Books on my walls..

There is a box of books under my bed. The two long shelves above my bed are already stacked so high that I am afraid they won't hold and books will tumble on me while I sleep. It wouldn't be the worst way to be woken though. My studies involve buying lots of books, reading sparknotes and pretending that I understand the intricate story lines and subtext, so every year I acquire a couple more. Also, every time we go to the hospice or walk by a second hand book store, I walk out with a stack of books.

I have two favourite books. The one I even bought twice : once in an English book store in Berlin, and then, thinking that I would never get it back after having lent it to a friend, I bought it again at Shakespeare & Co. in Paris. The book was looking at me, and my friend Adam said that it was fate: I had lost the book but found it again. I had to buy it. Well, a few weeks later I was back in SA and my book-borrowing friend was moving to the Netherlands, so I got it back. Now I have two copies of Joseph Heller's God Knows, but I don't think I'll ever part with either copy.

A quick word about Shakespeare & Co. : it is at the same time the greatest book store and the most pretentious. It is located on the left bank of the Seine and manages to sell a great number of great books in a tiny space. Upstairs there is a little corner with an old typewriter in between all the children's books, and in the next room there are benches against the wall and old, valuable-looking books. My memory might fail me or they might have changed, because I was last there in 2009. The environment is great, but the employees seem to be hipster-coolkid-American-students who look condescendingly at every purchase you make. It was probably just a long day and I am certainly not cool enough, but I thought the people there were ruining  the atmosphere a bit.

Back to my books. One day, I would like to have an entire room dedicated to them, with one of those rolling ladders and comfortable sofas and it should smell like happiness.

Here are some cool home libraries I found on shelterness:

or this one is quite cool as well: 

from here

Music painting

I was going through old websites that I had bookmarked and found this one.
Something pretty for the day :)

Marabastad pampoen*

I was in Fruit 'n Veg the other day ( you will notice that I quite like this store) and they had a special on : R10 for two enormous zucchinis. By enormous I mean the size of my arm - huge. Since I am unable to let anything go that seems like a bargain, I bought them without knowing what to cook with them. 

The first one I halved, stuffed it with a chorizo-mixed veg-couscous and topped with some cheese. I used a third of the other one to make rather boring fritters. I guess because the vegetable is so huge it loses some of that zucchini flavour. My mom came back just in time to also get her share of what she called a maranka. Aparently my grandmother used to make the giant zucchini with sugar and cinnamon. I am unsure if it is the same vegetable. 

So for the last 2/3 of the green monster, I cut it in rings, scooped out the seeds in the middle and stuffed them with a toasted bread/carrot/danish feta/coriander/patty pan mix with lots of spices. In hindsight it might have been better to peel the entire zucchini because the skin was not very tasty. It was an ok dish. Maybe it just needs more experimenting. Fruit 'n Veg is just around the corner, I'll have to go get more R10 specials :)

The maranka.

Cut in rings.

Stuffing

Topped with cheese.

I fixed our oven so now it has light again.

The final product.

  * meaning Marabastad pumpkin, because I could not remember the word "maranka" and Marabastad is a slightly dodgy shopping area.

Vat

Sy vat aan my haar-bolla - net 'n enkele oomblik lang. Hy vat aan sy skouer, gee dit 'n vinnige druk, en stap verder. Toe hy uit die kombuis uit terug kom, doen hy dit weer. Dit lyk as of sy gaan huil, so ek sit my hand op haar arm, net vinnig, net om te sê alles sal oraait wees. 

Dit is interessant hoe baie keer in 'n dag mens aan ander vat. Ek weet party mense hou nie daarvan nie, en ek self is nou ook nie te groot op die hele konstante gevattery wat party paartjies doen. Maar net so, tussen vriende en familie en selfs vreemdelinge, hou ek daarvan om te kyk hoe mense aan ander raak. 

