Wheatlands News

Painting the walls

2012-01-02T13:28:00.002+02:00

After a year of not blogging, I hesitate to say that finding more time to blog is one of my resolutions. I am too good at breaking resolutions to suggest such a thing.

But I have decided to spend more time in 2012 doing things which exercise my creativity, and blogging is certainly one of them.

I have also decided (not resolved...) to start actually making one or two of the things that I diligently pin on Pinterest.

And here is a start... after pinning a picture of graffiti, I decided to start decorating the walls around our front veranda.

Here's the beginning of what promises to be a long project!

dancing in the rain

I always wonder why birds stay in the same place when they can fly anywhere on the earth. Then I ask myself the same question. - Harun Yahya

Greg and the dogs

the one that started it all

swimming

breathe...

2011-01-31T18:57:00.000+02:00

I am totally swamped with work at the moment, and there are very few moments to breathe, or think, or pray.

But, in the midst of the madness, there are some wonderful discoveries.
One is Nechama Brodie. She's a writer of note, I love her tweets, she's a boxer (that's scarily impressive) and she has one of the most beautiful voices I have ever heard.

You can hear her (and follow her blog) here

secrets

2011-01-27T13:44:00.002+02:00

I don't suppose there is anywhere left in the world where it is still Wednesday?
This post is part of a link which I found on rayfamily's blog here, but which actually originated with Jillsy Girl

I love the idea of linking blogs that are exploring the same things, and the serendipitous connections that occur. And I love Seal in this video.

When it comes to secrets, the thing I love most is when a really good, happy secret belongs just to me. I love to hug it close, resisting the bursting urge to tell until I just can't take it any more. And then it is like unwrapping a present... hearing my words and watching as the person I am telling takes in what I am saying. I love seeing how their face changes, through disbelief (even suspicion) to delight and joy.

That's for the good ones...
Not much fun when the secret is something dire. When the telling of it will be one of those heart-heavy moments. When hearing my voice is like watching the world change in an instant, and knowing that from this moment nothing will ever be the same again.

voting for global cooling

2011-01-08T16:12:00.000+02:00

we have had three days of 45 degree C weather

I am incredibly grateful for our swimming pool and the new airconditioning in our office.

I'll be even more grateful if someone will tell me why it is called airconditioning. Why not aircooling?

early mornings

2011-01-07T10:40:00.001+02:00

Most mornings we wake up at about 5am. I have no idea why that is happening... I was always an early to bed, late to rise kind of person but now it seems I need less sleep. It can't possibly be age encroaching.

Maybe it is all about getting a balance to my day... a moment to reflect before the real world encroaches and the work begins.

Anyway, each morning we sit outside with our coffee and watch the birds and the world going by. It is amazing just how many people are up at the crack of dawn in Moorreesburg.

lapdog

2011-01-03T12:37:00.000+02:00

Just chilling with my lapdog, feet to feet

new beginnings

2011-01-03T10:44:00.000+02:00

My mother, who is in her 84th year, was really excited to sit in her new (second hand) car yesterday, the day after she had returned from Philadelphia (the one in the US, not this one down the road) where she had been visiting my brother.

She has always been an inspiration.

Being the daughter of an inspiration has not always been easy, especially when I was younger and people would ask where on earth she had got me from.

But an inspiration she is, and I'm both daunted and impressed by her positive approach to life, her refusal to compromise her standards and her surprisingly naughty sense of humour.

early Sunday morning

2011-01-02T11:58:00.000+02:00

Greg preparing his sermon, under the watchful eye of Wilbur.

Most things go better with a dog.

1.1.11

2011-01-01T16:42:00.001+02:00

As we prepared to see the new year in in sunny Moorreesburg ...

My younger son Ben was in the Antarctic on Gojira, saving the lives of whales.

the beauty of language

2010-12-29T13:42:00.001+02:00

My friend Riekie has recently started a blog. It is written in her usual poetic style, full of idioms and metaphors and, typically, has me laughing out loud.

It is the story of a Parktown prawn... a cockroach, which is not quite as big as the model in this picture.

But almost...

It is written in Afrikaans, as Google helpfully informs me. What I found really interesting was the totally unexpected poetry of the translation. Thanks to Riekie and Google I have a whole new vocabulary.

Who could fail to respond to "hurt your heart to a shrink". I know just what that feels like.

And this!
"I have temporarily set sail eternal. shamelessly chose to reality exchange for the safe darkness of nowhere."

Pure poetry!

Riekie's blog is here http://diamanteoppiepavement.blogspot.com/2010/12/parktown-prawn.html

Do yourself a favour and read it.

glimpses

2010-12-28T11:14:00.000+02:00

This time of year always feels like it is filled with anticipation. It must be the combined energy of so many of us planning new beginnings, new projects and filled with new determination that this year will be different.

Sometimes all it takes is a glimpse to inspire us to new heights.

When we were in Rome last month, the one thing that I wanted to see more than anything was a keyhole in a door that gave a view of the Vatican.
We trudged up a rather steep hill in the pouring rain to take a peek, and for me it was absolutely worth it. I had expected it to be special, but I didn't expect it would take my breath away. We stayed long enough to see it after dark too, and the vision of the dome of the Vatican lit up, framed by the dark arch of trees is something I will never forget.

We tried taking pictures, but as you can see they just didn't do it justice. I suspect the ones you can find on the web were taken from inside the door.

What I didn't realise at the time was that we were looking at three countries... that would have made it even more exciting!

You can read more about it here.

whole again!

2010-12-27T14:25:00.000+02:00

How come no one tells you, when you are young and pregnant, that once your children are born you will never, ever be a whole person again unless you know they are safe and happy?

How come no one ever tells you, when your sons are young and noisy and fighting and a bit smelly (and every second word is Muuuum!) that you will reach a stage when they are their own men, and far away and you'll long with every fibre of your being for just one more day of noise and being totally needed?

How come no one ever tells you that once your boys become men, life will never be the same again? That you will never, ever know them in the way that you once did? That even though you talk almost every day, part of their lives will be censored rather than shared? (and that you know that is the way it should be)

How come no one ever tells you that you will feel so proud of what your boys are doing (both of them) that you feel like your heart will burst? And that no matter what happens, you'll never quite lose the mother tiger that moved into your soul the day they were born, ready to do battle on their behalf at the slightest provocation.

What brought on this maudlin introspection?

Simon is writing some great music and doing what he was born to do and I am sure that 2011 will be his best year yet. You can hear his music here (although most of my favourites aren't there).

Ben is somewhere in the Antarctic ocean, working on Gojira. You can see him in this video, mostly holding ropes.(in the lighter jersey, first seen at around 39 seconds here)

And today, I felt whole again because I had the chance to chat to him on Facebook. Just a few words, but they made all the difference.

shadow season

2010-12-27T09:10:00.000+02:00

It was a strange Christmas.

Usually Greg and I have a house full of family and friends, lots of laughter and lots of love.

This year, the love was still there but the family and friends were not.

They are scattered all over the world and I miss them like crazy. I feel disconnected and a bit lost.

mind's eye

2010-12-23T08:34:00.002+02:00

Greg has just got home from spending a couple of days with some very sad people. People who have lost hope. People who have traded joy and love and laughter for stilted formality and a grey and sterile existence.

It is so frustrating and debilitating to be with people like that and I want to scream in anger and grief at the thought of what life must be like for them.

I have lived with depression and loss and pain and I know what it is to feel the loneliness that gnaws away at your soul, but I have always had that (sometimes tiny) spark of hope that makes me believe that things can, and will be better.

They don't seem to have even that... all they are left with is the mind-numbing sameness that comes when you are existing rather than living.

The picture above is of Greg on the station in Rome as we waited to catch a train to Venice a couple of weeks ago. I love the thakka, thakka thakka of the arrivals and departure boards, and that exciting feeling that "we could just go anywhere".

We speak no Italian, and working out which train to catch and how to buy the tickets was a bit of a challenge. But it didn't matter... if we were on the wrong train we could change course and get the right one.
And without meaning to sound like we have all the answers I think that attitude is part of the reason that we see life as an adventure, whereas the people that Greg just visited just don't seem to see it like that.

I wish I could ~~take them with me~~ send them to Florence, where maybe their souls would learn to sing. (Because they are so miserable, to be honest I'd rather send them than take them and be dragged down by their negativity).

Maybe, if the art in the galleries and churches did not smash through the crust of despair, they would wake up if they saw the work of the street artists.

Work of such exquisite beauty, laid over a dusty, oily road.

And maybe ... just maybe... if they saw it a day later, washed away by the rain, they would realise that we must make the most of every precious moment while embracing life with open hands... ready to let go of the things of the past.

Prepared to start afresh, kitted out for the next step on the big adventure. And more than that... more than being ready, to actually start putting one foot in front of the other and finding their way to somewhere altogether new and wonderful.

not scared

2010-12-22T09:00:00.001+02:00

Sometimes I need a reminder...

The things that look big and scary may just need a bop on the nose to bring them down to size.

missing

2010-12-21T11:34:00.000+02:00

Sometimes I wonder how it is that I can stay alive when so much of my heart seems to live outside of my body, attached inextricably to those I love

climbing molehills

2010-10-17T18:26:00.003+02:00


significantly, this is one of the pictures I used in the publication

Today I finished a huge project which has been dragging on for almost a year...

It was a wonderful project, with inspiring stories to write about incredible people and uplifting initiatives. I wrote about it here, when I first started. So the problem certainly wasn't with the project itself.

Some of the delays were out of my control, but for the last month or two the delays have been in my hands, and mostly because I had built it up into this huge mountain of work that I didn't have time to finish.

It took an ultimatum to get my bum into gear, and what a relief it is. I feel like a weight has been lifted, not just from my shoulders but from my psyche.

Isn't it amazing how we are often our own worst enemies?
Isn't it amazing what power our minds have to control our lives and our thoughts.

Makes me wonder what else I have built up into a mountain?

What else is shackling me when I should be soaring?

being a grown up

2010-10-16T10:17:00.001+02:00

I have a lot of work to do.

I have a lot of work to do before Monday

Seriously... I have A LOT of work to get finished unless I want to risk getting jumped on by hordes of irate German clients (well ... one, but it feels like hordes) and a rather formidable woman (I suspect just on the outside) who lives in China.

I'm feeling quite motivated to get the work done... having two separately scary clients has that effect.

But it is Saturday, and there is a little girl in the corner of my mind who wants to go out and play.

But, I'll be good and sit in my office and look longingly at the gorgeously cheerful wooden fish my son Ben brought me back from Mozambique. It reminds me that there is life and freedom outside of the work time... and it may not be too long to wait before I can experience both of them.

happy birthday to "the Arch!"

2010-10-07T11:48:00.004+02:00

tenacity and hope in the most unhospitable of places

"I like your Christ. I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ"

I often think of Ghandi's famous words (even if it is not completely clear that it was actually he who said them) and use them as a measure and a reminder for the way that I try to live my life.

I use them as a measure for other people too. For me, professing to be a Christian means that you have voluntarily set the bar that measures your behaviour, your reactions and the way that you live your life, every moment of the day. (Even when no one is watching).

It is a particular joy to come across an individual who actually practices what he preaches. Someone who, like Paul, could say "Follow my example as I follow the example of Christ".

For me, Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu who turns 79 today, epitomises that example

He is the elder statesman of South Africa and has been described as the conscience of our nation, but he is more than that. He is a man who epitomises a life well lived. He is a man of courage who is filled with compassion and empathy.

I remember the first time I met him. He had just been elected as Archbishop of Cape Town and had moved into the famous Bishop's Court residence which came as part of the package with his new status. It was a very big deal for many people: not only was he the first black Archbishop of Cape Town, but he was living in a traditionally white, very wealthy area.

I was about 26 years old, with two small sons, and was involved with the End Conscription Campaign that was trying to prevent the conscription by the Nationalist government of white boys to fight against their own countrymen. I don't remember all the details, but one of the events we organised was an outing for children from one of the townships outside Cape Town to Bishops Court.

There were groups of children in their underwear (most didn't own bathing costumes) jumping in and out of the pool. There were other groups, bewilderedly trying to play the "non competitive games" we felt were so important (it doesn't work... children always want to win!). I was packing brown paper lunch bags (all exactly the same, in the spirit of equality and non competitiveness) with a couple of other women. It was only when the Arch came up and gave the woman next to me a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek, that I realised that I had been chatting to Leah Tutu as we worked.

He was filled with the glee that is so much part of his life. He was giggling about the fact that his neighbours had been concerned about him "busing in people from the townships" and here we were, with bussload or two of children, having fun and working together and getting a taste of what a non-racial society could be.

I saw him many times after that, at prayer vigils in the St George's Cathedral crypt, leading marches, filled with grief at funerals and (on television) filled with excitement and hope as Mandela was released and it looked like our dream of a non racial society - his Rainbow Nation - would become a reality.

I saw the television footage of him, breaking down in tears at the Truth Commission as he could no longer bear the desperate stories of man's inhumanity to man.

But in spite of all that he has seen and heard and lived through, he remains what a true Christian should be: courageous, honest, true, compassionate and filled with joy and hope.

Today he officially retires from public life, but he will certainly remain in my heart - and many others - as an example of a principled man and someone who has truly followed the example of Christ.

I wish Ghandi was still around to meet him!

Want to see Tutu meet Tutu, the ZaNews puppet? go here

And there is a wonderful interview in Time with the bishop. I particularly loved this quote:

Looking back over your career, what have you learned?
As human beings we have the most extraordinary capacity for evil. We can perpetrate some of the most horrendous atrocities. That would be awful if that was the end of the story. But, exhilaratingly, people also have an incredible capacity for good. People who should have been consumed by anger and bitterness and lust for revenge have shown in so many instances a remarkable magnanimity, a nobility of spirit. That's the chief lesson I have learned. That in spite of all the horror of injustice and oppression, and the sense that those who perpetrate evil tend to appear invincible, the texture of our universe is one where there is no question at all but that good and laughter and justice will prevail. In the end, the perpetrators of injustice or oppression, the ones who strut the stage of the world often seemingly unbeatable — there is no doubt at all that they will bite the dust. (Laughs) Wonderful! Wonderful! Wonderful!"

Read more: http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,2023562,00.html#ixzz11fRTTmsm

of extremes

2010-10-01T15:05:00.005+02:00

Next week, October 9 - 13 is National Nutrition Week in South Africa.

I help the Peninsula School Feeding Scheme to get the word out about the wonderful work thay do by writing a couple of press releases for them. I've written about therm before but is certainly worth mentioning them again, especially this week.

Children, like these at a school in Delft outside Cape Town, rely on the PSFA for what is often their only meal of the day. They are just a few of the 233 000 children in 633 schools in the Western Cape who would come to school hungry if it was not for the work this organisation does, coupled with a subsidy from the Department of Education.

October is also the month that includes World Food Day on the 16th, and National Obesity Week from the 15th to 19th.

South Africa has recently gained the dubious honour of being the third fattest nation in the world, and Cape Town has been declared the fattest city in the country. And yet, these children and hundreds who are not as fortunate, can be fed every day for just R370 a year. (about US$30)

If you want to help, call the PSFA office at (021) 447 6020, email info@pfsa.org.za or visit www.psfa.org.za for details.

derring do

2010-10-01T07:31:00.003+02:00

Not such a random picture... sometimes all it takes is the confidence to let go and be free

Derring do: Daring or reckless action.

Misinterpretation of earlier derrynge do,

misprint of Late Middle English dorryng do, daring to do,

When I read Julie's latest post, moments of perfect clarity: in which she doesn't dare, it really resonated with me. I can identify so strongly with her wondering whether to live off her own creativity or to stay tied to the (often false) security of a job.

But sometimes all it takes is a bit of derring do. A leap of faith that you can succeed, and if you don't, at least you will have tried. A bit of action, that is not always as reckless as the definition may imply.

I remember when I started my own business. It was a jump in the dark, but I did have a bit of a push. The person I had been working for (and who I still respect immensly) had started making unreasonable work demands. The end result was that I sued him (successfully!) and was left with the option of returning to work as a journalist for a daily newspaper or finding a new path for myself.

Starting out on your own is scary. I had worked as a freelance writer before, but I never really regarded it as a proper job, and I always drifted back to the safety of the newspaper, with its fairly regular hours and a guaranteed pay cheque at the end of each month. I think I hold the record for the number of times that I resigned from Independent Newspapers (including when it was still called the Argus Company) ... eight times!

Admittedly twice were because I had babies and there was no such thing as maternity leave then.

I remember resigning for the second time from the Pretoria News. The then-deputy editor Dennis Cruywagen (who had been a close friend for over a decade) gave me back my resignation letter, saying "Take out all the stuff about why you are leaving. Just say 'I resign' because you might want to rejoin the company!" He was right, and I did, twice more (so far).

I think the difference this time, is that I defined the move as something more than just "going freelancing". I told myself I was starting a business, and I have referred to Of Course Media as "my company" ever since.
And the difference is clear. I am not the only one that takes me more seriously!

Julie's post, and the comments that follow it, made me think about the kind of person that starts out on their own. I remember phoning a colleague after I started my business and excitedly telling him "Vernon, I'm working for myself now!"
His response? "You always were!"

I think that's so true. I was never a corporate drone, and often kicked against the company rules. I always tried to see if there was a "better" way of doing things (even though management never saw things the same way as me!). But perhaps, most importantly, even if we work for a company, we still work for ourselves. We still get up in the morning and do our work as well as possible. We still make decisions and choices about attitude and how we present ourselves to others.

So, now both Greg and I work for Of Course Media (Greg is a pastor too, but that comes with no salary, no financial reward). There is no guaranteed income every month (although I do have a couple of retainers at the moment).

But was there ever really a guarantee before? I think that working for a company gives one a false sense of security. You are still just one pay cheque away from unemployment, as many people learned during this last recession.

And the name of our company reminds us every day... of course you can!

meeting free zone

2010-09-30T14:16:00.000+02:00

I've had a week without meetings and it has been total bliss.

Not driving into Cape Town means that I may not have seen views like this...

and, even in a meeting free week, there hasn't even been time for this...

But I have managed to get to a stage where the work left to do is not quite so overwhelming as it was, and that can only be a good thing.

wooden structures

2010-09-29T12:30:00.010+02:00

We may have lost the lapa ( I wrote about it here and here ) and the palm trees were cut down, but we have been left with a wonderful treasure trove of wood that Greg has been using to build all sorts of cool structures in our garden.

Next to the washing line is the beginning of a wall that Greg is building with the palm tree pieces. I love the way it curves around the avocado tree that I grew from a pip. I think it is important that you notice that tree. It is one of my biggest achievements ... my thumbs are decidedly not green but somehow this tree has survived a couple of transplants and a scorching Moorreesburg summer and is still growing.

Next are a screen that Greg built in front of the pool pump and the walls he built to hide the door of the outside toilet. It would have originally been the only toilet in the house, but thankfully we have one inside now. I'm always a bit wary of all the spiders who live out there, and I always hated it if the door was left open so that people driving past could see the actual toilet... I think sometimes I channel my Victorian grandmother. And as you can see, there are still lots of poles and latte (not coffee... thin poles) lying around, so I expect many more creative structures to be springing up in the future.

