Both Sides Are Even

The last Saturday in Pretoria was action-packed. We woke up, dropped off the rental car I had hired for two days, headed to an instawalk hosted by Fujifilm South Africa and At Photo in Hatfield, met up with Mia at +27 Café, bought a shwe shwe skirt at the market in the 10 minutes before our parking ticket ran out and then braved the inner city on a Saturday for the Market at the Sheds. We parked at the State Theatre and walked over to the market, which offers quite a contrast to the buzzing inner city trade happening on the streets right outside of it. After paying the R50 entrance fee we explored the stands in the large hall and tasted some spring rolls as well as a bobotie jaffel (a round toasted sandwich filled with curried mince meat and raisins) whilst listening to the band in the background.

Notice relics and vocal entertainment.

After ambling past all the vendors and their stalls we headed across the courtyard to the African Beer Emporiums trial day. Also situated in a large hall, the space is simplistically decorated with wooden benches and tables, as well as succulents places on the tables and hung from the walls as decoration. We first had the Soweto Gold Apple Ale, which was absolutely wonderful and I wanted to immerse myself in a bathtub full of it as it combined the not-too-sweet taste of a Hunter's Dry with a slightly more apple-y flavour. Then I tried a Pretoria Steam Beer and wished to go back to the sweet sweet taste of the apple ale. But when in Snorcity one has to taste what it has to offer, right?!

Xander Ferreira (previously of Gazelle) was behind the crate-decks on music while a steady stream of people filled up the benches and enjoyed a selection of 7 beers on tap and more on the menu. We walked around some more and then went on our way, stopping at Aroma's Gelato on the way home. The rest of the day was filled with preparing dinner for some friends that came over later and then getting our dance on at Etc. in Centurion.

A great last day in the capital, I'd say.

Wilder Mind

The email from the event company stated that Mumford & Sons were coming to South Africa. I was still doing an internship in Paris, but assigned my sister the task of buying us tickets as the Pretoria date coincided with her birthday, for which I would be in the city. On the day, I asked whether she had gotten the tickets, but she had forgotten and by the time she looked they had been sold out. Well, they had been sold out in three minutes, so the chances of getting some had been steep in any case.

Then another email came, saying additional dates in Cape Town and Pretoria had been added. I changed shifts and coordinated with a friend at home to both try and buy some tickets. At 9.00 we logged in, and miraculously minutes later I received a confirmation email for three tickets. The friend also got three, so now we were locked and loaded for the concert. 

Months later, the day of the event had arrived. I had been lucky enough (or stalkerish enough) to recognise the band members of John Wizards on my flight from Cape Town to Johannesburg and proceeding to observe them at a distance to come up with a brilliant plan for trapping them in a conversation with me, the results of which I hoped would be some backstage tickets or a shout-out for my sister's birthday or something. Sadly I am too chickenshit to actually follow up on stalking semi-famous people and never talked to them. Also, my bag was the first one that came out, and I didn't want to appear weird whilst waiting for them. Stalker mode not on fleek (which I guess is  a good thing). 

The concert was held at the Amphitheatre near the Voortrekker Monument, which showcased Pretoria's city centre as a backdrop and also had enough space for the audience to spread out across the steps from which everyone had a good view of the stage. We arrived in time for John Wizards and then really enjoyed The Very Best, before Beatenberg played as last introductory act. The Saturday performance had been cut slightly shorter due to a highveld thunderstorm, but Sunday's show had perfect weather and the crowd seemed exceedingly excited to be there. Marcus Mumford appeared during Beatenberg's show, playing the drums and singing along, as well as Senegalese singer Baaba Maal being featured during The Very Best's set. 

From starting out with Little Lion Man to newer hits such as Tompkins Square Park and Wilder Mind to bringing out the boys from Beatenberg, The Very Best and Baaba Maal for a jam session, this concert was one of the highlights of my homecoming trip (if not one of the best concerts I have been to). Somehow the synergy between the audience, the beautiful setting and the great music worked together to make everyone enjoy the show. At some point I looked up and saw the Voortrekker Monument gleaming to my left, Orion right above us and the Southern Cross behind us as the capital loomed in the background, and it made me appreciate the wonder of that very moment, the pleasure in being able to gather with friends and strangers under a cloudless sky on a warm summer's night and simply enjoy the music. 

