The New Year Begins

About the title:  Nobody was on the phone giving bad news to someone, when he reached a final "I give up" moment, said, "The new year begins in February," I cracked up, relayed this to N, who said, "that should be a blog title," and so it became the title for this.  Then it became "The New Year Begins in March," then April, and here we are in summer.  Or winter, depending on from where you are reading.

I last left off exhausted in Miami, having just arrived back in USA.  Was drifting off to sleep in a hot bath when I hear "Lydia Lydia Lydia Lydia Lydia" come shrieking down the hall, and arrive booming outside the bathroom door.   Viv remembered me from when she was 6 months old:

It took me forever to get out of the tub and dressed. I mean, it took a long time even for me.  I was dying to see Viv.  I found her poised to "dive" the 5 inches from the walkway onto the living room carpet. I asked her if she was going swimming, she said "Yes!" and "dove" into the carpet.  She "swam" across it waving "Bye bye!" then got to the other side said "Hello," dove back in and "swam" back.  Then she jumped on the couch where we had some more deep conversation while she crumbled into the floor breaking her neck, shoulder and both legs before I could save her.  Or at least, that's what I thought happened before she climbed back up and did it again, over and over, carrying a doll each time, which also looked like it was being smashed to pieces.  She had several of her favorite books laid out, and I was about to read her one when her mother came in to "change her diaper."  I was like, "wtf?  How old is she?"

Viv's mom is pregnant again, so I'm going to also be a third cousin again, and I'm also a grand aunt again and I haven't even met my first grand niece yet.  Which has me contemplating another trip to visit family in New England, which actually segues nicely into the fact that my brother has been on my mind.

In Miami, he expressed dire concerns about my blog that left me terrified that I may never be allowed back into my country if I ever leave it again because customs could search the internet and find my blog and object to it.  Why put my whole life on a blog?  Why not be a real writer, and write stories?  He wished I would do my art again, like the kind he has on his wall:

I never knew what he was talking about, so he finally sent me a picture of it. I don't remember doing it, but I do recognize it as mine.  It was one of the few college assignments that survived both the dorm fire and the trash can.  I had to admit I got a piece of myself back looking at that photo.  It's not bad for my short career.  I dropped out of art school in my first semester with one stellar memory:  an art teacher doing a double take behind my easel, muttering, "Jesus!" and walking off with an awed nod of approval.

I have never approved of myself.

My brother asked a simple enough question.  Why put my whole life on a blog?  I've waited to post this because I had no answer.  I really should know the answer if I am going to do it.

Because things like this reveal themselves to me:  "I have never approved of myself."

Because it's how I connect to life.  Or feel like I am connecting.  Maybe I'm deluding myself.  It's been so long since I have blogged that I have probably lost my followers, anyway.

While I ponder these questions, I'll continue. Having remained unemployed I entered both poverty and retirement. Rats and Yay!  I moved away from the beautiful sea.  While filling out the rental application I heard the manager describing me on the phone with confidence as a great tenant who just "fell on hard times," which isn't really an endorsement for one's own apartments.  I'm so ghetto now that when I recently told someone where I lived he actually asked me, "oh, the park part or the ghetto part?" But, the apartment came with new appliances!  Here they are being delivered:

I also got a new toilet and will be getting a new heater.

Now that I am alone, I fell into such peace and developed anxiety disorder at the thought of ever leaving the house or getting a phone call again.  I think I have been healing all that time, but maybe I'm just losing my mind.  I may need help, but I feel too blissed out to worry about being depressed. I have no obligations to anybody or anything, and have no reason to be anywhere.  So, I never leave the house.  As I ponder my new inability to leave the house, I travel every day just looking out my window.  A lively car business takes place on my corner.  Here is some guy under a truck:

This guy pulled a camp chair out of his trunk to wait several hours for new tires:

Here is some business being concluded:

Look at what is holding up this hood.  Even that guy in the yellow jacket can't believe it:

And I don't even know:

This guy parked his silver car, went to opposite corner and sat down for lunch:

Another guy eating lunch:

View from my bedroom window:

Here's my cat's suitor, looking up longingly into the window, hoping for just a glimpse of his beloved:

I am finally that crazy cat lady on the corner that never leaves the house.  Here's my corner:

That's the door I never go through.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*
Words stick to my tongue

like lost birds with misguided wings

trying to gather the stars for you,

to harvest that first ocean tide,

that fleeting first wind of time to

ever breath life into your dreams

Even your own moon is dripping

crystals of night into your hands

promising you will never ever

run out of your own light
 

This is Africa

I arrived in Mafikeng, South Africa on New Years Eve, around 11pm.  It was a triumph, so we were triumphant:

"We" is Nadia and her daughter Layla, who are like family, and we are sitting on her couch around 11pm on New Years Eve.  The neighbors came out to light firecrackers on the street in front of N's house, and behind her house:

As I stepped off the plane, sporting my insect repellant fan (seen hooked to my pants in above picture), I asked a woman getting off the plane with me if she was from here.  She said yes, so I asked her if she ever heard of tourists being plagued by mosquitoes (as I had heard back home and read on line)?  Her response was to bust up laughing.  Then she said no, she never heard of such a thing, and then laughed some more.  This was a frequent response I got from the natives.  It's not that they are rude.  They just think white people are really funny.

One thing I loved about Mafikeng is that even though I was the whitest white lady, I never felt out of place.  Nadia (of Indian descent), who describes herself as "colored" (apparently it's not such a bad word here) doesn't feel out of place, either.  It felt like home.  I loved being laughed at by the natives.  It's like each laugh taught me a lesson.  For example, I had this conversation at least 3 times, all accompanied by the above-described laughter:

Me:  What language are you speaking?
South African native speaking Afrikaans English:  English.
Me:  Oh.

After 3 or 4 days of such lessons something clicked and I was able to understand people.  I finally understood when Lay asked for "water" and "yogurt."  Thus ended her "too bored of me" phase and began her "ordering me around" phase.  Basically, she was the neighborhood bully.  This was the neighborhood:

She couldn't remember her friends' names.  When her mother told her to go play with her friends, she ran outside yelling, "Friends!"

Me: What is your friend's name?
Lay: His name is "My Friend."

I can't really continue without mentioning someone who doesn't exist.  News of his existence reached him by way of people having no idea they were talking to him, which as you can imagine, caused him some concern. I might have been put off by the sign on his front door had it not been too damaged to read, but I came to know him to be more wonderful and eloquent than his sign before I realized there was a sign.  Maybe he will fix his sign when he reads this.  He will not allow photos, so I have only my impression of him to offer.  Picture a walking pile of wool.  It isn't easy to crack Nadia up, so the only two times that I did were memorable:  1) When I described a successful day as one in which one gets out of bed, gets dressed, goes outside, does anything and comes home victorious, and 2) when I described our ghost friend as a walking pile of wool.  She only added "and the shoes!" (meaning his trendy first world sneakers).  I beg his forgiveness in advance and hope he smiles when he reads this.  I'm kind of cracking myself up right now, imagining him smiling at this.  Anyway, I'm very fond of and grateful to him.  I can't imagine what my life here would have been like without him, and Nadia and Lay can't either. I'll just call him Nobody.

It was Nobody that drove the 3 hours each way from Mafikeng to pick me up from the airport in Johannesburg, the car breaking down on the way.  When we arrived at N's house (which she had just moved into 2 weeks before) she struggled to open the door, and explained that there was something wrong with every door in her house.  Later, when I had locked myself in my room, she explained to me from outside my door how to pick up the pieces of my door handle from the floor and assemble them into my side of the door to open it.

Further misadventures included my not being able to plug in my electric toothbrush for 10 days because we were unable to plug it into the adapter.  When I finally messaged Nobody about it his response was "why am I just hearing about this now?"  Can you see why I'm grateful to him?  Once plugged into the adapter I was finally able to ascertain that my trusty toothbrush had broken.  By then I was used to gritty teeth, as well as only using cold water.  This was because of a plumbing problem that developed the first night I was there, requiring the water to be shut off most of the time.  I always seemed to miss that window of opportunity when both the water and geyser (water heater) were turned on.  That is, before the geyser broke.  I preferred bathing in cold water anyway, as I was so boiling hot all the time.  Every house there has these double doors, wood and cast iron, both locked with keys, and heavy drapes, and N kept her house closed up like a steam bath, fearing crime, as there is apparently a lot of it there.  I felt like a caged animal always gasping for air.  There was hardly a breeze, and although we did discover she had a ceiling fan, it wasn't long before, you guessed it, it broke.  Bathing took place in a child size tub (standard there).  When I told cousin A (Viv's mom) about this, she told me about being in Mexico where she was handed a bucket and told to go outside where she couldn't even undress.  Ok, in South Africa I got to undress to bathe.