And these are the screens Greg built so that the outside shower that we installed last year is not completely visible from the road.

The garden is a work in progress, and it is really exciting to see how it develops. It is such a change from the bare clay and millions of termites that we had when we moved here seven years ago. We are learning what works and what doesn't. We are discovering what plants will grow in our unforgiving climate and we are turning a house into a home.

Square insanity

2010-09-28T10:02:00.000+02:00

It is official.

I have lost my head.

I am knitting a gazillion squares in blues and greens and greys and purples, to make a blanket for our bed.
I started a similar project about a year ago but then decided it was a stupid idea and gave away all the squares I had made.

But this time I am only using colours in the palette I have chosen (the other one was too full of bright reds and yellows) so I think it has a better chance of success.

And I am using left over wool from other projects, some that other people have given me, so there is a memory in each one which is nice.

Anyone want to add a square or two, or send me some wool? They'd be greatly appreciated!

balm for my soul

2010-09-27T10:29:00.000+02:00

It is probably time for a change of pace ... a move from what some would say are the "socialist delusions" of my last post.
But I am still harping on in my mind about what it means to be a South African, now at this moment, in this place. So, be warned, I'll probably come back to it again.

In the meantime, here is one of the songs that sings to my African soul. Thanks to Helen Brain (whose blog is listed in my blog list) for reminding me.

Now... tell me that doesn't soothe all your troubles away?

heritage day

2010-09-25T15:33:00.001+02:00

Yesterday was Heritage Day in South Africa.

It is a day where we are intended to celebrate our individual and common heritage, and while I think it is a great idea (public holidays are always a great idea!) I must admit that it doesn't quite work for me in the South Africa of 2010, where bigotry and suspicion of "the other" are more common that a pride in a common heritage.

Many of the people I know identify most strongly with their tribe. Others define themselves by their language group, and I can understand that. My literary heritage is almost all English. I love so much about England: the weather, the landscape, the architecture, the history (which I know as well as South African history).
But, that said, I am not British and aren't likely to ever get a British passport.

Many of the things that traditionally (and very one-dimensionally) define a South African don't resonate with me. I don't watch rugby or cricket, don't drink beer, very seldom eat braai (barbecue) and have never had a brandy and coke. I don't feel a strong affinity with most of the people I see around me.

I know for sure that I am African... the continent with its harsh beauty sings to my soul ... but most of the time I feel more strongly about the continent than I do about the small corner where I live.

But, in spite of that, we'll continue to fly the South African flag outside our front door (and not only because it annoys the neighbours ... ) We put it up during the World Cup when everyone was flying the flag, and decided it would be wrong to take it down just because the football fans had gone home.

For so many years, being a white South African meant that you were a pariah. It was not something that I could proclaim with pride, and my skin still crawls when I see people harking back to the "good old days" of unwarranted privilege and flying the old South African flag. I still hate the fact that people from here and abroad make assumptions about my attitudes based on my skin colour. I despair when certain sectors of the "new" South Africa claim the struggle as their own, as if no one else ever contributed or gave their lives because they, too, believed in freedom. For me, the flag of South Africa, with its "welcoming arms", is a symbol of what we all went through to get to where we are today.

It is my profound hope that one day, all South Africans will be able to feel a sense of belonging, and that Heritage Day will be a meaningful time of mutual respect for all of us.

This graffiti on a door in Woodstock, Cape Town, really sums up for me how far we have strayed from the ideals of the Freedom Charter

I hope that one day, we will live according to the Freedom Charter (a document that was never intended to be the property of just one political group) which was signed in June 1955 and still resonates today.

We, the People of South Africa, declare for all our country and the world to know:

That South Africa belongs to all who live in it, black and white, and that no government can justly claim authority unless it is based on the will of all the people;
That our people have been robbed of their birthright to land, liberty and peace by a form of government founded on injustice and inequality;
That our country will never be prosperous or free until all our people live in brotherhood, enjoying equal rights and opportunities;
That only a democratic state, based on the will of all the people, can secure to all their birthright without distinction of colour, race, sex or belief;
And therefore, we, the people of South Africa, black and white together equals, countrymen and brothers adopt this Freedom Charter;
And we pledge ourselves to strive together, sparing neither strength nor courage, until the democratic changes here set out have been won.

The People Shall Govern!

Every man and woman shall have the right to vote for and to stand as a candidate for all bodies which make laws;
All people shall be entitled to take part in the administration of the country;
The rights of the people shall be the same, regardless of race, colour or sex;
All bodies of minority rule, advisory boards, councils and authorities shall be replaced by democratic organs of self-government.

All National Groups Shall have Equal Rights!

There shall be equal status in the bodies of state, in the courts and in the schools for all national groups and races;
All people shall have equal right to use their own languages, and to develop their own folk culture and customs;
All national groups shall be protected by law against insults to their race and national pride;
The preaching and practice of national, race or colour discrimination and contempt shall be a punishable crime;
All apartheid laws and practices shall be set aside.

The People Shall Share in the Country's Wealth!

The national wealth of our country, the heritage of South Africans, shall be restored to the people;
The mineral wealth beneath the soil, the Banks and monopoly industry shall be transferred to the ownership of the people as a whole;
All other industry and trade shall be controlled to assist the wellbeing of the people;
All people shall have equal rights to trade where they choose, to manufacture and to enter all trades, crafts and professions.

The Land Shall be Shared Among Those Who Work It!

Restrictions of land ownership on a racial basis shall be ended, and all the land re-divided amongst those who work it to banish famine and land hunger;
The state shall help the peasants with implements, seed, tractors and dams to save the soil and assist the tillers;
Freedom of movement shall be guaranteed to all who work on the land;
All shall have the right to occupy land wherever they choose;
People shall not be robbed of their cattle, and forced labour and farm prisons shall be abolished.

All Shall be Equal Before the Law!

No-one shall be imprisoned, deported or restricted without a fair trial;
No-one shall be condemned by the order of any Government official;
The courts shall be representative of all the people;
Imprisonment shall be only for serious crimes against the people, and shall aim at re-education, not vengeance;
The police force and army shall be open to all on an equal basis and shall be the helpers and protectors of the people;
All laws which discriminate on grounds of race, colour or belief shall be repealed.All Shall Enjoy Equal Human Rights!
The law shall guarantee to all their right to speak, to organise, to meet together, to publish, to preach, to worship and to educate their children;
The privacy of the house from police raids shall be protected by law;
All shall be free to travel without restriction from countryside to town, from province to province, and from South Africa abroad;
Pass Laws, permits and all other laws restricting these freedoms shall be abolished.

There Shall be Work and Security!

All who work shall be free to form trade unions, to elect their officers and to make wage agreements with their employers;
The state shall recognise the right and duty of all to work, and to draw full unemployment benefits;
Men and women of all races shall receive equal pay for equal work;
There shall be a forty-hour working week, a national minimum wage, paid annual leave, and sick leave for all workers, and maternity leave on full pay for all working mothers;
Miners, domestic workers, farm workers and civil servants shall have the same rights as all others who work;
Child labour, compound labour, the tot system and contract labour shall be abolished.

The Doors of Learning and Culture Shall be Opened!

The government shall discover, develop and encourage national talent for the enhancement of our cultural life;
All the cultural treasures of mankind shall be open to all, by free exchange of books, ideas and contact with other lands;
The aim of education shall be to teach the youth to love their people and their culture, to honour human brotherhood, liberty and peace;
Education shall be free, compulsory, universal and equal for all children;
Higher education and technical training shall be opened to all by means of state allowances and scholarships awarded on the basis of merit;
Adult illiteracy shall be ended by a mass state education plan;
Teachers shall have all the rights of other citizens;
The colour bar in cultural life, in sport and in education shall be abolished.

There Shall be Houses, Security and Comfort!

All people shall have the right to live where they choose, be decently housed, and to bring up their families in comfort and security;
Unused housing space shall be made available to the people;
Rent and prices shall be lowered, food plentiful and no-one shall go hungry;
A preventive health scheme shall be run by the state;
Free medical care and hospitalisation shall be provided for all, with special care for mothers and young children;
Slums shall be demolished, and new suburbs built where all have transport, roads, lighting, playing fields, crèches and social centres;
The aged, the orphans, the disabled and the sick shall be cared for by the state.

Rest, leisure and recreation shall be the right of all:

Fenced locations and ghettoes shall be abolished, and laws which break up families shall be repealed.

There Shall be Peace and Friendship!

South Africa shall be a fully independent state which respects the rights and sovereignty of all nations;
South Africa shall strive to maintain world peace and the settlement of all international disputes by negotiation - not war;
Peace and friendship amongst all our people shall be secured by upholding the equal rights, opportunities and status of all;
The people of the protectorates Basutoland (Lesotho), Bechuanaland (Botswana) and Swaziland shall be free to decide for themselves their own future;
The right of all peoples of Africa to independence and self-government shall be recognised, and shall be the basis of close co-operation.

Let all people who love their people and their country now say, as we say here:

These freedoms we will fight for, side by side, throughout our lives. Until we have won our liberty.

living the quiet life

2010-09-24T12:55:00.003+02:00

Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business

and to work with your hands...

1 Thessalonians 4:11

I love that scripture. For me, it embodies the kind of life I would love to live.

But it remains an ideal.

The environment where I live and work is quiet, and most mornings I am woken by the sound of birdsong. That's just before some idiot, somewhere in this town lets his damn car alarm off, for at least 1/2 an hour every morning at 6am. I keep planning to drive around and find him, but that means actually getting up and dressed before 6am, which is seriously unlikely to ever happen.

Mind your own business.... hmmm. Sounds good. But what happens when you are a journalist and "your own business" is the business of others? I prefer to interpret this as "don't gossip" which is generally much easier for me to live by.

I wonder if working with your hands includes working on the computer, because that seems to be all the handwork I have time to do at the moment.

But one day! One day I will be living somewhere wild (by the sea, in a forest under a mountain... and yes, I do mean all three) which I have bought due to (by then) being a best selling author.

Then I'll be quiet, mind my own business and spend my days making pots, painting landscapes and making apple pies.

Judging is a no-no

2010-09-21T12:01:00.005+02:00

This post is quite difficult to write, because I don't quite know how to express what I am feeling.

I want to tell you about the man who joined our congregation at church this Sunday, but the more I think about it, the more I get myself tied into knots about how best to describe the experience of meeting him.

Nono is a refugee from the Democratic Republic of Congo (now there is a misnomer!). He has left his wife and 11 year old daughter behind in the Congo (not the DRC) and has come to South Africa to see if he can start a new life, one with more stability, and he plans to send for his family as soon as he is settled.

He is in Moorreesburg at the moment because the N7 highway that passes our town is being repaired and he is working with the road team. I'm not sure what it is he is doing, but I hope he is one of the guys who is waving a flag to warn the traffic rather than one of the people working with hot tar or the strange fabric stuff that they seem to be sticking over the potholes.

I am always saddened by the plight of the refugees to South Africa. Not only are they met with the usual racism that this country still exhibits daily (and it is not just black against white, many Afrikaaners hate the English and there is inter-tribal racism too) but he also has to deal with the xenophobic attitude of people who he says "are immediately able to tell the difference between a South African black and someone from outside the borders".

Almost without exception, the refugees are the cream of their countries. They are the ones who are determined not to sit back and accept the status quo. They are the ones who are prepared to sacrifice to make a good life for their families. They are the ones who have looked into the abyss and are determined not to get sucked in.

And, in South Africa, they are looked down on by so many. Someone confided in Greg recently that he was "getting over his racism", but was not prepared to invite "them" into his house. That's fair enough, and I admire his honesty. Change doesn't happen in an instant. Or even in 16 years.

What I can't accept is the way people are judged and belittled. It comes down to a simple choice: am I going to treat this person as my neighbour, as a fellow human being, as someone who deserves the same level of respect as I want for myself? If you can't answer yes to those questions, maybe you need to be asking some hard questions about yourself and your attitude.

Like, what exactly is it that makes you think that you are superior to the flag waver on the side of the road, as you pass them by at the roadblock? Does the job a person is doing make them less worthy of respect?

Would you feel differently if you knew something about them?

Would your opinion change if you were involved in an accident on the N7 this week and the first person on the scene to help you was Nono, the lowly roadworker who is doing what he can to send money back to his family while he waits to take the exam that will recognise his qualifications and experience and allow him to continue practising as a medical doctor?

passing time

2010-09-20T11:12:00.001+02:00

I woke up today to the realisation that in less than two months we will be in Italy, on our holiday to soak in the art and culture of a country which has filled my dreams ever since my brother went there when I was about 12.

(It is worth noting, though, that many countries fill my dreams... Russia, Morocco, Alaska (yes, I know, not a country), Patagonia ...)

And now I am in that strange limbo of not quite looking forward to the trip yet, because all the things that are still to be done before we go are filling my mind.

Life would be so much easier if it didn't involve working for a living.

This rather spendid figure is part of a monument in Torino that I saw when I was there with the World Federation of Science Journalists earlier this year.

Most of our time was spent working and getting to know what we had agreed to do for the next two years, so there was only one evening set aside for a bit of sightseeing.

There was time for a group picture, though getting us together was a bit like herding butterflies.

I'm fully expecting to see many more moody vistas like this one when we go, and I admit to feeling some trepidation about what I am going to wear, seeing as South African winter clothes aren't exactly warm and most of mine don't fit me any more anyway seeing as I am 15kg lighter than I was at the beginning of last winter.

And, of course, our shops are in full summer swing... not a warm thing to be found!

standing room only

2010-09-18T16:41:00.000+02:00

When I was a little girl, I was a sci fi freak. I read anything and everything I could get my hands on, and some of the stories I read then have remained with me ever since.

I was so convinced that the things I read about would be reality by the time I grew up that I sometimes feel an almost disconnected feeling ... like I am one of the survivors of some planetary disaster, and have memories of what the world used to be like.

I thought that we would have space travel for everybody, not just the super rich. In fact, I fully expected to be living on another planet.

I thought we would have instant access portals that we would step into if we wanted to get from one place to another. Kind of "beam me up Scotty" without the need for Scotty. A bit like the flues in Harry Potter, I suppose.

I certainly didn't think that I'd still be here, feet mostly on the ground, looking into a future of standing-room only aeroplanes.

These pictures are of Italian company Aviointeriors' new aircraft 'standing seat' which has 46cm of legroom, instead of the current economy class average of 60cm. They were taken at the Aircraft Interiors Expo in California a few days ago. you can see more pics here

Are they serious? Imagine this on a long-haul flight! And imagine how much more it will emphasise the disparity between the fatcats in first class and the rest of us in economy...

But it is not all pie in the sky...

Some things in my future have come true ... this is a photo of me in my office in Moorreesburg, South Africa, taken by my colleague Akin in Abuja, Nigeria. I was being projected onto the wall, thanks to the wonders of skype video (and no thanks at all to the Nigerian consulate in Joburg) I seem to be making a point about something. I hope it was interesting!

just breathe...

2010-09-17T16:18:00.001+02:00

On days like this, it is a good idea to take the time to breathe and appreciate the beauty that surrounds me.

And to remember that there are sometimes surprises in the most mundane of occurances.

This orchid is a Cattleyas. It was named in 1824 after William Cattley, a London plant importer. He had been intrigued by the packaging material that had been used for some other plants he had imported from South America. He decided to try to grow it, and this, the "corsage orchid" was the result.

The last day of the palms

2010-09-16T14:19:00.015+02:00

So, how about this. Two posts in as many days after a hiatus of how long?

Is it symbolic that on the day that I woke up at 2.30am to get to the airport and go to Joburg to not get my Nigerian visa, our five seventy year old palm trees were cut down?

One of the trees had begun to lean a little alarmingly. You can see it on the left of the three trees in front of the house.

You know how it is... we had a couple of vague discussions about whether the palm had moved, and the feeling of disquiet grew into a certainty and a conviction that we would have to do something about it.

Then our neighbours put up one of those exceptionally ugly vibracrete walls, (you can see it on the left of our gate in the second pic, and yes I know it doesn't look so bad in that picture).

Where we live, vibracrete walls are described as "mooi netjies" which in theory means "nice and neat" but actually means "ugly and devoid of character".

The inordinate pride that he obviously felt for the defacement of his property and ours made us think again about the palm trees. I mean, if one fell down and broke the wall my joy at its demise would be tempered by the horror of having to pay for a new one.

(And please don't get the idea that I don't like our neighbours. I think they are great people. I just don't like the wall. Robert Frost's neighbour was wrong. )

And pay is what we would have had to do.
I had insisted that Greg phone our insurance company (Standard Bank, because until the mortgage is paid they actually own our house) and tell them that we were worried about the tree.

I absolutely insisted.

So he did.

"Thank you for telling us" said the person on the other end of the phone. "Because you have let us know, we are removing the tree from your policy and will not be covering any damage if it falls."

They confirmed, in response to Greg's horrified query, that even if the tree fell while he was still on the phone to them they would not pay a cent. (insert phrase that calls parentage of bank, insurance company and all its staff into question, here).

So, we had no choice but to do two things: change insurance companies (remember they were the ones that also didn't pay for the lapa) and cut down the trees.

Our house looks like a man after a haircut... kind of clean and slightly sheepish.

Greg has been a total hero, carting away the huge piles of palm leaves to the municipal dump. I think this was trip number 12!

We're keeping the trunks for now ... thay may be turned into a wall or a path, and even a couple of outdoor stools.

hanging around

2010-09-15T14:19:00.003+02:00

I spent yesterday hanging on a wall in a hotel room in Abuja, Nigeria (remembering, I hope, not to pick my nose or do anything else that shouldn't be done in public). And after a quick dash into town to interview someone on the totally scintillating topic of medical aid tarrif increases, I expect to do the same thing tomorrow.

This week was one that I have been looking forward to for a long time. I was lucky enough to be selected as one of five mentors for science journalists in English-speaking Africa as part of the World Federation of Science Journalists SjCOOP programme. This week we were to get the chance to meet face to face with the mentees that we will be working with for the next two years.

Sadly, for me, that didn't happen. Its a long story, the ending of which is best explained by Extranjera here. She was an island of sanity in the Nigerian consulate in Johannesburg where I spent one of the longest and most frustrating days of my life. Sadly the public face of Nigeria ... in Johannesburg at least ... is nothing like the totally amazing people that I have met from that country. Even more sadly, I suspect that the main reason that my visa was not granted (in spite of very senior government officials demanding that my visa be issued) is that I refused to pay the R2500 bribe that the visa company said the consulate officials wanted to process my documents.

So I am not in Nigeria, and I have been interested in the almost equal numbers of my friends and acquintances who have either said I should have paid, or who have supported me for not doing so. Perhaps naively, I thought that if I went to the offices I would be able to persuade them that they should give me the visa. After all, I had an official letter of invitation from the Nigerian Health Ministry. But no... that letter was what caused a nasty little man to yell at me from behind the (presumably bullet proof) glass that I was committing fraud because I "held the letter in my hand" when it belonged to their ministry. He then told me to go away and print the letter out again and bring it back, and totally failed to see that by doing so I would be holding it in my hand all over again.

