A Mother's Journey

The Odyssey Continues…

2012-04-03T23:13:00.000-07:00

I left Umhlanga at night. It was cold, having drizzled and rained the entire day. I arrived in Pietermaritzburg, tired and hungry, to home cooked meal at my mother’s house, and savoured the last night in KwaZulu Natal, with my Mom, sister and niece. It was not easy to fall asleep despite the physical tiredness that I felt. The thrill of my move to Mpumalanga was dampened slightly by the fact that I would drive the entire trip alone, as my sister was unable to make the trip with me. I was surprisingly refreshed and alert at three thirty the next morning, and after a hot shower, I set off. Having studied the route I was to follow to get to Lydenberg, on Google maps, I was confident that I would easily get to Johannesburg without getting lost. I could have chosen to take an easterly route, which would have saved two hours of travelling. However I decided to stay on the N3 north, for safety, and because I was told that a fair amount of road works was being done as the roads were being upgraded. There were few cars and trucks on the route for the first two hours, but on Van Reenan’s Pass, there were numerous oncoming traffic. This was one of the areas that I had been nervous of driving through, and I made the entire accent, to 1100 metres above sea level, on winding roads, in the dark, without incident. I felt pitiful for all the young ladies sitting in the various toll booths, huddled and obviously very cold, and wondered whether it was not possible for them to have heating in their booths. I believe that the roads department can afford them this liberty, the tolls being quite expensive. Some of them greet you with a friendliness that belies their discomfort. As I left the province, the horizon began to light up to my left. The region was flat so the entire horizon appeared ablaze with the preceding rays before the ruddy orb, emerged. The external temperature indicator was in single digits, and I was surprised to see people travelling on the roads, on foot, especially a man, followed by a little child who was ill dressed for the cold, for her posture and gait revealed her uneasiness. I had exhausted my fuel, having decided not to use the garage stop, earlier, and was hoping to see another one soon, when the fuel indicator, beeped a friendly reminder. At the next toll booth, the toll collector advised me to keep going as I would find a quick stop in three kilometer’s, without leaving the N3. Relieved, I also bought some water, Milo and a chocolate, and walked about a little to stretch before continuing. I passed farms with herds of fattened cattle, all concentrating on their morning meal, heads bent to the grass. Some herds had game, and sheep. Other herds were exclusively gazelles distinguished by their tricolour markings, and elegant horns. Large expanses of sunflower plantations, there heads bowed and heavy with seed that would be harvested and processed to produce cooking oil. Its amazing how even the faded beauty of sunflowers lifts up the spirits. Numerous windmills also had a similar effect on this lonely travellor, and I wonder whether this is generic or just images that cause a personal happiness. The numerous bridges I passed under were uninspiring and functional, beam bridges. I thought about the arch bridge, on the N2, and all the new bridges in KZN with a sense of nostalgia already, and realised that I would often be making trivial comparisons. These comparisons would become lessened only with time spent away. It was at this time, that I began to get messages on my phone, from family members and friends, which I ignored, until I reached the next tollbooth. They were all aware of this solitary journey and their concern and support encouraged me. I took a call from my daughter, though, and explained my current location and asked for critical information in order to negotiate the many interchanges in the approach to Johannesburg. I wished to circumvent this huge city and was amazed by the amount of traffic as it was early on a Sunday morning. I remembered that it was April Fools day, and wondered about that coincidence momentarily and then distracted myself with a CD, that Tasmin and Nadia and I enjoyed, when we travelled, all the while keeping on the N12, and heading due east. The sun was warmed my face and I used its comforting grace to feel secure in the knowledge that I was indeed on the correct route. Soon I began to recognise certain landmarks that I had noticed on a previous visit to my daughter. There included a landfilled designed in a step pyramid shape with grassed sides to protect the mined wastes from running off, and numerous active mining and industrial buildings. The terrain on the way to Middelsberg, and beyond, was still incredibly flat, in stark contrast to KwaZulu Natal and the Western Cape, which is something you generally only subconsciously notice, until it is mentioned or you when you consciously strive to locate for whatever reason. In my case I was looking for changes metaphorical and otherwise to justify my choices. For if indeed there were physical changes in the landscape, the weather and the location, then perhaps it would reflect in changes in my opinion, my disposition, and mindset, hopefully positively for the future. I journeyed on looking for the turnoff to Belfast, as I knew this would herald the last quarter of my journey, when I could give myself leave to relax and await the arrival of the furniture, which was following hopefully. Belfast is a town surely named for the period in history when the IRA was most active. The roads are a veritable minefield of potholes which seem largely ignored and larger than the last time I travelled through. Four way stop streets, seem to warrant extra care as there is a feeling of frontier lawlessness, where traffic etiquette is uncommon. For a Sunday afternoon and being a relative small town it is surprisingly, busy with many petrol stations all of which seem bustling with activity, and many mini bus taxis, either parked off or moving with hazardous intent through the streets. I managed to negotiate the correct turns to get me on the steep road out of town towards Dullstroom. The town seemed aptly named for as I commenced my approach, the weather clouded over and a mist descended, which got so heavy that in places it was impossible to see five metres ahead at midday. The landscape changed rapidly and was no longer horizontal, but the potholes in the road remained and had to be endured, with a slower pace. I passed a roadblock that was being established just pout of town by the traffic police and wondered that even they may feel safer setting up outside Belfast, but relieved that I was not stopped, even though the exuberant members were already selecting victims to bully. In all fairness, it is to be expected, as SA has a high number of fatalities, on our roads and the Easter period is one of the highest, so a high police presence is needed to deter drunk drivers and those with vehicles that are not road worthy. The flat boring roads thus far, now changed dramatically, and winding and meandering its way until I arrived into Dullstroom, which was by now particularly busy. This is a cultural hub, which sustains itself on tourists, both local and international. Because the popular Long tom race was held that morning, Dullstroom was filled to capacity. I drove straight through, and encountered another winding route, which was again very scenic, until it began to rain. The challenging route, provided relief from further boredom, with regular potholes, and mist descending at its highest point, with the added bonus of light rain and a further road block, before I entered Lydenberg. Lydenberg, protects the cultural history of the area, especially with street names like “Voortrekker street”, and its Afrikaans heroes, like Viljoen and De Klerk. Again I was surprised at how busy it was considering that it was now mid afternoon. I passed lots of bakkies, with occupants who were mildly curious about this strange vehicle, with an out of town number plate, to people who rudely stared, with hopefully awe and not contempt. Now it must be remembered that this author does sustain an overactive imagination. In which case she now resigns herself to being oversensitive, in some cases. Having negotiated the hill up to the complex where I will live, with directions from my daughter that had me do an about turn and some unexpected sight seeing I again found myself avoiding a myriad of pot holes to find my new home, with the maid in attendance to open the gate. The maid was asked to come in to assist when the furniture arrived at midday. However, the truck never materialized, in a cruel April Fools joke, as planned. She sunned herself on the back porch for the better part of the afternoon when at four o clock it became obvious that she would have to leave in order to make it home with the last transport out of town. We settled in for the night waiting for the movers……..

