Read my tweets dammit!

I think that I may finally have understood the whole Twitter vibe. I've added a Tweet widget to my blog page and I personally think that the stream of information I've chosen to share is almost as interesting as the lengthier blog entries. I predominantly re-tweet but I make an effort to pick out some real pearls from the barrage of information that I have now exposed myself to, so if you're interested I think they provide an interesting Hilton-esque narrative or thought stream - kinda like FB updates but more thought-provoking, relevant and, at times, meaningful. Plus, you might pick up some interesting twitter-ers from the stream to follow yourself. Enjoy!

The Trinity Session and Liebmann Show

Charlotte added Busi and I to the guest-list for Friday's closing night of the 10 Years On Air (prominent works included with the above link) exhibition by the Trinity Session held at the Maboneng Precinct space - 286 Fox Street - in down-town Jozi. I'm glad she did. Jonathan Liebmann obviously had a hand in the organisation of this event because, for all his, erm, eccentricities, this man knows how to throw a party with all the bells and whistles. The space was converted into something of a visual-playground-party-hall with fires leading up to the entrance, great food, lots of DJs and a bar that lined the entire one wall of said space. And this wasn't just any bar - they served incredible cocktails (I must've had at least 8 chilli-plum jars!), designer beers, real hot chocolate, great wines and all the usual suspects you'd expect at an event like this. See photos below, underneath the wall projections. Speaking of which Stephen Hobbs and Marcus Neustetter took it upon themselves to VJ (video...jockey/jay?) for the event and the result was some serious visual candy playing out on an entire wall for the duration of the event. It was especially cool seeing as they used images and videos from their works - speaking of, the crowd was really interesting too as many of the artists from their projects in Alex, Diepsloot, Kliptown, etc. were in attendance, mixing generously with various pods of Jozi hedonizers. I love it when dorks come to the party, and you could see that there was a bit of the "old school raver" stirring in these two - the rave era was around the time they probably last partied! A good and much needed night out.

A younger Stephen and Marcus project their magic onto us all

That flashing robot was way captivating

Charlotte and the tall people. From cold countries.

Yesterday we whisked the Yung-Brooks duo off to Cyrildene for another scrumptious meal and some Chinese market shopping afterwards. We all raised a glass to The Indian who celebrated his birthday during the week and, as we knew he would have liked it, got into the food with the ol' troll hands that have both horrified and endeared us to Sush for all these years. Cheers mfowethu!

A tribute to The Indian and his Troll Hands

Finally, I (cold) cracked and went shopping with Charlotte for some winter clothing supplies this morning. I am especially proud of the PJ pants and slippers I came away with - see below. We have both decided that our house and the metaphorically entrenched winter vibes here need to be tackled with meaning and I think this is a useful first step. Vibe cleansing operations for The Safehouse will continue in the coming days as its all been a little too heavy with the white girl/boy problems that Charls and I have been blundering through of late. Change has come to Westdene!

 

I am now ready for winter - thanks Woolies

Weekend Music and The Soweto Theatre

My last post was a downer, and I think that reflects the mood in the last couple of weeks. Spearing kak has seriously brought me down, along with all the other vitriol that the media is currently so awash with. And then there's the predictable and personal emotional angst that often accompanies moments like this. Thankfully this all seems to be blowing over now, if a little slowly for my liking. So, I thought it best for me to post something a little more upbeat:

Last weekend I actually had quite a lot of fun and much of it revolved around good music and discovering new places in Jozi. Here's a rundown:

1. Neighborgoods on Saturday morning and afternoon with brother and sister. I know this probably sounds a little lame but I find that this place can actually be quite a lot of fun if you go with nice people and you find a good spot in the sun. I also discovered a Belgian beer that clocks in at the 10% alcohol mark. We were fairly sozzled by the time we stumbled out of there. Shout outs must also go to the friendly Serbs serving up those delicious Balkan burgers. Did little for the rate of inebriation though!