In Frankryk soen-groet almal vir almal. Een regs, een links, en klaar. Dit was soms by die werk effens irriteerend omdat as daar twintig mense is wat twintig ander moet bisou-bisou kan dit 'n rukkie vat. Maar teen minste was daar 'n standaard.

Hier is ek nooit so seker nie. Vir goeie vriende sal ek 'n drukkie gee, maar ook net as ek hulle nie elke dag sien nie. Vir my ma sal ek lang drukkies gee omdat ek langer as sy is en steeds so mooi in haar arms pas. Vir my hond gee en ook drukkies omdat hy die perfekte grote is as hy op my skoot sit en dit heerlik is om my vingers tussen sy vel te laat gly. Die jaar toe ek weg was wou ek omtrent elke hondeeienaar bespring en net aan hulle honde raak. Mens mis daai gevoel van warmte en togeneentheid. As ek nuwe mense leer ken is dit altyd vir my 'n uitdaaging: vir die hello kan mens dalk nog vinnig waai of die hand skud ( ek praat net van nuwe vriende, nie van onderhoud-baas-situasies nie), maar teen die einde van die aand weet ek nooit rêrig of mens weer net moet waai/hand skud of 'n drukkie gee of net die vlaktes moet inhardloop nie. Dalk hou die persoon nie van 'n gevattery nie? Dalk sien hy/sy dit as 'n "invasion of private space". Maar aan die ander kant sou die persoon dalk graag daai moment van intimiteit wil voel? Ek weet nooit rêrig nie.  

Dit steur my ook as mense nie 'n ordentlike druk gee nie. As jy dan nou so na aan mekaar wil kom, moet asseblief nie jou skouer in my kakebeen in druk nie. Die sy-druk is ook vreemd. Dis 'n half-hartige onsekerheids-hello en ek dink doen dit reg of groet net vinnig.

Dalk wys die manier wat jy aan 'n ander mens vat meer oor hoe jy die verhouding sien as hoe hulle self dit sien. Dit kan natuurlik wees, dit kan onbewus wees, maar die manier hoe mens aan ander raak is party keer belangriker as wat mens sê. 

*

She touched my bun – just for a moment. He touched his shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze before walking on. When he leaves the kitchen to come back, he does it again. It looks as if she is crying, so I put my hand on her arm, just quickly, just to say everything will be okay.

It is interesting how many times in a day one touches other people. I know some people do not like it, and I am also not too big on the constant PDAs of some couples. But between friends and family and even strangers, I like to watch how people touch others.

The French greet everyone with a double kiss. One on the right cheek, one on the left, and done.  At work I sometimes became slightly irritated because if twenty people have to bisou-bisou twenty others, it can take a while. But at least there was a standard.

Here I am not so sure. I will hug good friends, but only if I do not see them every day. My mother gets a long hug because I am taller than she is and still fit so well between her arms. My dog gets hugs as well because he is the perfect size when he sits on my lap and it is great to feel his fur between fingers. The year that I was away I wanted to harass almost every dog ​​owner and just touch their dogs. You miss that feeling of warmth and affection. When I get to know new people it is always challenging for me: hello can be a quick wave or a handshake (I am only referring here to friendships, not to interview-boss situations), but at the end of the evening I never really know whether we should just wave/shake hands again or if one should hug or if one should just make a run for it. Maybe the person doesn’t like being touched? Maybe see he/she has "invasion of private space"-issues. On the other hand, the person might like that moment of intimacy of a goodbye hug. I never really know.

It bothers me when people do not give a decent hug. If you want to embrace, it should be done correctly, so please don’t jab your shoulder into my jaw. The side hug is also weird. It's a half-hearted uncertainty hello - and I think one should do it right or just quickly say a quick hello/goodbye.

Maybe the way we touch others show more about our own relationship with the person than the way they perceive it. It might be natural, it may be unconscious, but the manner in which one touches others often becomes more important than what one says.

Yes.

I found this whilst cleaning out my room.
Not entirely sure what I meant with the note at the time, but for all that will be, yes.