The return of the multigenerational household

2012-01-01T21:47:00.000-08:00

In a multigenerational household, there will be at least three generations of people living together; the grandparents live under the same roof as their adult children and grandchildren.

When I was a child most of my friends lived in multigenerational families, and I longed to be a part of such a family. We lived as a family of three children with only our parents. Thankfully my mom was a stay at home mom, so we always came home to a home cooked meal and never had the experience of after care and day care. We also lived in a time and area when neighbours were an extension of family so just by crossing an imaginary boundary you found yourself in a home away from home and this provided a sense of an extended family network that was lacking in our home.

The western trend of nuclear family, gained favour even in collectivist cultures whose very success depended and thrived upon multigenerational relationships. While the trend seemed to benefit individuals achieve progress in certain areas where socioeconomic gains created opportunities for greater independence and privacy became highly valued, the benefits seem to lack the initial lustre it once enjoyed.

The so-called “Indian household” in South Africa, is one of those cultures, which thrived within the trials, and benefits of the multigenerational family, especially during repressive apartheid years.
Now we are seeing a significant trend reversal in the West. The multi-generational American family household is staging a comeback — driven in part by the job losses and home foreclosures of recent years but more so by demographic changes that have been gathering steam for decades.

This could also be attributed to the increase of Hispanics; Asians added to the Black families who have continued enjoy the benefits of the collectivist cultures. In Europe too, however, multigenerational families are on the rise, with figures higher than America, where there has not been mass migration of the collectivist cultures.

Because cultures adapt and change, a variety of new configurations are displayed even in small communities. Even within collectivist cultures, there seem to be many differences in the relationships. While some of these differences are driven by socioeconomics e.g. where parents or breadwinners are migrant labourers or workers, and decision-making for family responsibilities move to other members who normally would not share in them.

Also intercontinental and cross country migration by families results in the offspring being more adaptable, and in most instances amenable to adopting the cultural trends while their parents align themselves to the country of their origin. These shifts could result in tensions that affect the fabric of family life and cause problems, which are difficult to overcome.

Other changes like rapid socioeconomic shifts could induce a new mind-set and change family dynamics to such an extent that alienates parents and siblings from each other culturally.

It is during the festive period when family responded to my invitation to converge at my home to celebrate, that I began to reflect while still in the midst of the evening about how infrequently we share time together. We still communicate with each other regularly. However with all my siblings living in different provinces, and the children away from home at university, there has been little time to truly engage with each other the way we used to.
I experienced nostalgia for those times when we all did share our lives under one roof as siblings. Then later after marriage, we all lived fairly close enough to enjoy many shared family interactions and never felt the vast gaps we now feel.
Seeing how quickly nieces and nephews have grown and changed, I felt a sense of loss in not being able to share more closely in their lives.

Watching my kids greet their grandmother with real and intense fondness after prolonged absences during their university years also makes for heart-warming scenes. I remember them being so little and following their doting grandparents around, paying careful attention and absorbing every detail and copying it to good effect even in their absence. Now they stoop to gather their grandmother in their arms, to greet with equal tenderness that she used to once showed to them.
It is with usual regret that an evening comes to a close too soon to be able to enjoy cherished moments, which will echo in thoughts and memories for years to come.

