I’ll play my drum for you pa-rum pum pum pum

I’ll play my drum for you pa-rum pum pum pum




Gee whizz. We’ve been sitting here without any physical contact with the rest of the world for 3 months but suddenly we’ve been quite the social busy bees. We arrived back from our first trip to East London and away from rural life and the next day Theo’s folks arrived for a visit to see where in the world us wallys are. They found the roads here a bit of a challenge in their new little bakkie but I think they enjoyed their visit and now they have an idea of what our lives are like although it was school holidays. We picked wild plums, visited the quaint Trennery’s hotel and went mushrooming. I’m sure the bags of clothes they brought with will be well appreciated by the needy here.

A few days after they left, my old school buddy, Charlene, who has long since been living in Ireland, came for a visit with 2 of her Irish pals. Unfortunately we had bum weather and grey skies and in fact the whole Eastern Cape was flooded from too much rain and has been declared a disaster area. I guess those ancestors must be upset with someone for not planting their mielies on time. Someone better own up and fix things cos I’m getting tired of squelching around in wellies and not having clean running water. We have a backup rain tank but showering in brown murky water is not the greatest but here I am complaining and everyone else in the village only has a bucket to wash in.

Anyway it was great having Charlene, Sarah and Tim around for a few days. Tim has a house in Morgan Bay (how coincidental is that – meeting someone all the way from Ireland who owns property a short distance from us) so we joined them at his holiday home for a few days. I’ve gotten a bit caught up with the library, preparing lesson plans and the whole school thing so I’ve forgotten about other things in the world so it was really nice spending time with them and meeting Tim’s friends at Morgan Bay. Tim, Sarah and Charlene all practise various forms of natural healing as their livelihood (when they are not travelling) and they are connected by therapy dance movement which they do and the people I met from Morgan Bay were not your average 9 to 5ers either. Professor Mark has designed and built a vegetable garden which is self sustainable and runs on human poo. Quite an involved system by which he used algae in a couple of small dams to clean up the poo which then gets used to water the garden which, by the way, was flourishing. He and Dave were in the process of getting funding and have plans to improve some crappy long drop systems in rural schools to become more user friendly. They have successfully already built a few such systems for schools which they funded from their own pockets. Maraina is passionate about fighting back against Monsanto’s policy of forcing the world to buy GM (genetically modified) seeds. She goes around informing farmers about the facts which Monsanto omit to tell them. Things such as GM seeds only produce one crop which will force them to buy more seeds from Monsanto the next season. Monsanto is busy controlling the whole worlds crops by suing farmers who won’t fall into their trap. She told us that 25 000 farmers in India have committed suicide because they have now become financially ruined. I googled it, and was horrified to find out that its true. Did you know that Monsanto (who already genetically modifies plant DNA) have recently bought a pharmaceutical company which experiments with human DNA. I guess we will soon be able to buy carrots in the shop which can make your eyes blue or cure cancer so everyone will want to give them another Nobel award but no-one mentions that they will have control of manipulating how your body functions without you realising it. So if in a few years time people notice that everyone has to buy lets say hayfever tablets or pills to replace calcium to keep themselves healthy and the pharmaceutical companies keep getting richer then they might wonder why. We, the man in the street, do not think about these things and only raise an eyebrow if the apples at the veggie shop aren’t nice and perfectly crisp and juicy. I might be green but at least I’m not a cabbage can take on a whole new meaning.



Anyway, besides having intellectual conversations, they also all had a zen side to them which I found stimulating. They hauled out a couple of drums and a bag of rattles and shaking thingies and massive cow bells and stick things and we made music. Clearly they do this often but I’m not musical although I can shake my booty around a dance floor (even better after a few tequilas) but this was a new experience for me. I grabbed something to shake which didn’t look too complicated and I tried to keep in time with the drummer who controlled the beat. Someone else clapped in time and hummed a weird noise in my left ear while another guy shuffled around the room knocking sticks together in a hari krishna sort of way. Oh and Sarah gaily played the flute and occasionally freely expressed herself by letting out a noise which sounded like a banshee whatever that might be. This whole musical expressive thing was a bit new to me but somehow it worked and we sounded cool. I’d love to do more and learn to express myself freely other than with words.

Charlene brought puzzles, CD’s and flutes for the children at the library and now that they have taught 2 students to play Campfire’s Burning (Umsi Watcha), the rest spent today quite happy to blow their lungs out in my other ear, not the one which got zenned out. Perhaps I’d better try and learn a note or two and we can have a music session at the library.



In the meantime there is more rain on the way so I guess those thousands of frogs which croak outside can keep the bass beat and lull me to sleep.

Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep




The other day we jumped on the bike and headed over the hill in search of Thelma’s crèche. Jock, the guy who sponsored the books and computers at the library asked us to visit the crèche and see what their needs were as he wanted to sponsor them. Jock has been trying to make a difference to the lives of the people here in Qolora since long before we even got here and Education is his prime concern. He has a successful legal practice in Cape Town and he’s connected to big shots in the Department of Education. His heart and brains are in the right place. I suppose by now you must be wondering how Theo and I are coping financially and how we manage to stay fat. Well, we left Cape Town with 2 months supply of food and thought we’d end up at Coffee Bay teaching. We stumbled onto the library here at Qolora and that’s where we’ve settled. It didn’t take long for Jock and us to connect and now he contributes towards our living expenses. Things just fell into place, proving once again that life is as simple as you want it to be.



Anyway, there we were, looking for a crèche, working our butts off, riding around the beautiful countryside, soaking up the scenery of hills and dales blanketed in feathery grassland. Putting along the gravel roads on our toot toot as the kids call it, with the sun on your back and the wind in your hair, dodging the odd cow, goat or pothole can really strain those smile muscles. And then there’s all that waving.

It’s much greener on the other side of the hill and the countryside has more of a tropical feel to it. Even the cattle kraals which are made by stacking branches in a large circle, had lush green ivy growing all over them. Kraals are a very very important part of a family’s homestead. A man who has any worth has a kraal next to his hut or house. Even if his cattle have died off, which is the case of some people, the kraal is still an important structure. The man of the house communicates with his ancestors at the gates of his kraal. This is where he runs all important matters of the living by his ancestors for their approval. For instance, if he wants to build a new house, make important changes within his family or suchlike, he will communicate this to his ancestors at the kraal. They will respond to him in his dreams thereafter and even if it takes a long time, he will not go ahead with the plans even if its months before he has their approval.



Communicating with ones ancestors is the core of Xhosa tradition and the lives of the people here are woven around their ancestors. Ancestors, who are in fact deceased parents, grandparents and great grandparents oversee their family’s wellbeing and are a gateway to God so whether you are a Christian or not, ancestors play a part in the Xhosa people’s lives. If a person is blessed with good fortune, then they need to thank their ancestors by slaughtering a cow or goat depending on the level of their success. The man of the house will select a cow and prick it in its neck to make it bellow. A good choice is if the cow bellows before the spear touches its skin, an indication that the ancestors are very happy. A cow cannot be made to bellow by hurting it forcefully as this would then not be a true reflection of their ancestors approval. If the chosen cow does not bellow then it’s a serious problem and the ancestor will communicate to them in a vivid dream otherwise a Sangoma needs to be summoned to determine why the ancestors are not happy. If something goes wrong, such as a person gets sick, looses their job or something of this nature then the ancestors are angry with them and a Sangoma needs to be consulted to determine why. A cow, goat or chicken can be offered to the ancestors to set things straight but usually they do not bring bad fortune. Basically, if you are the motherly type, you get to carry on controlling your family even from the grave although there are more male ancestors than females. You don’t automatically become an ancestor just by dying, it’s a special privilege and an ancestor is highly respected. They present themselves to their family in very vivid dreams which cannot be questioned or refuted. A year after a person has died, a ceremony is held which involves a cow being slaughtered and the passing of the ancestor is celebrated. An expensive tombstone is placed at the gravesite followed by great festivities to honour the new ancestor. This is a costly business and the people here don’t have a lot of spare cash lying around but they make it happen.



My father who passed away 5 years ago often wagged his finger at me from that other dimension but these days he is resting peacefully or perhaps he’s busy watching over other people who break the hairs in their ears by listening to loud music in discos. Anyway, he was a diabetic so I didn’t need to keep a herd of cattle to appease him, diet coke would have done the trick. Theo wouldn’t make a good ancestor as he would forever be demanding a spitbraai and would surely get very frustrated with only the aroma of meat wafting up past his nose while the living had a feast.

So whether or not you go gently into that dark good night, whether you put flowers on someone’s grave to remember them, scatter someone’s ashes over their favourite place or whether you believe they are still watching over you like a guardian angel, we are all going to eventually take our last living breath and return our energy back to earth. Some just get to wag their finger for longer than others.

Anyone who takes the time to soak up the energy around these hills will be able to feel the presence of the ancestors watching over their people. Me, I’ve set my father free.

Ouma en oupa sit op die stoep

Ouma en oupa sit op die stoep


We have become grandparents. I don’t feel any different, just very excited. The bundles of joy, note I used the plural, are the tiniest, cutest, most perfect little twins on this earth. Unfortunately they live across the ocean in the faraway country of Japan so I have to go googoo gaga over the airwaves. Thank goodness for technology which enables us to see them and watch them grow. Kyro and Aoi are keeping me updated from Japan. Kyro read up about every aspect of every stage of Aoi’s pregnancy and before her first trimester was over he informed us that babies can communicate from a very young age and that he planned to teach them to sign so that he can understand their needs and requests. Marine is waving on the one photo so I guess she was saying “hi granny, look, I’m even cuter than a panda bear. I have long fingers so I’ll soon be able to use chopsticks to eat my rice for breakfast.” Sky has a good set of lungs on her as I heard in the video clip while she got her first bath so I guess she’s gonna be communicating verbally instead. I could have them mixed up already in fact I wonder how their parents can tell them apart. I would love to visit them sometime in the future but I think only once they are past the jelly stage and I can play with them. Perhaps they will come out here for a visit and I will teach them how to be a South African and eat mielie pap, rip meat off the bone and sing Sarie Marais. Maybe they will even want to go hare hunting with Theo on the airstrip at night. Maybe not. Theo really did try it once but he can home hareless. His own hair (all 16 of them) had a slight wave though since it was a windy night.