And the band played on

2. The folks came over early Saturday evening, and after convincing them that we were not actually stoned and merely recovering from some serious drinking - my mother happened upon my brother snoring in the bath, and my sister and I both passed out in bed - we managed to rally the troops for our first taste of the Sophiatown Jazz Encounters held monthly at the Trevor Huddleston Centre a couple of blocks away from The Safehouse. Check out The Trevor Huddleston Centre and Sophiatown Heritage Program website here. Lucas Senyatso and his merry band played on that particular evening and I thought it was seriously great. Here's a link to the event. What really warmed the heart too - especially in the context of broader and ugly social rumblings - was how diverse the crowd was: old, young, white, black, indian, coloured, single people, couples, families, etc....everyone was represented by a warm, lovely crowd in a small and intimate space. See photo above. Wonderful setting in a beautifully restored house, a real local community feel and guided tours presenting the history of the area after the show. Wonderful framed photos and the house converted to a heritage centre. A must see.
3. Lunch on Sunday was spent with the family at the Fisherman's plate in Cyrildene. Check out one of my previous posts referring to Jo'burg Gems for more info on this place. The food was spectacular.
4. Then it was off to Salif Keita playing at the newly-opened Soweto Theatre on Sunday afternoon. Big ups to Busi who tugged on her considerable networks and managed to get us some tickets at the last moment (thanks to The General too!). Upon arrival I immediately wondered who all was at the Bushfire Festival in Swaziland because it looked like the who's who of Jozi arrived for this concert. The theatre is truly something to behold. The show was, to put it mildly, mind-blowing, and I think that is mainly because of how energetic the crowd was. By the end of the show Salif was jiving on the stage, pulling audience members up for some free-stylin' dance moves with his drummer. Everyone was out of their seats. Music, predictably awesome. Everyone sang along. Just great. I can't wait to go back there. Observe the photos below.

Tourists in Soweto

So a great weekend and big ups for Jozi and the cool people who never lost their minds in the madness and bitterness that seemed to be taking over before that.

When Reality is Momentarily too Much

The place: a small coffee shop on the corner of Juta and De Beer, in the heart of Braamfontein.
The time: early Monday morning.
The feel: a crisp winters morning, people shuffling themselves off to work, stuffed in coats and wrapped in scarves, wearing that defiant Jozi-scarred demeanour, looking noticeably weary - more than usual.
The read: Ferial Haffajee's response to Duduzile Zuma-Sambudla in the Sunday's City Press.
The sound: Who'll Stop the Rain by Creedence Clearwater Revival.
The paragraphs: "My biggest lesson this week is that the ANC no longer leads; it can no longer be trusted to pull us back from the brink as it did when Chris Hani died and the nation lay on the edge of a precipice." - "This national pain is greater than our individual hurts, I know." - "I'd like to play my role, but if I respond to fear, insult, demands to remove an item of journalism, threats and intimidation, then what role will I be playing to make ours the best possible world for your little brothers and sisters, and all the children for whom we are making a future?"

Too real.

Links, Thoughts and Opinions

A quick update to share a couple of links that I happened upon today.

So first up, most of you know that I am fairly passionate about challenging the negative perceptions about Jozi. I take great pleasure in discovering hidden treasures in the city and if I wasn't such an ardent Bulls fan I would probably have completely re-branded myself as a 100% Jozi-ite. Alas, people still know that I'm from Pretoria. Anyway, I digress. Some of you might recall that I was punting a Facebook group called Secret Johannesburg some time back. I liked the initial idea of providing a space where people were able to post details of their own discoveries in Jozi. Problem is that, apart from my own FB vacation that is still in force, the group also appeared to lose a little bit of steam and I noted with some alarm how people started posting details about such random oddities as the local vet who reportedly has a "wonderful way with the animals"?! No kidding. Good to know.

One other thing to note is that Jozi is not one of those places that easily or initially lays out it's best to the would-be explorer. Excuse my crudeness here but I find the "ladies" metaphor instructive here: Jozi is not a cheap date. In fact, she looks downright disinterested to the point of making you wonder whether she even cares that you're around at all. However, if you're persistent, tenacious and willing to navigate spaces that may often be outside of your comfort zone you will find things that, more often than not, are beyond your imagination. She's just so much deeper than you could even begin to fathom and I feel like one could continue to discover new things about her forever. I like that. And the fact that she also wears her scars in a show of strength and resilience that is truly heart-warming. Contrast that with Cape Town that to me is more like the pretty girl who has you believing that you've seriously "scored" until you try have a serious conversation with her. It is then that the vacuous truth has you cursing and questioning your own level of substance. Harsh I guess, but that's how I feel.