There is a TED talk by Alain de Botton where he speaks about Atheism 2.0 and how some of the values and actions of organised religions still translate well to human behaviour even if some do not believe in a higher power. After the talk, he was asked by the moderator that this talk made it sound like he did believe in something more, but de Botton answered that it is a moment of looking at the universe and realising our smallness in contrast to its immensity that already creates a sense of mystery which he gets through basic observation and a belief in science, not necessarily in a belief that there must be something more. 

I felt a similar exhilaration at the concert, being surrounded by the natural beauty, the man-made constructions in the distance and my friends around me. At times we just need to appreciate a moment for what it is, not expecting more or being disappointed in a perceived lack. 

After the show we had one last drink before taking one of the last buses back to where the car was parked. It was a few minutes before midnight, so my sister's birthday was rolling in as we were stuck in a traffic jam. One friend got the last few beers out of the boot, I went over to the car in front of us to ask them to play something more birthday-sounding and we had an impromptu dance party in the parking lot. Turned out the guys were DJs at a Joburg club and were more than happy to oblige and play some of their mixes. Even the car guard came over and joined in the celebration. 

We dropped one friend off and then returned home, tired, somewhat sunburnt but genuinely happy. 

Petrichor

I've been home for a month now, and that is what this place is: home. Driving into Pretoria after a two-day trek up from the Cape, I knew coming over the hill by the Delmas offramp that we were in my hometown, that the house was not far away now. I knew the shortcuts, the menu at Kung-Fu Kitchen, the dry smell of the highveld air on hot summer's day. Everything here is easy in its familiarity.

For a week I have been stuck at my sister's place owing to the fact that I don't have a car and thus couldn't really go anywhere. Therefore, we decided to organise a braai on Saturday and invite a couple of friends over to hang out. One half were childhood friends, people who knew where everything was in the kitchen at the old house, who knew our dogs, who know all the intricacies of lives lived as webs spun in entanglements. A university friend came with her husband, my cousin showed up, boyfriends were brought along to this comfortable congregation.

The salads and snacks, pre-prepared, were waiting in the refrigerator (the one imposing the pungent smell of garlic on the entire kitchen), the plates and cutlery had been laid out and everything was ready. The clouds had gathered across the sky, but we expected it to pour down for 15 minutes in a typical highveld storm and then resume our barbecuing. We even performed a rain dance with a rain stick that my mother had bought more than a decade ago in Mexico. But the dance proved too effective and the rain never seized. We gathered inside, waiting it out, realising at some point that this braai would have to move partially to the kitchen. The boerewors was thrown in a pan, the chicken grilled in the oven whilst two guests braved the rain and barbecued the rest whilst huddled under an umbrella.

The meal was consumed and conversation flowed as everyone had tales to tell of small banalities and big events. By 10 PM the rain finally stopped and most went home, with only four of us enjoying the last bottles of red wine whilst sitting outside and smelling the crisp nighttime air. More than the city this was what I had missed: a contentment found in the congeniality of old friends, of people you needn't ever explain your life to because they had been there for so much of it already.

Free & Untorn

In 2011, my tuition was R 35,020 for one year including a registration fee of R 3200 but not any of the books, stationary or living costs. Ok, I lived at home, but then again my sister was completing her Masters at the same time as I was finishing the BA, so for 2011 my mother probably had to pay around R70000 to the university. Without achievement bursaries and family waivers and my mother's hard work as a tour guide we probably would not have had the privilege of higher education.

For about a week now my FB feed has been flooded with student protest from all around the country. Friends at different universities repost and provide commentary of what is going on, giving a broader overview than the media has been able to. Yesterday I had a long Skype session with a friend about why the protests are happening now, what the problems at the heart of them were, what this means going forward. Six students in Cape Town have been arrested and accused of high treason as thousands of others today march on the Union Buildings in Pretoria to call for a meeting with President Zuma on the shocking price increases of tertiary education.