And that was just the beginning of a day where the kindness and desparation of the people on my side of the counter was the polar opposite of the callous inhumanitiy of the "people" on the other. But read Extranjera's account. It is funnier than I can be. I just feel tired and despairing because of the way that a handful of people are screwing up our continent. And it works both ways: I am told by my Nigerian friends that the South African embassy there is a total nightmare to deal with too.

So why was I hanging on a wall? Because of the wonders of Skype video conferencing, I was able to see and be seen - projected onto the wall - and to get a view of the people I will be working with for the next two years. It wasn't the same as actually being there, but it was a very good second best.

wound up or run down?

2010-06-03T13:09:00.000+02:00

I saw this old time clock at a printer I visited today.I wish today's time recorders looked as beautiful.

A closer look at the clock face did make me realise that the good old days may not have been as good as nostalgia would lead us to believe ...

Wound up or run down...that sounds like the story of my life!

portraits of unknown soldiers

2010-06-01T13:53:00.000+02:00

I've found myself totally fascinated by the Independent's unseen photographs of British soldiers in the first world war.

These are men and , very often, boys who were photographed by an unknown French photographer shortly before the battle of the Somme that claimed over 1 000 000 lives. I realise that the chances are that all the men in the photographs are dead now anyway, but how many of them had their lives cut short just days after they posed for the photos?

I have spent far too many hours, looking at their faces and into their eyes and wondering if I can see some hint of what was to come.

This boy looks too young to have a mustache, and his eyes look like he has already seen too much to bear.

There are over 400 photographs, and most of the people they depict are unknown.You can see them here and here

This one is the only photograph that includes a black soldier.

This boy looks like he was finding it hard to stand still. See how his feet are invisible in the photograph? I suspect that may be because he was moving them around. Many of them are standing next to a chair. I'm not sure what the significance of that was. To give scale? To symbolise that they were away from loved ones?

My grandfather on my father's side took part in the war, on the side of the allies and I suspect I may have had relations on my mother's side who were fighting for the Germans, but no stories of the war have come down through the generations. I think for many of the men who survived, talking about their experiences just wasn't an option.

just a list of whys

2010-05-24T16:12:00.001+02:00

Why do people who want to make horrible hateful posts on Facebook pages or news stories almost always use pseudonoms? What kind of person has such strong opinions that they feel compelled to share, but are too afraid to say who they are?

Why is it that even the graveyards of Moorreesburg (and, I'm sure, many other places) reflect the disparity and inequalities in our society? The solid, granite-entombed citizens at the top of the hill and piles of sand and wooden crosses further down. If you look closely, you'll see that the flowers on this grave are inside water-filled, upturned cooldrink bottles. Ingenious.

We were at Moorreesburg's graveyard so that Greg could bury Margaret, one of Cape Town's homeless whose sister lives here. What was really heartening was the fact that two official government Social Welfare cars brought people who had known her and worked with her to the service.

What on earth made the designers of this hotel on Cape Town's Orange St think it was a good idea to put a kitchy gold couch in the lift?

Especially as the lift only feeds three floors! Seriously, not even time to sit down.

Why don't I get to spend more quality time with my sons? Why is life so often a rush? Why doesn't someone realise how incredibly talented Simon is (including himself?). Why can't I bottle happiness and contentment and give it out in copius quantities to the people I love (and the ones I don't... it would make even them into better people)?

broadening the horizons

2010-05-02T17:40:00.000+02:00

I seem to have entered another season of change where the comfortable places are beginning to feel a bit constricted.

It's not that unusual... I tend to get restless when things stay the same for too long. Maybe it is because moving has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. When I was 36 years old, I counted up how many times I had moved in my life. It was a rather daunting 39!

My mother used to see our homes as challenges, and she'd knock down walls and put up wallpaper on whatever was left. Carpets and curtains were changed... and just when it was exactly as she liked it, my dad would say "we'd probably get a good price for this place..." and we'd be on the move again.

Add the fact that his work meant we moved town pretty often ... he'd whip a branch of his company into shape and then be moved on to the next one.

Greg has been working with me for a month now, and we are getting used to working in the same office space. For the first 10 days or so he worked in the dining room and left me to the study, but then I went out for the day and came back to find that he had rearranged and organised the space in a way that worked very much better.

If he'd asked me if he should or could I'd have responded with a very emphatic "don't touch my stuff!" But actually it has worked out very well.

We now sit opposite each other and chat on skype, and that works well too.

But this is where I'm hoping we'll be for a couple of days a week anyway.

I feel like the horizons are broadening, like the possibilities are endless.

Moorreesburg goes Mexican

2010-04-24T09:36:00.000+02:00

Yes, I know I have been gone for a while, but this is a season of a new discipline (and a new diet...)

For the past couple of days I've been feeling very flu-ey and particularly sorry for myself. So last night, after the end of a long day behind the computer forcing myself to write semi-coherently about the scintillating topic of racial transformation in South Africa's insurance industry, all I wanted to do was slather myself in vicks vapo-rub and go to bed. With honey and lemon, but without the honey because of the diet.

What I actually did was to go to a bizarre Moorreesburg version of a Mexican night because friends phoned us to say they were there and that we absolutely had to come.

It is a very big deal, you understand. There is only usually one place open at night in Moorreesburg... a horrible dive called Guttos where we once waited two hours for our steak order before giving up and going home.

So the thought that there was actually somewhere elso open was enough to rouse me from my sick bed.
The new owner of Die Stoep, a man with an impressive mustache, was wearing trousers with (thankfully plastic) buttocks sticking out the back. Is that what they do in Mexico?

He had a selection of music on a CD player, and when the occasional Mexican-sounding song came on he rushed over, put on his sambrero and picked up a guitar which he pretended to play while encouraging all 10 of his patrons to yell "holaaa"

But this is Moorreesburg, so it was exciting.

And the company was great.

The next big event on the Moorreesburg calendar is when Die Stoep hosts a Chinese evening in a month's time.

By the way, I asked Greg if I was looking any thinner, but he said I just looked sick. I take that as a good sign. I've often thought very thin people look sick.

just in case anyone is wondering

2010-01-20T14:08:00.000+02:00

I'm not dead, just busy
my head and my computer is filled with information on local government
and peace
and development
and health policies

and I've been on the radio three times to talk about www.thumzup.co.za... the new project which makes sure that all my waking hours are totally filled
with work and fun and planning a huge birthday party for myself (there'll be a juggler and candy floss and very tipsy tea).
and when I should be sleeping I'm kept awake by the new puppy (whose father is so big that he rested his head lovingly on my shoulder to say hello when I was standing up. in heels)

but if there is anyone out there who is still reading, I will be back.
soon

in the real world

2009-12-03T16:28:00.000+02:00

I've spent this week in Pretoria, meeting and interviewing a group of people who are really doing everything they can to make things happen in South Africa and I have been humbled by the commitment and dedication I have seen.
More than that, I feel that I have a new belief and hope in South Africa. A conviction that the ideals that took us to our miraculous new democracy have not been entirely drowned out in the greed and wabenzi mentality of so many of our new priviledged class.
Not to say that the challenges aren't there. There is still a huge gap between what turns out to be some pretty good, state of the art laws that create a framework for real excellence and the realities on the ground in our municipalities.
The number of people who are toyi toying to protest the lack of service delivery is a clear indication of this gap. But what I discovered this week is that the gap is being recognised on the highest levels, and bridges are being built across it. And those bridges are designed for two way traffic: bottom up as well as top down.
I would be dancing to the new rhythm I have found if I wasn't so exhausted after meeting and interviewing 18 people in four days and filling a notebook full of notes that is so precious to me now that I contemplated getting it plastic wrapped at the airport for extra protection.

And then, the cherry on the top was meeting a fellow blogger in real life, and discovering that she was just as real and interesting as I thought she would be. I expected a Harry Potter scar on her forehead, but even without one she was magical.
It was a meeting that seemed doomed to failure at the entrance gate of the ultra high security complex she calls home (because her husband's company puts a high premium on their safety...). I refused to give the guard at the gate my ID number so he refused to let me in. I offered my address, phone number, photo... but no, only an ID number would do. So Extranjera had to walk down to fetch me (greyish green hair and all) and then let me in.

I spoke to my son while I was waiting and he was pretty freaked out by me arguing with men in uniform and planning to meet someone whose name I wasn't sure of and who I had met on the internet as through someone else in Denmark who I actually haven't met yet either. (Thanks Julie!)
I had to promise to phone him immediately after I left so he would know I was safe and that she wasn't an axe murderer. (She wasn't, but I did have one of those "hmmm" moments when the first thing I saw in her home was her skull and crossbones tablecloth.)

Actually its pretty cool to have your son worrying about you, rather than the other way around.

(And I do worry about him, in spite of the fact that he is perfectly capable of looking after himself. As is my other son, Ben who is on a huge adventure here and quite obviously life life to the fullest.)

One of the real bonuses of meeting Extranjera was finding out that she was exactly as she appears to be in her blog. She's real, she's interesting, she's fun (and I suspect could be more fun but was maybe a bit on her best behaviour?). And for me, most importantly, she is not living in her security village, hankering for home and remaining cut off from the reality that is South Africa. She's teaching English to children in Diepsloot, a tin shack township which has more than its fair share of problems.
She is contributing to the solution in ways that many South Africans do not.

So... the end to a good, inspiring week. I'm feeling so positive that I don't even care that my 1Time flight to Cape Town has been delayed an hour (just like the one coming up to Joburg). At least it has given me time to finish this post.

For those that may need explanations of some of the words in this post:
Wabenzi are the newly rich who indulge in the bling lifestyle and drive expensive cars (like Mercedes Benz)
The closest definition I can think of for Toyi Toyi is protest dancing
The Harry Potter reference to Extranjera is explained in her blog. Go and read it.

of housing and need

2009-11-05T09:57:00.000+02:00

I've been thinking a lot about housing lately.
It all started with the Isandla 10th anniversary celebrations where Tokyo Sexwale, Minister of Human Settlements, spoke about his perception of the housing problems we have in this country. More importantly, he came to listen. Unlike so many of the government ministers, who arrive to drop "pearls of wisdom" and then leave in a hurry, Sexwale was very aware that the development practitioners in the room were the real experts.

“I don’t think it should come as a surprise that we are changing the way we are doing things,” Sexwale said. “We are seeing the end of denialism.

“We are looking at the situation of RDP houses that are dotting the landscape of this country: they are expensive, they take arable land, they’re ugly, they look like barracks. We take responsibility for them. We have provided unos that are worse than the Apartheid-era four roomed houses. We’ve done even less for our people. Our ministry is busy about attending to that. We need to look at other forms of housing and rented stock.”

But why are we actually providing houses for people? And are their needs really being taken into account?

At a recent meeting with Rene Moodley, a development practitioner working with the German funded Support for Local Government Programme in the Eastern Cape, I learned the importance of asking people what they want and need. In one of the areas that Rene works, for example, the men are emasculated by having the houses built for them. It is culturally important for the men to build the homes for their families.

It highlighted two things for me. One is that people need to be asked what they need, and the other is that blanket solutions are never the answer.

The work that Rene is doing centres largely around finding ways to ask the right questions so that the answers are revealing of the actual issues that the people face. I learned of a community, for example, where rows and rows of government houses had been built, but because no one had asked the old people, no one knew that the houses were directly in the path of the 50 year flood...the last one was around 48 years ago.

And I heard about the community who said that their biggest need was for a new clinic. By asking the right questions, the people who Rene had trained discovered that the need was not for a clinic at all, but for a doctor to be on duty in one of the three clinics that already served the community. Without a doctor, no prescriptions can be written.

Mokena Makeka, architect and head of the Isandla Institute Board perhaps summed the situation in South Africa up best:

“In some respects there is a poverty of imagination because we don't define space from a human perspective, but from an engineering one. We need an enabling environment where entrepreneurs, of all ages, can create their own destiny. The current status quo will not allow us to survive.

“We are creating a context where voices are being hidden. We are creating spaces where gangsterism can thrive. We need to be incorporating a clinic, a library, a market into our plans. At present development is around the containment of anger rather than the unleashing of people."

where there is a will there is a way

2009-10-23T15:12:00.012+02:00

I asked Will King for some tips for entrepreneurs. His answers make inspiring viewing. As you can see, I'm still learning about videoing... don't miss the Adams Family hand that floats over the couch about half way through!

I always find it interesting to meet people who have succeeded in business, and to find out more about their attitudes to their success. In my time as a journalist I have met quite a few successful entrepreneurs and their behaviour has been as varied as their personalities.

Some are brash and loud, the kind of people who would have earned a disdainful sniff from my mother, and a comment of "you can always see new money".

Others, like Will King, the founder of the hugely successful shaving empire the King of Shaves, turn out to be absolute gentlemen, and a pleasure to meet.

When his parents decided to "take me off the payroll," after he finished his degree in Mechanical Engineering, he found a niche for himself in sales and marketing and did very well until the recession hit in the 1990s and he was made redundant.

"It was a traumatic experience," he said. Enough to make him decide then and there that he was going to be master of his own destiny, and to run a business was based on a product that he could sell.

The product which turned out to be the one that would bring him success was a shaving oil. The inspiration came to him when he was watching a girlfriend using baby oil when she shaved her legs and he realised that the oil may be a great way to prevent his sensitive skin from reacting so badly to shaving.

"People said the King of Shaves idea would never fly," he told me, but when you see his passionate belief in his product, you realise that if anyone was going to make it work, it would be Will King.

And, in keping with his royal name, he decided that the first customer that he would persuade to stock his product would be Harrods. Well, why not?

"I got hold of Mohamed Al Fayed's personal fax number," he said. "And eventually persuaded him to buy a small consignment."

That word "eventually" is key. So many would-be entrepreneurs fail because they give up too soon.

"I knew if Harrods stocked it, I could persuade Boots to take it too," he said. And the British pharmacy giant did just that in the following year. Then came Super Drug and Tesco and an endorsement from Will Carling - then British rugby captain - and Target in tne US and a host of stores in Australia and New Zealand. His products are now being launched in Clicks stores in South Africa.

By the end of the '90s, King of Shaves was the number 1 shaving preparation brand. It was a real David and Goliath story, but it wasn't enough for the intrepid Mr King.

"Most men only shave once a day, so our growth could never be exponential," he explained. So he launched a range of men's skin care products and found himself in the vanguard of what was to be a booming trend towards men's grooming.

Next step was the launch of the Azor, his revolutionary razor which is causing more than a few backward glances from the people at Gillette, who have discovered that their top spot in the worldwide shaving market is not quite as secure as it used to be.

Five years in development, the Azor is "the first eco-sensitively manufactured razor" King says. I have my husband and my son trying it out, so watch this space for their reviews.

Will King is also a enthusiastic disciple for social media... twittering as kingofshaves and blogging here. It's a great example of how social media can really be harnessed to increase a company's profile.

little and large

2009-09-16T22:36:00.005+02:00

This past weekend was the Swartland Agricultural Show.
It's lots of fun to visit, especially if you like farm animals (which I do)

These are some of the prize winning cattle, lined up according to their breeds. I loved the handlers in their red overalls and white boots.

Our friend Christina came to visit because she'd never been to the skou, and it turned out to be a day that was all about transport.

she went for a ride with Greg on the Harley

she got to sit in some really big harvesters

and I mean BIG!

but some were more her size.

Some of the vehicles were more old fashioned. Eight horse power seems much more exciting than the 1800 in our bakkie (pick up truck)

Some were very elegant

And some reminded us that we are all inordinately proud of hosting the world cup soccer next year.

But, when all is said and done, it is always the cute girl that steals the show!

60 squares

2009-09-07T13:55:00.005+02:00

My eldest son, Simon, came to lunch on Saturday with his girlfriend Larissa, and spent some time helping to take out the last of the lapa poles. See how the pole has rotted away in the concrete? We are really so lucky that the whole thing didn't fall down on our heads.

So now that the lapa is down, we are full of plans and ideas about what do do with the space.
(Yes, I know I used that pic in my last post. Yes I know it's my garden and I could go outside and take another (different) one. But I don't want to.)

We're back to square one, but as Seth Godin says, square one is an under rated place. So we need to make sure we enjoy being there.

Do we just cover the space in shadecloth so that we can escape the summer heat more cost effectively?

Do we build a big room onto the house? With an extra bathroom and a fireplace and windows all around? The area we are looking at covering is 12m long and 5m wide. The lapa had the same surface area (but a different shape) but somehow it didn't feel like a fixed space because it was open on three sides.

Our house is a very old (by South African standards). Typical farmhouse style... a long passage down the centre and three rooms on each side. So part of what we would want to do if we do build a solid extension would be to make sure that we don't ruin the look of the house, or its old fashioned feel.

Do we sell the left hand half of the bottom of our garden to help pay for these grand plans? (because anything that is built there ... down behind that green water tank in the distance ... doesn't interfere with our view). Or do we build something there ourselves, and boost our income with the rent (once we'd paid off the loan we'd have to take out to pay for it).

What would you do? How would you fill sixty square metres of space?

its gonna be a long, hot summer

2009-09-01T14:31:00.009+02:00

We live in a place where the summers are blisteringly hot and dry. A place where, if you are lucky enough to have a swimming pool, you think twice before dashing outside to cool down.

So we built a lapa... a wonderful thatch construction, built with sturdy bluegum poles and a thick thatch roof. It was close to 60 square metres in size, and winter or summer it became the place where we lived. It was a place to do projects. It was a place to share food and laughter. It was a vital part of our home.

Until, sadly, we realised that it hadn't been built properly and it was beginning to shift away from the house. The first construction company had vanished into the wild blue yonder, so we got another company... a family business with three generations of thatchers... to come and fix the lapa.

Sadly, they were not any better than the first company, and earlier this year when a third roof pole suddenly snapped, we realised something had to be done.
So we did the logical thing, and contacted our insurance company (Standard Bank) who had sent an assessor to approve the original construction.

And they, being more interested in taking premiums than paying out policies, refused to pay because the construction was unsafe. (Yes, we told them their assessor had approved it).

Now we are trying to get the ombudsman to acknowledge our presence, but that's a whole other story.

So last week, Ollie came to help us take the thatch off.

He didn't realise how much there was!

Getting the concrete off the roof without it landing on anyone's head was pretty scary

Reuben and Ernie and Rauan came to help this weekend to take the structure down. I made lamb stew and lemon meringue pie and lemonade and stayed out of the way.

Getting the last few poles out was hard work, even though they were totally rotten under the ground.

Once the poles were out, they were stacked in the garden for use in the next big project.

And the space outside is big and empty.

But, like I've said before, there is always a silver lining...

Greg sees it as a blank canvas for the next structure. Looks like it will finally be a chance for us to learn some straw bale building skills. So watch this space.

(but I still feel bereft)

Happy 19th anniversary, Brian

2009-08-23T13:37:00.007+02:00

Brian Keenan was an Irishman working in Beirut when he was kidnapped by Islamic Jihad. He was released four years later, on August 24, 1990.

I will never forget his words when he was released. He described being a hostage as like "a man hanging by his fingernails over the edge of chaos, feeling his fingers slowly straightening".

