Where Are You Now

In limbo. That's where I am. That's where I have been for all 269 days of this year. And it feels like that is where I'll remain until I move into my own place, the university starts and my life heads somewhere again.

In the meantime I am sorting through old postcards and photographs. A pipe burst in the basement where everyone in the building stores their stuff. Nothing is inundated, the water just slowly drip-drip-dripped out onto the boxes containing old books and photo albums.

Now it is my task to sort through my great-grandmother's obsessive collection and see what can be thrown away and what should be kept. Fun fun fun.

As a distraction from sitting and sifting though damp papers I baked cookies. They should've been salted caramel Nutella stuffed double chocolate chip cookies, but I didn't have all the ingredients. It is strange how you know your own kitchen (or rather, my mother's kitchen) and by comparison cooking somewhere else does not cut it, entirely. Our kitchen at home is spacious and well-equipped. Here it is more cramped and only the most basic of utensils are available. Anything for cookies though.

Adapted from Top With Cinnamon, here is the recipe:

1/2 cup (110g) butter

1 1/2 cups (350g) light brown sugar

1/2 cup (55g) cocoa powder

2 eggs

1/4 tsp salt

3/4 tsp baking powder

2 cups (260g) all-purpose flour

1 slab of the cheapest milk chocolate, chopped into pieces

1 handful of hazelnuts, also chopped

flaky salt/ fleur de sel/ maldon salt, for sprinkling

approx. 1/2 cup (8 tbsp) nutella

Line a baking tray with parchment paper. Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F (180 degrees C)

In a medium saucepan, melt the butter. Take off the heat and stir in the brown sugar and eggs. Then add the cocoa, salt and baking powder and stir until well combined. Add the flour and stir until no floury patches are left. Lastly stir in the chopped chocolate and hazelnuts.

Take 1 heaped tbsp of dough, use your finger make a large indentation the centre of the dough and fill the indentation with a small blob of Nutella (like 1/2 tsp ish). Top with a flattened tablespoon of dough, and seal the edges.

Sprinkle with fleur de sel and bake for 8-10 minutes.

And then you get this: 

Top with Cinnamon adds salted caramel or a piece of chocolate containing caramel and omits the hazelnuts in the original recipe. I couldn't find chocolate with caramel in, so that is why I replaced them with hazelnuts. It worked out quite tastily, like a harder brownie with a Nutella centre. Om nom  nom. 

Tea & Sympathy

After last week's sad sad Friday the 13th (maybe I should've taken the ominous date as a hint that no good could come), this week's Friday is a lot better. In the meantime I have managed to find a place to live, ordered a futon mattress, bought a knife and two mattress covers at Ikea and made bobotie and malva pudding. Both dishes were a bit disappointing in that I couldn't find all the ingredients and that thus they only tasted like 3/4 of home. 

However, I did visit an interesting tea shop last week. It isn't really a tea shop, more of a tea-experience. The Tadshikische Teestube  is almost 40 years old and the interiors were originally a gift by the Soviets to the Society for German-Soviet friendship after they were exhibited at a fair in Leipzig in 1974. If I understand correctly, the tearoom used to be located elsewhere and recently moved to its current location in the Oranienburger Straße.

I am used to rooibos tea in a pot. Here, it was a different experience all together: you sit on the floor and then order which kind of tea you'd like. We went for the Russian tea ceremony, where you get what I would call a tea-espresso (as in a lot of tea in a little water) on top of a silver urn that contains hot water, which I think is called a samovar. You then dilute the tea with a chosen amount of hot water (we went for 1:3) and sweeten you tea. The options were: sugar cubes, orange/lemon fondant, candied lemon and orange peel, strawberry/rhubarb jam, rum raisins and various types of sugar candy. There was also a bowl with different cookies, although they all looked as though they came out of a packet and weren't baked by the Teestube.  

It was a lot of fun trying out the different types of sweetening methods. Oh, and I forgot: there was a shot of vodka as well. Hot damn, my alcohol tolerance had really become weak. One shot of vodka and I was a bit too glad that we were lounging on the ground: there was no way to fall. All the sweeteners were interesting, although the only one I'd use at home again was the addition of jam to tea. That was quite cool. 

