my Broom!

2011-09-29T23:13:00.000-07:00

As mentioned before, things in the UAE do not quite work on the same timescale as in other parts of the world - bar perhaps Africa-proper. Our rental contract said we can move in on Saturday, and even though we had no furniture, we decided to move in. Our stuff will be leaving Cape Town Harbour on the good ship HMS Zambia - or something to that effect - on the 5^th of October and we’re expecting it somewhere to the middle of November. I found a darling looking little table and chairs on Dubizzle for only AED 500 in Sharjah and we eventually also bought a lovely 12 piece dinner set from Amal. We had to stop ourselves from buying more things from her. Things we have space for – lots of space - but really don’t need right now. (E.g. four silk paintings in midnight blue – which she’s keeping for me)

We expected to arrive finding a clean villa, with all the little snags sorted out – the agency had two weeks in which to do it – silly us. Huge piles of dust had collected in each corner – possibly a desert soul dust collector lurking somewhere. We counted to five (we can’t count any further in Arabic) and went to Ace hardware, where we bought four camp beds, a tent (‘cos it was really nicely priced) and lots and lots of cleaning materials, amongst others a brilliant red broom with black bristles and an Ace hardware label on the handle.

Back home (did you hear: home!) we started cleaning. Skye and I started on the kitchen while the boys went upstairs to start on the bedrooms. Now I first have to give you an idea of scale: On the lower level of the villa, as you enter, you have the foyer; from here you have two sets of double doors on either side and a single door directly ahead, leading to the kitchen. The kitchen is disappointingly small, but nicely done in fake wood and marble. We were looking for a villa that has – firstly – a kitchen inside the house, and secondly, a kitchen door leading outside – which this one has.

On the left of the foyer you have what is known around here as the majlis, which is traditionally the visiting area for males, a washroom leading out of it with two basins and out of that a full bathroom. (Black and white marble) Between the majlis and kitchen is another room connecting to the kitchen. Dining room – once the table is here. Both these rooms are roughly 6m x 6m. On the left of the entrance hall you have another set of double doors leading to another lounge connected to the lower bedroom, with a full en-suite bathroom and separate dressing room – no BICs.

Upstairs you have the lovely area overlooking the (very dry at present) garden and mosque, and four bedrooms, each approximately 6mx5m with en-suite bathroom and dressing room with BIC. There is also an outside maid’s room – which was another requirement – for our puppies! We wanted a five bedroom villa, three bedrooms for us, one for visitors and another one to be used as a study. Hence the many many rooms.

And so we cleaned – and cleaned – and cleaned, and when the evening prayer call came (from across the street) we have finished two bedrooms and the kitchen. And it was night and it was morning - the first day of the week (here on a Sunday) – we carried on cleaning, and went on extensive shopping trips to buy appliances and somewhere in the afternoon of Monday (after numerous phone calls from Tinus to the agency) the cleaning crew arrived: Two scrawny sub-continentals with big smiles, a very old (as in flat-bristled-bleached-bone-white-with-age old) plastic broom and a bottle of disinfectant. They left around an hour later. Initially I though nothing much had changed; Closer inspection revealed that the dust piles were now spread in sticky streaks, all over the floors. The owner of the agency said it costs him AED 3000 to have the villa cleaned – these must be the two highest paid individuals in the UAE, at around AED 1500 per hour – and they left with my red broom!

Tuesday went by and eventually on Wednesday the agent called to tell us that the maintenance crew will arrive in half an hour. Two hours later: The same two smiling faces arrived – now bearing tools – maintenance crew! They ran up and down the outside staircase, but with very little command of the English language (three words used interchangeably; hah, uh, and water) not much was done. The lower bedroom’s bathroom had water running out of the roof – like a torrential rainstorm! They eventually disconnected the right tap and left, promising to be back later, leaving me to clean the soggy bathroom. And it was night and it was morning - Thursday;

Around ten o’clock Thursday morning one of the two cleaner/maintenance men arrived carrying a huge bag of grout. “Fix” he says, and proceeds to re-grout (not remove old grout, clean and put new ones in. No no, that would be way too effective – grout over existing grout) in upper bathroom floor - the one above the lower, leaky one. “This fix the leak?” I ask. “No.” he said with a wide smile, and placidly carried on applying grout to the bathroom floor with his fingers.

It is Thursday evening and I have the worst headache I’ve had in my life. Tinus figures it’s because I have not had enough water to drink (4.5litre so far.) I need to sweep the floors, but I have no broom.