I am too far away and have been unaffected by any of this as for the past two years I have payed €500 in total as Germany doesn't have tuition fees, just a student contribution. I have profited from a system that highlights education and even provides financial aid through BAföG (a law that allows for a monthly stipend of up to €650 where half is an interest-free loan that has to be repaid 5 years after completing the degree) to those whose parents do not have the financial means to support them. Naturally, the two countries are vastly different and Germany has one of the strongest economies, thus having the funds to support tuition-free learning. For many of the students currently protesting, they might be the first in their family to even get to university, the first to have a chance at something better. And is this not what everyone wants: for those who come after us to do better and to have it better? Instead there is global warming and ISIS and corruption and #BlackLivesMatter and Alaskan oil fields and billions in mismanaged funds and and and.

But this protest back home, man, it stirs something inside of me, somehow the hope that change for the better may come from this, that somehow there has been a small shift in people's attitudes that simply said: no more. We have ignored this up to now, we have laughed about a president that cannot even read his party's membership numbers, we have accepted the crime rate, we have accepted Nkandla, we have accepted the xenophobia, we have accepted the fear of one another, we have all said that something must change but what and how and then gone back to our braai and watching the rugby/cricket/Isidingo/7de Laan.

So perhaps this, this could be it. This, more than petty politics between the ANC and the DA. This, more than bridges collapsing on the M1 or grandmothers still using the 'K' word or Marikana. This, because the born frees have had enough. This could be our June 16, 1976.

Black Gold

There is a patisserie called MyDarlings on the corner of Lynnwood and Brooklyn street. I had never noticed its blue-and-black striped exterior even though I had driven past it hundreds of times. And then, on a revolutionary day, my mother and I had wanted to go to Aroma coffee but it was full so we discovered MyDarlings, which is right next door to the coffee shop.

On that day we shared one of their mud cakes, and if ever I would be served the death penalty it would be on my last-meal list. Outside it looks like an ordinary chocolate muffin, but when you take a bite it is gloriously pudding-like inside and very decadent. And somehow the outside-cakey-consistency works fantastically with the chocolate-mousse interior.

Since then I have been trying to recreate the mud pie, but have never really succeeded. There is one recipe though that comes quite close, namely this one for Miniature Chocolate Mud Pies. I have baked it once in SA and now tried it again as a Christmas dessert.

Here is the original recipe with my adaptations in brackets:


1 cup chocolate wafer crumbs (I used choc butter cookies)
1/2 cup cocoa powder
1 tbsp water
2 tbsp all purpose flour
2 tsp vegetable oil
2 1/2 oz light cream cheese
2 tbsp chocolate chips (normal 70% chocolate, chopped)
2 large eggs
2 tbsp hot water
1/4 cup low fat sour cream
1 tsp instant coffee
3 tbsp corn syrup (or golden syrup)
1 cup brown sugar
1 tsp vanilla


1. Preheat oven to 350 F (180°C). Spray a 12 cup muffin tin with vegetable oil.

On the left: molten chocolate and coffee mix. On the right: crushed chocolate cookies. 

2. In small bowl combine chocolate chips, water and coffee.  Microwave for 40 seconds or just until chocolate begins to melt.  Stir until smooth. (Instead of microwaving everything I simply let the mixture stand for a few minutes and the heat from the water automatically melts the chocolate)

3. In small bowl combine wafer crumbs, water and oil until mixed.  Divide and pat into bottom of muffin tins. (I added some of the chopped chocolate pieces)

4. In bowl or food processor add sugar, cocoa, flour, cream cheese, eggs, sour cream, corn syrup and vanilla.  Puree until smooth.  Add chocolate mixture and puree until smooth. 

5. Divide among muffin cups and bake for 12 minutes or just until centre is still slightly loose.  Cool and chill before serving.  Remove from tin with a knife. 