We recently made a trip into East London for a long weekend to skype Kyro and his new family. Funny how after 3 months of living here in the village, you’d think I’d enjoy seeing a bit of the rest of world. Well, I haven’t missed the traffic, the shops or the people all doing those things which city people do. And when we returned I felt a sense of belonging as we neared our new home at Qolora Village. We bought some lettuce and cabbage seedlings to plant in Theo’s slow growing vegetable garden. He had planted beans, spinach, and carrots from seeds and they were all coming along ever so slowly in his organic garden. The potatoes were doing the best and were up to the second tyre. Anyway someone, I assume one of the woman who occasionally slap mud on a roof to fix a leak or mop the shower floor, must have gone into the garden to take their wheelbarrow. Problem is they left the damn gate open and not only did the chickens have a feast but so did a damn donkey. Not a single blade of anything green is left. Theo will have to start all over again.

Oh well, it looks another month of mielie pap, afval and Theo’s imagination.

Scooters and planes and other things strange

Scooters and planes and other things strange




It’s a long weekend, like that makes a difference to life out here in Qolora village Transkei, but it’s a good enough excuse to treat ourselves to a braai. Theo marinated a couple of warthog chops to slap on the fire and we sat in the sun drinking a few long Black Labels. The wind didn’t blow as it so often does out here so we had a lazy afternoon just sitting, watching the birds and we enjoyed our view of the surrounding hills and grasslands.

I watched a little plane circle overhead and I smiled to myself, happy that we’d gone mushrooming on the airstrip the previous morning. We often see small planes going by as some of the wealthy people travel by air to hotels or lodges rather than have to negotiate these gravel roads. The grass airstrip over the hill is used by the owner of Trennerys hotel and probably the odd guest as well. The grass is short so it’s a great spot for hunting mushrooms, and the shaggy parasols which Theo fried up for breakfast with his bran and onion bread were delicious. The airstrip is not so good for landing a plane if the cows are chewing the cud on the strip cos then the pilot has to circle overhead a few times while someone from the hotel pops down to chase them away. I guess it’s easier dodging a patty than a cow or goat. Vehicles are not allowed on the airstrip but its fun making a dash for it on our bike. Not the kind of thing a responsible grandmother should be doing I suppose but what the heck, I don’t think many grandmothers live in a hut teaching English in a rural village either.

Theo had a hairy experience on the bike the other day. He gave Zolani, a high school teacher a lift home. A storm was brewing as they left and Zolani hung on for dear life. It was his first experience on a motorbike and he was recovering from a hip operation so his one leg stuck out at a bit of an angle and he wedged his walking stick in between them. He waved a bit nervously as they left and I heard him shouting to me asking where he should hold onto but Theo raced off before I could answer. He was in a big hurry to beat the dark rainclouds gathering overhead. He is kak bang of lightening and prefers to be safely indoors, nowhere near water and the laptop unplugged and packed away when nature decides to slice open the sky with powerful bolts of electrical energy. Out here when lightening strikes across the open grasslands it’s quite a spectacular show as the earth lights up in surreal flashes while thunder cracks deafeningly all around you. It even beats front row seats at a Metalica concert since you don’t walk around with a zinging buzz in your head for the next 12 hours. Mind you it doesn’t leave you feeling as frisky as watching four muscular guys flexing their godlike torso’s with guitars draped across their bare chests, their sweaty biceps bulging as they pluck their instruments and hypnotise you with their gaze. (We didn’t have front row seats and I didn’t wear my glasses but it was something close to that).

I stood at the door watching mother nature’s show and waiting for the bike to appear. Theo was not admiring the beauty around him on this particular day though. He rode as fast as he dared on the slippery gravel roads, rain pelting down and running into his eyes. It’s fun not having to bother with ever wearing a helmet around here but I guess it does have its uses other than preventing your skull from cracking open. Eventually I spotted him through the rain, crouching as low as possible under the handle bars. He arrived home sopping wet and shouted above the roaring thunder that by lying flat on the seat he’d made himself lower than the goats and cows which he passed and prayed that any stray lightening bolts would rather fry them before finding his low profile. It worked because he seemed to escape the wrath of God who did not strike him down for not picking up his dirty socks off the floor.

I’m really looking forward to the free summer thunderstorm shows but the mud, well thank goodness for wellies.