I wonder if he spent time in prison, planning his release soundbite? I'm sure I would have. That's not intended to sound cynical, especially as I read An evil cradling, the book he wrote about his experiences, and was moved by his raw honesty and brutally truthful descriptions of his life as a hostage.

I remember when he said those words as he arrived back in Ireland. It was a crafting of words that felt like a sword, stabbing sharp into my mind. And as a journalist it made me remember all the times I'd asked the inane questions that journalists do, interviewing people who have gone to hell and back: "So, how do you feel, are you happy to be home?" Usually I've been met with less than honest replies from people saying what they thought I wanted to hear. Here at last was a raw, shocking statement that really put things in perspective. I wish I'd been there to hear it in person.

This picture by Jann Arthus Bertrand of tourists at the Iguazu waterfalls in Argentina, made me think of Brian Keenan, and also made me think about how thoughtless we as a species can be. We often wander, oblivious to the precipice below, forgetting to be thankful for every moment that we are still breathing.

(The picture is from Jann Arthus Bertrand's free wallpaper collection. Really worth a look)

blog connections

2009-08-21T17:35:00.007+02:00

Julie at Moments of Perfect Clarity calls them "blog crushes" and I've had a crush on her blog for a while. It's even developed into a connection. I wanted to say friendship, but although we've sent emails and even gifts, I feel a bit like its still very much a surface friendship... kind of like the connections you make in your first week at a new school (yes, I can remember that far back).

Another of my blog connections is Meri at Meri's Musings. She often comments on my posts, and I on hers and I think our lives have taken some similar paths.

Some of the blogs I read are people whose lives are totally, enviously different to mine, like Chinua with his stunning photography and incredibly beautiful children.

(My children are incredibly beautiful too...)

Others are going through different life stages to me and I feel connected to them and their experiences. Helen is like that.

Others, like Jack, I have "met" on other forums and in other places (all virtually) and I've been watching his garden grow for years.

The idea of blog connections is pretty interesting. I often wonder if I am feeling connected to people who I may not have anything in common with in real life. I subscribe to piles of blogs, mostly because I follow meandering paths from one to another and find something that is interesting. I don't always visit again regularly... sometimes its months between one visit and another.

And, of course, I wonder about the people that read my blog. Some show themselves and become followers (thank you!) and others stay hidden, or are just random visitors. I wonder about those of you who keep coming back. What is it about me that resonates with you? And is it the real me that you are "seeing" or are your own interpretations or cultural expectations colouring who you think I am?

the writer formerly known as...

2009-08-17T15:55:00.006+02:00

Twenty years after I was born a Brooks, I became a Wilson in one of those happy-ever-after fantasies that didn't quite work out the way I had planned.

But Wilson was a nice name, and eminently preferable to Brooks (which in Afrikaans means underpants or knickers and led to horrible teasing at school) and I quite enjoyed it. It was one of those anonymous names that everyone could spell and I liked the fact that it was totally normal at first look, but had a secret history. The great grandfather of the Mr Wilson I married had emigrated from somewhere near Moscow to the US and like so many others with unpronouncable or "difficult" names (I think it was Tobinofsky) he was given another one. One of the legends is that Wilson was chosen from the phone book, another is that he particularly admired a Wilson (couldn't have been Harold).

So, for the next 25 years or so, I built my name and reputation as the journalist Lynne Wilson ... until I met and married my new happy-ever-after man (for real this time). He was perfect in every way, except for for the fact that his surname wasn't Wilson.

For the first couple of years, he put up with being referred to as Mr Wilson at functions or meetings, but I could see he was unhappy so when I started my own company a few years ago, I decided to drop the Wilson and become Lynne Smit.

Problem solved? Not quite.

Now I'm met with people who, after speaking to me for a while say things like "Oh, you're Lynne Wilson... I thought she had died" or "I wondered what happened to her" and in some situations I am more likely to get work if people know who I was, rather than who I am.

(In the last, particularly awful years of my first marriage I began only using my first name, but beaurocracy made that totally impractical).

So, what to do?

I decided to add the Wilson to my email signature so that people would know who I was, but that was complicated in itself. I couldn't say "nee Wilson" because it wasn't a maiden name (even though Mr Wilson seemed to believe that me and Mary were sisters in the immaculate conception thing, especially when it came to child maintenance). So I decided to put (previously Wilson) in brackets after my name.

Problem solved, or so I thought.

After coming home from holiday to over 600 emails, I decided to cut down on some of my newsletter subscriptions and, very reluctantly, included IRIN in the purge. Unusually, I recieved a reply from a real person, who then went on to ask me what "previously Wilson" meant. Turns out she thought I was being terribly brave and had had a sex change.

Now, while I love the thought of being terribly brave (mostly because I am much braver in thought than in deed) I am left with a new dilemma.

How many of my clients and contacts meet me and think "yoh! those sex change drugs really add on the curves."

How many are surreptitiously looking for my Adam's apple?

So now I am appealing to you...any suggestions? Please??

talking of trees

2009-08-15T11:51:00.007+02:00

trees in the Kruger Park provide sancturies of relaxation

surprising beauty

examples of tenacity

are attacked by termites

and somehow survive

make us feel small

continue to surprise us by their beauty, even in death

and are destroyed by elephants!

signs on the way

2009-08-15T09:16:00.008+02:00

We saw some fun signs while we were away. Like this one at Letaba Camp in the Kruger Park:

here's what a sausage fruit looks like, in case you were wondering.

and this one at the God's Window lookout at the Blyde River Canyon was my favourite:

predators large and small

2009-08-14T17:33:00.004+02:00

We left Skukuza when the gates opened at 6am, fortified by some strong coffee sold by an enterprising guy at the gate in the predawn chill. It was Greg's first trip to Kruger, and I was really hoping that he'd get to see some lions so I was really pleased when we came across this group, right on the edge of the road. The biggest male (not in this picture) turned and looked right at Greg as he was taking his picture. The resultant shivery hands are the reason that the photo was too much of a blur to publish here! One becomes very aware that the car provides a very false sense of security, and the lions could break their way into them if they realised what tastey morsels were travelling inside!

Less than 100m down the road, we met this group of affectionate giraffe. We noticed during our stay that giraffe tend to travel in threes. Not sure why.

Greg's breakfast toasted sandwich at a picnic spot on the way to Satara was a great attraction to the yellow billed hornbill.

They remind me of velociraptors!

the starlings seem a lot more gentle, but are equally keen to help themselves to any crumbs that may fall. There are signs all over warning people not to feed the animals, but the birds obviously can't read.

we saw some cute vervet monkeys at Satara

and an African Scops owl, no bigger than my hand

some "wild cows," according to Greg, otherwise known as buffalo!

and a sign that was necessary to explain the very green water at Orpen dam where we saw a mother hippo lead her teeny tiny baby into the water. See? that small shape behind her?

We were so ready for bed when we arrived at Olifants that we went to sleep without supper at 6.30pm! Relaxing is exhausting!

boiling frogs

2009-08-14T10:57:00.002+02:00

When we returned to Blue Jay after our three days in Kruger, we met a mother and son from Zimbabwe who were staying there too. Two things struck me about them... the first was that the son was incredibly well behaved and the second was that the mother was overwhelmingly positive about life in Bulawayo where she lives and works as an accountant.

"There's just so much going on," she said. "There are businesses opening, big developments happening, and we even have a choice of meat in the butcher!"

I was interested by her enthusiasm, in part because it was so different to anything I'd heard about Zimbabwe in a while. Its also a very different impression to the one that my old boss, Wilmot James, got when he was on a fact-finding mission.

The fact that we parted on bad terms doesn't mean that I don't respect his judgement or his insights, so I found the contrast between her impression and his particularly intersting. His views are here

When we were chatting the following morning, Philip (the owner of Blue Jay) commented that people get so used to how bad things are that they see even the smallest changes as significant. That reminded me about how happy she had been about the choice of meat in the butcher ... choice is incredible when seen in the light of years of empty shelves.

Wilmot commented in his article "It is only possible to do this, South Africans should note, if you do not have good governance. ZANU PF fused with and became indistinguishable from government. Parliament exercised little to no oversight over the executive. Mugabe ran the Treasury and the Reserve Bank as if they were his personal bank accounts. It is only possible to have a government that may raid private bank accounts and pension funds if the judiciary is politically pliable, corrupt and obsequious. A truly independent judiciary protects citizens against the abuse of power."

Remember that old story about boiling frogs? If you put them in the pot when the water is cold, they make no attempt to escape as the water gets gradually hotter and hotter until it is too late and they are cooked. Pop them in, (with the outsiders' perception) when the water is already heating up, and they jump straight out.

day three, belatedly

2009-08-13T15:45:00.012+02:00

The internet connection was so bad that I decided that work, and my blog, would have to wait until I got back.

Day three saw us up bright and early so that we could be at the Kruger Park gates when they opened at 6am. We actually got there at about 5.45, but there were already 11 cars ahead of us.

The game reserve is a great place to observe human behaviour too... we were amused by the strategies of people who wanted to be first in the queue to check in. Some double-parked right next to the reception hut. Others dropped off the sprinter in their party, who rushed up to the door. We couldn't see the point of all the oneupmanship, so we ended up about 20th in the queue at reception. And it really made no difference at all... it was still dark when we got through the final entrance gate anyway!

We saw lots of elephants, in their natural setting. No chance of checking their teeth!

this is a saddle beaked stork at a waterhole near Skukuza, the camp where we spent our first night in the park.

These waterbuck were very reluctant to have a drink, and eventually left without even a sip.

the crocodile is still hard to see... but he's there. waiting patiently.

We ended the day with an afternoon snooze, a couple of sundowners next to the river and dinner under the bats at Skukuza's take away restaurant. It was probably the worst meal I had had in a long time, but the bats were fascinating. Probably a horribly unhealthy place to sit, but I don't think any bat droppings got into the food. I'd have noticed. Anything would have improved the flavour of the pasta Alfredo I chose.

up close...

2009-08-04T19:25:00.014+02:00

Today was the second day of our holiday, and it was totally unforgettable. Yes, that is a real elephant... his name is Casper and he is 23 years old... not yet fully grown.

He was bought by a Namibian farmer who realised that he had taken on far more than he could handle when Casper and his brothers reached adolescence and, like any adolescents without adult supervision, began wreaking havoc. He was rescued from being shot by the Elephant Sanctuary, where he now lives.

It was a incredible privilege to get a chance to see elephants (Casper and a 10-year-old, Kitso)so close, and to touch them and really interact with them.

I kept feeling that I should ask permission as we were shown their amazing, wrinkly hide and were able to feel the delicate smooth skin of their ears. I even touched his tongue... it felt like a marshmallow!

The elephants are fairly... but not completely tame, so you always get the impression that they are allowing you to interact with them, rather than being forced to. The food treats probably help too!

They only do things that they would do naturally in the wild... like lifting their trunks or kneeling down ... and these behavours have been reinforced with the treats so that they respond to commands.

Their trainer made a comparison with many of the working elephants in Asia which he says have their spirits broken so that they will work for man.

"An African elephant will fight back if you try to do that," he claimed. "He'll kill you if you try to force him to do something or hurt him."

Tonight is our second night in the totally beautiful Blue Jay Lodge and we leave at 5.15am tomorrow, to be at the Kruger Park gates when they open at 6am.

Don't you just love mosquito nets? And luckily because it is winter, there is no real need for them!

time for a break

2009-07-30T08:58:00.004+02:00

You know you really, really need a holiday when:

1. You decide to get really organised and book your August holiday in April, carefully file the confirmation letter and don't notice until yesterday that somehow you'd booked for May. And the reservations people managed to be helpful without budging an inch, which meant that we had to pay for the Kruger Park days again. So now we are having three days in the park instead of four. The silver lining (because, somehow there always is one) is that two of the nights will be in a river view rondavel at Olifants camp... one of my favourites. the black lining (because there's always one of those too) is that there'll be a whole lot less money to spend on the holiday. And we definitely won't be doing that hot air balloon ride

2. You really struggle to get any work done because your mind is determined to enter "play" mode

3. You really wish people would stop phoning and wanting to talk about work

4. You are counting sleeps (and recounting in case another day went by without you noticing)

5. You stare daggers at anyone with a cold, that might develop into swine flu and mean that you spend your holiday in quarantine instead of Mpumalanga

6. You wonder if you should buy a black wig and pretend to be Asian so you can get away with wearing a face mask on the plane (see point 5)

7. The list of things to pack is longer than the list of things to do before you go (at last, yippee). But sadly, the list of things to do is not getting shorter (see point 2)

what's in a name?

2009-07-28T15:42:00.005+02:00

How much thought do people put into the names they choose for their products, their businesses or their children?

Sometimes I wonder.

I got myself in a lot of trouble once by going on a rave about the Afrikaans habit giving children surnames as first names.

"How can they do that?" I asked. "Its just awful. I mean, can you imagine looking at your baby and saying 'I think I'll call this child Poggenpoel'!"

The man I was speaking to, a Mr Lingenvelder, glared as he replied:

"My son's name is Steggmann" (with the gg prounounced like the sound of a throat being cleared)

Well yes... my point exactly!

(and while I'm on a roll... why don't business design posters that fit their frames?)

ploeg dag

2009-07-27T14:36:00.005+02:00

This weekend Greg and I went to a farm outside Malmesbury to see the antique tractor club ploughing a field. It was fun to see how efficiently they worked, as well as the contrast with the shiny new behemoths that have taken their place. The new ones have sound systems and air conditioning and sprung seats and headlights and windcreeen wipers....

but the old ones are much cooler.

I can say that because I don't actually have to spend my day in the sun having my bones jarred right out of my body!

and look, there's Table Mountain in the distance!

the power of dreams

2009-07-20T17:40:00.012+02:00

When I was nine years old, I was at school at Loreto Convent in Hillcrest, Pretoria. Next door was the boy's school... Christian Brothers College. Some of the older girls managed a few snatched words through the fence, but for those of us in Std 2, it was a place to be avoided. Except, that is, for one glorious day in July or August 1969 when we headed off, single file, to the CBC hall to see the Apollo moon landing.

I can't remember whether we saw the landing on the actual day, but I do remember crowding round the tiny television - the first I had ever seen - and watching the grainy pictures of the moon landing. And, strangely, I remember the dusty smell of the hall, and the sunlight coming through the cracks in the black curtains, high up on the walls. And the wooden floors, scuffed by decades of boy feet.

It was a pivotal point in my life. I remember a few years before being taken outside by my father to see a satellite... one of the sputniks ... passing through the night sky, and being totally in awe that this tiny dot in the sky could contain a man.

And now, there were real, actual people who had landed on the moon.

For my nine year old self, it gave me the absolute assurance that anything was possible. The moon landing meant that dreams could come true, and there was nothing that people could not achieve.

I did not realise how privileged I was. In a country which had no television, very few (mostly white) people had the chance to share my epiphany.

For years I thought I would go to the moon too, but never did anything career-wise to achieve that dream. But in spite of that, the possibility remains. It may, somehow, still happen.

And for years, I have resisted any suggestions (especially by my son Simon who is usually right about such things) that it was all a big con and never actually happened. I still refuse to read any of the "proofs" or stories of flags waving on a wind free world.

This past week I have been reporting, appropriately, on IGARSS 09 the International Geoscience and Remote Sensing Symposium which was held on the African continent for the first time. The focus was inward... these satellites are looking at the earth rather than outward to the stars.

But once again I was awed by the possibilities, and my inner nine year old was wandering around saying "oh wow!" as I learned about landmine detection, the discovery of new currents, how clouds could be analysed to predict floods and how disease tracking could save lives. And those were just the parts I could understand!

Importantly, IGARSS 09 was also about giving 300 high school children a chance to experience remote sensing for themselves.

Johannesburg University Professor Harold Annegarn, chair of the conference (and whose badge bore the monicker "Big Cheese") saw the outreach programme as one of the highlights of a conference which attracted close to 1300 delegates from all over the world, many with a string of letters after their names.

“These were children who are already achieving in maths and science and who have now seen that people that they can relate to are really achieving great things in terms of world class science. Initiatives like these are so important. They bring hope... the children start believing that their dreams can become reality, and that they are not excluded from anything,” he said.

The power of dreams. It can take you anywhere.

measuring impact

2009-07-15T11:34:00.006+02:00

I'm at a conference on exciting things like radar and satellitetes and remote sensing, and its taking all my brainpower to understand what is going on!
You can read the daily newsletters we are producing here if you want to see the bits that I do understand (and some great pictures). A lot of what the satellites are showing is the incredible and sometimes devastating impact that humans have on our world.

So this guest post by the passionate, inspired, issues-driven Lalifufu from Eternal Ramblings of a Tangled Mind seems particularly relevant. Thanks Ms Fufu for making us think, and hopefully act too!

over to Lali...

I witnessed the most brutal and mindless animal abuse on CTV last night. It was a snippet from a documentary film called Earthlings (see the link below) and this part focused predominantly on medical and military research.

I strongly believe that everyone needs to see this.

The Earthlings project began in 1999 when writer, producer and director Shaun Monson started working on a series of PSAs about spaying and neutering pets. He was so appalled by what he saw and filmed in animal shelters in Los Angeles that he started shooting a documentary film about the suffering of animals for food, fashion, pets, entertainment, medical and military research. And so, Earthlings was born.

The film took six years to make, largely because of the difficulty in obtaining footage within these many profitable industries. Showing sensitive and graphic footage shot at animal shelters, pet stores, factory farms, leather and fur trades, sporting events, circuses, puppy mills, slaughterhouses and research labs, Earthlings is nicknamed “the vegan maker.”

Today, it is an award-winning documentary film narrated by Joaquin Phoenix and featuring music by Moby. Considered the most persuasive documentary ever made, Earthlings is a definitive animal rights film that everyone should see.

I am not advocating becoming a vegetarian. What I am trying to achieve is conscious and social awareness. Don't be an ignorant consumer. Be conscious of where your food products are coming from. Be conscious of what people are doing to animals - the suffering and psychological abuse they endure for our benefit is mindless, brutal and needless. I eat chicken and fish. But where I can and when I can afford it, I try to by free range chicken as opposed to battery chickens. I limit my intake. You can always argue that carrots, potatoes, cabbages and other vegetables, fruits and plants are also living - they also grow from seeds and "live" in the ground before we pluck them out, boil them and eat them. For all we know carrots also scream when they are pulled from the earth.

As difficult as it will be to watch most of the time, don’t cover your eyes or look away. Whether you want to believe it or not, this abuse is happening all around you, every day. This brutality needs to stop and the only way it will or can is through education and awareness. Do not be ignorant about what is happening around you, to your fellow earthlings. If this was a documentary about child abuse, would you switch off the TV, stop reading and say “It’s going to spoil my dinner”?

http://www.earthlings.com/

On a similar note, The Meatrix I is an animated documentary that has also won numerous international awards. It’s not as graphic, easier to watch and the film has been made in a funny and clever way. The link below talks about growth hormones, factory farms and the antibiotics we inject into our food produce thereby poisoning ourselves. Doesn't it seem illogical to you? This kind of inhumane farming MUST come to an end. We need to be humane and sustainable. We need to be part of the solution, not part of the problem.

http://www.themeatrix1.com/

I’ll leave you with the wise words of George Bernard Shaw: While we ourselves are the living graves of murdered beasts, how can we expect any ideal conditions on this earth?