From Home to Home

2011-09-29T06:07:00.000-07:00

Title courtesy of Richard

Our new home

Richard and Marianne have been living in the UAE for about fifteen years now. The other day Marianne said to me they are going home for the holidays. Home, for them, still is South Africa, after all these years. Another dear friend of mine, Tani - previously from across the hall, now from across the world - said to me one sunny Friday afternoon that she’s going home for the weekend; she hopes she doesn’t get lost - she’s never been there. Her parents moved to Jeffrey’s Bay, and for her, home was where her parents were.

During my years in boarding school, I remember watching people through my bedroom window jogging in the streets below, thinking - they’re going home. Although I returned to my parents’ home from time to time, it never quite felt like home. My life since school pretty much kept me moving, never staying in one place for long enough for it to become home. There were places I've slept, places I've lived in, decorated, even renovated, but nothing has ever felt like home. Or has it? Am I looking at the wrong definition of home?

Complete with opulent staircase :)

I’m not sure the living in one place thing has ever really had great appeal for me. It's hard to explain: One of the most interesting couples I’ve ever come across was on bicycles in Sinai. They met while they were cycling from two different parts of the globe, he from India and she from Sweden. They travelled together for a while, eventually fell in love, married while ‘on the road’ and when I met them they had a five year old daughter. Yes, she was born while they were travelling and have been travelling with them for all her life. They were thinking (I almost want to say sadly) of settling down when I met them, in order for their daughter to attend school.

That, I think is my ideal: to travel with the ones I love, having the world as my home, the important thing being the fact that we are together – SHARING LIFE. And that is what we are doing. It is not always easy – but the worthwhile things aren't, are they? So from home to home we live, sharing life. Our home for this part of the journey turned out to be this enormous villa: Lots of potential for living, for being happy. We have to create it, for creating our own happinesses is such an integral part of living a good life.

When we left Dubai the previous time, not sure if we’re ever coming back, we went to my parents’ home, where they took us in, gave us shelter and comfort, looked after us and helped us get strong. Yes, then we were home, and now, we are busy making another home. We have tried to settle down for so long now; when we returned from Dubai early 2003/4 our children were around five, we wanted to settle down then, so that they can have the stability of one school in one town. It didn't work. In Hopefield I even planted a tree, hoping that those roots will be able to keep me there, but it didn't. It is just not in our makeup - I think.

Marble floors all over - this is the landing - possibly breakfast room - upstairs

Perhaps this time we’ll be able to stay, if not for ever, for a long while at least. We’ve received our residency visas today; we just have to do a visa run to Oman for it to become official. And then, at least on paper, we will be residents.

res·i·dent/ˈrez(ə)dənt/

Noun: A person who lives somewhere permanently or on a long-term basis.

Adjective: Living somewhere on a long-term basis.

Hanging around – reflecting

2011-09-25T00:18:00.000-07:00

Days turn to weeks and weeks turn into months, but very slowly with the odd bump and hick-up things are beginning to come together. We finally found a villa, the children have been accepted into Repton and the puppies will be arriving on Friday. We have been staying in the Tamani hotel in the Dubai Marina now for about three weeks (and counting.) We keep on extending our stay due to these little speed bumps: When we finally managed to get the company cheque for the villa – this took some serious time-sharing, sleight-of-hand work and I’m sure small amounts of time travel and large amounts of quantum physics on Tinus’ part - as he was in Abu Dhabi, Ras Al Khaimah and other places for most of the week – the villa turned out to be dirty and without water and electricity.

I am at the villa now, waiting for the DEWA (Dept of Electricity and Water Affairs) connection to be connected and the cleaning crew to arrive. The children didn’t start school this morning – bureaucracy. (bureau-crazy) The school won’t let them start without paying the full first term’s fees, and no normal person has at anytime a spare R120 000 ++ in their bank account they can quickly spent at short notice. The company is in something they refer to as a pay cycle – I see one of those old bicycles with the Biiiig front wheel and little one at the back – and because of this they can only pay the school (or us) next week! Another week of hanging around.

Pool deck at the Tamani - life is tough :D

As we ‘speak’ Tinus is probably glowing in the dark. He is having a PET scan done - I said PEC scan before, it’s PET (Positron Emission Tomography). It is like a super-dooper-ultra CAT scan where they check every part of his body for cancer cells. Before a PET scan, the patient receives an intravenous injection of radioactive glucose. Many cancer cells are highly metabolic and rapidly synthesize the radioactive glucose. Information regarding the location of abnormal levels of radioactive glucose obtained from the whole-body PET scan helps physicians effectively pinpoint the source of cancer and detect whether cancer is isolated to one specific area or has spread to other organs…. What this means in English is that cancer cells like sweet stuff and they will suck up the glucose – and because the glucose is radioactive, the scan can see it. He has done really well with the first session of chemo, as I said before, nothing more than nausea and tiredness. I am so relieved and hope that the rest will be as easy if not better.