So the point of all of this is that I discovered a new Jozi blog called Like Father, Like Son and I think it does a good job of unearthing some of these treasures, at least from a food and drink perspective. Here are two links to whet the appetite:

First, 5 Jo'burg Gems and then have a look at Where to get beer in Jozi. I definitely have a revised to-do list after checking out some of the suggestions from this blog. Good.

Onto more serious things then. I sometimes find myself checking in on some of the Thoughtleader opinion pieces. Quite often these opinions act as an extra cycle of rehashing mainstream news headlines, but that can be useful and often times I find perspectives, delivered from a very personal point of view, that add a little more complexity to stories that are often mind-numbing in their over simplification of the facts - as if someone has already decided what we can and can't handle emotionally. So I came across a reader blog entry entitled I apologise for apartheid that I thought was an interesting and heartfelt attempt by an Afrikaner to comment on the fallout from FW De Klerk's comments on CNN regarding apartheid and his thinly-veiled defense of the homelands system. It probably sums up a lot of what I feel too and I liked the mention of Antjie Krog who I also think has done a lot to unpack the complexity and brutality of our past from an Afrikaner's perspective.

And now, for some light-hearted frivolity.I was emailed a fairly amusing video clip by OSHO (for those who don't know, he's a philosopher/spiritual guide of sorts - click here for more on his wiki page). The content may be somewhat familiar but the delivery is what makes it special. Check out video called Strange Consequences. Nietzsche must be spinning in his grave.

Lastly, I was reminded of one of my favourite poems yesterday. The poem is entitled If by Rudyard Kipling. Check it out here.

"If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting;
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating;
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;"

Brilliant.

Delving Into Photos From The Last Year: Part 2 - The Bulungula Adventure, Family Wedding, etc.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I happened upon some photos from last year that brought back fond memories of some 2011 highlights. This is the second and last part of the photo publishing so here goes:

First up there was my trip to Bulungula on the Wildcoast with Aly. I planned this trip as a celebration of the completion of my thesis and it did not disappoint. Check out the link to this beautiful spot here. I am not going to delve into all the reasons why I love this place, because you should go yourself. Have a look at the photos below, check out the website and book a holiday! It was just the tonic for me and lovely to share it with Aly too.

Aly and I on a rowing expedition on the Xhorra River - Bulungula

Check out this incredible stretch of coastline - Bulungula

Sunrise at Bulungula

Another view of the coastline and villages - Bulungula

Then it was off to my cousin Erica's wedding at Verlorenkloof in Mpumalanga. I love family gatherings so. They always tend to showcase the best and worst in some kind of plastered-on-smile manic quasi celebration with the volume turned up. The wedding was all it should be I suppose, although I prefer to keep the broader mother-load of my - apparently radical - opinions off-line. Those who know me well will be familiar with my sentiments regarding the wedding industry generally. That said, there were plenty laughs and some Johnson-sibling-dance-floor-jigga to boot. Good times. Just have a look at that ridiculous brother of mine.

Phillip and Charlotte at the Verlorenkloof wedding

Phil, Aly and I at the wedding. I don't look great but the beer foam on the tip of Phil's nose is pretty special

Below is a photo of Winston the cat taken when I was in DC during March-April 2011. I facilitated the acquisition of a kitten for Aly when she was still living in SA circa 2004-2005 and Winston soon became quite famous in our circles. That is mostly because he possesses a ripper of a personality, loves attention and frequently responds like a dog, has major aggression issues with other cats and vets, and is remarkably good looking too (this is what I am told), according to US vets especially. Apparently they fawn over this "African" cat something fierce when he goes in for check-ups. His relocation - some would say displacement - to the US was also quite the story but he made it safe and sound in the end and has now been reformed into an apartment cat. He has a funny habit of getting into bags, boxes and all manner of empty receptacles whenever he can. I am not sure what he is looking for in there, or if he is somehow harking back to the 20 odd hours he spent caged-up in the cargo hold of an SAA Boeing 737 bound for Dulles Airport in DC. Bless him.