Hmmm delicious :)





Per serving:
• Calories 220 • Protein 3.6 g • Carbohydrates 30 g • Fiber 1.5 g • Total fat 5.8 g • Saturated fat 2.1g • Cholesterol 23 mg • Sodium 62 mg
• prep time 15 minutes
• bake time 12 minutes
• make ahead Can be baked 2 days in advance and refrigerated.

Designed/ to keep me discreetly/ neatly in the corner

Whereas Pretoria is a well-trained dog, with its neat city grid and orderly street signs, Johannesburg is a constantly changing beast, a chimera of (all) sorts that breathes fire and continuously threatens your comfort zone. It is exhilarating though, crossing the border of whatever is familiar and heading to a place where the guide fuels the fear by telling you that if you stray, you will get robbed. Even the four security guards lined up in an orderly fashion in front of an office building smile when they say we should watch where we are going.

I don't know if we looked like victims because we were in full tourist gear (think backpacks, cameras, tickets for the hop-on-hop-off bus and a twinge of fear) or because our whiteness made us stick out like gulls in a sea of seals. Fear gains power if you are in an unknown area and have heard of its dangers. Hell, we live in South Africa, anything is dangerous, so I think most people just get on with their lives. If violence wants you, it will find you. All you can do is not be stupid (as in don't go into dark alleys, don't dangle your 7D from your neck, don't flash your Rolex), and find a little courage to remind you that most people are just like you and have no desire to rob or harm you. And for the few that do, well, we'll cross that bridge of trauma if/when it plants itself in our path.

We went to Joburg because a friend is here from Mexico and it seemed like a good excursion. We went up the Carlton Towers to see all of the city at our feet; we saw the Oppenheimer Park and the old Rissik Street post office; we marched onwards to the Johannesburg Library and peeked inside the Rand Club. Then we caught the bus to the Apartheid Museum (more on that in a future post). Afterwards we tried to get into the Origins Centre at Wits, but they were really unhelpful so we headed to the Wits Art Museum with the exhibition of Gerard Sekoto's work currently on show. Finally we went to Constitutional Hill and returned to Pretoria exhausted.

Most noticeable however were all the signs and graffiti. When you reside in suburbia it is all homes and fences and lawns, so to see some colour was one of the best parts of the day.

At Constitution Hill, the Bill of Rights is carved into the door.

Metal plaques with words from the South African public, who were asked to pen down their hopes and ideas in 2004. 

Sweet banana

My ass was vibrating, and not because I had suddenly learnt how to shake it myself or because I had my cellphone in my back pocket. No no no. The man at the drums was drumming so hard the entire floor was shacking, and as luck would have it, we were seated front and centre, on platform of vibration otherwise known as the wooden floor at the Alliance Francaise in Pretoria.

On their FB site I just saw the word "free", which to my poverty-stricken status means a chance to get out of the house. I had no idea what to expect from Stone Aged Souls, the "free-form musical-visual synthesis" group that is being sponsored by the Alliance to travel around Southern Africa.

The whole concert as such was strange. It felt a bit like a bunch of hippy friends all banging on instruments and "jamming". The lyrics were terrible though. I may be a cynic, and critical, and perhaps too easily so, but when someone chants silly things like "did you know you have wings?" and "sweet banana sweet banana sweet banana" and "the mother who fathered children" it feels a bit pretentious to me, as though the lyricist was wanting to conjure complex imagery but fails in his/her language use. For instance, what does it mean when one sings "like human beings I'd rather be of human beginnings"? I know it sounds great, all that repetition of similar sounds, just tell me what you actually wanted to convey?

During the performance, one member would go to the back and swirl sand around on a lit glass plate that was projected onto a screen behind the musicians. It was interesting to wait in anticipation  of what images would be formed next, and how they would connect to the music. Don't know if it really was a synthesis though since the equipment kept going into sleep-mode during one of the painting sessions, and the camera's spot meter was always in the middle of the image.