The day in the life of a family in grief Guest BLOG Nadia Naidoo

2011-11-05T07:59:00.000-07:00

Words cannot describe what I felt that day. All around me emotions set off like uncoordinated fire works that hadn’t been secured in the ground properly.
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It was 2007 and, like every year, my family was in Cape Town celebrating the Easter Holidays. And like all major holidays consumerism was at its best. That’s how I remember I had gotten a Lindt Easter bunny. I refused to eat it because it was so perfect but I loved just looking at it and thinking how delicate it actually was.
I was in my sister’s apartment and my parents had gone out for some reason or the other. Everything was going great until I walked into the T.V room and saw my sister sitting on the floor against the wall holding her head. Not thinking too much about it I went up to her to see if she was alright. Then I saw her face and noticed the horrified look it portrayed, and she was crying. I asked her what had happened to her, she didn’t hear me, I asked again, still nothing, I asked again, nothing… and then in a small murmur of a voice she gave me the answer. But it was no an answer I liked, not at all.
When you experience grief you react in a way that strange to you. I thought I would burst into tears on delivery of such news, but I didn’t, I couldn’t. I felt peculiar I wanted to cry because that would be normal but I couldn’t. Then like a flash flood I felt sick, and cold, and I felt like I was trembling but I was still.
This was the day my three month old cousin died due to a reaction to sulphur. Our holiday came to an abrupt stop like a car would in a head on collision but in our case there were no airbags. I felt guilty because I didn’t want to leave Cape Town and go home, home seemed so much colder. Home was reality and I didn’t want to face that.
I so desperately wanted it to be fake just some sick twisted joke. I believed it wasn’t for a while and at any moment someone would tell me the truth I so frantically willed to be right. But that was wishful thinking or possible temporary dementia due to grief.
The flight home was long and tiresome, but I couldn’t sleep even though I was terribly exhausted. I felt like heavy like all the fluid in my body was made up of lead.
When I got to the funeral home my life whirl pooled into an abyss of lament. My whole family had fallen into the abyss with me. The worst part was looking at the mother of the baby, my aunt, she looked vacant. She was merely 23, early to mother hood, but she didn’t look her age she looked haggard.
The weather on that day was perfectly grim, not raining just grey. It seemed to have sucked the entire colour out of the world. I felt as if I had been transported into an old movie, genre: horror.
I still couldn’t cry, and I so badly wanted to, it is not easy watching all the strong men and women in your family cry while you sit still unable to show emotion. I didn’t cry until days later. I felt in alone in my emotionless façade, alone surrounded by my blood, my family.
Its crazy how you can love someone you’ve only met five or six times in your life. It is engraved in our genetic make up that we develop an instant love and affection for babies. You cannot help but fall entirely with out a choice for them
I opened my suitcase that night and found my Lindt bunny, smashed into a million pieces, no longer perfect. Looking at the crushed bunny I could not feel sad nor could I feel the joy I once felt in preserving it.
Nadia Naidoo

The Child within the woman

2011-11-05T07:57:00.000-07:00

Every time the winds howls against my window pane

Every time the rain chills my air

When the pillow holds no welcome
reprieve

When the sun hides his face from earths daughter

Then to deaf heavens with upturned face

Then to the velvet star less night

The child within the Woman searching

The smiling eyes shielding fears she cant express

She leans on the boy nestling within Man

She knows she has a friend.

Xenophobia

2011-11-05T07:43:00.000-07:00

Xenophobia equates to a lack of humanity
When we lack humanity, We have lost our soul.

A soul less person is difficult to imagine.
A soul less nation is unimaginably difficult to comprehend.

How does a nation forget its xenophobic acts?
Whether as victims or perpetrators.
And will not the universe conspire against that nation.

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.
Sometime it will come to pass
That past sins will be paid for.

We think too small
When we look for immediate gratification.
Surely if we waste a little time In reflection,
We could restructure our actions to keep us humane.

I wrote this during the second wave of xenophobic attacks that occurred in July 2010 in South Africa.
A wave of xenophobic mob attacks hit South Africa two years previously. More than 60 people were
killed and thousands displaced.

What was learnt during the first attack was that mobs and individuals
would escape prosecution, because no one was arrested and jailed for the attacks, thus two years later
further stirrings occured resulting in atrocious attacks by human beings on one another.

The world is filled with people who have migrated so It is my opinion that we are all living on borrowed soil.

The yearning Abyss

2011-11-05T07:40:00.000-07:00

The yearning abyss within her beating breast,
Finds solace in wandering dreams

I travel tough Velvet meadows
Through dusty trails
And treacherous mountainous Paths

The changing rays of sunlight create enthralling landscapes
to impress this Misguided traveler

But to behold the scene with the rosy glow of an
Enchanted embrace yields an enhanced appreciation of even mundane offerings.

For surely passion unbridled between Lovers creates a bolder
Array of hues!

When I miss my Girls

2011-11-05T07:35:00.000-07:00

When I miss my girls, I remember their younger days…..carefree, loved, spoilt, and unhindered by dogma and decree.
Each one destined for a path unique.

Intertwined lives through shared experiences, wildly separated by independent minds.
The one looking to lead and forge past any obstacle, unhindered by challenges;
The other constantly looking for understanding and meaning, asking questions only old souls question, many times over, through many lives ;the answers to which she will struggle and may never ever find …..
The last with ambition driven. Her need to level with her siblings years ahead evident always…Challenging them to stay ahead if they can……….

Each one moved by an unseen machine, forever and tirelessly wandering through time and space…
Did I do this???……..set the burning ambition early on ??? Sending them hurtling like comets towards a pre directed path????
Did I steer their attention away from the carefree, the attainable, that which could be grasped and held forever?
I look at their choices, and they look like they are scanning horizons that I will never behold.
Is it fair, that they seek for boundaries beyond without having got to yesterdays goal?
Have I passed on a gene, perhaps, a yearning of life’s quest for the furthest barrier and then another?

I see them look back now and again, and hope it is without regret and longing.
There is knowledge in the beginnings of things that inform our later actions, however we try we cannot change ourselves even with the errors of others as examples to guide us. Some lessons have to be processed through experience.

Some may be happier to drop their seeds at their feet, and forever shade their emerging offspring with protective branches; others create the seeds with the mutations which allow them to be carried by the wind to faraway places, never knowing if the winds of chance will take them to fertile ground…..in an extreme leap of faith that they would geminate and prosper in some unimagined haven.

We do then shape our children’s paths- whether by obvious intended ambition, or passively by the unseen gene, which directs and steers the course.

To my enigmatic children
Rhea, Tasmin, and Nadia, who occupy my thoughts constant frequency….which is as it should be……

The Shaik Clan

2011-11-05T01:24:00.000-07:00

I have two sisters , a brother and an amazing Mom! The Shaik women though, are a seriously crazy bunch. Well if you don’t believe me ……read on.

Like most matriarchal groups we share an uncommon bond and an enormous capacity to love each other unconditionally. We live in Durban, Pietermaritzburg, Gauteng and Greytown. Time and distance doesn’t seem to dampen the strength of our affection or deter from us keeping firmly in contact telepathically, or via bbm face book and the phone.