Update ( 5 minutes later):

Ah, the full quote is :
"For all that has been, thanks. For all that will be, yes." - Dag Hammarskjold ( Swedish diplomat)

For a moment I was admiring my own brilliance, now I admire his. 

Done done done

I wrote my last exam today. Now it is just waiting for the results and then whambam, I have my BA. It feels unrealistic, because I have always thought that I would never stop studying. I'm continuing next year, but it is not real to me that others will go out and find jobs and lead adult lives. The whole idea of a job and an little apartment and working 9-5 and living, separate, it does not appeal to me. I like studying. The whole being-without-money part of it is not ideal, but if I had to choose between studying for ever or working for ever, I choose the former.

I am too exhausted from all the exams and marking and people wanting something to write anything that sounds intelligent.

So here is a Christmas-related song. This is Smith & Burrows with When the Thames froze. ( Tom Smith from Editors and Andy Burrows from Razorlight/I am Arrows/We are Scientists.

Making good out of a bad situation

So, the bill I was talking about yesterday was passed. How can government ignore a wave of protest? Flippen ANC. How can you censor the "new" South Africa if press freedom was a hard-won fight?

On a lighter note, Nando's is cleverly on point, as always:

Work by Black River FC, image via Chris Rawlinson

Chance to protest

Previously, I wrote about useless protesting going on in South Africa, but here is something you should sign your name to. When Nadine Gordimer states that the bill goes "totally against all ideas of freedom", you know it is worth throwing your funeral outfit on for a day of protest against the possible implementation of the Protection of Information Bill, which allows the government to punish anyone they think is holding and disclosing classified information with jail time of up to 25 years. I read a while ago that had this bill been in place, neither the arms deal scandal nor Zuma's sexual interactions with a young girl would have gone to court. This bill is seen as a threat to free-flowing information and minimises the government's accountability. Read more about the censoring of the Mail & Guardian's article on Mac Maharaj's involvement in the arms deal.


This is what future headlines could look like if we don't prevent this bill from passing : 

Sopnat*

Party in the park. Everyone is enjoying the pick-nick but the sky is clouding over and it seems like a good idea to at least pack some of our things back in the cars.

Later on the sky breaks and it is pissing. We head for the cars and people go their separate ways. I am afraid and can almost not see. The girl I have to drop off at home is japping on about her boyfriend troubles and when he will come fetch her and bla bla bla. She is not sober and repeating herself - I have heard the story numerous times this afternoon already. So, I don't listen. It is wet, the streets are flooding and it feels like I am riding on an orca, not in a car. When I can finally boot her out, I turn the Jezabels up and focus on the road. Hitting the highway is hard because the robot is out. Also, there is a bus stranded in the middle lane and its warning lights aren't on. 

The droplets seems like little ghostly feet running away from me. Everytime I cross under a bridge there is a moment of calm from the heavy rain hitting the car, and a black strip of asphalt. The next instant the tiny feet are back again, scurrying away from me. 

Even though I have driven this road about twice a day for the last three years, the familiar is scary now.

* the title means "wet like soup" in Afrikaans.

Now and then

Johannesburg 1886 via the Museum Afrika archive on A postcard a day from Gauteng

Can you believe in roughly a century the veld has become a sprawling city? I'm a Pretoria girl and to me, Johannesburg is big city living : a scary place of sensory overload. Every time I have to drive there the roads confuse me ( I like paper maps and not GPSs), the people drive more aggressively and somehow one always ends up in Hillbrow. If Joburg is the cool, dangerous older cousin who comes by once every few months for a braai, Pretoria is the ordered family throwing the braai and making sure everyone has a drink in their hand. I know these streets, I know the backroads to avoid traffic jams, I know where to go for a party and where to go to just chill. I am a snor-city lady and although Joburg seems super-exciting and like a more interactive place, I think Pretoria has its highlights as well. The city of gold is not the only coolkid on the Gauteng-block.