Overall it was a fun night mostly because the Alliance provided the some great Glühwein to the guests and because the friends I attended it with made it seem not so strange. It is not as though I am opposed to the strange if it is wonderfully so, but this seemed as though they could require a bit more practice in how to stage a show. Although I must add that the Alliance does a great job in providing free, varied entertainment and in supporting local/international artists. So it is natural that the previous event I attended, featuring Dobet Gnahoré, was a lot more engaging for me, but that this one might have been much more fun for other attendees.

Snow ((Hey Oh))

Duft des Schnees

Das Fenster stand trotz winters offen, und ich roch, sobald ich in das Zimmer trat, den Schnee. 

Ich roch und erinnerte mich: das kannte ich, das würzig Kühle, das sanfte Duftgewölk von Milliarden winzigen Schneesternen; diesen Flockenduft, der hereinwirbelt, diesen Schneesternschauer. 

- Bruno Epple

For the first time in my lifetime, it snowed in Pretoria. Normally in winter, the sun continues to shine and the days are warm enough, just at night time your feet become like icicles and a heater/warm water bottle/ hot company is needed. But yesterday, everyone kept updating their FB statuses about the snow in Joburg and for the first time in recorded history, snow fell in all nine provinces. Hillary Clinton, here on some business/trade thing, was even named Nimkita, 'bringer of snow'. 

I looked out of my window and saw sunshine. What snow?! An hour later, things had changed, and rough snowflakes were falling on the washing outside. In honour of this, a few people came over for pancakes and Glühwein. No better reason than snow falling for the first time since the 1960s, hey. 

My friend Sliv's view from her office. 

via News24

on FB

Paper Aeroplane

Soft sunlight falls over the city, as though it were a late Free State afternoon and not an early winter's morning in Mzansi. The buildings are carefully folded origami, God playing Tetris badly with their arrangement. Row upon row of trains like tiny pieces of Lego. I try to spot the Nelson Mandela bridge, but we are already passing over Ellis Park Stadium. When the FNB Stadium appears, tiny from this height, I poke my neighbour and say: "Look, it's Soccer City!".

The silly man only replies that the one in Cape Town is prettier, and that we'll pay for these stadia for years. How can you not appreciate the view, Mr Suit? Johannesburg is saying Welcome Back, and you fail to acknowledge her beauty.

You see, I came home, yesterday. It was only one week, but it felt like time had stopped; it felt as though I had been given a time-out from my life just for a week. Here, the news regarding Zuma's painting was still the same, I had missed nothing at the university, and all the people were still exactly as I had left them.

But Paris also felt like going home.  I still know my way around. I still know how to surf the metro without holding on or falling. I still know where to get what I need. Seeing my friends again felt like I had seen them only yesterday, not two years ago. Getting on the plane back here felt like coming home and leaving it at the same time. Sure, Paris is not where my family is, where the house I call home is, where most of my friends live, or where I feel like I know every corner. But that city is not a stranger to me either. It is like being a perpetual tourist and being perpetually home-less at the same time; it is feeling a sense of belonging to more than one city.

Bloei my pers

View from the Human Sciences Building at the University of Pretoria

Dit voel as of ek hierdie jaar die Jakarandas vir die eerste keer sien. Ek weet ek swot nou al amper drie jaar hier en dat ek dit seker al voorheen moes raakgesien het, maar in ander jare was die pers bloeisels eer 'n irritasie omdat ek elke keer op hulle gly en amper my gat sien. 

Maar hierdie jaar wil ek net van die hoogste verdiepeing moontlik afspring en op die enorme kussing van Jakarandabome land wat deur die stad versprei is. Kyk na die fotos: dit is werklik soos pers wolkies wat deur die stad se strate trek. 

By die universiteit sê hulle as 'n bloeisel op jou val sal jy jou eksamens goed deurkom. Ek weet nie, die hitte wat met die lente deur die stad trek laat my aan drankies by die swembad en somervakansie by die see dink, en nie aan die stapel lees- en leerwerk wat langs my op die tafel lê nie. Die papierberg gluur vir my en laat my weet dat ek nooit alles sal gelees kry nie, so ek voel as of ek nie eers gaan probeer nie. Mens moet nie teen papier veg nie. Net 'n skêr kan hier wen en ek recycle maar eer. 