We have developed a reflective outlook on life that forces us to laugh at ourselves first before anyone one else gets the chance to do so. This enables us to
Enjoy the highs and lows that life has to offer with no regrets. We constantly attract our selves to situations where we are forced to examine our place in our
families, communities, country and the universe at large. It is not uncommon to find a Shaik woman, face upturned to the heavens, making an impassioned plea for direction because she has taken the road less described and found herself in unchartered terrain. Each dead ends forces her back to her roots and mom is always a phone call away to provide some words of wisdom, and a few hearty jokes later, the pathways reveal themselves where previously only tangled undergrowth crowded footpaths and made the journey impassible.

I endure relationship advice from the sisters only that I may execute the exact opposite to what they have decreed. I listen patiently to anecdotes they proffer and plot my strategy to avoid the pitfalls that that they have made. In this way I escape the calamities of mistakes they have made but in true Shaik style fly head long into brand new mistakes all the same.

The Shaik Curse. All Shaik women are followed by the Shaik curse and will never shake free from it with any intervention yet discovered. Curse one, when we walk into a room people notice us. Curse two, we love with every fiber within our hearts and our souls capacity to extend the emotion is enormous and grows with every heart beat spent. Curse three, our children are an extension of our souls and we put enormous pressure on ourselves to leave a legacy that will enable all their dreams to crash upon their lives like the waves that pound unceasingly on a sandy beach. Curse four, a shaik woman will never be caged, she is a wild creature and while boundaries will be seen they will never be obstacles for her.

Many people see the value in being able to walk into a room and immediately be noticed, for their looks or style of dressing or just the energy they walk in with, however Shaik women know that attention of this nature has the ability to create situations where significant others may take serious discomforts from.

While having the capacity to love is also a noble and beautiful trait in women, it seems that the ability to love too much is just as perilous as having no capacity to feel and demonstrate the emotion. When you love, you somehow expect some form of reciprocation so you can imagine that when you have the capacity to love without reserve you expect too a “wuthering Heights” response from the object of your admiration. A soul mate is what a Shaik woman needs and searches to find. The Heathcliff kind of passion for Cathy that burns beyond the grave that could be misconstrued for serial stalker is her secret ambition. Of course in the Shaik woman’s mind she would be the only one who would have the ability to tame the beast within the man and live happily ever after. Yes the contrast of danger and safety is her ultimate yearning and her mission never loses its focus.

Curse Three is her unshakable dedication to her offspring. The Shaik woman is an earthly creature. She is very in touch with her basic instincts, and procreation is just a natural order of things. Her responsibility to her child is seen in her ferocious protection of them. She never reneges on her responsibilities and she understands the role for social and community interaction. It takes a village to raise a child who is well rounded. Now that the world is a village her child is groomed for the village. Their minds are exposed to everything she can lay her hand and mind on. Very little is hidden, but she values their ability to think and from a young age they are primed to critically observe their world and debates, also seen as arguments could find frequency in her home. Her capacity to love means that physical displays of emotion and words of comfort and encouragement are in abundance, even though cat fights and painful jibes at poor judgments might be frequent.

Curse Four deals with the sense of being imprisoned. Walls, narrow mindedness, restrictions, lack of understanding will see a Shaik woman retreat into a cacoon she has spun for herself. She will bide her time and plan her escape. When she escapes it is like the unfolding of the wings of a butterfly. Where once she crawled on her belly and ate what she could reach, she now floats elegantly from beautiful flower to flower and selects where she would feed on the nectar within.

Will a Shaik woman ever find fulfillment with her inherent tendencies for the seemingly unattainable…or will she settle for a life in shadows, nestled with her cocoon waiting forever for the time to emerge reborn and completely evolved. The butterfly soft and gentle OR the fiery phoenix who allows itself to ignite in flames and from the ashes emerge as new time after time.

One thing is sure a Shaik woman will never take an easy well described path, and if she were given a choice she would certainly choose to be a Shaik woman time and time again.

Paradise Valley Picnic

2011-03-13T10:54:00.000-07:00

I got up early and prepared the stuffed chicken and veggies for the picnic at paradise valley, but was delayed and didn't make the nine o clock rendezvous at the forty fifth cutting.

After finally packing the car and entering the destination into the GPS, I leave home knowing that most of the team members had already established themselves at the picnic and some were concerned that I was either lost or had changed my mind about
attending.

The previous evenings sudden and fierce electric storm had dampened my spirits but the morning was glorious and cooler for the previous nights weather.

Regardless of the GPS I still managed to get lost, but with the directions from a kind security guard I was on track again. Being late meant that I had to park further away, and was forced to carry the cast iron pot further, this just strengthened my resolve to be on time in future.

Having driven around and seen the valley with tall trees i was expecting Paradise Valley to live up to its name, but after paying for the entrance and walking in the shade of these trees, I was glad to have overcome the obstacles and made the journey.

The fires were burning, in braai stands, and families were involved in the communal acts that promoted Harmony and cultivated, bonds and family ties, sharing & learning for the present and future generations in their care, and while I passed large groups of people, I began to feel a little sad that my offspring were all scattered across South Africa.

Q (Qureisha) was 30 minutes further than Lydenburg, Taz ( Tasmin) was in the heart of Capetown, and Nadia was being a typical teenager and showing off her Independence by choosing to spend her time with her friends. Thankfully I had packed their early days with many organised and spontaneous outings of this nature, so I was not feeling totally abandoned by their absence.

Arriving at the chosen Picnic site, I found that the young men were braaing successfully, while most of the congregation, had taken advantage of their industry, to endure the trail to the waterfall and back. Being a bit tired, I took advantage of their absence to relax under the tress on one of the many picnic blankets spread out.

As the exhausted, and sometimes energised, hikers began to arrive, I felt a little sad that I had missed out on what must have been a beautiful excursion. The smell of braaied meat and the beautiful fresh air, seemed to have stimulated the appetites and every one quickly revealed salads, rolls, sauces, before they voraciously applied themselves to the task of savouring the fare bountifully laid out. Young and old and everything in between, claimed logs, chairs, blankets, to sit in groups and enjoy their feast, with groups catching up on news, their experiences on the trail, and occasionally bantering with each other rather loudly, to the enjoyment of all.