It is fortunate that I had no specific plans to blog while I was there.  I apologize especially to the one reader that told me he had hoped for daily posts.  The computer was unavailable to me due to power or air time needing to be bought, the router needing to be charged, the computer that charged the router needing to be charged, the constant musical chairs of more things needing to be charged than available chargers (sometimes my ipad would get disconnected because another's ipad needed charging more urgently), the dismally poor internet connection generally, my fatalistic attitude about all those things, and by the computer usually being in use thusly:

My first day there was the first day of the year.  Since it was the first of the month (otherwise known as "panic time"), everything needed to be done, such as getting the monthly groceries.  This involved walking down a gravel road in the hot sun (there were lots of shade trees) to catch a taxi that took us to a shopping mall.  Suga (N's best friend) was prearranged to pick us up, so we called her when our shopping was done.  Then we waited an hour or so.  N had no problem with this.  Lay ran around and played. More time passed. Suga finally called to let us know the car broke down, but she was sending Tolamo's (her husband's) sister.  After another hour or so N did actually consult a taxi driver, but in the middle of talking to him Suga called and said she borrowed a car and was now on the way.  When we finally got home, the frozen goods were thrown into the freezer even though they had melted.  This day genned me in pretty well: This was Africa.

The holidays is really not the best time to visit, because in Africa everything closes down from approximately the middle of December to approximately the middle of January.  That means when plumbing goes, geysers break or cars break down, you have to wait about 5 or 6 weeks for businesses to open back up.  But, if you are trying to avoid going back to work and extend your holiday, then it's ideal.  For example, let's say you are entertaining a foreign guest, and are a stressed out, young single mother, with 4 or 5 jobs and/or energy-draining activities in Mafikeng. Various associates are still on holiday, and the businesses you need (such as the newspaper) haven't opened yet, so you decide to go on holiday.  You arrange to stay a couple of days in Pretoria with an old beau of yours.

The first night was magical for all of us.  It was romantic for them, and I was greatly entertained by him saying things to N that I wouldn't dare say to her, plus his awesomeness with Lay.  I had never seen anyone so good with a child.  I learned from watching him with her.  Just a lovely night.  The next night was lovely, but not as lovely.  We were leaving just at the right time the next morning.  Except the car wouldn't start.  Our host graciously pushed the car out of the garage to a more open spot (presumably easier to tow from), had a friend look at the car, and put us up for another night. For this generosity he received in return being woken up at 2 in the morning by a crying 3 year old, causing him to sleep late and miss an early meeting.  The car couldn't be towed to the Renault dealer until the next day, so we stayed another night, giving Lay the opportunity to pee all over his bed.  Finally, the car was declared ready and our host graciously dropped us off at the dealership, at which exact moment Lay threw up all over me and the back seat of his car.  Of course the soap dispenser in the dealership's restroom was empty.

And, of course, the car isn't really ready.  And of course we don't discover this until we are stuck on the highway in rush hour, in the hot sun, not where a simple phone call brings the auto club within half an hour, but for hours and hours, right around the corner from the dealership.  A service repairman comes to us from the dealership, and when I ask him what is wrong with the car his response is that it was a Renault.  His advice:  don't get another one.  Well, this worthy advice from a clearly undisputed expert fell on the wrong ears.  I was not one of the three people responsible for the car, I was just a passenger in this ill-fated vehicle.  The registered owner was somewhere in Capetown.  [A little aside here - this later made going to Botswana impossible. I had wanted to go to Botswana just to get another stamp on my passport. Although the border was nearby (a tiny little thing, it's just a door in a field with two guards standing in front of it), N had been warned the last time she went that she wouldn't be allowed back in the next time without a police permit signed by the owner of the car.]

So, arrangements are made at a guest house (what they have instead of hotels and motels).  This guest house was the only place I got mosquito bites.  I had stopped using insect repellent (and taking malaria pills) my first night in Africa, but as it turned out Lay was being bitten alive, so the mosquito net that had been intended for me was put on Lay's bed (seen in picture above).  But back to the guest house.  We had a great time there.  It was a lovely unintended holiday extension.  Until we were informed that the car wouldn't be ready for days, and we were stranded in Pretoria, 30 miles out of Johannesburg.  Although a train to Mafikeng could be taken from Johannesburg, a shuttle or taxi to get there was prohibitively expensive.  It was Nobody that borrowed a car and rescued us. I really don't know how we would have gotten home without him, and the car he borrowed was really nice!