Winston the African cat, simulating his trip over from SA - Washington DC

A little bit of playground goof-around - Cape Town work trip

Charlotte taking photos at the Sea Point Promenade

Lastly, the end of last year saw a proliferation of Safehouse gatherings. Many of them ended in the wee hours, often with table dancing and other more unspeakable things. Lots of booze was consumed, lots of good times had, drunken sing-alongs, braais, deep conversations, etc. Weirdly (not) I found only one photo of a gathering from last year - Jan, Busi, Kim and the (in) famous Rashie in attendance. It all looks fairly tame too, but don't be fooled. Observe the classy crate garden furniture. Fond memories, although I'm sure there would be more if it didn't end up getting so inevitably blurry.

Kim, Busi, Rashi and Jan at the Safehouse - latter half of 2011

An Ailing Witkak And Weekend Concerts

Lets start with the bad news. My car, most commonly and very affectionately known as Witkak, has been through hell lately, and its not really my fault either. The friendly local neanderthals at Hi-Q Melville neglected to do something really basic, according to my learned mechanic friend (don't laugh!), after I had my wheel alignment done there at the end of last year, ultimately resulting in the forced replacement (kinda like forced displacement don't you think?!) of the entire - and previously power - steering rack. Some steering boot-like thingies were improperly twisted, and on departure from this terrible establishment they immediately tore open, the net result being that my frequent driving on dirt-roads in Mpumalanga caused the accumulation of small sand dune-like masses within the broader steering apparatus of my beloved chariot. Now while I am sure that the result was not quite as bad as adding this self-same sand to the fuel-tank, for instance, the damage still amounted to somewhere in the region of eight-thousand Rand. Whats more, replacing a power steering-rack costs almost eleven-thousand rand for just the part so I am now also downgraded to that animated, heavy-on-the-arm turning. This made me sad and I even stopped driving for some days in some sort of pointless protest sulk. I am making plans to storm into Hi-Q in the near future with some choice words and the objective of rattling some cages, at the very least. Today my starter also conked out. I'm bleak. I love Witkak, and when he hurts so do I. But money's too tight to mention too. Ho-hum.

Broken Witkak - look how sad

Now for the good stuff.

So I know its a little belated and all that - I'll explain why in another post - but on the weekend of the 14th of April Charlotte and I went to different music concerts on the Friday and Saturday night, and they were both great.

The first was on the Friday and we ended up schlepping to the North (Fourways) for a reunion concert by Henry Ate. Karma was back in SA for a short trip - she now lives in the US - and reunited with her old band-mate Julian to recreate some of the awesome circa mid-nineties musical goodness that awkward white kids (mostly) freely wallowed in, in their teens and early adulthood. I must say that to see this crowd now in that "thirty-something and older" stage of life, still bopping to the one-time hits like "Just", "Hey Mister", "Pandora's Child" and "0 Miles", was a little weird. I realized that I had lost touch with these people at some stage in my own life and to see so many of the same "genre" in the same place really kind of drove the point home. Needless to say, it was a trip down memory lane and wouldn't you just know it that I would also run into one of my class mates from primary school in PTA. Weird. Any way, check out Henry Ate's Myspace page if you did not grow up in SA during the mid nineties.

Julian and Karma - just like old times

And then it was onto the Jozi Hipster music scene - incidentally, this scene appears to be doing very well, although I am still trying to figure out where all these kids come from. Charlotte and I splurged on tickets for the Clap Your Hands Say Yeah concert on the Saturday night. It took place on the street outside the old Carfax building in Newtown. My personal highlight was Spoek Mathambo who opened for CYHSY. This guy is seriously talented and I'm a little embarrassed to say that I had not heard of him before the weekend. Check out his website here. His wicked lyrics make me think a little of Thumi of The Volume fame. CYSHSY was pretty good too although I was fairly wasted by then so my abilities as a music critic may have been a little compromised by then. I have a fairly good excuse for that too, which I will summarise as follows: There is only one thing worse than a Cape Town Hipster and that is a Wannabe Cape Town Hipster, especially when they are to be found in Johannesburg.

Spoek is Awesome

This looks almost as good as it did through my inebriated eyes

Delving Into Photos From The Last Year: Part 1 - The Baby Chicks

Today I discovered some old photos on my camera taken from just over a year ago. It is strange to think back on just how much has really happened in this last year and I find it almost scary to ponder the degree to which it really was just beyond my imagination most of the time. You know when you look back and wonder if you would have opted to play if you had any inkling that it was going to be that rough and crazy?! I've picked out eleven photos from six different periods, and I'll write a little bit about each one, in chronological order. So here goes the first part.