The children well fed, began to explore the treasures within the meandering stream, which bubbled gently within view of the adults. The older ones ventured into the stream and were rewarded with tadpoles and other wondorous creatures which they collected in polystyrene cups, eagerly showing off their prize to any adult who showed an interest.

Groups formed and reformed throughout the afternoon, and soon people began to pack and leave. We sat around drinking tea, and planning our weeks activities, amidst some nice story telling and humorous anecdotes by a much loved member who never failed to inspire jibes, but who also never fails to keep the party atmosphere going.
Dawood is an energetic force who has forgotten his age, or never cared much to fall victim to it.

It was with a feeling of sadness I drifted off from these friends to drive home, feed the dogs and lock up the house for the evening. While i type the skies grumble their regret too, and the skies threaten once more to deliver yet another deluge to wash away the oppressive heat.

2010-04-19T10:23:00.000-07:00

Missing a few days of training, is ok, and can actually benefit the body allowing good recovery, especially after an ultra marathon.

However, tto much rest can make a runner lazy. Add a seven day week and you have the ingredients to lose sight of your carefully laid out training plans.

I have taken two weeks off since my Ultra in Cape Town (the two oceans 56 km). I have only run 1 =5kay and walked a 5 kay since the big battle to counquer the Terrible Two Oceans. I have steadied ny resolve to train and formulated a plan to recover the lost Kilometers. The next week sees the Chatsworth 25 on Sunday which I plan to run albeit slowly, its a race where on can pick up injuries as the decline on Higonsons is deceptively easy but taxing on the knees.

No need to pick up injuries here............lets just cruize this one and save myself for the following weekend, where I plan to run 3 back to back 1o kays with a leisurely 20 kay run on Freedom Day. After that I will make a Madiba Cake to celebrate our liberation and emancipation fron the dearth that was apartheid.........
and have no guilt about eating it.

Sunday Lunch

2010-04-18T10:52:00.000-07:00

Sunday lunch with family is special,especially when the day is sunny and lazy and the little children are chirping merrily while we all eat drink and break bread together.

Today was especially good because the 7 month old Azzidine, broke out four teeth all at once. Two on the top and two smaller pearly ones at the bottom. Every body enjoyed hearing the teeth make sounds on the glass when his mom fed him some cream soda.

Lunch was a delious Lebanese meal from the new " Al Basha" restaurant- take away in the village. The babagaloosh, the tsatsiki and the kebabs were flavoured to perfection. Four different kebabs, shish, lamb, chicken and beef, each with a unique blend of spaices to tempt and tantalise the tasebuds were voracious enjoyed by all. The garlic and herb bread we had as an accompaniment, was warmed in the oven and smelt so good, we all ate far more than we should have.

Nadia prepared some custard and jelly for the children, and some avocado with milk and sugar just like my mom used to prepare it.

While we all felt ready to take a well deserved siesta, we felt the children and the dog should be taken to the park to play first. What a wonderful surprise we had when Patricia the lady who has a pair of pekinese was there too. Unfortunately Picasso did not think so, as he hid away from the beautifully groomed pair, who were amazingly energetic, under the car for the duration of our visit.

This gave us a chance also to play with the new soccer ball we bought to celebrate the coming world cup soccer in ?65 days time.

I managed to get two tickets for Nadia and myself for match 53, in Durban, but when i tried to book tickets for more matches in Durban, I was disapointed to find they had all been sold out.

We were overjoyed to find that tickets, the cheaper category 4 tickets were available in PE. While PE is a considerable drive away, and I have never been there, theyhave built a truly beautiful stadium alongside the sea. I phoned my nephew and my daughter who is studying in CapeTown and asked whether or not they wanted to travel with us to PE for a few days of sight seeing and to watch the match between Chile and Spain, before leaving the following day to return home to Durban. They all IMMEDIATELY agreed, and we booked the tickets.

We will have carefully plan our roadtrip in order to make the most of this visit. I must know it is going to be the best experience I ve had in a long time.

Now to find friends of friends to stay with!!!!!!!!!!!!I have a few ideas, or else we just book a campsite and sleep under the stars, what better way to see the east coast of South africa in June.

Learning Hindi in Durban

2010-04-16T09:46:00.000-07:00

Friday, April 16, 2010
Learning Hindi in Durban
It was my second lesson in Hindi. At the first lesson last week, I was very nervous as the class was bigger than I had anticipated, with about 20 fellow learners, and some had not even attended.

Our teacher "aadhyapak,"in Hindi, or rather "maada," because she is female, is very patient and kind soul who is very tolerant of slow learners, so I think this is a good class to stick with.

I have a basic knowledge of words, which I remember from my childhood when I would hear my Mom speak to relatives, and when she would try to teach us the little she knew. What I find difficulty with is actually saying what i want to out loud. I am further finding it difficult to remember the words I had learnt from last week.

This week our maada, was away, and asked us to meet and revise our words and phrases. We decided that since we joined the class late we would do as she asked. A few minutes after we had begun our lesson, we had a visit from a Indian National who was visiting for an hour. He was a merchant at the Indian fair and had been invited to the class, by an acquaintance.

He was able to get us speaking simple sentences in the hour that he was there, and our pronunciation was improving as well. The hour flew without us realising it, and my confidence grew as well. I realise that learning a new language is the same as learning anything, with practise and confidence, learning can be so easy.

I am now motivated to speak Hindi, and am going to persevere with the wonderful group of people of all ages who are in the class. Each one of them motivated to learn a language that was denied to them because of our history in the education system. One gentleman stated that throughout our history as Indians in south Africa, it was always more beneficial to learn English and Latin, then it was English and Afrikaans and even now, they would like us to learn English and Isizulu.