It’s not all doom and gloom. Click on the links below to see how you can help and how you can be a part of the solution:
http://www.sustainabletable.org/spread/
http://www.sustainabletable.org/shop/
http://www.sustainabletable.org/?pv=blog_home
http://noimpactman.typepad.com/blog/2007/07/the-no-impact-s.html
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2008/08/17/INCU12BAV3.DTL
http://www.wedonteatanimals.com/

baking bread

2009-07-07T16:47:00.002+02:00

In honour of my son Ben's safe return to the Seychelles after yet another trip through pirate-infested waters ... this time dropping some special-forces types off on a ship before it entered the Gulf ... I decided to share his really great bread recipe with you.

Ever since he taught me to make it a year or so ago, I haven't bought any bread at all. I allow myself one slice, hot out of the oven and covered in farm butter, but the rest of the loaf is for Greg. It lasts about a week (and miraculously stays fresh-ish).

So here it is... a bread so easy you can make it in the middle of the ocean!

600g white bread flour
2 packets of dry yeast
2 tsp salt
4 tsp sugar

mix all together in big bowl and add 600ml lukewarm water

Cover bowl with clingfilm and leave to rise in a warm place for an hour or so.

Pour into bread pan (it's gloopy... not stiff like normal bread dough) and bake in the hottest possible oven (mine's 230 C) for about 40 mins.

that's it. Easy peasy.

sunday sunshine

2009-07-05T13:01:00.003+02:00

It should be the middle of winter, but our trees still have all their leaves (the oak is still mostly green)and the spring flowers are beginning to come out in our veggie garden where I scattered handfuls of seeds last spring.

Is this the effect of global warming?

of resolution

2009-07-04T13:14:00.009+02:00

Making resolutions is one of my specialities. I'm good at knowing exactly what I want to do, and when and how I want to do it.
Sadly, breaking resolutions is one of the other things I excel at.

Last night, I planned to surprise Greg by getting up early and suggesting a bike ride up to Piekenierskloof to see the sunrise. It was a great idea, except for two things:
1. the sun rises on the other side of the mountain so we wouldn't be able to see it
and
2. when Greg woke me up at 7am I told him it was far too early to be human and suggested (not very politely) that he should go back to sleep.

And, of course... yesterday saw another resolution broken. After an impressive record of two blogs in two days, I missed Friday. Not because I had nothing to say, which would have been a very good reason. But because I had absolutely no inclination to turn on my computer.

The beautiful Rosie with her groom and one of the children who she is working with

Yesterday was a good day. We spent the morning with an old friend who we see far too rarely. She and I had time to chat while Greg took her horse for a very sedate ride through the gum trees. And I had a chance to watch her working.

Mari's company, Horseworx, provides exercise and muscle therapy to disabled or injured children using ponies which have been rescued by the SPCA or the Carthorse Association.

Yesterday I watched as she worked with a three year old boy who has had multiple operations for the congenital disease he suffers from. Yesterday was his first visit back to Horseworx after a long hospital stay.

It was amazing to see the joy on his face as he sat on the broad back of Rosie, a snow white little pony with a gentle temperament. It was hard to believe that this calm and placid pony had been abused by her previous owners or that she was so thin that she had to be slowly nursed back to health and confidence by Mari and her grooms.

As the little boy was led around the field, stopping every now and then to throw a hoop onto a peg, or to throw a ball; riding facing backwards, forwards or sidesaddle, he was exercising his tiny, wasted muscles without even realising it.

I really admire Mari for her courage and her patience. I don't think I would have the fortitude to work with disabled children, but somehow she manages it, without hardening her heart or losing her compassion.

Leave a comment here if you want to know more about Mari's work, or know someone in Cape Town who would benefit from her therapy.

smokin!

2009-07-01T18:14:00.003+02:00

I feel the need to explain...
In yesterday's post I mentioned a smokey room in the Royal Hotel.
The smoke was from the fire. Not from us. No heated conversations. No cigars or even cigarettes.

It seems such a short time ago that smoking cigarettes was the thing to do. Now, I imagine that many smokers feel like pariahs.

And it's not getting any easier. The latest anti-smoking legislation in South Africa bans smoking in a car with children under 12 years of age. And, thankfully, also bans smoking outside public buildings. No more hacking through clouds of smoke before you get to the reception desk!

I wonder how many other things that we see as totally acceptable today will soon be looked at with the same level of disapproval? The results of the green movement are obvious, but there must surely be other things that we are going to blushingly tell our grandchildren that we enjoyed in the "good old days".

Any ideas what they could be?

Something else that's "smokin!" Greg's new-ish bike...and probably also on the list of "things to tell the grandchildren" if I ever get any!

finding a voice

2009-07-01T12:10:00.006+02:00

June was a really productive month. I wrote hundreds (well, it felt like it) of articles, met and interviewed a host of interesting people, found new clients and got rid of one particularly dreadful one...
But in the flurry of it all, I seem to have lost my own voice.
Perhaps it is because I have spent a fair amount of time "ghost-blogging" for a couple of my clients? I've been crafting my words into their voices, hearing their tones and inflections and passions and speaking for them.
My mind is so filled with these other characters, that I am finding it difficult to speak for myself.

We did find some time for some fun things though... a highlight was breakfast at the Royal Hotel in Riebeeck Kasteel, which claims to have the longest stoep in Africa, or something. Here it is. A great spot. We went back for dinner... waterblommetjie breedie (stew made with water lilies) and because we were the only guests (we were early) sat in the smoking room in front of the huge fireplace. As the evening wore on and we got more mellow (I was drinking Allesveloren port) the room got more and more smokey, until the waiter and manager rushed in, all concerned, and opened all the doors and windows.

I've set myself the challenge of a post a day for July, and already I'm feeling a little daunted. Let's see how it goes...

would you approve of you?

2009-06-04T14:15:00.004+02:00

I was driving home yesterday after a day being immersed in writing about the Spier Contemporary 2010 exhibition and I heard my favourite radio announcer talking about actor Hugh Laurie and his 50th birthday. The announcer, John Maytham on Cape Talk, commented that he had "never really got into the House character" which I found really funny, especially as I like both of them for the same reason... they're irreverent, irritable, intelligent and certainly not looking to make any friends.

Laurie's comments on his 50th birthday were really interesting: "From now on it's a gradually descending mist of confusion and doubt. I've never known less than I know now. You hope that your teenage self would like and forgive your 50-year-old self. It would be awful to think that they'd be ashamed and appalled - that you were a betrayal of everything they thought they'd become."

So what would your 18 year old self think of the person you have become?

I'd like to think my 18 year old self would be pretty happy with the almost-50 I've become. I'm certainly happier than I was then, and a lot more secure and positive about the future than I was at 18.

I wonder if it's a gender thing... are women are more likely to reach a place of contentment than men of the same age?

In fact, the only thing I'd swap with that 18 year old would be her figure. But somehow I don't think she'd be interested in doing the deal

mind the gap

2009-05-26T08:08:00.003+02:00

I'm suffering from an excess of velleity.

Velleity is volition at its weakest. It's a mere wish or inclination, without any accompanying effort.

My velleity is fed by an overactive imagination... I can see in my mind's eye exactly what my dream garden looks like, for example. So when I am outside, I'm imagining a tree there, a shrub here, a winding path and a bank of flowers. so the lack of all those things and the lack of effort on my part to make them happen don't worry me so much. It certainly makes things easier when you are living with a very large garden during our excessively hot and dry summers.

I'd write more... but what can I say? Velleity strikes again.

feeling very friday

2009-05-22T15:11:00.003+02:00

It's one of those days where the idea of concentrating on any one thing seems like way too much effort. The up-side is that if I keep doing little bits of things, they'll eventually get finished!

I have six stories, an annual report and a brochure to write, two proposals to finish, and some other stuff too. So I started the day by baking a loaf of bread and I've just finished mixing a double quantity of buttermilk rusks. I know why those boere tannies have strong arms. I need a Kenwood Chef.

So, in another desperate effort to delay work, I decided to suggest some blogs for you (my few but very valued visitors).

So these are some of my favourites that I haven't mentioned before:
Born Animal... we used to eat neanderthal babies???

My Marrakesh I find the constant use of the third person a bit trying, but her pictures are stupendous and I want to live in her house

Journey Mama and her husband who write about their lives in India

That's enough... concentration limit reached.

biofuels and the food chain

2009-05-20T10:19:00.007+02:00

One of my all time favourite books is The Day of The Triffids by John Wyndham.
It is a book which has had a major influence on my life, ever since I was about eight years old and first heard it being read on the radio.In brief, most of the world's population are blinded by some strange lights in the sky, and as a result the Triffids - strange, ambulant, people eating plants (not purple people eaters... that was something else that caused childhood nightmares) are easily able to kill their prey. Society as we know it breaks down and the hero is forced to make some tough choices about survival.

look, there is a movie! I had no idea.

What would you do if you were one of the few people with sight in the world? Work hard to help the others? Recognise the futility of trying to save and feed everyone else and save yourself?

One of the reasons that I am thinking again of the Day of The Triffids is that I went to the launch of the LEAF project recently.

The Leaf Project is bringing together researchers from the University of the Western Cape, the CSIR, Stellenbosch University and the Cape Peninsula University of Technology to find and genetically map the enzymes that most effectively digest lignocellulosics as part of the process of producing ethanol for biofuels.

Leaf (Lignocellulosic Enzymes for Agricultural Feedstocks) has as its basis the concept of producing biofuel in a way that does not compete with food grade carbons.

“We'll be finding ways to use the lignocellulose in the thousands of tons of sugarcane, maize, forestry and soya waste – the leaves and stalks and husks - that are produced in this country each year,” explained Professor Don Cowan, head of the Institute for Microbial Biotechnology and Metagenomics at UWC.

The project is getting off the ground with startup funding of R24.5-million from Plantbio Trust, its biggest ever investment into a venture which is in its high-risk pre-proof of concept phase.

So what's the connection with The Day of the Triffids? In the book the few survivors are able to forge out a new and seemingly cosy existence, without losing too much sleep over the dying masses.

In the LEAF project, like so many projects and initiatives nowadays, the central focus is on making a difference to everyone. In this case, the determination of the researchers to produce a biofuel that does not compete with food stocks was repeated again and again.

Is society as a whole becoming less selfish? Have the global economic pressures and the fear of climate change meant that we are beginning to embrace a way of thinking that would previously be scorned as being only for those who were perceived as the loony, tree-hugging left?

tunnel vision

2009-05-14T12:15:00.008+02:00

It's been a strange week. Periods of intense busyness, a couple of moments of sheer indulgence and unconnected people suddenly telling me how they see me.

It got me wondering about the chasm between the way we see ourselves (or is it just me?) and the way other people see us.

This picture of Simon's seems to sum it up perfectly. We are looking down a tunnel. Uneven, rusty and filled with the debris of what we think is important into the eyes of the people who intersect our lives.

It all started with this post where I said that I am a black lace and candlelight kind of person. Larissa, who is my son's girlfriend (and whose amazing blog is here) disagreed with me quite emphatically. Where I see myself as dark and moody, she sees me as "bouncy, happy and colourful. and you're almost always smiling. you're like a naughty little girl trapped in a woman's body.. a creative wild child who doesn't want to conform but has to".

How do we get to see ourselves the way other people see us? And what difference would it make it my life if I were to see myself as "sweet" (another title I was given this week) instead of "difficult" (which would have been my description).

And, when it gets down to it, whose truth is the real one?

lives well lived

2009-05-08T12:53:00.006+02:00

This morning we were up bright and early, making a real South African breakfast for two of our friends who made our home their first stop on their big adventure.
Les took early retirement (very early) and he and Sharon set out today on a journey with no fixed destination or time scales which will take them around a large part of Southern Africa. They are completely free to go where their whim (or God) leads them.

As Les said this morning, "I could have worked longer and got a better pension, but why? You don't need a lot of money to be happy".

I stole this picture off their blog here. (Sorry Les. Sure you'll tell me if you mind)It gives you an idea of what their home will be for the next six months or more.

I really admire people who are prepared to live life to the full.

I really despair when I think of the people I know who are not prepared to stray an inch off the path of the conventional. I want to cry when I think of all those who reach retirement age and then sit around, getting more grey and more dull and dying in stages until they leave the world without ever having had a "why the hell not?" moment.

I think that having reached this stage of my life, I've proved that I'm not likely to ever grow up or be serious or make the sensible choice. And that's just the way I want it to be.

When I was a child, I remember often asking my mother "Why not?" and her answer was invariably "because it's just not done". I don't think she ever realised how much I was screaming inside, or how important that answer was in shaping my life.

I want to do things because I can, because it's cool and because it's fun. I want big adventures and all the risks that go with them. I want to experience life first hand. I want to still be living until the day I die.

Luckily, Greg wants that too... so the rest of this journey should be great.

do you want to feel good?

2009-05-06T13:09:00.004+02:00

I'm still getting lots of exercise kicking myself after yesterday's debacle, so I popped on over to one of my favourite bloggers.
Color Me Katie is a lesson in exuberance. How could you not feel cheerful after reading about the shadow project?

She is so filled with life and joy and colour that it's impossible not to smile, and think "wow, what a cool idea", and "I wish I'd seen that".

But I have a confession.

Unlike some of my blog friends and aquaintances, I'm not sure I'd actually like to meet her. I'd feel intimidated and stressed by all the bounce. I'd feel that I just wasn't colourful, or inventive or sparky enough.

I'm more of a black lace and candle light and long silences kind of person.

But I am really glad that people like Katie are out there. Keep up the bounce, Katie!

I'd even contemplate living in a nice, quiet cave like this one.
If it had good carpets.
And ADSL

bouquets for a dingbat

2009-05-06T08:32:00.007+02:00

Making me feel better: my 81-year-old mother and my husband, heading off 35km to the next closest town to buy a milkshake a couple of weeks ago

Yesterday I made a huge, totally unprofessional mistake. Thankfully it's been a long time since I proved so conclusively that the fact that a head is connected to a neck does not mean that any coherent messages are getting through.

It was the end of a horrible day, filled with frustrations and clients who don't pay on time. The only thing I can say for the mistake, was that I also proved that my commitment to always doing a job as well as possible extends into all my endeavours. I didn't send an email with premature information to a couple of close friends. I sent it to close to 100 highly influential journalists. How's that for a screw up of note?

One of the things that I learned through the debacle was that my family is totally, completely loyal to me. I had no idea, and the realisation is humbling, scary and certainly makes me feel a whole lot better.

One of the things we did during April: Greg's birthday breakfast in Paddagang in Tulbagh. Yes, we went on the bike

My husband, my mother and my son Simon all had the same reaction (Ben's still in pirate-infested waters in the Seychelles, or he may have had the same response). They immediately assumed that it was someone else's fault, that I must have been given the wrong information. This morning when I spoke to my mom, I was still trying to persuade her that the mistake was something that I had to take full responsibility for.

Isn't that just amazing? I'm sitting at my desk, wrapped in a blanket, and with a hot water bottle and warm slippers, but what's really keeping me warm today is the feeling of being loved. It's a great place to be.

One of my favourite feel better spaces: our bathroom in the evening, lit with candles. There's bubblebath too, and a bath so deep and long I can float in it.

what happened to April?

2009-05-04T11:46:00.006+02:00

Somehow, April just vanished in a haze of work. After not knowing how much I'd earn month by month - which is exciting and a little daunting - all of a sudden I have four clients who are paying me a monthly retainer. It's really cool to have the certainty of income. I don't think the lack of blogging it is connected to the new arrangements because I had been working for many of them anyway, but somehow, in the midst of it all, April just vanished.

I subscribe to many of my favourite blogs through bloglines, and as of today I have 36 posts to read on Meri's Musings, 19 of Julie's to read and 98 of Seth's. 98!!

I could go on, but my bloglines notifier keeps popping up on my screen to tell me I have 2761 new items to read, and I feel like I may start screaming.

One of the new retainers is to work for the Spier 2010 Contemporary Art Exhibition for five days a month. I almost feel guilty about being paid for it. The office where I am working is in the visitor centre for the new Green Point Stadium. Actually, the office I share is in what is left of the old stadium (astroturf carpets! How cool is that!). It's a place of bustle and noise and life and good company. A couple of times a day, school groups come to see the presentation about the new stadium, and a fabulous production by the talented Apollo who tells the story of soccer in South Africa and the common. The children start their tour with a warcry: "We are the future! 2010!" which puts a lump in my throat for all kinds of reasons. And I get to write about art.

Keeping me grounded is another new retainer for a long-time client. Isandla Institute is concerned with issues of poverty and urbanisation, and the work the small team there does always leaves me feeling a bit more hopeful that the warcry of the children will reflect a positive tomorrow.

And, talking about all those tomorrows, our election has come and gone and all that is left is for the fabulously expensive inauguration of our new president. I could, and probably should, rave on. But I won't. Not today. I'll just gaze at the picture of the amazing rainbow coloured bug I saw in the garden yesterday (see above) and think quiet thoughts about what our rainbow nation was supposed to be.

And last but most certainly not least. I got a package of surprises in the mail from Julie, all the way from Denmark. The Swedish Ginger and Lemon chocolate was triply wonderful (as in three times and a trip) because it was the first chocolate I had eaten since December. Greg and I shared it out, square by square, and it lasted five days. The most beautiful hand bound books are on my desk now, waiting to be filled. I don't know if you are the same, but when I have something so beautiful, I'm almost reluctant to write the first word, or add the first sketch. But they will come.

The big, squishy envelope, covered in Danish stamps is also on my desk, slowly being filled with surprises to send back to Julie. I'll mention the stone from the Namibian desert, because I've already told her about that one. The others, both she and you are going to have to wait for.

mixed messages

2009-03-26T14:55:00.007+02:00

This weekend, people all around the developed world are switching off their lights for Earth Hour. The initiative, facilitated by the WWF "acts as a worldwide call to action to every individual, business and community to take a stand against Climate Change" according to the website.

I must admit to having mixed feelings about the whole thing. Don't get me wrong... I think that it is a great idea, but I just wonder how much of a real difference it will make.

I remember during the 1980s in South Africa when I was one of a group of editors working on UpFront, the journal of the UDF and in many ways the mouthpiece for the then-banned ANC, there were some people within the organisation who were critical of the contribution of whites to the struggle. Their argument was that we could enjoy the adrenaline rush of putting up illegal posters or holding illegal meetings, but at the end of the day we went back to the cocoons of our safe homes in our white suburbs.

I feel a little like that now. Those lucky enough to have electricity (and cars and various other consumer-culture necessities) are contributing to climate change far more than those for whom electricity is a dream. Like people who are living in a yurt in the middle of Mongolia. Or a shack in any South African town.

So sure, we should register our support for climate change initiatives. We should call for action to stop further environmental damage. But sitting in the dark for an hour isn't really going to make a difference. We'll go back to our safe, electrified environment straight after the adrenaline rush has worn off.

And really, how many people are actually prepared to change their lifestyles because of climate change?

