Tag Archives: South Africa

General Musings, Insights

Scaredy Cat

Leave a comment

Biopsy, such an ugly word for a cancer adventurer.  It strikes fear into the healthy heart and soul, teasing possibilities and memories deliberately cast aside.

I watch the brain dance, trying not to let my body sway to its tune. All of the learnings I have written about over the course of the past 6 years need to be brought into the conscious, the brain must not be allowed to trigger the cortisol that wakes up the amygdala.  The call of Google must be ignored.  But it’s so hard not to give in, to not look for the worst instead of the best.

To stop myself, I go looking for inspiration and courage, seeking solace in the words and wisdom of others.  I am reminded of the poetry of Edgar Albert Guest;

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you’re trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low but the debts are high,
And you want to smile but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit…
Rest if you must, but don’t you quit!

Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As every one of us sometimes learns,
And many failures turn about
When we might have won had we stuck it out.
Don’t give up though the pace seems slow…
You may succeed with another blow.

Often the struggler has given up
When he might have captured the victor’s cup;
And he learned too late when the night came down,
How close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned inside out…
And you can never tell how close you are
It may be near when it seems so far.
So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit
It’s when things seem worst that you must not quit.

I like the bluntness of these words.  There is no ambiguity or room for interpretation.  Stick with it, don’t give up, reframe.  It works to lift the spirit.

But then I find the following…

A Litany for Survival

For those of us who live at the shoreline
standing upon the constant edges of decision
crucial and alone
for those of us who cannot indulge
the passing dreams of choice
who love in doorways coming and going
in the hours between dawns
looking inward and outward
at once before and after
seeking a now that can breed
futures
like bread in our children’s mouths
so their dreams will not reflect
the death of ours;
For those of us
who were imprinted with fear
like a faint line in the center of our foreheads
learning to be afraid with our mother’s milk
for by this weapon
this illusion of some safety to be found
the heavy-footed hoped to silence us
For all of us
this instant and this triumph
We were never meant to survive.
And when the sun rises we are afraid
it might not remain
when the sun sets we are afraid
it might not rise in the morning
when our stomachs are full we are afraid
of indigestion
when our stomachs are empty we are afraid
we may never eat again
when we are loved we are afraid
love will vanish
when we are alone we are afraid
love will never return
and when we speak we are afraid
our words will not be heard
nor welcomed
but when we are silent
we are still afraid
So it is better to speak
remembering
we were never meant to survive.
A Litany for Survival.” Copyright © 1978 by Audre Lorde, from The Collected Poems of Audre Lorde by Audre Lorde.  Copyright © 1997 by the Audre Lorde Estate.

Goodness, this puts the brain dance into the baby corner.  These words call my soul and I experience the metallic taste of shame.  Living in South Africa, with all of its glory and its gore, these words SHOUT perspective.

Andre Lourde, a self-described ‘Black, lesbian, mother, warrior, poet’, uses this poem to deliver insight into the struggles faced by black Americans who have lived with fear ingrained.  I cannot begin to imagine a life lived like this.  A life lived, still by many, in this complex rainbow nation.

Here,  the most unequal society in the world, many are unemployed or have little or no income.  The latest statistics from the quarterly Labour force survey show an increase in unemployment.  In a country of roughly 40.7 million people aged between 15 and 64 (potential employees) approximately only 16.4 million are working.  Those who are not able to work, because they’re at school, or ill, or for some other reason, are estimated to number 13.2 million. That leaves 27.5 million people in a void.  And what do these 27.5 million people do to survive?  Maslow’s hierarchy of basic needs is not being met for huge swathes of the population. So many of us luckily struggle to understand the fear of not knowing where our next meal is coming from, or not feeling safe as we go to sleep – from attack, from the physical environment or from nature itself.  When survival is your job, there is little room for acknowledging anything but bare necessities.

While modern South Africa should not be neatly categorised into the haves and the have nots, the whites and the blacks and the coloureds, the roots of colonialisation cannot be discounted.   In addition, the seeds of corruption and state capture sown by the previous Zuma regime have created seismic disparity across all ethnic races, genders and ages.  Crime and poverty and fear, as expressed by Lourde’s words, are demonstrably evident in all regions here.   The need for change cannot just be expected to come from the political establishment and the ballot box – elections are on May 29 2024 –  but needs to be systemic, involving, including and not confined to, all levels of enterprise, communities, and the judiciary.