It seems that whoever rules, dictates the languages that we learn formally in school.
With so much pressure to succeed in school subjects, it is not possible to insist on children taking other subjects after a tiring day at school. In fact most parents allow their children to catch up on the lessons with tuition in Maths and science to ensure matric entrance.

More often than not we ask them to take a European language instead of our mother tongue, so that they would be able to traverse the world and find better opportunities in faraway lands where the exchange rate yields more money per hour of work.

With Hindi, which is not far from my parents mother tongue of Urdu, I am hoping to personally redress my own distance that I feel from my culture. This does not mean that I wish to abandon the broader culture of being a South African. It just means that I wish to find a path to my roots that was denied to me by circumstances that were beyond the control of a whole generation who found themselves aliens in the country of their birth, “children born to immigrants from India, on South African soil." I am a second generation mix of Indian and Middle Eastern, but I have only a working understanding of simple Hindi/Urdu. My children know nothing of these languages that are widely prevalent in the world, because the population of India and Pakistan where they are spoken is so vast. I do hope that with my interest it will stimulate an interest in my children to pursue some lessons in the language.

I also have watched many Indians movies from Bollywood which releases songs with romantic lyrics. i was often told by my dad and other relatives that the true meaning of the poetry is often lost in translation, and only when you have a grasp of the language, can you begin understand the full impact of the passion and meaning locked within. My Hindi classes hopefully hold the key to these mysteries, and will reveal to me more in terms of the meaning of life too...........A burning question that haunts my soul..........

2010-04-16T06:04:00.000-07:00

Today the Radiography students
who accomplished their goals last year and either passed or distinguised themselves in their chosen fields of study graduated in front of their family, friends and their lecturers and dignitaries.

It was truly a day for celebration and for fashion. Both males and females came in outfits which they had seriously contemplted for many a day, and adorned themselves for this auspicious event.
It was wonderful to see them and thier families rejouicing in the hard work they had put in to make sure this day would come to pass.

For us as educators who were the facilitators throughtout the years and assessments, and notes and assigments, it was truly a day for rejoicing again in your accomplishments.

To all the BTechs:2009!!!!!!!!Well done to all!!!!!!!

Wage disputes, and bad habits.....creating problems

2010-04-14T12:02:00.000-07:00

I have often been told about a bad habit I have of turning the prevalent issue of the moment into something related to totally to myself ( in other words stealing the limelight). I had no idea that I was doing this so often or that others were noticing it, until it was mentioned and then highlighted with examples. It was not the easiest to hear little bits of truths about oneself especially if those truths were unflattering at the least and unlikeable at the worst. This was one bad habit I resolved to change with immediate effect. Unfortunately like all bad habits, this is proving difficult to do.

Yesterday a colleague and I had to work on a project together. Before we got down to the tedious task on hand, we began discussing the news and current events. Before long we began discussing the municipal workers strike which usually means the rubbish is not collected until they return to duty.

I soon realised that my rubbish which was supposed to be taken away on Wednesday will now not be collected for another week, and mentioned aloud that it was a huge problem if the municipality would give to the workers demands no matter what they were asking for. Having never heard me take one side of a wage dispute so strongly before, my colleague asked me why I thought so, expecting me to give an opinion I had perhaps heard on the radio or read in the newspaper.

I reminded him that I had a fallen adversary; “the dead rat” which was culled in battle, decomposing rapidly in my trash, and had a vested interest in the strike ending rather urgently, when I noticed that he was no longer just sitting upright, he was bent over trying to control his laughter, and not doing too well at that. He laughed long and hard before we got down to the business at hand.

I guess I will have to strengthen my resolve to rid myself of the bad habit, even though the bad smell lingers a while longer.

Greytown visit

2010-04-12T11:20:00.000-07:00

I am glad I visited my sister in Greytown this weekend. I had felt some nostalgia driving there, as this was my home for more than ten years, and while the drive there was beautiful, as we approached the town it began to rain....... but once I arrived there and met my sister, I truly began to miss the city life. We drove to the Wimpy, but there was not much to do after we had caught up on the weeks news and had satiated our appetites. Being so cold, we ate far more than we should have.

I visited some of my erstwhile best frieds, and spent some cherished moments there, and retired back to the flat to watch the kids play with the WII.

If it had not been for the delicious braai, Zaheer made on the balcony, we all would have been forced to go to bed early to avoid catching our death of cold.

I cannot believe I lived in the one street town, for so many years. Neither can I imagine going back there to live on a more permanent basis, even though the place holds some fond memories of a happy time when my young family was still finding its path through to our present lives.

Coming back to Durban I witnessed a horrific accident that must have occurred a few minutes before. A BMW and a double cab had crashed and wer lying between the two lanes of the N2. Traffic had come to a slow crawl on both sides making it very dangerous for the many pedestrians and cars since there was no traffic police on the scene. The steam was still rising out of the radiator of the vehicle that had overturned. It was sobering and people were driving a lot slower with more care after they had passed the scene.

I was just thankful to be safely at home with my daughter, especially after seeing the accident.

2010-04-09T22:50:00.000-07:00

Some rats had moved into the ceiling, and every night in the small hours they would become active. This would take the form of energetic scampering as if they were in the midst of a game, or a family squabble, or even heavan forbid a mating ritual ( let me not even begin to imagine that this frenitc enegy was the actaul act that would produce bountiful baby rats). While this was very irritating, no rats were seen and by morning the rats were forgotten because there was so much else that needed doing.

I spent a little more than a week visiting my children in Cape Town, and on my return was hoping to get a peaceful nights sleep with my own pillow on a familliar bed. Alas my absence had meant for the rats that I had abandoned my quaters, and it saw this as an opportunity to establish itself not in the ceiling anymore but in the room. Ofcourse, I was only made aware of this when at o1h30 in the morning I was awakened with scampering, araound the base of the headboard of my bed.