So hier volg 'n paar kiekies van die stad wat ek in die afgelope paar weke geneem het. 

  

Here is a translation for the non-Afrikaans speakers:

It feels as though I am seeing the Jakarandas for the first time this year. I know I've been studying here ( Pretoria is known as the Jakarandacity) for almost three years, but previously the blossoms were more of an irritation because I always slipped on them and almost fell. 

But this year I just want to jump off of the highest building and land on the enormous pillow of Jakarandatrees that are spread throughout the city. Look at the photographs: they look like little purple clouds that line the streets of the city. 

At university they say that if a blossom falls on you, you will get good results in your exams ( November is exam time here). I don't know, with the heat that has accompanied the start of spring I am thinking of drinks by the pool and long summer vacations by the sea, not about the huge pile of readings I have to get through. The mountain of paper is eyeing me and letting me know I will never make it, so I don't even want to try. One shouldn't fight paper, only scissors can win and I am more of a recycling kind of girl. 

So here are a few images that I've taken over the past few weeks.

"Entitled" to rape

In last Monday's Pretoria News ( their site is currently under construction so I can't give you the direct link to the article, but if you have October 24th's paper by any chance it is on page 5 under "Study finds motive for rape worldwide") Esther Lewis reports that in South Africa, 70 % of men who have raped someone felt "entitled" to do so.

How does anyone feel entitled to harm another? ENTITLED???? How must your mind work? How can you not respect another human being enough?

Even worse, the research ( done by the Sexual Violence Research Initiative) revealed that most rapes of girls under the age of 15 and gang rapes are done out of boredom and "for fun". Raping for fun? For fun??????

The article further states that 17 % of the men that rape were raped themselves, that 45 % said their mothers were rarely at home and that 72% said their fathers weren't at home very often either. Furthermore, 3/4 of those interviewed said they had raped someone before their 20th birthday.

I was watching Special Assignment or Fokus or something on SABC once and they reported that 50% of South African children grow up without their fathers. Now I wonder if this can link to the 56 272 people that were raped between April 2010 and March 2011. That would be round 154 people per day and 6 people per hour.

The article states that boys "need to be socialised at school and community level, and taught what it meant to be a boy or man, and to gravitate away from violence". But should not a parent, a father, take responsibility for their son or daughter and teach them right from wrong? I think the high level of single-mother households and absentee fathers is partially to blame. Who are we to learn a moral code from when there is no one to teach us?

Perhaps it also depends on the level of education and the support from people around one that the child receives. My father left when I was around 11 and my mother had to find a job very quickly. However, my sister and I turned out rather well because we always knew that she was working so much to provide for us and that in turn our responsibility was to work hard at our education. One need not be rich to feel accomplished in life.

According to the article, most rapists had been exposed to childhood trauma. Does trauma define a person? Does it either bury you or make you rise above it? I don't know. Mine was not very traumatic.
But I believe there must exist a basic humanity in all of us. There must be something pure that is corrupted by circumstance. I don't understand how we cannot see each other as equal. By respecting you am I not also respecting myself?

I don't think one can blame anyone for one's own choices. I am excluding mental instabilities and psychotic problems here, but in the case of people of sound mind and body everyone is responsible for their own actions. Sure, life beats some up more than others, but ultimately, you choose your own reaction.

Rape

          Adrienne Rich

There is a cop who is both prowler and father:
he comes from your block, grew up with your brothers,
had certain ideals.
You hardly know him in his boots and silver badge,
on horseback, one hand touching his gun.

You hardly know him but you have to get to know him:
he has access to machinery that could kill you.
He and his stallion clop like warlords among the trash,
his ideals stand in the air, a frozen cloud
from between his unsmiling lips.

And so, when the time comes, you have to turn to him,
the maniac's sperm still greasing your thighs,
your mind whirling like crazy. You have to confess
to him, you are guilty of the crime
of having been forced.