Ultimately, acknowledging my privilege and with Lorde’s words in my head offering the needed reframe, I lie on the gurney and fully accept the enforced sleep granted by the anaesthetist’s needle.

I will sleep the deep sleep.

The biopsy results will come back as benign.

I am blessed.

General Musings, Insights, Life change, Snippets

Limbo

Leave a comment

Here in Port Louis, Mauritius, I sit in a hotel room waiting for tropical cyclone Eleanor.  The downstairs bar is emptied of its glasses, bottles and furniture, tiny birds fly unchecked in the indoor breakfast room, grateful to be indoors where the crumbs are plentiful; guests gather at the buffet, filling their plates, unsure of when the next meal will be served.  Storm tracking apps are traded like stocks with much chatter on Eleanor’s projectory and strength; reception lies quiet, its glass front doors locked.  Hotel staff who have not gone home bustle around, calmly helping guests with their queries and needs.

Caucan Waterfront, Port Louis, Mauritius

Bellies full, we stagger back to the room where the food coma hits and I pass out, missing the blustery gusts, the driving rain and the Palm trees bent double in the gales.  I wake up to silence.  No bird song but no perceptible damage either.  The anti-climax hangs in the air between us, like a missed opportunity for a story yet to be told.  In gratitude, Craig completes his expenses and cleans up his emails while I sit with my book, trying to concentrate and quieten the busy mind.

For me the last 24 hours are the analogy for the last six months – a promise of something which turns out not quite as expected.

For South Africa is a beautifully cruel country offering contrasting experiences and incredible highs and lows.   Learning to trade in trust has been hard, I’m having to go inward to come out again.  While we remain physically safe, I have lost psychological safety having trusted people who have stolen thousands of pounds worth of irreplaceable family heirlooms and jewellery from our home.  When coupled by a serious physical assault by a medical professional, who was (wrongly) trusted on the basis he was a British High Commission approved Doctor, I find myself unmoored, bobbing along in a questioning sea; What is my skill set?  What is my cultural awareness?  How do I show up?

Male Lion in Madikwe National Reserve

By contrast, placed in wide-open spaces of endless sky and a far horizon glinting in the sunlight, with elephant breath through the window and a reverberating lion roar in the ear drum, the country of South Africa delivers a truth perspective; I am but a mere speck of breath in the universe.

And so, in this ying and yang of experience and expectation, disappointment and joy, fear and excitement, I sit in stasis.  I have to work first on self before enjoying the fruits of future work.

While this cannot be rushed, I also recognise my fortune; a now comfortable home and a life-partner gainfully employed, I have the luxury of taking the time needed to heal and explore.  My South African counsellor, used to dealing with victims of violent assault, murder and rape does not indulge willy-nilly, self-reflective wallowing.  Let’s call the spade a shovel and we will dig in to the past to understand the present.  In reality this means I am swallowing medicine I have tried to avoid for 30 years.

You can’t lie to liars without becoming a liar. We can’t cheat a cheater without becoming a cheater. Fighting fire with fire doesn’t protect trust it merely leaves you with the ashes of your integrity. Michael Josephson

I don’t know where this will lead.  For the first-time, in a long time, there is no clear outcome.  To learn to trust again, I must first trust in time and instinct.

Sit in limbo.

The storm may hit;

It may also swerve past.

Tropical Cyclone Balal 2024
Insights, Life change, Snippets

Here we go again

Leave a comment

  Culture shock. Part 1

In the past 6 months, I’ve experienced two international moves, a short-term rental in the homeland where my task was to support the boy to pass his IB diploma; Surrendering a role I loved; A close family member’s death and funeral; Bed hopping in England; Tenants moving out of our property ; Putting the house on the market; Dealing with incompetent estate-agents; Taking the house off the market; Removing/throwing out items and repacking a storeroom after a rat party-infestation; Refreshing, repainting, cleaning and sorting the house; Finding and supporting new tenants; Packing away a life; repacking for a new life. All the while being accompanied in all endeavors by our family dog, Monty.

Monty the Golden dog

Part of my Intercultural Communications Masters degree meant studying both culture shock and reverse culture shock but there is no textbook in the world that prepares you for this level of change.