My displeasure was anounced with some shoe throwing at the cupboard where I last saw the unwelcome furry visitor. I also slept in another room albeit, very lightly, as can be expected, but not before I secured the door against it escaping, because I planned to have it caught the next morning.

The next morning saw me trying to establish whether I had dreamed the experience or imagined it all, which would mean I was slowly losing my mind!!!!!!! Thankfully the visitor had left a few dehydrated droppings which were a telltale sign of its presence. My dutiful maid arrived with a broom with which she was going to use as a weapon to kill and remove the rat, but alas when we moved the cupbaord and looked for it, it was nowhere to be found.

That evening at around six when it was becoming a bit dark, I approaced, my tenants, who were relaxing on the patio, and asked what would be the best way to kill a rat. They sugessted a some poison and we were discussing the dangers this would present for the three dogs and how to prevent any accidents, when one of the tenants, Richard noticed that a rat had fallen off the roof.

The convesation about the poisoning, had apparently affected the rodent to some degree as it was making its way to its preferred lodgings, "MY ROOM," and it fell off the roof. Being a resilient and mean hearted beast that it was, it didnt even have the decency to break any bones or dislocate a shoulder. So with only its feeling hurt as it thupmed to the ground, the critter began to run into the nearest bush.

One of the tenants, Grant, grew up on a farm, or was very energetic, grabbed a makeshift weapon of a piece of wood, which thankfully, one of the help had neglected to cleanup (I need to discipline someone at some stage)and called the Jack Russels to assist in catching the rodent. Ofcourse, my dogs are called "Courage and Lily", but their names were changed to " Billy and Peta," by the tenants when they arrived, so when they began to call the dogs, they were quite ignored. I smiled (even though the situation was tense) a satisfied smile of " HUH They are still my dogs even though you guys spend a little more time trying to convert them, to new and disturbing names," all the while hoping the rat would be caught soon.

With the dogs now milling around the bush nosily, and excitedly, the rat made a desparate dash for the next bush which would see it closer to the garage and freedom if it could get behind the garage. But no, Grant was onto it, with the dogs in tow, and now Richard who had fetched his hockey stick, was now also in on the action. With this added effort the rats looked up and began climbing the tree, while the boys and the dogs concentrated on the dense foliage at the ground level. I spotted its mad dash up the palm tree and quickly directed the action, before it had a chance to get too far up. With some forceful slashing action Grant managed to deter the escape skywards, but the frantic creature now saw fit to break towards the garage, its initial desired route of escape.........At this stage, I gave up on the valiant efforts of the two boys, men really and the ferocious dogs, Jack Russelss really and got into my car to get some rat poison.

While going to the supermarket, I reflected this hunt had all the flavour of a foxhunt, in which the fox is hunted and killed in an inhumane manner and began to feel slightly soory for the rodent in question. But then I remembered that rats do carry diseases which can create quite a problem and they do colonise quickly with their prolific breeding habits. I recently read too that with the warm weather, snakes would be attracted to an area where rats and mice were allowed to establish themselves and a few dogs and humans were bitten by the venomous "black Mamba" recently.

In the store the gentleman who directed me to a shelf where the poison was located, was quite surprised when I suggested the size of the rat I wished to rid my self of and his smile had all the suspicion of one who listens to the story of the fish that got away. For some reason he didnt think rats grew that large. When i had spoken to a ldy from the Etekwini municipality she expressed surprise that " Umhlanga" had rats too. I quickly let her know that we had sugar cane in the surrounding areas, and decided that explaining to her the problem of global warming, and the profiliferation of pests as just one of the conseqences of bad town planning where dense populations exist would be too much effort. I left to to her alarm that even a more affluent neighbourhood has pests and dutifully took down the number for environmental safety, which I have since misplced, okay I actually lost it and would have to phone back, at some stage to alarm the good lady once again.

This truly was a huge monster, and when I first set eyes on him he looked big, but scampering up the tree, I realised just how large he was. (Indeed it occurred to me to look around in case he had four teenage mutant ninja turtles in tow, that he was teaching the Marshal Arts to.)

Upon my return home, I approached Grant with my purchases of some blocks of blue bait which promised to get rid of any " Norway" and "Roof" rats, feeling this bait was tailor made for me. I received the happy news that in my absence, that the recent culling of one large rodent, had been excersised, with mixed feeling of disbelief but overwhelming relief too. The said rat was disposed of in the dustbin, and will lie there until in five days time it will be carried away with the trash. This decomposition of a rat on the property means that we will soon smell the effects of the "dirty business." The rat, even in death would hold dominion over its chosen abode for some time.

I have promised Grant and Richard a cake baked by myself for thier valiant efforts against a worthy advesary. In every war there is a victory and a defeat, I humbly salute the invader, who is no more.

Return to Kwa-Zulu Natal

2010-04-07T03:31:00.000-07:00

It was biting cold at 4 am when we had to wake up and get ready to leave Cape Town, and bitter sweet to leave our family there and come home to our real homes and pets and lives..........

We arrived to a sunny warm and welcoming ...Durban, and a house full of studfents who were using my home while we were away. Young vibey, future accountants with sass and not any bit like what one would expect--- no nerds these.

They had a love lunch with Rose with us and left, and I was able to catch up some time with Picasso, the Peke, who seemed to have survived the students and being abandoned for the Easter Break.....

We were then inundated with family, Nafisa, my sister and her lovely husband Zahir and their brood of two sons, one like the Dad, and the other like the Mom, but the personailties are totally swopped over, so the one who looks like mom, shares Dads personality traits, and vice versa.....We had missed them during the easter break away, and enjoyed high tea of a speciality cake from Miguil's...Feroro Rocher Cake is divine and I'm often fantasizing about the taste each time I think about it.

Nafisa has a five year old now, who is a busy , sporty, and eager little boy and none of the monster, that he used to be........or does he hide it well?? The little one, Azzie, is the cutest 7 month old who thanks to his gran has some really trendy baby clothes from cape Town.