We also had borscht and solyanka because at the moment Germany is a cloudy cold mess and soup alleviates the lack of sunshine a little bit. I really miss the sun. Yesterday I laughed out in the S-Bahn because my mom had said that when Europeans are in SA and have time to sit in the sun, they look like a rabbit does when headlights flash onto it: paralyzed but looking straight at the light. Now I understand why. 

I'm not here/ This isn't happening/ I'm not here/ I'm not here

I cry very rarely. But now, somehow my tear ducts are in overproduction. I was surprised to find myself crying when I said goodbye to friends at a Jeremy Loops concert. I cried on the way home from the concert. I cried at the airport. I cried whilst standing in line, waiting to get my passport checked. I cried whilst waiting to board the plane. I cried in Doha whilst waiting for the next plane. I thought I had cried enough. 

Then the past two weeks have been so busy that there has been no time for crying, no time to think about missing home. Then I went to Flensburg for two days to find a commune, extremely hopeful and optimistic and going into charm-everyone mode. How hard could it be, right?

Hah. I'm crying right now. Maybe it's being overwhelmed, just for a moment, by everything. Maybe it's not really sleeping for two days because a very cute kitten kept bouncing around on me at night. Maybe it's discovering that the university consists of two buildings. Small buildings. I think I handled everything pretty well, until I got back to Berlin with two rejections. 

The rejections were still ok, as well. But then not getting any support from my father, having to live out of my suitcase, not having a moment to myself, not having any space to call mine, well, that made the flippen tear ducts start up again. Fuck. 

I know all of this is not as hard as I make it out to be, I know somehow it'll work out, I know I still have time to find a room, somehow, somewhere. Just in this very moment it would be nice not to feel so very much alone. 

No Man's Land

Like I said, the other day I went to a photographic exhibit. I expected white walls, red wine and people standing around in muted silence, careful to look contemplative but not to utter any real opinion of the work.

This place, exhibited at somewhat of an in-between space called Mein Haus am See (My beach house?) , was full of hip-looking people wearing Ray Bans, skinny jeans and untamed hair. Many girls opted for jeans shorts over dark tights and with little booties. I probably shouldn't be too judgmental of people who are all trying to look like an individual and yet somehow all end up looking alike. It is just interesting to note how cool kids everywhere stick to the same trends, whilst believing that there is an individual culture, an spin that each one puts on their outfit that will set them apart from all the rest.

Seeing the actual photographs was a bit of a mission since the photos were hung on the wall and there was a labyrinth of Sperrmüll couches in between me and said wall. I'm guessing the point of an exhibition is to actually see the work, but here one needed a telescope to really view the photographs. 

Luckily, Photocircle, who hosted the entire thing, is more an online platform where one can look through the work of numerous photographers and then, for a reasonable price, order the works in various formats and sizes. A percentage of the proceeds goes to a charity of your choosing and then you get sent you new artwork. Especially in an age where tourists go around snapping pictures of everything that moves (or doesn't), this project aims to give something back not only to the community whose image has been appropriated but also to the photographer. Wonderful. 

Here is an explanatory video:

On Photocircle I could also have a closer look at Kevin Russ's work, and it makes me want to jump into my own camper van and drive across the USA. Have a look:

Street Bison

Cloudy Horse Head

Umpqua Rays

Winter Horseland

Anderson Lake

Rocky Mountain Moose

Sunrise Forest

Life's for the Living

I haven't posted in a while because before a move there is always so much that still needs to be done, and the same thing goes for when you have arrived where you moved to. At the moment I am in Berlin, whilst trying to find accommodation in Flensburg. At least the university only starts at the end of October, so I'm hoping that that will be sufficient time not only to find a place, but an awesome commune with great roommates. Aiming high :)

In comparison to Pretoria it is amazing how much is happening here at all times. Through my FB stalking I saw that Bastille was coming to SA for Ramfest next year, and I was superjealous. That is, I was superjealour until I found out they played here, yesterday. Ok, I missed them, but the likelihood of them playing somewhere accessible here is greater than in SA.

On Wednesday we spent the day on the Museumsinsel (museum island) where the amount of statues, paintings and information was overwhelming. Afterwards, we went to a photographic exhibit in Mitte at Mein Haus am See. Walking in felt a bit like being home, because it was full of hipsters. Then I remembered I have no friends here and after a long day of walking around I looked decidedly uncool, so my whole 'I have found my people!' sentiment went out the window pretty quickly. Maybe the Apfelschorle instead of beer didn't help my coolness factor either. Anyways, becoming slightly more German in order not to be astounded/confused/enraged by everything is a long process, apparently.