The big corporates certainly aren't. Shell and BP announced recently that they are no longer going to invest in renewable energy such as wind and solar power. Instead it will be looking at increasing biofuel production, where profits are much higher. Who cares about the implications! Biofuels have been criticised for a range of ills, including nitrous oxide emitting fertilisers and starvation of populations whose arable land is being turned into fuel rather than food production.

The world's biggest investor in wind power, Iberdrola Renewables, is cutting its investment in Britain by more than 40%, which means that 200 000 less homes will be powered by renewable energy.

So, while I absolutely support the idea of Earth Hour, and encourage all of you to sign up (there's a link on this page), I'm left feeling that it is just a show. Toyi toying because it is fun rather than because of any real commitment.

Real commitment will mean changing the way each of us live our lives. Every day. Without exception. And just how many of us are prepared to do that?

in the eye of the beholder

2009-03-18T08:42:00.006+02:00

I have one of those widgets on my Google home page that provides "today's reason to drink". Not, you understand, because I particularly need a good reason to drink. In fact, a father who was a part time alcoholic (he was great between the binges) and a very frustrating new allergy to red wine have conspired to keep me sober. Instead, I see it as "today's reason to celebrate".

So, when I saw that today is National Biodiesel day - I assume in the US - I realised that this was a day that I should certainly celebrate.

Until ten days ago I wouldn't have given it a second glance, but that was before I paid a visit to the Sasol Advanced Fuels Laboratory (SAFL) at UCT and discovered that there is a world of unexpected beauty inside every engine.

In a rather nondescript building tucked behind the maintenance department on the UCT campus, researchers are testing Sasol fuels and discovering some amazing things. I expected rather dour and nurdy chemists, but what I found when I visited there was a world of excitement and wonder.

Would you have expected the head of a lab dedicated to testing fuel made from coal to have been so inspired by the beauty of one of his students' discoveries that he reproduced it in a piece of jewellery for his wife?

The labs are filled with engines, but on the walls are pictures of the most amazing colours, captured by high speed film. Sprays of multi-coloured energy bursting out in a stream of light.

Even the apparatus is beautiful. In one lab, a sapphire with a diameter of 10cm plays a vital part in the combustion bomb, a piece of apparatus designed to measure soot, temperature and composition of fuels in the instant when the fuel combusts.

“Sapphires have special thermal properties,” head of the lab, Prof Andy Yates, told me, adding that the stone itself has been the subject of intense contemplation by students with more than just their studies on their minds.

In the picture above is the world's fastest fuel compression machine, built by one of the SAFL students. It looks at what happens when a known air : fuel ratio is squeezed very suddenly. The machine stops a piston which is moving at up to 40km/hr twenty times faster than a blink.

“It reveals a lot about fuel,” Yates explains. “What happens is that it 'thinks' about burning, starts to burn, stops burning and then explodes. These timescales are crucial to extracting the maximum capacity out of fuels.”

From my perspective, the best of all, and the colour that so inspired Prof Yates, with its supreme beauty was the "mysterious blue" of the cool flame that burns in the fraction of a second before the fuel explodes.

I'll never look at an engine in quite the same way again.

the future is in Venus

2009-03-16T15:53:00.001+02:00

Today's thought-provoking guest post by is Larissa

Numerous science fiction and Japanese animated films depict a horrific future where humans are ruled and overpowered by an army of power-hungry killer robots and machines. In reality, this is unlikely ever to happen. A future where robots can walk upright like a human, on two steel legs, let alone grip a pistol in their meagre, unbendable fingers is thousands of years away – especially when you take a look at the ‘best’ and most ‘proficient’ robots that have been designed so far. The most violent thing these inadequate steel beasts will do is blast away the dirt and grime in your home and call an all-out war on poor sanitation.

On the contrary, imagine living in a world enhanced by machinery and technology. Imagine living in a beautifully designed, fully-automated, sustainable house with a solar-panelled roof in a safe, energy-efficient city that has no prisons. Best of all, you wouldn't have any bonds or mortgage payments to make and you would never have to pay rent either. Sounds incredible, doesn't it? Well, it's the idea behind 'The Venus Project'.

Admittedly, the name conjures up images of dirty, barefoot hippies running around with goofy smiles on their faces, hugging trees and bunnies and professing 'free love'. However, the name 'Venus' merely applies to a town in Florida in the United States, where Phase One of the project is already underway.

The future is currently taking shape on a 25-acre piece of land in pristine, south-central Florida. Futurist, inventor, industrial designer and founder of the project, Jacque Fresco and his associate, Roxanne Meadows have already completed construction for the research centre in Venus to test their theories. The buildings are supplemented by pamphlets, books, posters, video presentations and even an upcoming feature-length film which will highlight the projects' aims and proposals in an informative and entertaining way.

Fresco is the project founder and director of The Venus Project and foresees a radical new resources-based worldwide economy. That's right, folks, Mr Fresco wants to do away with all forms of money, credits, barter and any other form of debt or servitude. In Fresco's design, all resources become "the common heritage of all of the (earth's) inhabitants." Fresco’s resource-based and extreme new civilisation will utilise existing resources from the land and sea to enhance the lives of the total population on earth. Emphasis is on a high standard of living and the use of technology to improve our lives.

Money won’t be the only thing left by the wayside – all professions based on the monetary system like stockbrokers, lawyers, bankers, salespeople and insurance agents will become null and void. (Imagine a society where you never have to deal with another one of these blood-sucking leeches! Sounds like heaven.) In this new world, lifestyles would inevitably change to a focus on the pursuit and realisation of happiness rather than the acquisition of wealth, property and power.

Fresco has designed safe, energy-efficient cities and advanced transportation systems. These cities will use clean technologies like geothermal, controlled fusion, solar photovoltaic, wind, wave, tidal power and fuel from oceans. Fresco imagines a world where machines will do all the sorts of jobs that humans don’t want to or don’t like to do – like cleaning and waste removal. Sounds good to me! These concepts are not unlike anything you would hear about in a technology programme like the popular, Tech Head, which claimed that “houses of the future will clean themselves” on one of its shows.

People are already living in intelligent, self-automated houses that run on a central computer system. The occupants of these houses ‘log in’ on their cell phones or other devices and voila! The houses magically change and adjust according to the users’ personal settings. In the bathroom, the central computer will run a bath for you, perfectly suited to your tastes, and change the light and temperature settings according to your personal needs. Counter tops in the kitchen are adjusted to the height of the person using it – ideal for all the little children in the household. Fridges have touch screens so that you can see exactly what’s inside without even opening the door. They are also connected to the internet, so that you can order food and drinks as soon as things are finished or have expired. These high-tech houses also have energy monitors, telling you exactly how much energy you have wasted and consumed.

The unifying imperative of The Venus Project is also to outgrow the artificial boundaries that separate people and nations. That means global governance, which can be quite a scary and imposing term to some people. Fresco is quick to explain his stance – “Our vision of globalisation empowers each and every person on the planet to be the best they can be, not to live in abject subjugation to a corporate governing body.” Nothing Orwellian about it.

Fresco also, perhaps somewhat idealistically, believes that as soon as you eliminate scarcity in a society, most crimes and other social ills will naturally disappear. In his new world, prisons will no longer be necessary. A lot of Fresco’s radical ideas are not unlike the beliefs of the Bahai’ faith – a monotheistic religion which was founded in 19th century Persia. Bahai’ teachings emphasise the unity of all the world’s major religions and talks about the spiritual unity of all humankind. One of the fastest growing religions, Bahai’ underlines peace, justice and unity on a global scale. Currently, there are more than six million Bahai’ around the world in more than 200 countries.

You probably won’t be the first person to point out that designing, building and implementing these new cities, houses and transport systems will – very ironically – cost a lot of money. Fresco is aware of this paradoxical fact. In any case, no system can change abruptly over a very short period. For the Venus Project to be successful, it will undoubtedly need to be a gradual and carefully implemented process. Keep your eyes and ears peeled to this link: http://www.thevenusproject.com/introAims.php for any news and developments.

In addition, you won’t be the first cynical capitalistic to say that the project will never work because of humankind’s inherent greed / bloodthirsty competitive nature / self-indulgence / power-hungry desires / [insert negative adjective here]. Do yourself a favour and research the project, read all you can about it and then draw your own conclusions. Granted, it may not be the best option for everyone, but at least it provides an interesting alternative to the cut-throat, ruthless, money-obsessed, consumer-driven, wasteful and gluttonous poor excuse for a society we currently live in.

come away with me

2009-03-13T09:19:00.006+02:00

To celebrate the second Friday the 13th in a row, and because I feel like its time to get off my soapbox and take a breather, today I'm getting away from it all. Well, virtually and vicariously anyway.

This is Bassas da India, an uninhabitable atoll in the Mozambique channel between Africa and Madagascar. Uninhabitable because it is underwater for the three hours before and after high tide.

According to Wikipaedia, "Bassas da India (also called Basse de Judie) is an uninhabited, roughly circular atoll about 10 km in diameter, which corresponds to a total size (including lagoon) of 80 km². It is located in the southern Mozambique Channel, about half-way between Madagascar (which is 385 km to the east) and Mozambique, and 110 km northwest of Europa Island. It rises steeply from the seabed 3000 m below. The reef rim averages around 100 m across and completely encloses a shallow lagoon that has a maximum depth of 15 m.

"The atoll consists of ten barren rocky islets, with no vegetation, totalling 0.2 km² in area. Those on the north and east sides are 2.1 to 3 m high, and those on the west and south sides 1.2 m. The reef is completely covered by the sea from 3 hours before to 3 hours after high tide. The coastline of the reef measures 35.2 km. The region is subject to cyclones. The atoll has long been a maritime hazard and is the site of numerous shipwrecks.

"Bassas da India was first recorded by Portuguese explorers in the early 16th century. It was first named Baixo da Judia, "Shoal of Judia". "Judia" was the name of a Portuguese ship that ran aground on this reef. This ship was named "Judia" (Jewess in Portuguese), because its owner was a Jewish trader from Portugal. Apparently this reef was renamed Bassas da India by subsequent cartographers owing to mistakes in their writing the word "Judia" by confusing letters while copying former maps".

The only reason that I know if its existence is because my son Ben is there at the moment with a group of fishermen. The yacht The Adventurer that he works on as assistant engineer and chef (strange combination, but its ok, his mum taught him to wash his hands before touching food) is there at the moment.

You can read more about The Adventurer here and here. It held the record for the fastest round the world but is owned by a different guy now and spending a bit more time at interesting places.

I know Ben will be baking fresh bread every morning and I suppose they are also eating fish, although most of the fish that are caught will be thrown back. Scarred, surprised but otherwise unharmed.

Wanna go there too? The Google Earth coordinates for Bassas da India Atoll are 22º15’02.06” S - 37º18’19.70” E

There are some pretty amazing islands in the area. Go here to have a look. I think I'd like to be whisked off to Îles Glorieuses. Who's coming with me?

who really cares?

2009-03-12T16:55:00.008+02:00

I've been wondering how many people need to die before ordinary people sit up and recognise the silent genocide that is happening in Southern Africa?

I'm not talking about the outrage or wringing of hands by governments or humanitarian organisations. I mean, what does it take for you and me to actually, honestly weep for the thousands who are dying? What changes them from faceless numbers to individuals? Is it only when death comes knocking on the doors of our cocoons?

And what is it that makes some genocide internationally recognised and deplored while others fall through the cracks?

I was reading recently about the genocide that occurred in Burundi at the same time as the Rwandan crisis. It was another case of violent conflict between Hutu and Tutsi, but unless I've missed something, it has never received anything like the publicity that the Rwandan conflict has. In fact, in 1972, Burundi had the dubious honour of being the first country in the Great Lakes region to see genocidal conflict. Conservative estimates put the number of Hutu victims somewhere between 100,000 and 300,000 while an estimated 2,000 to 5,000 Tutsi died. The genocide flared up again in 1988, to international censure, but peace has been short lived. Some commentators estimate that a further 300 000 people have died in ethnic cleansing in Burundi since 1993.

Irin, the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs, has an interesting report here about the causes of the cholera epidemic in Zimbabwe. It highlights the fact that only 440 cases of cholera had been recorded in Bulawayo, out of the 88 000 cases WHO is reporting. Why so few?

It seems that mad uncle Bob and his evil henchmen realised that the MDC's strongholds were in the cities, so they "attempted to dilute the power of MDC municipalities by transferring the provision of services, and their budgets, to parastatals under the control of central government".

Bulawayo managed to hold out, so they avoided the fate of Harare, where, the Zanu-PF water authority Zinwa admitted to pumping raw sewage into Lake Chivero, Harare's main water source.

With reference to "Mad Uncle Bob", I asked a Zimbabwean NGO worker at the SUD-Net conference recently about Mugabe.

"Does he have syphillis? Is that what's making him mad?" I asked.

"No" she replied. "There's nothing wrong with him. He's just evil".

To get back to the genocide. In South Africa, a couple of recent research papers have shown that more than 330,000 people have died unnecessarily and that 35,000 HIV-infected babies were born who could have been protected from the virus and would probably have a limited life. This in spite of an offer of free Nevirapine by its German manufacturer.

According to a SciDev Net report "Mbeki became convinced in 1999 that HIV was not the cause of AIDS, in line with a group of dissident scientists. Those who disagreed with him feared reprisals if they spoke out, and those who did were humiliated and derided. Later, Mbeki conceded that HIV could be one cause of AIDS alongside malnutrition and other diseases. He also believed that ARVs were toxic, and the scientific consensus was based in racist views and driven by money- and power-hungry drug companies, governments and scientists."

It may not meet the normal definitions of genocide, but surely so many deaths caused by negligence and pig headed stupidity deserve more international reaction? I know that international health bodies and others have spoken out, but I can't help wondering if genocide happens because we ordinary people do not see those numbers, those hundreds of thousands who have died terrible deaths, as real people?

How Do I Know What I Think Until I See What I Say?

2009-03-03T20:38:00.003+02:00

Today's post is by guest writer Skoorby

Listening to the radio today, I heard a story about the use of “clickers” in a classroom at Cleveland State University. Listen here. So it appears that the clickers increase engagement and enable instructors to assess students, but do they help learning? I thought back to my experience in teaching.

I always annoyed my classes at the beginning of term (and so had small class sizes) by telling students that I would be “cold calling” – i.e., calling on them without prior notice to answer substantive questions in class, and that their participation grades would be influenced by their responses.

My rationale was that if you’re constantly trying to keep yourself ready to answer, you’re more likely to pay attention, but more importantly, you’re likely to think beyond the material to form your own view. From my exposure to cognitive psychology, I figured that cold calling would increase something called “depth of processing”, known to be an important element in shifting the content of short term memory into long term memory.

So when I heard about the clickers, I thought that they might be another way to increase depth of processing. As you think about your answer, you have to go beyond the facts. You have to express an opinion.

Then I remembered my muse, Karl Weick. A social psychologist, he once used the question “How do I know what I think until I see what I say?” to explain something about learning and acting. The point is that people don’t really have points of view on things until they have had occasion to express them. And sometimes we surprise ourselves by the opinions we express on things we haven’t previously given much thought to. Clearly, having occasions to express opinions is a prerequisite for having opinions at all.

This is where I think the clickers would work well. Normally, students don’t move beyond passive observation of course material until there’s an examination, or until a cold-hearted professor demands an answer to a question. With the clickers, they get to express opinions many times in each class. In the process, they will discover how they relate to the material, and I think they’ll learn more.

prepared to be radical

2009-02-26T08:13:00.006+02:00

My sons went to a number of schools. In England and in South Africa, in Pretoria and Cape Town, private and government, traditional and art-centred. They all had one thing in common: they were designed in various ways to stifle creativity and lateral thinking.

I remember attending parent-teacher meetings where time and again I was told "he asks too many questions" and each time it left me despairing for the future. Why is it that we take young, enquiring minds and stuff them into uniform boxes?

Why can't teachers understand that it is the individuals who dared to ask "why" and "what if" and "why not" that brought us out of the caves, and will bring us into a brighter future if we let them.

Maybe that's why, even in adulthood, creativity is looked at as something strange. Creative, lateral thinkers seem to take the role of medieval court jesters. Society likes to have a few of them around, but they must stay in their rigidly prescribed place.

There are few things that irritate me as much as people who say "oh, but you're arty" as if they need to categorise me to make an excuse for my behaviour.

I was asked recently if I would wear a suit for a meeting, and while my response was - I think - polite, I was ready to scream. I don't own a suit, I don't want to be a corporate clone, I think people who follow fashion regardless of whether it suits them are just sad. (Just think of all those too fat tummies looking like that aerosol expanded foam that builders use, between hip high jeans and skimpy tops).

When I was growing up, my mother's favourite answers to my "why not" questions was "because it's just not done".

By who? And who made the rules anyway?

It is projects like the sliding house in this video that restore my faith in humanity. Watch it, and I hope you'll be inspired to believe that the way things are is not necessarily the only way things can be.

I hope it sparks some creative, lateral thinking. I hope that something happens in your day to blast you out of your box. And if it does, please tell me about it. I need some hope.

PS... here's a link to Julie who was also inspired by the video

just for fun

2009-02-25T11:46:00.001+02:00

I saw this on Ohfortheloveofblog and thought it was fun. Hope I don't get tracked down by the copyright police (but the picture was also taken by a Lynne. Spelled right too!)

INSTRUCTIONS:
1 - Go to wikipedia.
Hit “random... Read More”or click http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki Special:Random
The first random wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.

2 - Go to Random Quotations or click http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
The last four or five words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your first album.

3 - Go to flickr and click on “explore the last seven days”or click http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days
Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

4 - Use photoshop or similar to put it all together. (It's album art, so make the picture square)

5 - TAG the friends you want to join in.
Consider yourself tagged.

moving through a changing world

2009-02-24T08:30:00.008+02:00

"Adam Fier recently sold his home, got rid of his car and pulled his twin 6-year-old girls out of elementary school in Montgomery County. He and his wife packed the family's belongings and moved to New Zealand -- a place they had never visited or seen before, and where they have no family or professional connections. Among the top reasons: global warming." This from a story in the Washington Post yesterday.

As one of his reasons for the move, he says that one of his daughters "will still be alive in 100 years" (which implies great longevity...) and he wants them to live in a place that provides the best quality of life.

I remember when I moved temporarily to New Zealand with my first husband in 1980, people were choosing to live there because it was the best place to be in case of a nuclear war between the US and USSR.

Its interesting what makes people move. I believe the itchy feet of the migrants are something that is genetically wired into many of our DNA. The work of Dr Spencer Wells and his team on the Genographic Project shows that early people moved up from southern Africa to populate the world.

This last week I was working at a workshop to launch the first regional Sustainable Urban Development Network. You can read some of the stories we produced there. One fact that really stood out for me was that 100 000 people a day are moving into cities all over the world but most rapidly in Africa.

Lars Reuterswald, Director of UN Habitat, said at the workshop: "There are 1.3 million architects worldwide. Of these, 30 000 are in Africa, (the same number that there are in Italy). And 20 000 of those African architects live in Egypt, so there is a huge issue of capacity and quality.

"These are very important issues. our mandate is not to solve the problems but to highlight issues that need to be taken seriously.