And you see his blue eyes, the blue eyes of all the family
whom you used to know, grow narrow and glisten,
his hand types out the details
and he wants them all
but the hysteria in your voice pleases him best.

You hardly know him but now he thinks he knows you:
he has taken down your worst moment
on a machine and filed it in a file.
He knows, or thinks he knows, how much you imagined;
he knows, or thinks he knows, what you secretly wanted.

He has access to machinery that could get you put away;
and if, in the sickening light of the precinct,
and if, in the sickening light of the precinct,
your details sound like a portrait of your confessor,
will you swallow, will you deny them, will you lie your way home?

Vir Schoemanstraatslette en ander inwoners *

My friend Berdene features in the following videos, which are part of Webfest's finalists.
Vote for her if you like it:

 - Car Guarded

 - Devil in a Fishtank

The first year I was studying here I was constantly comparing the city to the one's I had lived in in Europe. But one must realize that Pretoria is far removed from the socio-cultural activities that happen in big metropolitan cities and that here, there are different things to experience. You cannot hope to relive Paris in Pretoria. But you can embrace what this city is trying to offer.

As already blogged about, the Pretoria Stadstapper Fotoklap ( read more here and here), aims to experience different neighbourhoods and to explore them with their cameras.

Also, Capital Arts is another venture to bring art back into the city.
Recently, they hosted the Capital Arts in the Park, where one could get together at Magnolia Dell park and look at the exhibited pieces while enjoying a soft serve. Although I did not appreciate any of the art that much, I did enjoy going somewhere a little different and watching all the people.

At Magnolia Dell , October 2011

There is even a blog dedicated to happenings in Pretoria: IlovePretoria.

What else is there to do here? Ah yes, Park Acoustics.

I know there is a lot more going on in the city that I am not aware of, and that if one resists the urge to constantly compare this city to other capitals in the world, one will find that there is still a lot to do here other than sitting at home watching the rugby, having a braai or washing one's car.






* for Schoemanstreetsluts and other residents

I can (photo)graph

Throughout the year, the University's Archive Department and Qphoto (a local photographic store) host four workshops throughout the year. A lecturer from Vega School of Brand Leadership comes and condenses their intermediate photography course into the four Saturday mornings. One learns about the basic mechnics of a camera, about filters, lenses, flash, etc. My understanding was that if one attended all four workshops, one would receive a certificate attesting that one completed an intermediate course, which I thought could be useful if I would want to take other photographic courses in future. However, the deal was that one had to hand in all four assignments, which I did not do. I missed the fourth assignment and for the fourth I only had my little Panasonic because my mom took the DSLR on tour with her. Last night I attended the prize-giving ceremony and I thought I would receive a little condolence basket and a pat on the back. To be honest, the whole event was a bit of an irritation to me, because I had an assignment due for today that I had far from finished and I was thinking how Derrida and post-humanism and memory are more important for my future than watching people eat Sushi and drink Sherry. When they handed out the 10 "well-done"-awards, I was sure they had mistakenly invited me. This was a waste of time. But then, WHAM BAM, 2nd Prize. For taking a photo of a building with a bottle in. With my little one, my disregarded one,  with the one I throw in my handbag when we go out to take bar-brawl-party-pictures. Here it is ( not sure how the copyright is now, since I think it belongs to the UP Archives, but I took it? If anyone from Archives reads this and wants it removed, just let me know).

The Chemistry Building at the University of Pretoria ( 2nd prize QPhoto Awards 2011)

I think the best image I entered was this one though ( you might notice,I like buildings. They don't move. They like their picture taken):

New building at University of Pretoria and moon, 2011. 

And then, another WHAM BAM moment: the Pretoria Stadstapper Fotoklap was featured in the Beeld, a local Afrikaans newspaper. They spelled my surname wrongly, but I am glad they got my first name right. Such a minefield, these foreign names.

Here is an image of the article:

Beeld Pretoria Stadstapper Fotoklap feature, 26 October 2011.

Guess which one is mine? 

Admittedly, I cannot merge photos on my own, it is all technology and selecting which fotos could fuse together. Hell, I shoot in auto. 