Johannesburg Skyline at night by Keith Miller 

I would like to...

Variation On the Word Sleep
Margaret Atwood

I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear

I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.


via Berkeley

It is time

Taken at Pretoria Station. 

Ke nako means "It's time". It was South Africa's slogan during the soccer world cup last year. I am just wondering what it is time for? Perhaps only for the train to arrive.

Naguil

Ek hou daarvan om snags te werk. Die daglig steur my konsentrasie. Deur die dag is daar so baie om na te kyk, buite, nie in my kamertjie nie. Deur die dag kom lê die honde by my en lek my voete en lek hul eie voete en staan op en stap om en steur my. Deur die dag is die voels buite besig. Deur die dag sny die bure hul gras en die ander bure speel musiek en die ander bure se kinders kyk TV en ek kan alles hoor. Deur die dag is daar net te baie om my aandag aftetrek.

Maar dan sak die donkerte oor Pretoria, my mense gaan slaap en ek raak wakker. Die gordyne is toe, daar is niks meer buitekant vir my om na te kyk nie. Die tyd raak min en ek moet my werk klaarkry, so my brein is volop gekonsentreer op sy taak. Hierdie naguilure is vir my heerlik want ek is allleen en my lyf en kop werk soos 'n masjien saam. Dit is ook nie so drukkend warm nie en mens hoor net af en toe 'n motorfiets verweg op die snelweg ry.

Hierdie is die ure van digters en denkers. As mens so alleen in 'n mens se kamer sit is daar nike meer om te ontdek nie, so dan is introspeksie maar die next-best-thing.

Ek hou van nie nag, want my liggie is die enigte een wat brand.



*
I like working at night. Daylight disrupts my concentration. During the day there is so much to look at, outside, not in my little room. During the day, the dogs will come and lick my feet and lick their own feet and they will walk around and bother me. During the day the birds are busy outside. During the day the neighbours cut their lawns and the other ones are listening to music and the children of the other neighbours are watching TV and I can hear everything. During the day there is just too much to distract me.

But then darkness descends over Pretoria, my people are sleeping and I awaken. The curtains are closed, there is nothing for me outside to spy at. There is not a lot of time left and I must finish the task at hand, so my brain is completely concentrated on what I have to finish. These night-owl-hours are beautiful to be because I am alone and my mind and body are working in unison, like a machine. It is also not as hot and one can only faintly perceive the sound of a motorbike on the highway.

These are the hours for thinkers and poets. If one sits by oneself in one's room and there is nothing left to discover, it is inward that one turns.

I like the night, because my light is the only one on.

We don't need no education.

found on 9gag

Although 9gag is definitely not the most reputable source for news, this image is from the student protests in Bogotá, Colombia. For months they have been demanding free education and against proposed reforms to privatise tertiary education. For more information you can refer to the BBC's article.

This morning I was speaking to my sister about finishing my last exams next Wednesday and about thereby finishing my first degree. Since it is a BA ( Bachelor of Arts), many people dismiss it as being a degree for young ladies to find a husband and also as being useless in the market place. I know learning about post-humanism and Cartesian duality might not rake in big bucks for me in the future, and that I'll probably always be underpaid and overworked, and that finding a job will be harder than if I had studied engineering. But I am good at thinking. Not so good at math and calculations and numbers. So is it not more important to be good ( and associated with that, happy) than to be bad at your job and hating it?!

In any case, I am privileged to have studied at all, and to be able to further my education. This is a protest I would have liked to join, not students protesting about a fiesta being cancelled.

Seal it

When I was younger, my sister and I collected stamps and put them in an album.
These, by Susan Eve Woolf, would have been quite cool to add to the collection. This year, she created another series, called Gestures of Note, also based on the system of hand signs that taxi commuters use to indicate where they would like to go. I assume the system in Gauteng differs from the one in the Cape, because there I've seen people holding money bills in order to show how far they would like to go.

       

 

   

All via the South African Post Office