"We are looking ahead... there are 25 'Cape Towns' needed every year, on a continent where the slum population increases by 70 000 every day. Our prime task is not to upgrade slums but to go to the source and to stop them developing, hence our focus on sustainable development. We need to make sure that we focus on the systemic changes that can and will change the world. I know it can happen. We have to change the way things are and how they work."

I was inspired by his commitment, passion and hope. What a contrast to people who choose to leave without trying to make a difference. (And yes, as I know only too well, sometimes you want to leave out of desperation, when trying to make a difference just doesn't seem to be working.)

When it comes to issues of sustainability and global warming, there is still lots of work to be done. As one of the delegates at the workshop told me, "In Namibia we don't mind about climate change. Our country is a desert. If the climate changes and we get more rain, that will be good for us."

In other parts of the world, it seems that people are desperate enough to try anything.

According to the Danish daily Berlingske Tidende researchers will wrap an area at the edge of a glacier east of Kangerlussuaq in the western part of Greenland with 10 000sq m of snow white synthetic foil to reflect the sun and ensure that the temperature will not rise.

Should we really be going that far to hold back the tide?

keeping time

2009-02-21T08:59:00.002+02:00

Pad onderhoud = road maintenance

Beginning in the fourth century, the clock made us into time-keepers, then time-savers, then time-servers,” wrote Neil Postman, a man described by Wikipedia as an "American author, media theorist and cultural critic". “In the process, we’ve learned irreverence toward the sun and seasons, for in a world made up of seconds and minutes, the authority of nature is superseded."

I've spent the last few weeks thinking about time and planning for the future. Looking for new opportunities and deciding what is worth hanging onto.

And, this past week in the unexpected pleasure of a few days and nights in the centre of Cape Town, noticing all the clocks in the city (and wishing I hadn't left my camera in the hotel room) and listening to them all chiming out of sync through the nights.

I remember reading Jung's Memories, Dreams and Reflections when I was 17 and being totally offended by his refusal to allow his wife to have any time saving devices such as a washing machine. I thought then it was just male chauvinist arrogance that meant more work for his long suffering wife.

Now, many years later, I see the value of what he was saying.

Imagine what the world would be like if we had followed his recommendation of working a four-hour day and spending the rest of the time growing our own food on a small plot of land. He said we should spend little time on radio, television, newspapers, and all supposed time-saving devices, "which do not, paradoxically, save time but merely cram our time so full we have no time for anything."

Maybe it is time to turn back the clock.

living large?

2009-01-28T10:27:00.000+02:00

I was reading a speech posted on Toomuchcoffee made by Johann Rupert at the University of Pretoria recently and was really interested by a couple of points.

He claims that "prior to a century and a half ago, the standard of living was roughly the same all over the world. It didn’t really matter whether you lived in New York, London, Paris, Mexico City, Johannesburg, Cairo, Nairobi, Beijing, Tokyo or Manila - the standard of living was roughly the same. In the past century however, the standard of living in various countries has changed dramatically so that today we have developed nations and undeveloped nations.

During this period some societies clearly prospered, some trod water and others actually went backwards. Africa has gone backwards. It’s got nothing to do with us being African or black, forget this old racist line of ethnicity. If so, why did similarly educated people with the same ethnic background end up experiencing such different qualities of life? I was in East Germany just after the fall of the Wall. They were destitute. Why is the average South Korean nearly 6cm taller than his northern counterpart? The truth seems to be found in the choices made by societies as to the economic and social political system under which they choose to live."

It seems to me that we need a whole new way of thinking about how we do things. We need to have big dreams and the determination to see them become reality.

I was in an interview earlier this week with Blum Khan, CEO of Metropolitan Health Group, one of South Africa's biggest medical scheme administrators. He had many pertinent things to say.

Something that really stood out for me was "We weren't ambitious enough when we worked out our structures for health care post '94".

Prior to the '94 elections, South Africa essentially had a health care system that was working well for about 6.5m people. After '94, the customer base increased to 44m, as it attempted to expand health care to the entire population.

This UDF poster was made in 1984. How far have we actually come in the past 24 years?

What has happened since then? Nursing colleges have been closed down (allegedly because of funding issues), hospitals have been restructured and "normalised" (political-speak for enforced transformation on racial grounds) and highly skilled people have been fired or pushed out.

We have more than 40 000 vacancies in our health care system. In a reply to a question in Parliament last October the number of vacant posts for professional nurses was given as as 16 362, staff nurses 5 752, nursing assistants 10 403, medical doctors 3 632 and specialists 1 652.

But just last week I heard of a doctor in a Cape Town hospital who was told that when it comes to promotion "the first place will go to a black man, the second to a black woman, the third to a coloured man, the fourth to a coloured woman, the fifth to an Indian man, the sixth to an Indian woman. So you're seventh in line, no matter what your qualifications are".

That's just insanity. We've gone from one politically insane system to another.

The powers that be seem to have forgotten that one of the principles of our democracy is a health system that provides better care and better access for all.

So what's the solution? What's going to stop us slipping further and further behind the developed world?

During our struggle years, human rights and dignity and hope were fought for by people of all races, regardless of the personal cost. And now, nearly 15 years later, we find ourselves in a situation where greed and nepotism and tribalism ensure that the benefits of this democracy are once again just for the few.

It seems to me that the time has come once again for the ordinary people to stand up and demand change before it is too late. Do we have the drive and will to do it all again?

Will books still kindle our creative fires?

2009-01-26T18:48:00.004+02:00

Today post is by guest Karen Bruns, who shares her thoughts on books in the digital age.

I'm totally sold on the idea of (almost) instant reading pleasure. My idea of heaven is to be the guy in the library in the Robin Williams movie "What dreams may come". Actually, heaven in that movie is enough to make me a really good girl... all that wet paint!

But officially the Kindle is not available in South Africa yet, so I asked Karen for her thoughts on our relationship with The Book.

Over to Karen:

As a child I really wasn’t that keen on the idea of school – institutionalised hell had been my brief experience at the local Maltabella-enriched playgroup. But what were the options at a time when Veldskool was the educational antidote to the perils of suburbia? 70’s South Africa did not see any advantage to individualised home schooling.

Bloody-minded and unwilling, I only agreed to enlist at the local primary so that I could learn to read for myself. My adults were undisciplined, needing to “rest” their eyes too frequently and skipping pages crucial to the storyline. I just had to go and do it for myself. Then I’d be out of there faster than a racehorse on five legs, or so I thought.

I was smugly reminded of this well-negotiated, but poorly structured, deal by my mother as I came over the hump of my third degree and contemplated a fourth. After two dozen years, had I still not learned to read, she asked.

Growing up, books were my escape from provincial ugliness. They provided the symbolic tunnel out of there. Anyone who has ever loved a book knows that it goes beyond the story – there’s the feel of the book, the weight of it, its smell. But with books, we say, "It was a real page-turner - I couldn't put it down." We don't talk about addictive books.

But I know fellow-addicts when I see them and in April, London’s Earl’s Court is teaming with them. London Book Fair season – the annual international event where publishers and agents all exhale hype, in a desperate effort to keep the reading world churning. It is neither refined nor genteel. There are no long, lubricating lunches. The LBF is a war zone and you have got to be a combo of devilish Miranda Priestley, fast-talking Jerry Maguire and tenacious Robert Mugabe to survive Day One.

On Day Two, you’ll have reread the biographies of Kissinger and North, and Sun Tzu’s The Art Of War, before opening and if you don’t have a battery of parallels up your sleeve, to deal with contract-flush editors’ lack of imagination, you’re a P.O.W. “This manuscript could be the racy love child of Richard Dawkins and Toni Morrison” or “a spiritual thriller that is the essence of Paulo Coelho as told by Ian Fleming”. Frankly, it’s enthralling.

The Fair talk last year was equally contradictory in its excitement. In 2006, the Sony Reader with its awesome screen was born. I heard reports that e-ink looks like paper (well, as close to paper as anything that's not paper can look). Now we have the Amazon Kindle, with the Bezos promise that you can now have "any book in the world in one minute or less" - except when a book isn't available. Once it moves beyond the borders of the United States – it rolls out to the UK in 2009 – Amazon will be in a prime position to more easily extract money from stony wallets.

It's designed especially for the impulse shopper and the entire device works on the concept of "One Click" ordering. The idea is that if you hear a review of a book, you can get it immediately. If you read a nice book cover at the airport bookstore, you can buy it before you even know that your flight has been "further delayed".

The paperback book sized Kindle screen has a clean interface. But that's not all. It has a mobile web browser – you can check e-mail with gmail's mobile interface. It has the potential to be quite the handheld computer if Amazon allows it. The Kindle has its own email address so you can send yourself PDFs for mere cents (US) and they'll show up pretty nicely.

There's a collection of newspapers available, including the New York Times, so that reading the newspaper can naturally fit into your day much more cleanly now. I'm told that in the US the wireless is surprisingly fast - this means that you don't have to dock ANOTHER device into your computer.

It's apparently glorious - but not perfect. The Next Page buttons run almost the length of both sides of the thing, which means consciously avoiding accidentally turning pages. Also, there's a chance that you may fall asleep holding the buttons and find yourself with a dead battery and on the last page. From a design perspective, neither the Sony Reader nor the Amazon Kindle is sexy. The iPod designers were clearly not invited. For the navy-socked and black-shoed amongst us, you probably won't care. It just works. Well, it works if you're in a decent-sized US city, in other words it isn't even coast-to-coast yet.

It also costs more than most people would like it to, but if I'd use it every day to read the newspaper, I'd buy it. The issue, however, is this: Do I really want to read a book on it? When I forget the middle name of the hero of my story, do I really want to be scrolling? Do I want ANOTHER battery operated device in my bedroom (don't ask!)? Will I be able to read in the bath? Thank goodness I don't have access to a US credit card and all these decisions can await another day in Gondwanaland.

Karen Bruns heads up marketing at the HSRC Press (www.hsrcpress.ac.za), but writes here in her personal capacity. She is a voracious reader – from autobiographies to travel ezines – and as a result of her personal contribution to deforestation thereby, she is anxiously interested in environmental issues. Articles that she has written about her many forays near and far have been published in national and bespoke magazines – but she still can’t travel with only a cabin bag and she has no ambitions of being a Space Tourist.

passages of power

2009-01-22T20:08:00.011+02:00

On Wednesday I interviewed a professor at the University of Cape Town. Prof Mike Inggs celebrates his 21st year in the Engineering faculty this year, and he has been studying various aspects of radar technology for most of that time. He told me many things that were really interesting, but he may be surprised that the one comment that really stuck in my mind was when he that he didn't know if the study of radar would continue after he was gone.

(The picture of radar here is pretty misleading in this context, but it is pretty. And nothing says radar more than a green screen. With blips. The kind of radar that Prof Inggs and his team works with does far more. More about that another time.)

"Often when a professor retires, that's the end of it," he said. "New people come in with new interests and ideas, and knowledge is lost."

Guest writer Skoorby has written today's post, and he has some really interesting things to say about transitions and how they can happen.

Over to Skoorby:

Two news items from this week so far:

HARARE January 19: The Zimbabwean President, Robert Mugabe, and his rival Morgan Tsvangirai have failed to reach a deal on forming a unity government.

WASHINGTON January 20: Barack Hussein Obama took over the presidency of the United States from George W. Bush in an inauguration ceremony at the Capitol on Tuesday.

Why didn’t people celebrate the departure of George W. Bush? I feel almost as pleased about the end of Bush’s catastrophic presidency as I do about Obama’s election. I’d like to have seen a little more Bush-bashing. I’d like to have seen Bush’s entrance greeted not by polite hand-clapping (and a few scattered boos), but by complete silence and faces averted. I’d like to have seen Obama telling Bush in pointed terms just how badly his weakness, his rigidity and his laziness has failed us all. I’d like to have seen Bush leaving, not in a Marines helicopter and his own jumbo jet, but in a cab to take him to the airport for a coach flight back to wherever it is he comes from.

None of that happened, of course. There are norms about how these transitions take place, and no-one even contemplated any of the things that I would like to have seen. There was no question of how well or how badly the outgoing president had done. There was only the repetition of the long-established traditions.

Within each presidential term, the president has great power and discretion. As we now know, the president can even behave like an autocrat and get away with it. But only within the term of the presidency. Across terms, any single president is powerless. The long-cycle power lies in the norms and traditions. It lies in the system of government. Ultimately, it lies in the idea of the state, originally laid out in the constitution, but also as amended and reinterpreted over time.

The failure to effect a transition in Zimbabwe stands in vivid contrast to the events in Washington. Clearly the levels of recent incompetence and mismanagement in the United States and Zimbabwe are not remotely comparable, but the smooth transition yesterday in Washington does provide some insight into the problem in Zimbabwe.

Mugabe’s presidency is the first for post-UDI Zimbabwe. There has never been a transition of power. Other than the armed conflict that established Zimbabwe, there are no norms and traditions to govern the process. Every decision, every procedure followed in Zimbabwe has to be invented, and is necessarily personal. When it comes, the end of Mugabe’s control will be more like the end of the country. Whoever follows him will have to reinvent the idea of the state, and deal again and afresh with the issue of transfer of power.

of hope deferred

2009-01-20T15:51:00.010+02:00

On the last day of 2008, 589 912 matrics received the exam results which would have such an impact on their futures. A staggering 38% of them failed (224 166 young adults) and are likely to add to the 60% unemployment we already have among 18 - 35 year olds in South Africa.

I interviewed some of the lucky few who not only passed, but obtained distinctions and bursaries for their university education.

They were all quick to acknowledge that they owed their success to the tuition they had received. Sadly, that tuition was not at their schools.

The students I spoke to were all part of the Metropolitan Actuaries on the Move Programme which identifies learners in township schools who have a flair for mathematics and science and enrols them in a two-year programme that builds those skills. The programme offers extra English, maths and science training on Saturday afternoons as well as courses in study techniques, computer training, life skills and career counselling during school holidays.

The programme has achieved a 100% matriculation pass rate since 2002, with 2008 being no exception. But they can only do so much: just 177 learners were given the boost they needed to succeed.

As Mamphela Ramphele pointed out in The Times "for all the trumpeting of the matric pass rate, the real picture is one of failure."

The article adds: "For education specialists, the results are seen as a “swindle ... nothing has changed except the complexion of the upper classes ... Patterns of achievement after apartheid mirror perfectly patterns of achievement under apartheid.”

I was struck by Mamphela's comment that "every year about 1.1 million children start grade 1, then why did we have only 589 912 pupils writing matric in 2008? What has happened to the rest of our children?"

Mamphela's comments get even more depressing:

"And we need to remember the low hurdle set for the definition of a pass. A pupil needs to have only three subjects at 40% plus three at 30% to be included in this success rate figure. Where in the world can such a low standard be regarded as adequate preparation for the 21st century knowledge society?"

There's more. Do yourself a favour and read the rest.

The matrics I interviewed were, of course, over the moon with their results, and filled with hope and passion for their futures.

Take Chosen Khumalo who achieved a Matric pass with seven distinctions.

“I'm overwhelmed,” said the 18-year-old orphan who lives with her older brother in a settlement near Umlazi in KwaZulu Natal. “But I know now that anything is possible.”

A jubilant George Phandle earned four distinctions in his matric exams.

“I've seen the results of never giving up. I am the first person in my family to get a matric and it took a lot of strength and courage to do it,” he said.

This young man proved his passion for sharing his knowledge by teaching other learners in his area.

“I was really pleased. All of them improved their results, and of those who were in matric, the majority passed,” he said. “The Actuaries on the Move teachers showed me the way by sacrificing their Saturdays to teach me, and I taught others in the evenings and on Sundays.”

“This programme puts the students on a whole new level,” commented maths teacher Mandla Kweyama. “Its because we teach them at such a high level that they not only cope well with matric, but they are equipped for their first year university as well. Each year, a few of the learners on the programme even achieve 100% marks in their maths exams.”

“The key is the self confidence that the students gain after they have attended extra classes,” said Zwelitsha Magugwana who teaches science on the programme. “Instead of them admiring the criminals with their flashy cars, they come to realise that hard work brings its own rewards. They get an edge over their peers.”

“What would really bring joy to my heart would be if we could increase the number of students. Metropolitan is unusual because it is prepared to invest in the young blood. It's children like these that are going to be at the core of our future.”

Busani Zulu, another of the programme's educators in KZN agreed. “This is just a drop in the ocean of what could be achieved,” he said. “Imagine the future of this country if the programme could reach even more students?”

Imagine the future of this country if our government cared enough to offer this level of tuition to all the children?

working together

2009-01-20T08:34:00.002+02:00

I found this amazing video on one of the blogs I read yesterday (not sure which one it was, so sorry not to acknowledge it).

It's the kind of thing that makes you feel that everything will really be ok, and that we can work together to make the world a better place.

It seems appropriate to post it today, as a celebration of the hope (and not the hype) of Barak Obama's inauguration.

Remember if you're in a low-bandwidth area (like most of the known world) then push pause instead of play and let the video load first so that you don't get driven insane by the breaks and bufferings.

when service is no longer pear shaped

2009-01-18T19:54:00.007+02:00

I've been tagged by Hannah on a photographic meme which is doing the rounds. The idea is that you must post the fourth picture in your fourth picture folder. No matter what it is. Without editing.

Ok... here's where I admit to a little bit of cheating. While Hannah is one of my culinary heroes, and I really, really wanted her to win Masterchef 2007, she had never heard of me. So I asked to be tagged.
And, the second bit of cheating... I first checked what my fourth picture in my fourth folder was to make sure I was happy about posting it.

It's a picture of Aurora in the Western Cape where Greg and I didn't go for our anniversary lunch.

We'd heard about this "really lovely little restaurant". There it is, in that brownish building across the field filled with spring wild flowers. We got there at 12am but it didn't open until 12.30, so we spent the time admiring the views and chatting to some sheep. (I introduced them to Greg and explained that he, unlike me, did not think that a garden the size of ours should have at least one sheep. It's an ongoing discussion in our home, and I'm beginning to think he might not ever change his mind. They didn't seem to care.)

When the restaurant opened, we went inside and admired both the decor (Western, rustic) and the menu (country fusion) and luckily asked about payment methods before we ordered. They don't take anything other than cash and the nearest ATM is 60km away.

We decided that if we had to drive 120km to draw some cash, we may as well eat there too so we had a really good seafood meal at Laaiplek, in a restaurant no more than 5m from the sea.

What really interested me was the idea that someone could open a restaurant in a remote and beautiful town, and not accept debit or credit cards. I'd estimate the population can't be more than 500, so for a restaurant to be successful they must surely need diners from outside the town who quite probably won't carry cash.

Maybe it's got something to do with the town. Aurora is famous for the work of French astronomer Abbe de la Caille who erected a beacon there in 1751 as part of his quest to measure the southern arc of the meridian to determine the curviture of the earth. Due to what seems to be an uncharacteristic mistake, his results conclusively proved that the world was pear shaped.

To get back to the Aurora restaurant and its lack of foresight. I could go on about the general decline of customer service, but just lately I've been finding it difficult to climb on this particular soapbox. Maybe it's a function of the economic downturn, but service seems to be improving. Yes, I know, it's not hard to improve, particularly in Cape Town, but I'm talking about the kind of awesome customer service that has me looking under the desk to check if the boss is hiding there.