Pretoria at sundown, viewed from Hotel 224.

Käffchen?

Taken during one of the Pretoria Stadstapper Fotoklap's events 

VRIEND

ek verlang na jou

vriend

skaduwee meer reëel as rots

wentelbaan van vrede

Godgegewe lied

waarvan ek soms die wysie vergeet

veral tydens die petit mals

van niksseggende transaksies

en die reise agter die skerms

met arms vol kruideniersware

vriend

die winter kom onvermydelik

die lamppale word ryp soos gebede

die lig gaan kop toe

die vrede duisel

ek dra jou in die sak van my leerbaadjie

en reik na jou soos na sigarette

soos na die onblusbare vlam

wat weier om te sterf

onder jare se debris. 

Koos Kombuis, uit Die Geel Kafee

Ich hoff du bist gut angekommen Gandalf . 

Bites of Happiness

Paris, August 2010. Indian Ganesh festival. *

I wonder if the purpose of life is not very simple: happiness. But perhaps we get lost in pursuit of constant pleasures, we get lost in hedonism, and miss the daily bites of happiness that we could experience. It seems that we are only happy retrospectively, we are only happy when we are reminiscing about past events and parties.

So now, I am trying to find the momentary happiness when faced with a situation to remember. Like today, my friend I. accompanied me to the Pretoria Stadstap Fotoklap, where people get together and walk around a specific part of the city taking photographs. The walk concluded on the top floor of the Hotel 224, which has a 360° view of the city. Everyone else was taking in the sunset through their lenses, and admittedly, I also captured some frames. But the best moment was when we distanced ourselves from the tripods and shutter noises and just looked at the city.

It is a sense of calm serenity. It is a sense of enormity and luck and preciousness of the moment that surrounds you. It is simply standing and seeing and appreciating the view and the company. Simply put, it is a bite of happiness.

The same embracing sentiment was experienced when we were in Wilderness. The others were doing Yoga, so I headed to the stairs that lead to the beach. Because of recent storms, these stairs were dangerous and one could only walk down to a certain bench in the middle of the dune, and not completely down to the beach.

I did not take my camera along, but it was the most marvellous sunset. Dolphin's peak and Victoria Bay disappeared into a mist. The sky was awash with berries, from the ripest gooseberries over to strawberries, raspberries, blueberries and Youngberries, it seemed as though a basket had spilled and Van Gogh had spread out the fruits' lifeblood to form a perfect sunset.

Gerard Manley Hopkins would have killed for such splendour, for "God's Grandeur" in this daily rotation of the world. The canvas of sea and mountain and mist and colour and waves and breezes was merging into one, was forming into a unity of all elements. It was a moment evoking transcendence. I wondered then if this was what Romantics like C.D. Friedrich were trying to paint in their works. If here was where God is to be found. If this is why people believe in more than earthly pleasures.

Perhaps it is not necessarily God. Perhaps there exists a deeper spirituality in nature which we, through years of city living and the stresses of a fast paced life, have lost track of. I do not feel part of these beautiful land/cityscapes, and maybe this adds to the disconnection from happiness. If one cannot sense a symbiosis with the moment of pure joy, there is no way one can appreciate it.

But this moment, this sitting on the stairs and admiring of berry-stained skies was what the being-in-awe of awesome describes, and it was perfect happiness.





* if you are wondering about the image, it is another moment of perfect happiness, when I randomly went to the Ganesh festival in the Indian "quartier" of Paris. Ganesh is known as the remover of obstacles and the Lord of new beginnings and also associated with wisdom. At the festival, devotees break great amounts of coconuts and then people just pick up the pieces off of the street and eat them. 

Be kind

I am not sure whether one should be kind by looking away quickly, or whether these are separate tags.. 

Both are sound advice..

Found outside Pure café near Duncan road..

.

Bittereinder

This is Bittereinder - A tale of three cities 

Check them out ici

also come to the botanical gardens 27 March for Park Acoustics with Bittereinder, aKing and others.