We were in Barbados for five and a half years. Known for being a “great place to go on holiday” on arriving, I wasn’t prepared for all the classic stages of culture shock; the newness and novel nature of being somewhere different but similar, followed quickly by the need to sleep for long hours of day and night; the growing anger and disgust at some of the attitudinal and behavioural differences, much unexpected on an island so reliant on tourism; the futile attempts to make changes to improve the community; the gradual acceptance of societal norms; grief and reluctance to say goodbye.

But it was so much more than this – the island was a place of security and sanctuary during the pandemic. Led by a communicative and charismatic Prime Minister, Mia Mottley, inhabitants were kept well informed of the context of decisions, even when such decisions were unpopular. Once airspace was closed down – the repatriation effort on this is a blog post on its own – the people who were left had chosen to be there, or belonged on island, and the shift towards connectedness became palpable. Almost, without exception, compliance was close to 100% whether it be mask wearing, specific days and times to go to the supermarket (based on the initial of your last name) and not leaving your home cartilage (for an initial 6 weeks). Although somewhat claustrophobic, as adherence was so high, there was a strong moral tolerance borne by all. This temporary burst of community-spirited socialism and kindness enabled resilience, positive mental health and survival so I’m truly grateful that we lived through this period on ‘De Rock’ as a family.

Ariel view of Barbados

Of course, it’s the people who make the place and we become close to a wildly diverse group of billionaires, millionaires, musicians, golfers, dog lovers and fun folks. Barbados brings out our not-so- latent hedonism. Rum runs through the veins as much as blood and we are never far away from the next gathering or party or bonding chats and conversation. I have mixed feelings for the actual place but I cry for the people I leave behind.

Final evening at La Cabane

We say goodbye to the Caribbean at the end of February and fly first to England, for 10 days. I’m unclear if this is reverse culture shock, sadness about parting with dear friends, or the clear division, politically, morally, economically or socially created by 13 years of economic mismanagement, avarice, lies, corruption and greed, but this place no longer feels like home. I become wary of engaging in deeper conversation beyond pleasantries- every day brings a new political scandal, a new division created and stoked by all kinds of media, in particular the rabid press owned by billionaires who neither live nor pay tax in this country. It feels like the stuffing has been kicked out of England, it’s certainly much changed and it doesn’t take much to see individuals and their thin-skinned lack of tolerance emerging. Of numerous examples I’ll cite one – at a petrol station in Southampton, I fill my car and pay. I don’t have sat-nav in the hire car so pull out my phone to confirm my onward journey. Given my destination is already pre-programmed, this takes less than a minute. During this time, a large Ford Ranger truck reverses in front of me, blocking me in. I beep my horn and a large, bald man tears out of the truck and using the most foul and colourful language tells me in his own inimitable way to be quiet and that as I was obviously using my phone I deserve to wait. I show him my sat-nav screen and he hurls yet more verbal abuse, in particular sharing his thoughts about my gender. He scares me into silence and as I depart he uses threatening, abusive gestures towards me. No one intervenes.

So we head northwards to Scotland, to my own kind, and I spend 4 months eating all the chocolates and sweeties, baked goods, pies, bread, black puddings, haggis and meats of my childhood. Despite all the walking, I gain yet more weight but the tasty morsels are doing more than satisfying my appetite, they are feeding my soul. And this isn’t talked about in the academic books – the coping mechanisms of dealing with reverse culture shock. Familiar food, re-purchasing familiar knick-knacks, drinking childhood drinks ( hello ‘Cremola Foam’), listening to traditional music, going to places you would avoid if you lived in country. Chasing nostalgia and connection as if it’s a drug. It’s all normal.

The suitcases get packed, unpacked, repacked once more, the traveling with a dog stress cranks up again, the short temper re-emerges as the adrenaline-fueled, organising stress, seeps, drips and pours into all waking and sleeping time. This is not the time for partners or husbands to disappear but invariably he finds some excuse or some way of becoming invisible, indisposed, busy doing  ‘important’ other (away-from) activity.

The conveyor belt of travel takes over and total submission is required. Landing 11 hours later and going through all the normal palaver of immigration and customs, luggage collection and finding the driver, and I’m launched back into the newness and discovery of a familiar, yet different, place; the Mother country of the Mother continent: South Africa.

South Africa

So my plan as I hunt for my next role, is to become the experiment – to observe the shifts in emotions, observations, instances and experiences and to recount these here as a record of one individuals response to culture shock. Let’s see what happens…

.