It has been an hour and a half, I think I’m going to go and do stove shopping. This is a very big decision – most of you know about the joke of the photographer who were invited to dinner, the hostess remarking that he takes such lovely photos, he must have a very good camera, to which he replied she cooked such a lovely dinner – she must have some really good pots. Most photographers like to think that they took such lovely photos because they’re really good – not their cameras. But let me tell you – having a good camera helps – A LOT. This, I must admit, from not-one-of-the-best-photographers in the world. Maybe the seriously good ones don’t need a good camera :)

I took this photo from our kitchen - almost lost my keys in the process

Most of you also know that I’m a rather pathetic cook. So I recon I’m going to need all the help I can get, if you have any suggestions about the type of stove I should be getting – let me know. If possible brand name and serial number. One of Tinus’ colleagues recently told me she bought a new stove and has gotten an eight thousand Rands discount on it – and I’m wondering what does it costs if the discount is more than what I’ve ever considered paying for one? But then again, I’ve never been serious about stove shopping before. Whish me luck.

Your route has been calculated

2011-09-16T07:24:00.000-07:00

Driving in the “new” Dubai is at best a bit like playing “Fast and Furious,” at worst a techno nightmare on speed. I think I’ve read somewhere that the roads in the UAE are the most dangerous in the world. Sheikh Zayeh highway is a ferocious speed way that shoots through the city in eight or sometimes nine lanes (one-way, thus sixteen to eighteen both ways.) The highway that’s never quiet runs through the city that never sleeps with overhead electronic sign boards that regulate the speed limit. The speed limit changes depending on the amount of traffic on it.

When we arrived here the first time we realized we’ll need some help ‘from above’ if we are to survive here – and so we downloaded updated Dubai roadmaps for my trusted Nokia navigator’s GPS. Only one problem : isn’t there always? The maps were last updated – it seems - in 2008, so quite often we found ourselves as a little red pointy arrow in the middle of the great yellow expanse, which in 2008 was still desert. Highways have morphed into super highways and suburban communities have mushroomed in places which are nothing but empty desert on our GPS’ maps.

For a while I would always return to the hotel from dropping Tinus off at the office by driving through the Dubai Marina Mall’s Parking area; “follow the green exit signs, two levels up, first right, second left, first right.” My road to the office would normally follow a road out into the desert, then a u-turn close to a lovely palace - which I never would’ve seen if not for Gertrude – our GPS’ female operator – to get back to Sheikh Zayed road, which I crossed “bearing left.”

One day on the way back to the hotel on the Emirates highway Gertrude said: “in 250 meters, at the roundabout, take the sixth exit.” I need glasses to see close-up but I still have good eyesight for far-away things, and I can see quite far – but there was no roundabout anywhere in sight, 250m or otherwise. We kept going.

And it was this, I think, that finally led to Gertrude’s breakdown. If you have a GPS you’ll know what I mean when I say you can hear the slight hysteria in the electronic voice at the third “turn around now.” Heedless we carried on, travelling on the Emirates highway, while Gertrude stayed silent, sulking somewhere on an electronic couch, probably eating a large box of electronic chocolates. But she had the last say: I can almost see her flinging the box of chocolates on the floor, getting up and stomping off to the console from where she speaks to us, grabbling the microphone and announcing: “AN ERROR HAS OCCURRED, YOU CAN NO LONGER REACH YOUR DESTINATION” with a definite ‘so-there’ in her voice.

A few days later, when we once again ended up somewhere we never planned to go, Tinus said he thinks it’s almost unfair to have a female voice on the GPS when the mapping is so “not fully coded.” So we have employed “James.” We are beginning to get to know our own way about more and more and we rely less on James than we did on Gertrude. I miss Gertrude, but I think she needs the time off.

Our route ahead seems to be calculated. Tinus has received his residency visa, we have found a nice villa, and are now waiting for Tinus’ boss to get back from Europe to sign his application for a cheque for the money to pay for the first year’s lease. We are waiting to hear from the school and we are in the process of applying for my visa, well, we first need to get our marriage certificate authenticated by the high court in South Africa, and we are busy applying for the pets’ import permits. The worst day so far, post chemo for Tinus was Tuesday. I have for the first time in two months been back to fairyland – my favourite facebook app – and got a really weird, yet surprisingly effective cure for Tinus’ post chemo symptoms - thank you Wendy and Safonia – Jelly Beans!!