When all left I was left alone to ponder my return to work the next day. Lectures had to be checked and plans had to be made to catch up with lost time during the recent student protests......A missed assessment had to be redefined as an assignment and a online test.... Oh well at least I had a ffew days off.........

Two Oceans Marathon- 2010- 56 KMs

2010-04-05T06:53:00.000-07:00

The Two Oceans marathon is not my favourite marathon. I have a medal fromm 2002 and in 2004 I registered but pulled out because of a chest infection.....and in 2009, I was forced to bail out. I am not sure wheter turmultous emotions the knee injury or a year of smoking had the effect of my not finishing. I still completed the comrades, with the knee injury and the smoking, so i guess the emotional trauma was the deciding factor there.......which resulted in me having severe stomach cramps....

Although the Two Oceans Marathon is 33 Kms less than the Comrades marathon, it can and should be considered just as gruelling, and the body feels the strain of it.

The race starts on Main Street and is deceptively easy for the first 21kms, however although you are running in flater conditions, your legs have to work constantly.
Geting to the Magaliesberg mountains and into kalk Bay is wonderful, even though raod works mar the terrain, the houses are all so beautiful. I love going past the old age homes and seeing the happy smiles of the elderly who get out to watch the spectacle and merrily wave while chewwing toothlessly on nothing.

The next part through the suburbs that take you to the half way mark is quite ardous and boring, but there are always beautiful kites on display to take away the hurt that is beginning to tighten the Quads. Then we get to the half way mark ( 28 KM) and the climb up Chapmans Peak looms ahead.......At once eager for the view and the excitement, but not wanting to lose time and develop cramps serves to interupt the total enjoyment that is possible on this truly scenic part of the race. This is also the place in any marathon where most runners "hit the wall" anyway. Not one for carbo-loading with supplements, ( I just eat a lot)I am already expecting to hit the wall hard......my body soon tells me its had enough and I am only just pasiing the LLamas, grazing in the field alongside the foothills and am nowhere near the real climb....Thankfully the Chappies twists and turns so that I cannot see the whole climb in one complete sweep ahaed........In the previous attempt I did Ou Kaapse se Weg and that one was worse because you saw what was waiting ahead.

The best thing to do is find someone else who is climbing the way you ( as badly as you)are and let them distract you till you get to the top.......it also helps if they have a panado, to spare.........A gorilla suited dancer is another welcome distraction which is a bonus at this stage.

Once at the top it is not as easy as making up time racing down the hill, your sore muscles deny you the opportunity to do this and you should be grateful as this is where a lot of injuries are avoided. Having family meet you after this ardous journey up and down the hill is very welcome, especially when they have drinks and ener jellies as a surprise. A small flat stretch in Hout Bay takes you to the 42 kay mark, dont expect to do a PB on this one, and you wont be disapointed!

Drinking coke every three km is not easy on the lining of the stomach and alternating with powerade, even though the caffiene assists in getting you to the next table is the best way to go. Bland cold baby potatoes in their jackets are devoured with appreciation that one expects from young women with eating disorders, in their binge phase.

After Hout Bay, when youve hit the wall, bounced back, and are are expecting to work hard, you have to pull out all the stops, to keep focused. It sometimes helps me to sing the same refrain of some song over and over again, or to count to eight, and i sometimes count out aloud. What never helps to to see better atheltes, or better trained athletes, constantly pass you when youre feeling roughedned by the route. Then you just wish you had registered for the 21 instead.

But you persevere, and the boards start entering the late forties, and you begin to feel it may have been worth it, you also check the clock to see if you can do a PB, and tell yourself to go for it, but your body ignores your sill sugesstions. By now youre in the last ten Kms of the race and believe any one in the side who tell you its all gonna be downhill plain sailing after you round the next bend.

Just as you redeem your faith in yourself, the 7 hour "bus" starts catching up with you, you realise that your PB has flown out the window for sure, and no lying to yourself can change your mindset here. Now you seriously consider that you may actually not get the medal afterall the hard labour you have just put in. All the near miss stories that your pals and fellow runners have told you start to seem like it could happen to you, and you hang onto anyone who tells you you have this one in the bag, sometimes asking twice "are you sure?" Just the same, you then speed up a little to make doubly sure, but even then you see another hill to the noisy anouncements in the field and cheering crowds just out of reach........as you enter the field all the aches are forgotten, the cheering crowds and blur of faces, holds your loved ones and the promise of a welcome repreive from the pounding and you cannot help but succumb and wave stupidly and grin happily back at strangers who seem to know your joy.......not at getting the medal, but the joy of finally listening to every fibre in the muscles of your quads and calves, which have been telling you since 15Km to stop. You stop, your training partner who smells and looks like she has just crossed the karoo barefoot, wants to take a picture to mark the ocasion, you agree knowing you look worse for wear than her, and probably smell just as bad......

Pain, stupidity, joy and pleasure, intertwined into glory of conquering another Ultra marathon!

Cape Town visiting children

2010-04-01T12:37:00.000-07:00

The weather is good, but different from Durban, just 2 hours away........Sunny but the sun is less intense, and the breeze much cooler, it bites through the clothes.
Grown up kids can become babies around a parent, and it makes my heart sing to see it.

They show their independence and dependence in curious and comical alternating displays. Sibling rivalry too rears its ugly head, every once in a while and I am left wondering whether I should ignore or step up and rescue them from each other.

Today Katie and her friends, visit in my home while I am away, and I feel happy to know that Picasso the pekingese, will have some company or a distraction, at any rate, until I can fly back home to him to reassure him that all is not lost as he must feel because he was left alone at home with the maid.

2010-03-22T13:45:00.000-07:00

I am looking forward to travelling to Cape Town with my mother to reunite with the rest of my family. Three generations of women all unique and strong and determined will live together yet again for I whole week. It is going to be a wonderful ecperience, which I hope we all will cherish for a long tome to come.