On Saturday I needed information about a course of study and Greg needed to check the value of his car for his insurance update. He also needed to check the price of a Harley (What can I say? He's officially middle aged).

My usual response to trying to get service is to go to the bathroom to check in the mirror in case I have suddenly become invisible. Not on Saturday. At all three places we were met with helpful, smiling people who gave us all the information we needed. It was amazing. Maybe this is the silver lining on the recession?

So, to get back to the photographic meme.

These are the rules:

1. Take your fourth picture folder
2. Fourth picture--no exceptions!
3. Post it, and tell about it.
4. Tag four more people.

So, I'm tagging Julie at Moments of Perfect Clarity
Clint at Words and Images
Leonie at Art for the Heart
and Meri at Meri's Musings

all that stuff

2009-01-14T11:40:00.004+02:00

I don't have a pic of Rooi Els, but the middle of Table Bay is a good place to scream your freedom to the world.

Today I have asked Pete Carruthers of the business support site Pete's Weekly to be my guest and give us his take on what's really important in 2009.

Here's what he has to say:
By now you will have noticed that the entire world financial system is geared towards making you spend more. That's not you in the generic sense - I mean you, personally .

The world economic system is built on the two of us continuing to buy stuff. (That's just you and me.) So what happens when we stop? I am glad you asked, because I've decided to take a break, and that means the entire economic crisis is your fault!

It's not enough that we spend what we earn. Growth means we have to spend a bit more than we earn. And the system will do whatever it can to help you do just that.

But what happens when you lose your job? Or you can't import anymore because the Rand has gone a little too far south? Or your Rand income drops to just enough Pounds to buy three coffees at your local Caffe Nero? (That's the UK equivalent of Mugg & Bean, without the service or the bottomless mug.)

These are slimming times, but I thought I might add a few more words to the subject. This time about the stuff we accumulate when times are good. (The leather jackets, the cars, the doodads, the - as the Brits say - Tatt!)

We become very attached to our stuff. And we get rather anxious when somebody threatens to take it away. (That's how they force us to work harder to pay their bills.)

This past week I received an email from somebody who was legally deprived of all his stuff. (As opposed to that less legal, but much more common method that happens in the car park while you're at the Mugg and Bean, or just sipping a coffee at the Waterfront.)

He felt liberated. Nobody could threaten him any more (at least not effectively) because there was nothing left to take. It reminded me of how I felt back in '93.

They can't throw you in jail. They can't take the kids. In fact, after that first cleansing experience, they can't do much at all. It is rather liberating when you realise that it's over.

They can't even stop you heading out to Rooi Els, walking out over the rocks, until that very last ledge, behind the ridge, where all you can see is the sea. (And nobody on shore can see you ripping your clothes off and screaming your frustrations away before taking out a beer and getting a sun tan.)

That water has been crashing onto the waves since forever, and will continue to do so long after both of us are gone. It's very balancing to know how insignificant that debt is in the galactic scheme of things. Now, what was that problem again?

If you're a purist no doubt you'll point out that they can garnishee your salary. (That's when the bank applies to your employer to have a portion of your salary redirected in their direction.) That's sure an issue as long as you have a salary. So don't have one! (One of the many joys of self employment is the structural flexibility.)

The problem, boys and girls, is that when we play the game by their rules, they always win. Time to stop, and play Aussie rules.

At the ripe old age of 50 I realise just one thing. It's not the stuff that's important. Nor is it the income flow. It's the people. It's the woman of my dreams and my children. They matter. The rest is nice to have, but not essential. But the people? They're the reason I exist.

Five questions from Denmark

2009-01-09T14:20:00.009+02:00

One of the great benefits of blogging is that you get to meet new friends from all over the world. I get really excited when I check my Google Analytics and discover that my blog is being read by people I'll probably never meet.

It has also led connections with some people I really hope I do get to meet, like Julie from Moments of Perfect Clarity.

One of the blogs she was reading had taken part in an interview game, she followed suit, and now it's my turn.

Like all these blog chains, there are some rules:
1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. (I get to pick the questions).
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

So here goes: my five questions and answers:

1. You're a freelance journalist -- what kind of assignments do you get?

I'm not sure if I am a freelance journalist, although that is actually the shorthand title that I use for what I do. My real title is probably media slut (I'll work for almost anyone who pays).

The company I started Of Course Media employs freelancers (including myself) and we do a whole range of creative things (hence the name). I seem to spend more of my time editing and project managing than actually writing. I worked on newspapers for years, mostly as a sub editor (including the FT in London). The assignments we get tend to be for things that interest me, especially science, medicine and poverty and development issues.

2. I've just read Paul Theroux's "dark star safari" in which he postulates (and quotes others who postulate) that aid is causing more problems than it's fixing in africa. What are your thoughts?

I'd tend to agree. There is a definite culture of waiting for handouts rather than harnessing talent in Africa. I think that the needs are huge and that the intentions behind the aid are of the best, but the result has been a continuation of the paternalism of colonialism. And there are many instances where the aid has filled the coffers of corrupt regimes rather than reaching the people for who it is intended. The present situation in Zimbabwe is a good illustration of what can go wrong. The mad Mugabe is able to continue to ignore his dying population because he knows that the "evil westerners" will step in and provide the medical attention and food etc that his regime is not capable or willing to provide themselves.

3-4. it appears from your blog that you haven't been blogging for very long...what coaxed you into the blogosphere? and how do you think it affects your journalism?

You're right, I only started last year (although I did register the blog about a year before I started because I was planning it as a marketing tool). I thought I wouldn't have the time or the motivation to blog regularly enough, but I have discovered that it is totally addictive. I enjoy having a soapbox for my opinions and I love making contact with people i wouldn't normally reach. My office is at home, 100km from Cape Town, and most of my contact with other people is through email. The blog gives me a chance to say "hey! You know what I think?"

I think it helps my writing in general because it keeps me thinking and writing and prevents me turning into an admin drone. the discipline of it is good and I also use it to get a wider audience for some of the things I am writing about as well as what my company is doing. So I suppose it is a marketing tool in a way.

5. will you share some of your paintings and talk a bit about what inspires you?

This is probably the hardest question you've asked, Julie! I don't consider myself an artist, and sharing my work is pretty scary. I was thrown out of art class at school (long story) and didn't think I could draw or paint at all until I went to my friend Leonie's art class. I started painting again last year when Eskom's powercuts were frustratingly frequent and my laptop battery kept running out before the lights came back on.

I think the thing I enjoy about painting is that it forces you to look at the world differently. It forces you to notice light and shadow and nuances of colour. And it challenges the perfectionist in me that is never completely happy with anything I have produced (except my sons).

Up till now I have only used acrylics but I'd like to try painting in oils.

This is my first attempt at painting an animal. It was from a photo I took when we were at the Addo Elephant Park in September 2007. What inspired me? I'm not sure... just the challenge of painting an elephant! It looks ok from a distance.

This is a painting of my friend Greta's favourite sand dune at Melkbos, with Table Mountain in the distance. She asked me to paint it for her and I was so flattered that she thought I could, that I did. There are lots of things about it I'd like to change but I'm happy with the footprints.

So that's it. Now its your turn. Anyone want to be interviewed?

reading the signs

2009-01-09T11:12:00.009+02:00

I know today is almost a third of the way into January, so you may think its a bit late to start talking about new year resolutions. Most people have probably broken their resolutions by now anyway. I wonder what the problem is? Is it that we make resolutions that we don't really want to keep (so we can justify ourselves by saying "At least I tried") or is it that the new year is the worst possible time to make resolutions about anything?

Why do we bother with resolutions at all? My theory is (do I sound like Ann Elk?) that it's just another attempt to control our futures. And so few of us succeed because we don't clear out the spiritual, emotional and physical clutter in our lives that gets in the way of us tapping into new opportunities.

In the Dogon country of Mali, the villagers consult diviners like the one above to get answers to the questions that are concerning them. They ask about their health and their families, their crops and their futures. The position of diviner is usually passed down from father to son, and training only begins when the young man is at least 29 years old and considered mature enough to hear and keep the secrets of the people.

The legend is that the foxes (jackals) know all the answers to the questions that trouble humankind, and years ago they used to come into the villages and tell the holy men everything they needed to know. The one year there was a terrible drought and when the fox come to the holy man, he was overcome by hunger and tried to eat it. The fox was so offended (as one would be) that he swore that he would never enter the village again, Now the diviners have to go well away from the houses and scratch their questions with symbols in the sand. The foxes come at night and provide the answers in the directions that their footsteps have taken and the ways that they have disturbed the patterns.

It interested me how many questions the diviners asked of the people who came to consult them. The women in our group who asked for their futures to be told described it as being like a visit to the psychiatrist.

And that brings me back to clearing out the clutter. I don't believe that any resolution can succeed if we have not made room for the new by facing and discarding the things that are holding us back.

New beginnings are never easy. In any new beginning there will be darkness, emptiness and confusion. Sometimes all that is needed is to acknowledge the darkness in which we find ourselves and follow the light we are given.

TS Eliot in Little Gidding sums it up best:

What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make and end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.

and, later,

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

It seems that 2009 is going to be a year of choices and changes, and a year when great courage will be needed.

We will have a general election in South Africa this year, and as the ANC and the new opposition COPE square up, we have already seen the effects that having some choices has made. I remember feeling totally liberated in the 1990s by declaring my distrust of Winnie Mandela, Alan Boesak and a few others.

Letting go of the sensibilities of the past (where struggle heroes are beyond reproach) is a big part of what is happening in the South African political scene at the moment. My wish as we enter 2009 is that we as a nation will have the courage to make the choices and changes that are needed to see us actually fulfil the promise of 1994.

Unconditional love

2009-01-06T12:13:00.014+02:00

I was reading an article (somewhat bizarrely, at KansasCity.com) about one of the less publicised killers in Dakar, and it got me thinking about work and desperation and hunger and ignorance and unconditional love.

And how, for good or evil, we are all linked together.

"First, it took the animals. Goats fell silent and refused to stand up. Chickens died in handfuls, then en masse. Street dogs disappeared.

Then it took the children. Toddlers stopped talking and their legs gave out. Women birthed stillborns. Infants withered and died. Some said the houses were cursed. Others said the families were cursed."

As people all over the developed world become aware of issues of global warming and sustainability, and as we learn to "do the right thing" and recycle, there are unintended consequences. I've handed in my share of old car batteries, but after reading this story, I'm wondering how I may have contributed to this tragedy.

I thought of the mothers who carried that lead-laden ground back to their houses to sift. It must have seemed like a dream come true: money from the ground, and no need to leave the children alone while they worked.

I wonder if they would have taken the chance if they had been made aware of the risks? Somehow I think they may have. On the one hand there is that universal belief that bad things happen to other people. On the other, if you are desperate and hungry, or your children are, you'll do anything.

Imagine the terrible choice faced by parents in Zimbabwe watching their children die of thirst or risking their lives with untreated water scooped from roadside puddles?

Actually, it doesn't take much to imagine it. I know the righteous anger I feel if I think anyone has said anything out of place to one of my sons, or hasn't given them the recognition they deserve. I know how I feel when they have hassles at work, or struggle to find jobs, and I know that I would do and give absolutely anything to see them both happy and fulfilled.

And if it came to their survival? I'd be right there, sifting the lead.

the remedy for arrogance

2008-12-03T14:07:00.005+02:00

When we were in Mali's Dogon country, one of the structures that really stood out for me was the Toguna.

Every village, no matter how small, has one. Its a place of meeting. It a place where the village elders pass down their pronouncements and decide on disputes. Its the place where the men congregate in the evenings.

It's not a place where you'll see a woman... Dogon people live according to very strict sexual norms. Maybe the women are humble enough already and don't need it?

Our amazing guide Guiré explained that the Toguna is always built with a very low roof so that in order to enter, one must stoop to a position of humility. An added advantage is that if an argument gets too heated, anyone jumping up to fight will bash himself on the head.

If I was world dictator, I'd build Togunas in every place where people (men and women) meet. And I can think of a long list of South African politicians who could do with a little more humility.

Celebration in Mali

2008-11-18T13:41:00.009+02:00

Dancers celebrate as the President of Mali, Amadou Toumani Toure opens proceedings on the first day of the Global Ministerial Forum on Research for Health. For more information, go to www.bamako2008.org

This gorgeous picture of one of the President's guards was taken by Elizabeth Kemf

The good news is that there is coffee available in Mali, but somehow it all tastes like the coffee they used to serve on South African Railways in the 1960s.

This is the view from our hotel window. The hotel is very basic but spotlessly clean, the food is good and the people are very friendly. Our room was upgraded to the "presidential suite" after the manager saw me on TV chairing a press conference and decided that we were "the boss of the conference".

We saw this goat when we were on our way to change money. It was one of those Monty Python moments, where Greg insisted that the goat was just resting. Having a little snooze.

I still believe it was dead.

Food, glorious food

2008-11-17T23:47:00.005+02:00

We're in Mali managing the media room for the Global Ministerial Forum on Research for Health, and I'm too busy to blog, so today's posting is by Christina Scott, a member of my team but also the Africa Editor of Scidev.net

BAMAKO, Mali: Delegates attending the Global Ministerial Forum on Research for Health, underway until Thursday in Mali, were reminded today (Monday) that amidst the focus on faster,cheaper medical drugs and more active government policies, there was a risk of overlooking a rather important component of good health.
It's called food.
At a session on 'food for health' chaired by Ruth Oniang'o, founder of Kenya's Rural Outreach programme and co-author of 'The CompleteKenyan Cookbook', renowned researchers and high-level politicians were brought back to the basics: hungry people are never healthy people.
''Food is the most cost-effective intervention,'' declared Menno Mulder-Sibanda, a senior nutritionist specialist at the World Bank. Mulder-Sibanda said he hasn't seen such ''renewed attention'' paid to local foods such as sorghum and millet since the era of African independence. Only this time, the interest isn't triggered by pride or patriotism, but by the food crisis. Nonetheless, Mulder-Sibanda is delighted with the focus on quality local produce.
Much of the discussion about food sounded more military than nutritional. Mulder-Sibanda spoke about the need for food fortification. Marie Ruel, a director at the International Food Policy Research Institute (IFPRI) in the US spoke in praise of a slightly different tack, called biofortification, in which plant breeders design more nutritious crops.
''The idea is to reach the poorest of the poor,'' said Ruel, who has worked in Ghana, Guatemala, Haiti and Panama..
Robert Ochai, executive director of The AIDS Support Organisation (TASO) in Uganda, revealed that the country will be bringing in the 'Food by Prescription' programme for malnourished residents, many of whom are infected with HIV.'The programme, already underway in Kenya, allows malnourished poverty-stricken people access to bags of powdered blends of powdered sorghum and millet enriched with vitamin, whey protein and other ingredients, in the same way that their drugs are subsidised.''The food is basically a drug,'' Ochai said.
''So far in Uganda, we don't have this on the shelves. But we expect to have it by midway next year,'' he said.
The Food By Prescription programme forms part of the American government's US$ 15 billion President's Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief (PEPFAR) and has been very successful in Kenya and Ethiopia. So clearly the meeting of agriculture and health is a good one, whether in the field or at the global gathering of health and science ministers which has been held every four years since 2000, in Thailand, Mexico and now Mali.
Tuesday's focus at the Global Ministerial Forum on Research for Health kicks off with a focus on the public reaction to largescale health research efforts, and includes Farhat Moazam, chairperson of Pakistan's Centre of Biomedical Ethics and Culture and Hannah Akuffoof the Swedish International Development Cooperation Agency (SIDA).
Conference organisers said Ariel Pablos-Mendez, the Mexican-born, USA-based managing director of the Rockefeller Foundation, is expected to make a major announcement on Tuesday morning at the Forum, followed by a video message from South African human rights activist and Anglican archbishop emeritus Desmond Tutu.
For more information on PEPFAR's work on HIV and food security, see www.usaid.gov/our_work/humanitarian_assistance/ffp/pepfar_conceptual.pdf

For more information on the Global Ministerial Forum on Research for Health at www.bamako2008.org

Socialism and self sufficiency

2008-11-08T07:24:00.002+02:00

Regular readers of Wheatlands News would have seen my posting on the Peninsula School Feeding Association here.

Today, in response to that post, guest writer Skoorby offers his perspective:

You may have noticed that in the recent U.S. election campaign, John McCain cast about wildly for something, anything, that would frame Barack Obama in a poor light, and would resonate with the American electorate. In the last week or two of the campaign, he finally came up with what became his final campaign theme: “Obama is a Socialist!” And it seemed to work. At least, Obama’s rise in the polls stopped and even pulled back from that point on. Why it was effective has something to say about the Peninsula School Feeding Association’s work.

A few days after the “Socialist!” meme emerged, I was sitting in a restaurant in suburban Philadelphia having lunch when I overheard a conversation between two fairly well-to-do middle aged white men – obviously Republicans and conservatives. They expressed disgust at the new fact of Obama’s socialism, and one of the two concluded as they got up to leave: “Everybody’s looking for a handout!”

On the face of it, this is just another instance of conservative mean-spiritedness. Wealthy Republicans objecting once more to the outrage of a progressive tax system. But there is a serious idea behind it. It’s that programmes designed to benefit the less-fortunate in society, whether government-run or privately run, tend to create a condition of moral hazard, and to become self-perpetuating. If you know somebody’s going to provide for your needs (or your child’s), you have less incentive to provide for them yourself. Aggregated to the level of Society, less work gets done, fewer goods are produced, and those that that do work end up providing for those that don’t. This is the root idea behind the very old and still very strong strain of American Conservatism. This is the idea that induced President Clinton, a no-so-liberal Democrat, to sign in 1996 a welfare reform bill that was aimed at reducing welfare (i.e., dependency) by restructuring and reducing welfare benefits in ways designed to address the problem of moral hazard. (See http://www.nytimes.com/2006/08/22/opinion/22clinton.html for Clinton’s review of the initiative with 10 years of hindsight.)

It may be that these ideas have no relevance in an environment such as that faced by Zimbabweans, where physical survival is a daily struggle, and opportunities for personal upliftment are non-existent, whatever the incentives. But they may be worth considering in South Africa.

The thing about the PFSA that gives cause for concern here is, as Lynne indicated, its longevity. Its continued existence is inarguably “a sad indictment on our society”. I would add that it may also be an indictment of the PFSA. Its mission statement reads as follows: “Our Mission: To combat the prevalence of hunger in children attending schools or other educational institutions in the Western Cape, through school feeding and development initiatives, that will promote self-sufficiency and household food security.” Complete success in promoting self-sufficiency and household food security would eliminate the need for the PFSA.

Clearly the mission statement sets an impossible goal. Universal self-sufficiency and household food security is a condition that may exist in only a handful of small countries in the world, if it exists at all. The PFSA will not achieve this in the Western Cape. So what should it be doing to avoid having an elderly Lynne point out in 2058 that it has the dubious honour of being 100 years old?

Adopting a child for R235 per year may be the best we can do in the short run, but a 50-year old feeding programme needs urgently to consider the long run in new ways.