There was a guy playing on his guitar as well, Graham Candy from New Zealand, who was quite cool. He started of with a cover of Bon Iver's Flume, and mixed covers of the Black Keys, Alt-J (I think) etc., in with his own stuff. Very nice, Mr. Candy.

The photographs were by Kevin Russ, and upon further investigation (meaning I went to the website) it turns out he works with Photocircle, where you order the photos you want, printed the way and in the size you want, and a part of the price goes to different charities. More on that at a later stage.

Here are some first-experiences photos :)

Somewhere over Germany

Alphonse Mucha-inspired enormous mural in Pankow

On the Museumsinsel

Pergamonmuseum

Caesar

Yo. Cup. 

Kevin Russ's work

Graham Candy

Options

The house smells like jasmine,
leftover scents
of a celebration,
reminding everyone
and myself
that this is
a little like death,
a little death,
except that this time we get to say goodbye.

We get to hug it out
in between promises of
Skype
WhatsApp
letters
postcards
communication in the Digital Age.

But I know (and they know it, too)
that people slip so easily out of another's lives,
even if the knot of friendship was tied tightly,
and that suddenly one has moved along
without really noticing
the past.



 

Read all about it

This Banksy poster, via DesignTaxi: 

Click here for a bigger version

Dancing in the dark

I was in Grade 9 when my mom drove us to Oppikoppi for the first time. We still owned an old blue Mercedes Benz station wagon, left-hand drive nogal. My four friends were squeezed in the back seat while I was living it up in the front seat, with all our stuff in the boot. I am unsure why/how my mom agreed to take us to a Rock festival somewhere in the middle of nowhere, but it was great. We survived on instant noodles, drank cheap beer and cheaper wine and didn't shower for three days. A bench collapsed under us whilst watching Boo! for the first time, we drove around the campsite with strangers at 4AM and overall had a wonderful time. When my friends' parents came to fetch us on the last day, we were exhausted but happy. So I went back, sometimes even twice a year for the main Oppikoppi and the smaller Easter version.

Since then I have made the pilgrimage to Northam more than 10 times. But I think it has been one time too many. Maybe I am becoming old and my bones can no longer handle freezing at night and cooking like a lobster during the day. Actually, no. It has just become too big, too commercial, to superficial. Now there is a Converse truck where you can get a patch for your chucks. Shampoo samples are handed out at the showers. Ladies dress up in florals and that festival staple: wellingtons. It felt as though the music got lost between all the labels, between all the hype surrounding the festival. Just as an example: days before Oppikoppi started the media reported that Jack Parow had been arrested, and he confirmed that he wouldn't be performing because he was stuck in some jail cell. On the night of his performance, he was miraculously sprung by Captain Morgan and some Hot Bitches. Jack arrived on stage with police sirens and the captain in tow. It felt too staged, too branded, too manipulated to be funny or smart. Never underestimate your audience's intelligence, and their ability to enjoy a prank. Even Parow's performance afterwards was weak.

In previous years I never needed to get drunk to say that it was a great experience. For this Koppi, no amount of inebriation could've saved it from being mediocre. There were highlights of course, like Bittereinder's brilliant set, Toya Delazy's energy on stage and the Koos Kombuis tribute show, but the rest was a stab into the very-well lit up dark.

Powerless

It was about 10 PM. The man walked across the street, wearing a black coat and carrying a small plastic bag in his right hand. I noticed him because no one walks here at night. Darkness threatens safety more than anything you could actually see.

Within the broad category of horror films there is a sub-genre focusing on home invasions. Think of films such as Panic Room, Funny Games, The Strangers or Inside, which share the common theme of someone inside being threatened by something/someone outside. Now, for most people this remains merely a type of horror movie, something to watch and then to forget.

Sadly, in South Africa home invasions are a very possible threat, with escalating violence attached to mere break-ins in recent years. I will not pretend to be an expert on the underlying social issues of the country, on whether race plays a role (or the size of the role) and on the occurrence and effect of home invasions in other countries. But I live in a house with two laser beams in the garden, an electric fence, an enormous black gate, slam-lock doors inside the house, burglar bars in front of all windows/doors and more keys than I have fingers.