The whole journey began with my final months of the masters in forced migration studies at Wits – that took up the first two months of 2011. Even though I would not instinctively think of that “academic” period as the tough part it was a little rough too, to be honest. I had to complete my thesis and that process sure is a pretty strong deterrent for never getting into post-graduate studies again. Anyone who says that its fun writing a thesis of approximately 144 pages is lying. It sucks. I spent weeks holed up in my house, sleeping a couple of hours during the day, then working through the night, eating badly, body constantly aching from sitting in front of the laptop for too long. Seriously, that is some torturous stuff, especially if you have ADHD like I do. A small distraction that did actually help me through this period were the offspring of Lois that literally hatched on the 1^st of January 2011. The first group of photos that I discovered were of the day-old chicks, huddled together in the box I had fitted-out for them below my writing desk in the study.

There were four little ones – I later found out that they comprised of three hens and one rooster. He later became known as Humphrey Junior after his dad, the original Humphrey – and I picked them up on a rainy and surprisingly cold day, on the 2^nd of January 2011.

A little history first: These little ones were hatched from the eggs of Lois, my first hen who died tragically about a month before that when she was mortally wounded after being savaged by a husky who had temporarily lost his mind. On that strange day the weather had turned nasty in the space of a few minutes. The sky turned orange, almost brown, and violent thunder and lightning had us all jittery as we contemplated the size of the impending storm. As the first few drops started to fall I saw the husky – my brother's dog Lincoln who is normally the picture of serenity and who really had few problems with the chickens up to that point – suddenly bolting from the house. I knew something was wrong and as I watched him making for the open chicken coop I feared for the worst. I could see he wasn't himself, as if the bloody Tundra had just awoken inside him. He ran straight into the coop and disappeared from sight, as I simultaneously started shouting from inside the house in a futile attempt to stop him. I sprinted outside as fast as I could, but by the time I got there the damage had been done and the dog skulked out of the coup with a clump of feathers still protruding from his mouth. I had to finish the job, tears streaming down my face, as she flapped feebly in front of me, bitten various times and obviously suffering. I wrung her neck to stop what suffering I could, and I remember how the feathers stuck to my hands as I held the now limp, but still warm, body. I crumpled into a heap in front of the hen house, in shock, the rain coming down hard by then, thinking about what to do with this loss. She was my only hen I possessed and I was hoping that she was going to produce some chicks in the near future. Anyone who knew me at that stage was also aware of just how attached I was to my chickens. I looked around and saw that she had laid exactly seven eggs – which I also assumed were fertilized thanks to Humphrey's work of course - that were snuggled together in the nesting box. I carefully picked them up and put them in a smaller box with bits of tissue paper to keep them from cracking. I used the rest of that day and the following read up about incubating eggs and I found out that it was really quite tough unless you had a proper machine to do it. Eggs need just the right amount of heat and moisture for the baby chicks to properly develop, and eventually hatch. They also need to be turned frequently, something which the mother hen does almost daily. A new incubator was frightfully expensive so I contacted the lady who I had bought some six week-old chicks from before. I knew she bred chickens on a large scale and I had an interesting chat with her the day I picked them up – Lois was one of these chicks. When I phoned her she didn't hesitate to offer her assistance. I met her on the road one day and she said she would give me a call when the eggs hatched, approximately three weeks later. 5 chicks hatched successfully and one died immediately afterwards. I was on my way to pick up the four remaining ones.

I had to travel to the BP gas station on Beyers Naude where the lady who had incubated the eggs for me agreed to meet – she had to travel all the way from Krugersdorp. She arrived with a medium sized cardboard box with some crudely poked holes in it – she said that some of them were as a result of the rat problem she had back on the farm. I peaked inside and my heart started racing when I saw the small chicks inside, all groggy-looking, frightfully fragile, predominantly covered in black down with little yellow flecks on their faces and a lighter underbelly. They had little pink feet and I remember thinking that they looked almost rubbery. The lady was with her children and they wanted a milkshake for coming along on this trip, so I joined her for a cup of coffee hoping to also glean some important information from her about taking care of the chicks. They apparently needed special feed, and constant warmth because the down feathers have to be replaced by normal feathers before they are able to retain their own body heat. I was also advised to use a red paper plate to put their food into as the chicks are attracted to anything red. She also told me that upon arrival at home I had to gently stick their beaks into the water container – which had to be shallow enough for them not to drown in – in order to help them “discover” the water: a task which the mother hen usually fulfils.