We were finally back home.  N stressed about missing a week of work and Lay missing the first week of school.  N insisted I get up at dawn to walk to school with them on her first day.  The mornings were cool and lovely, so I began to look forward to those walks to and from school.  Here are some pictures I took on one of our walks home. Here's the school:

Lay has to stop at every concrete block.  Here she is preparing her jump:

Here is Mom threatening to kill her if she doesn't jump now:

And she jumps:

Lay's office (after school):

N insisted I read to Lay.  She had never been read to by anybody, ever, and she wanted her child to be read to.  Well, I have never been a parent, and in my limited experience the child came to me, book in hand, and sat next to me.  I had no idea how to reach N's ghetto child.  N's commandment was to just talk to her.  Gulp.  I went into her room after she had been in there a while and saw she was in her bed looking at a book.  So I said, hi, how are you, happy new year, etc.  Joke.  N was always chiding me that I can't just walk up to people and abruptly ask them a question.  I had to smile and say hi, how are you, happy new year.  Ok, what I really said was "Would you like me to read that book to you?" and she hesitatingly said "yes."  I hesitatingly read 2 paragraphs and saw she was really bored.  She wanted to talk about the pictures.  So I found another really easy book, the kind with just one word on a page, and she pointed to a lamp and said "lamp", and I said yes that's a lamp and this also says lamp, and I thought I saw a glimmer of understanding in her eye.  Then she said "teddy bear" and I said, "and that says teddy bear." At this point she ran out of her room.

The next day N pointed to Lay outside.  She had brought all her books outside and was teaching the neighborhood kids to read.  This was all N wanted, because now she could open a day care and her potential pool of clientele wouldn't think she was weird to read to the children in her care because they had now been introduced to it.  I felt like I had changed the world.

N and Suga want to open a day care together.  Here is a picture of best friends:

At this particular moment they were finding humor in the fact that Suga's law degree wasn't enough to qualify her for the program to get her teaching degree so now she has to go back to school and get a master's degree.

The two of them also do children's parties.  So when her neighbors had a party and invited the whole neighborhood, N offered her tables and chairs for free in a savvy business move to advertise her service to the entire neighborhood.  Here's the party:

And here are Tolamo and Suga bringing the party tables and chairs:

One of the joys of my visit was meeting Tolamo and Suga.  And yes, Suga's name is "Sugar," she just spells it Suga.  Their, story, which I pieced together from several sources so hopefully it is accurate, is that Tolamo's peeps were rich, worldly, well-educated and some kind of royalty in which marriages were arranged.  Tolamo was a happy guy, because he was arranged to be married to the woman of his heart anyway.  Aw.  Suga came from the whole other side of the tracks.  I had hoped that Suga would take me to"the other side of town," but, of course, this is Africa, so those plans were thwarted.  Suga did bring me a lovely pair of shoes that were perfect for Africa, and the most comfortable shoes I have ever worn, and I'm pretty sure she got them from the other side of town:

The evening that Suga happened to come by with those shoes was interesting.  It happened to be the first and only time N left me alone with her child to run a quick errand.  It was very late at night and Lay thankfully was asleep and didn't wake up.  N promised to come right back, so when I heard a car pull up I was expecting it to be her, and instead someone knocked, which freaked me out, and while I panicked because I had no idea how to open the gate, Suga shoved two packages through the gate and said "these are for you." I think she was laughing at me. N's pair was blue.

Tolamo and Suga told me all sorts of stuff about Mafikeng, like it's the gateway to Africa.  People from all over the world come here.  Tolamo says he has been all over the world, but he settled here at home because Mafikeng is paradise.  Mafikeng is in the Northwest Province, which is like one of our states.  The Northwest Province used to be just "the Homeland."  The Homeland had a superlative government and economy and lifestyle, and when the Homeland was incorporated into South Africa, and the South African government took over, everything turned to sh**.   Perhaps Mafikeng reverted back to its original name of "Mahikeng" in defiance?  Mafikeng officially changed its name, although the city signs haven't been changed yet.

I was also glad to meet Tudy.  Since Tudy lives in Jburg and none of us do any serious driving (me, especially.  They drive on the left side of the road here!), and since Tudy has the schedule of a flight attendant (which I think she may be), several attempts to get together didn't work out.  And what were the odds that a week after being stranded in Pretoria (near Jburg) that an occasion would arise for another trip to Jburg in which we could finally meet up with Tudy?  I was touched one moment when we were just walking down the street together and N said, "this is my family, right here."  I wanted to take a picture of us, but we were in a rasta house and the guys I asked to take our picture ended up being too sleazy.  Who would have thought guys in a rasta house would be sleazy?  lol.  Well, I had never seen anything like a rasta house.  My guess is it is able to thrive here (although illegal) due to the large population of Muslims, who are forbidden to drink alcohol.  Here's pictures inside the rasta house:

As you can imagine, a little girl might get bored in a rasta house, but Lay is kind of like a puppy.  She found a stick and played happily with it for hours:

I think on this trip we also went to the Bruma Market, which had been an institution for decades.  Unfortunately, we arrived to find hardly any stalls left, and it's once grand kiddie playground mostly fallen into ruin. N asked around and found out that a Chinese market had bought the land and kicked the Bruma Market out.  So, these photos, captured by Nobody with my camera, record the death throes of this once great market:

It is clear in this photo how much N and I enjoy "bargaining:"

Here I nearly killed a little girl on a trampoline when I fell on top of her:

There are two models of houses in Mafikeng, 2 bedrm and 3 bedrm, and you can tell which by the number of windows by the front door.  This is N's house.  See the 2 front windows behind the peach trees? Those peaches are delicious, by the way.

And here's a 3 bedroom house, down the street (see the 3 front windows?):

And when I returned home after taking the above picture, Tolamo walked in with this peach harvest (he wanted to make jam, of which I am promised a jar):

People really love to have their picture taken here:

For some reason, there are more white cars in Africa than anywhere I have ever seen:

Also, everyone tailgates here.  For example, here's a cop tailgating a semi.  I don't know if you can see that there is only one car length between us and the cop in front of us.  When I took this picture the speedometer was around 90 kilometers an hour, which felt to me like 60 miles per hour.  I pictured the driving instructor that passed my driving test when I first got my license telling me I had stopped too close to a large truck in front of me and why I shouldn't do that. Oh, and there was another semi in front of that semi, also driving with a car length between them:

Oh, and typically, drivers are also constantly talking on their cell phones.  I learned to stop looking out the window while I was in a car in Africa, unless I was taking pictures.  Here are some pictures I took from the car:

This tower was infamous for some reason, but I forgot the story.  We kept passing it, so I have a gazillion pictures of it from every angle near and far:

My brother (an avid birder) wanted me to take pictures that clearly showed I was in Africa.  Although we went to a game reserve, I only got pictures of this bird:

The reason the bird came this close was to delight in a plum pit I threw out there. 

...and there was this interesting tree:

And I caught what I think is an African monarch by the pool of our guest house:

But it was worth the entire African trip just to see the family of warthogs playing as we entered the Reserve.  Mom, Dad and 4 kids all grinning exactly like Pumba in the Lion King.  Interestingly, right after visiting Africa I would visit the Miami Zoo where I took many pictures of every African animal.  But that will have to wait for my next post.

The first thing Tolamo had said to me was "Don't invite me to dinner unless you are serving something with bones." He spoke my heart.  He and Suga are sheep and cattle farmers, and came by with halaal (kosher) meat from their own farm (interestingly, even KFC is halaal here), and brought their own braai to cook it on. They call barbecues "braais" here, and I had come to love them so much I requested one the last night I was here.  Of course, we ran out of charcoal, which I hadn't realized until Nobody came by the next day to take me to the airport and saw the sunflowers he had troubled himself to pick at N's request, and asked, "What happened to the sunflowers?!"  Well, he apparently had not yet been informed that Lay had ruined them almost immediately, so we were never able to plant them as planned.  But I hadn't realized until then that they had been completely burned up, down to their big sunflower heads, in the braai when the charcoal ran out.  Those murdered sunflower heads lying on the ground as I said good bye somehow epitomized my whole tortured African adventure.

So, in sum, I went to Africa feeling lost, in search of adventure, not knowing what to expect and hoping I could help. Nadia told me "You showed me how to live."  So, I guess I helped.  And I guess I was found, because I feel like I've left home behind.  And it was certainly an adventure.  Life in the third world was daunting.  But, all the petrol stations in Africa are full service, public bathrooms commonly have both an adult size and a child size toilet, and they have "Woolworths," an awesome store.  I leave you with what Nadia casually commented to me one afternoon:  "I appreciate every single moment of my life.  I really do.  Even if I'm just ironing.  I would never take one moment back."

Ironing:

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

African Night

Something cradles you
Distant undulating music
The rhythm of crickets
lightning and thunder
Bugs dancing around candle fire
dropping and making dying noises
Branches trying to crawl in through windows
A grasshopper thuds on your shoulder
you scream, swat, he lands on the other
heavily, loudly, you scream again

Really, hardly anything happens
but you strive to miss nothing

Fire up the African sky
and reap a harvest of clouds
There is always a hush, and
love is what is always now