And this is not because we bury ourselves underneath some irrational fear of everything outside of our walls. It is because I can't remember how many times people have broken into our house; it is because we have a community watch where people have radios and drive patrol through the neighbourhood because the police have proved incompetent at best; it is because 4 men where in our house and assured me they wouldn't rape me; it is because at night we treat traffic lights like yield signs; ultimately, it is because once the fear has taken hold it grows like a cancer and there is no cure in sight.

It shouldn't be strange for someone to walk home at night. I shouldn't always have think about keeping a good distance from other cars when I am stopping at a robot just in case I get smash-and-grabbed and need to escape. We shouldn't have to patrol our neighbourhood. The one should not be afraid of all that is other.

Yet I don't see anything changing soon, especially if the Rand keeps weakening, poverty keeps increasing, people cling to mistrust and the rainbow nation focuses more on sticking to its individual colours than to creating a beautiful whole. Sure, things are changing, we keep evolving as a young democracy, but it always seems to me as though the population is out in the wilderness somewhere, searching for a better life for all, whilst the politicians are like monkeys in a cage, throwing shit at one another.

I'll be moving to Germany soon, not to become some expat who keeps assuring everyone that 'leaving was the best thing I ever did' but who still clings to past illusions of this country. Rather, I am going to continue my studies, with no further plans. But it will be interesting to live in less fear. Here, I often hear myself saying: this is the way it is, so we live with it. This is not the way it should be. We are immensely privileged to live in such a diverse country, where both the nature and the people are astounding, and no one should be struggling this much for basic health services, basic education, basically feeling safe.

We share our mothers health

My grandmother turned 84 on Monday. 84. I can't imagine where I'll be at 30, never mind living into my 80s. Maybe everything will evolve radically and it'll be normal to live well beyond that, although I am not someone who would want to live forever.

Because she lives at the coast and we live about 14h by car away from her I was not thinking about baking her a cake. But then my aunt decided to fly down, and suddenly we had to fashion some last minute red velvet cupcakes to go along for a trip to the coast. I am not the biggest fan of red velvet, because it's basically a fake chocolate cupcake with cream cheese frosting. Rather give me chocolate on chocolate, not the fake red stuff. I have tried making a red velvet cake using beetroot as colourant, which worked, but still I wouldn't do it again. However, these were requested, so I made them.

Again, the recipe is shamelessly stolen from Nigella Lawson, although I substituted yoghurt for the buttermilk, added 2TB of red food colouring (not the paste, the liquid kind) and made up the frosting as I went along.

Here are the results:

Ride

Three days ago HONY  posted about a boy selling cowboy toys because he really wanted a horse. As a result, the guy behind HONY started a crowd-funded campaign to send this boy and his parents on a Wild West adventure. I thought I could donate $10 (which would equal about R100 I think) because I live under the illusion of having more money than I really do and thought I could afford to help him have fun with horses. It would be a better investment than spending money on unnecessary things. 

But by the time I got to the indiegogo site, only ONE day after it was started, the project was already funded, and over-funded (460%) for that matter. In a world where everyone seems excessively focussed on the self, and what it could benefit most from, it is encouraging to see so many people willing to give a little bit to make someone else's dream come true :) 

Bitten

The SPCA in Pretoria is closing due to lack of funding. Already I think we are a country where a large proportion of the population has no regard for animal life, be it because they are too poor to consider the well-being of animals beyond seeing them as a source of income/food or be it because culturally animals are considered either in their use as a protective device against intruders or as an investment (think for example of paying lobola or keeping a herd of cattle because they are a symbol of wealth). Now there will be one less place where the lost, the unwanted, the abused can go and maybe find a happier life with another adoptive family.

The feral dogs living in and around the townships are often classified as Africanis, and always look mangled, neglected, rejected and dangerous to me. However, in his photographic series of the same name Daniel Naudé has managed to capture the dogs in something of a regal light, in the same vein as old portraits of hunting dogs.

Africanis 10. Strydenburg, Northern Cape, 1 April 2008

Africanis 12. Richmond, Northern Cape, 4 April 2009

Africanis 19. Graaff-Reinet,
 Eastern Cape, 15 May 2010

Africanis 20. Petrusville,
 Northern Cape, 19 April 2011