I was anxious to get back but nevertheless stuck around for about twenty minutes before I finally got away. I raced home and almost had several accidents as I tried in vain to check on the chicks. When I did get home and managed to open the box I was horrified to find the chicks shivering, lying on their backs and looking just about dead. Their eyes were closed and I could not even tell if they were all breathing. The cold was obviously too much for them and I rushed inside, calling Tari to come and help me inside. I ran into the small study where I was writing my thesis and gathered every lamp – about four of them – and heater – two electric oil heaters – I could find in the house and gathered them all around the box in an effort to create some sort of a warm cocoon. Tari looked at the chicks and shook her head. I acted like I didn't notice and poured every little bit of will-power into warming them up while Tari started hunting for a larger box for their home. Little Rashie looked on, confused and bewildered as she could sense my anxiety. She asked Tari a couple of questions in Shona and Tari responded soothingly, making sure that she stayed back from the operation taking place in the middle of the room. I spoke encouragingly to the small chicks, gently prodded them, as if to stop them from falling asleep, and looked for any sign of revival. To my amazement first just one, but eventually – and I'm talking of more than an hour later - all of them slowly managed to open their eyes, sit up and then, as if it was an incredible effort, started to move again. I was overjoyed. Tari remained sceptical. Their recovery continued for several hours more, but there was not doubting the fact that they were gradually becoming stronger. Once I was sure they were out of immediate danger, I left Tari with them and rushed out for red paper plates and a shallow water container. I stripped a lamp to just the chord and the light-bulb and found an old half broomstick to twist the chord around which I used to suspend the light from the top of the box. I put some newspaper in the bottom of the box and filled a layer on top with saw-dust. I then checked the temperature carefully – too hot and they will cower in the corners of the box, too cold and they will huddle together underneath the light – before gently placing the chicks into the box. I squeezed the box under the table and against the wall where I was seated with all my research papers, laptop and writing paraphernalia and made sure that I could keep an eye on them at all times. The first couple of nights after that I would wake every two hours to check on them. I certainly felt like a dad as I spent almost a month and a half of my waking hours taking care of these little ones, watching them grow into quirky, and often times exceedingly silly birds that played and whined and ate and slept on top of each other, frequently in their own food! They're all still around today – making constant marankas in my garden - and they have even produced a further 4 chicks! This photo was taken on that first evening when they had just escaped death, and discovered a new home under my writing desk.

Hello daddy - cheep, cheep

Flashback: Childhood Addictions Part 1

Remember those things you used to eat so much of as a child that they sometimes even made you sick, but you didn't care cus they were so good that you just couldn't help yourself? And you know how years, even decades, pass and you forget about it and sometimes the addictive object even disappears from stores altogether - Milkybar Buttons being a case in point! -, but if you're lucky one will unexpectedly come across your path years later and you will be filled with that same feeling from your childhood, like not a day has passed from the last time you stuffed whatever it is into your face.

Allow me to (re) introduce you to something that I used to eat multiple bowls of at a time:

Moirs Instant Pudding - I LOVE YOU!

So simple. So good. Just a brown slop really, but it must have crack in it. Crack for children, and those who wish they still were. Look at Charlotte's face and tell me who is consuming who here.

The two of us just pounded a two bowls each, post-yoga. Cus we're worth it.

Kitchen Cool

Check out the new kitchen marble top and pot-storage-bench thingy. Making lunch on the new counter for the first time. Safehouse alterations are coming together nicely now. This weekend the artwork goes up and then I think we'll be ready for winter dinner parties.

Ps. The cold is making me miserable. A good thing I'm going to the beach for some late summer denial!

After the Egg-hunt

A charming day at the Safehouse slowly winds down with tea and cupcakes, Busi and Charls in attendance. We had an egg-hunt this morning and Charlotte ensured that the treasures - chocolate marshmallow eggs - were well-hidden. We had to make sure that Rashie was absent to avoid hysterics. Those hysterics ultimately proved to be unavoidable and came later as she pounded equal doses of sugar and braai meat as the morning unfolded. Buntu and Ben - from King Williams Town in the Eastern Cape - also dropped in, hungover as all hell, but game for a little garden sunshine soaking and recovery eating. They seemed jealous when i told them that i was going to be in that part of the world in less than two weeks - I have a long awaited trip to Bulungula planned for the 21st.

I'm now lying on the couch, looking at my favourite Banksy picture, trying my damdest to believe in it, imagining what my hope should look like. Tomorrow I will go and watch Fire In Babylon - the documentary currently playing at The Bioscope at Arts On Main - for the third and final time, with Charlotte. I think I'm also getting sick. A change of season indeed.

Teardrop by Massive Attack

Most faithful mirror

Kensington and The Portrait Homage

Just a little afternoon gig with Busi and Nastasya, hanging in Kensington, thinking about Ivan Vladislavic and his marvelous portrayal of Jozi borne out of his life just a couple of blocks away. #lovejozi

A Good Bash Begins

I have been thinking that I need to start writing again, or rather that I should make more of an effort to actually document certain parts of my life. Now I have not always enjoyed the word "document", mostly because of my negative association of the word with such horrors as corporate business analysis "deliverables", insufferable art-speak and academic excrement. That said, it still probably best describes the process of leaving a trail of written artifacts pertaining to some or other common thread or thought. I think that a space like Facebook, whilst on the one hand encouraging some level of documentation, can also make one lazy to really document in a way that attempts to add some substance to the subject matter that is being channeled through this platform.

I don't really think that any of these sentiments are particularly earth-shattering or revealing, but maybe they are able set the scene for something that does not pretend to be that. A great story often unfolds slowly and really makes a far larger impact when its development is apparent. Maybe I'll post a couple of things that could start to resemble a story of sorts. I hope so.

Good Friday Pretending

Charlotte and I went to the Rosebank Mall today to get our minds out of the toilet. The “change-of-season-and-its-just-so-emotionally-heavy-right-now” vibe had been getting us both down and so we decided to get out of the house. If all else failed – from the perspective of inserting mildly sincere shopping motives, that is - , we resolved to get into some freezochinos at Tashas as this treat could by itself have justified the trip for us. Turns out that we had to fall back on that to a large extent although I did walk away from the expedition with a pair of good-looking khakis from Woolies – not really important but maybe necessary under the circumstances.

So on the way back to the Safehouse I was moaning about truth, reality and other such morbid subjects when Charlotte interrupted me with a story: She said that when she was in grade 2 at Arcadia Primary – her final year before moving to another school – she was friends with a remarkable little girl called Nastasha. She described Nastasha as a petite little girl with long mousy-brown hair that reached down to the small of her back and sporting a harshly-chopped fringe. She also wore a pair of John Lennon-style spectacles that she had fastened around her head with a bright red string – you know those things that children and old people use to stop glasses from falling off their heads? - that was secured at the back with a plastic mouse-face. A visually striking little person by all accounts. But what stood out a lot more was her frighteningly sharp and creative mind. Charlotte recounted how, mostly under Nastasha's direction, the two of them would frequently make witch's brews and play intense games that seemed to belong almost in another place and time. Nastasha seemed way too much for the other children of her age to even vaguely fathom, and maybe Charlotte just didn't take enough notice of that, for she recalls how this powerful entity was often times out of her mind's reach too.

Charlotte says that on one particular morning they were waiting outside their class for their teacher to arrive when it emerged that the teacher was in fact late and it was unclear exactly when she would be making her appearance. My sister immediately decided that she would take charge by organizing the class into two lines of boys and girls, after which she would direct them into the classroom where they would remain quietly seated until the teacher appeared. She duly commenced with carrying out her self-proclaimed mission and had managed to get the lines filing past her in a most orderly fashion. She remembers almost smugly surveying the fruits of her labour when Nastasha walked up to her, stopped, peered up at her over the top of her spectacles with a look of seething anger and betrayal before slapping her so powerfully on the side of the head that it fairly burst Charlotte's hair from its neatly-maintained ponytail trappings. “Pretending hey?! Pretending!”, she hissed, and walked-off in a huff. Charlotte says that this single incident may have impacted more on her as a person than any other that she can recall from her young life, and that she wonders what she would have been like today if this had never taken place. Charlotte lost contact with Nastasha after moving to the new school, but I told her that it would be wonderful if she could somehow track her down to acknowledge the incident's impact.

See below for a grown-up version: