Time to say Goodbye ...

The Photograph 

By JP du Toit 

In the photograph I am beautiful. I am young. I am naked. I am whole. In the background you can see the wreckage of some catastrophe. There had been a devastating flood that had laid waste to the small town, at the time. We were passing through, in our roundabout fashion, on towards the cape. It was Peter and I’s first holiday together.  I look challengingly into the lens. I was wearing the peace symbol ear rings, a necklace supposedly signifying my detachment from all bonds that looks simply like an old fashioned razor blade and I wear a thin black rubber band around my wrist indicating a promised promiscuity. My breasts point rebelliously forward and my pubic hair is untrimmed. I am still unaware of all the changes that will shape me like clay, until I’m the home, the person I am now. In the photograph I am lost, but more of that later.

Now, I am a mother, a wife. I am 49 years old. I have two children. Pete, who is fifteen years old, and wants to become the next Ryk Neethling. Pete spends half his life swimming, either training or competing in the Olympic sized pool at his school or in the Indian Ocean with his swimming buddies. He recently completed a basic life guard course, and is looking to do that over the school holidays for some extra pocket money. He is quite tall for his age and a bit of a mommy’s boy, not that I’m complaining.

When I was younger I used to be a bit of a nightowl, and now I’m so used to dropping him off every morning at 5:30 for training. I worry about the day when he is also out of the house. I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself. I wonder if I’ll still wake up at such an ungodly hour out of habit.

Jeannie is nineteen and is the brainier of the two, as she never fails to remind her brother, at which point I’m forced to intervene. She did ballet as a little girl and her favourite colour is pink. She has the most beautiful long blonde hair, and is studying Actuarial Science at UCT. She has recently met a boy who she says she is very fond of. It is funny how she never considers I was young too, once upon a time. If she has a failing it is that she is excessively polite, and is too trusting of people. She takes after her father that way. I love both my little ones, for that is what they will always be to this mama hen, very much and always say a sacrifice for their wellbeing can only ever be a gain in mine.

My husband’s name is Peter. He took the photo I spoke of earlier. He is the short silent type. At times he can be insufferably patient, but he is a good man, a good father. I don’t think I have ever heard him raise his voice or seen him lash out in anger. It is extremely irritating sometimes to talk to him, as he will happily retreat into his shell until the storm has blown over. He exudes this confident reassurance that everything will work out as it must, even when it seems like it isn’t. There is a gentle toughness to him though, for example in his stubborn refusal to lock the car doors at the robot even when the hawkers have no visible goods to sell. He works as a lawyer for the state. Early on in our marriage he encouraged me to stop cutting hair for other people, and helped me open my own salon. His kindness and virtue is biblical in its goodness.

It was a typical Saturday afternoon. I was just looking to do some spring cleaning. Then we found the photograph, well Pete found it. Pete was helping me clean out the garage so that he could go watch some band called the Arctic Monkeys perform later that night. I was well aware that this seemingly spontaneous helpful behavior was simply him strengthening his case to go to the concert. He had already bought a ticket over the internet, with his own money mind you, but I appreciated the extra hands.

“Fuck”. I heard a crash and spun around to make sure that he was still in one piece. “Pete”, I said reproachfully. One of the boxes had toppled over onto the garage floor. “Sorry, my bad… mom”, he smiled looking sheepish, “I didn’t mean to… cool”. “What is it”, I asked. He bent down quickly and picked up one of the pictures that had spilled out of the cardboard box. “Nothing”, he said hastily before giggling nervously. “Let me see”. “Can I go to the bathroom?” “Sure, can I have the picture?”  He sighed and kind of handed it over. I had to literally wrench it free from his hand. I looked at the photograph. “What is it?” “It’s a picture from your dad’s days as an amateur photographer”. “Wicked”, I looked up and frowned at Pete, and he had the good grace to look sheepish again under his unruly mop of hair. “I’m just going to go show your father,” I told Pete. “If dad doesn’t want it, can I get it?” he shouted after me, “It’s very artistic and stuff”.  

My son, who wanted to have a kickabout rather than go into the Rembrandt museum when we were in Amsterdam last year. My son, the fifteen year old, and due to the parent pact he never considers I was young once and I’m not supposed to understand what he really wants the photo for.  

As I walk along the hallway leading from the garage I wonder how it would affect him if he knew it was his mother in the picture. I stare at the photograph lost in all that has been lost. I trace my finger along the curvature of my kneeling younger self’s body. Walking in your own house you don’t need eyes just feet.My feet carry me towards the study where I am sure Peter will be.

My hair is shorter in the photograph than it is now. I have grown my hair a great deal the last couple years. It is cut in a bob, a mild impersonation of Purdy from Avengers. She inspired the belief in me that a woman can kick ass, and look good doing it. She represented femininity at a time when it was a very foreign concept in my mind, and I found her to be a very beautiful woman. The Purdy haircut frames my younger face, my less creased and aged face.

Peter says I am a petite gem, a less bias person would say I am a diminutive version of a woman and I just think I look mousy. In the photograph my body is still young and taut. What sags with age now, was firm and lithe then. I can’t remember why I chose to be naked in the picture. You can see my clothes folded neatly in the foreground. Perhaps it was because after such a terrible tragedy, the many deaths and wanton destruction that flooded the town, two days later no signremained other than the wreckage and pain of all those that lost something to the flood. I remember my father had for the first time been involved with a strike on the mine, and my mother had been on his back accusing him of laziness even though it was something very much out of his control. If I had to entitle the photograph I would call it “The beauty of Laingsberg”.

“You should see this,” I said to Peter as I entered his study with a knock. He looked up and smiled. That is probably his most endearing characteristic. That every time he looks at me he looks at me as if for the first time, and always seems pleasantly surprised by his good fortune. “What is it love?” “It is a picture from our first holiday”. I held up the photograph for him from the other side of the desk. He stared at it fixedly, standing up slightly in his chair, and his smile grew wider. “You look just as beautiful as you do today,” he said smiling widely at me, “that brings back a lot of memories”. I shrugged shaking my head slowly and said, “A picture is worth a thousand words.” He motioned for me to come to him. I didn’t want to really, but I went to him anyway.

I sat down on his lap and he held me like a child. “What’s wrong?” he asked kindly. “I…can’t”, I mumbled. I choked back on tears coming unbidden to my eyes. “I can’t help seeing all that I have lost. I was beautiful then.” “You still are”, he assured me and held me as I cried softly into his shoulder. He held my face in his hands and turned it gently to look at him. “You still are beautiful. I would actually say you are more beautiful now”. He indicated the picture with a nod of his head. “You were a little rebel without a cause then, and …uh… very pretentious”. I laughed with a snort and he smiled at me as he brushed a tear off my cheek.

He took his hand and placed it under the baggy top I was wearing. He placed his hand on my heart and kissed me lightly on the lips. His pinky finger barely touched my left scar. He had put his hand between the twin scars marking what felt like my lost womanhood. The scars mark where my breasts had been taken from me. “I love you”, he said sincerely looking into my eyes.

I looked at the photograph again. Focusing once more on what I had lost. If a photo is worth a thousand words then this one shouts “lost” a thousand times. I looked at my perky young body. I traced the outline of my breasts with my eyes. I looked at the photograph.  I looked at the only photograph of my breasts.

In Loving Memory...

Diagnosed with lung cancer in March,  Hettie Pienaar (My mom's sister) said goodbye to us yesterday, 24 August 2011, in Bloemfontein. You will always be in our hearts. 

Bye, bye Hettie...

Masquerade ...

Up in the Gallery

 Masquerade!
Paper faces on parade . . .

Masquerade!
Hide your face,
so the world will
never find you!

If some frail tubercular lady circus rider were to be driven in circles around and around the arena for months and months without interruption in front of a tireless public on a swaying horse by a merciless whip-wielding master of ceremonies, spinning on the horse, throwing kisses and swaying at the waist, and if this performance, amid the incessant roar of the orchestra and the ventilators, were to continue into the ever-expanding, gray future,

Masquerade!
Every face a different shade . . .
Masquerade!
Look around -
there's another
mask behind you!

accompanied by applause, which died down and then swelled up again, from hands which were really steam hammers,

Flash of mauve . . .
Splash of puce . . .
Fool and king . . .

Ghoul and goose . . .
Green and black . . .
Queen and priest . . .
Trace of rouge . . .
Face of beast . . .
Faces . . .

perhaps then a young visitor to the gallery might rush down the long stair case through all the levels, burst into the ring, and cry

 “Stop!” 

through the fanfares of the constantly adjusting orchestra.

Masquerade!
Grinning yellows,
spinning reds . . .
Masquerade!
Take your fill -
let the spectacle
astound you!

But since things are not like that—since a beautiful woman, in white and red, flies in through curtains which proud men in livery open in front of her, 

since the director, devotedly seeking her eyes, breathes in her direction, behaving like an animal, and, as a precaution, lifts her up on the dapple-gray horse, as if she were his grand daughter, the one he loved more than anything else, as she starts a dangerous journey,

Take your turn, take a ride
on the merry-go-round . . .
in an inhuman race . . .

but he cannot decide to give the signal with his whip and finally, controlling himself, gives it a crack, runs right beside the horse with his mouth open, follows the rider’s leaps with a sharp gaze, hardly capable of comprehending her skill, tries to warn her by calling out in English, furiously castigating the grooms holding hoops, telling them to pay the most scrupulous attention, and begs the orchestra, with upraised arms, to be quiet before the great jump,

finally

lifts the small woman down from the trembling horse, kisses her on both cheeks, considers no public tribute adequate,while she herself, leaning on him, high on the tips of her toes, with dust swirling around her, arms outstretched and head thrown back, wants to share her luck with the entire circus—

Eye of gold . . .
Thigh of blue . . .
True is false . . .
Who is who . . .?
Curl of lip . . .
Swirl of gown . . .
Ace of hearts . . .
Face of clown . . .
Faces . . .

since this is how things are, the visitor to the gallery puts his face on the railing and, sinking into the final march as if into a difficult dream,

 weeps, without realizing it.

And where are the clowns?
Quick send in the clowns!
Don't bother, they're here ...



Sources:
- Franz Kafka (Translation by Ian Johnston), 
- Phantom of the Opera - Andrew Lloyd Webber
- Send in the Clowns - Barbara Streisand

 

The Trial ....

Man from Countryside: 

"Good morning, Worm your honor.
The crown will plainly show
The prisoner who now stands before you
Was caught red-handed showing feelings
Showing feelings of an almost human nature;
This will not do.
Call the schoolmaster!"

Schoolmaster:

I always said he'd come to no good
In the end your honor.
If they'd let me have my way I could
Have flayed him into shape.
But my hands were tied,
The bleeding hearts and artists
Let him get away with murder.
Let me hammer him today?

Before the law, there stands a guard. A man comes from the country, begging admittance to the law. But the guard cannot admit him. May he hope to enter at a later time? That is possible, said the guard. The man tries to peer through the entrance. He'd been taught that the law was to be accessible to every man. "Do not attempt to enter without my permission", says the guard. I am very powerful. Yet I am the least of all the guards.

Mime Thinking:

Crazy,
Toys in the attic I am crazy,
Truly gone fishing.
They must have taken my marbles away.
Crazy, toys in the attic he is crazy.

Man from Countryside:

You little shit you're in it now,
I hope they throw away the key.
You should have talked to me more often
Than you did, but no! You had to go
Your own way, have you broken any
Homes up lately?
Just five minutes, Worm your honor,
Him and Me, alone.

From hall to hall, door after door, each guard is more powerful than the last. By the guard's permission, the man sits by the side of the door, and there he waits. For years, he waits. Everything he has, he gives away in the hope of bribing the guard, who never fails to say to him "I take what you give me only so that you will not feel that you left something undone."

Mother:

Baaaaaaaaaabe!
Come to mother baby, let me hold you
In my arms.
M'lud I never wanted him to
Get in any trouble.
Why'd he ever have to leave me?
Worm, your honor, let me take him home.

 Mime Thinking:

Crazy,
Over the rainbow, I am crazy,
Bars in the window.
There must have been a door there in the wall
When I came in.
Crazy, over the rainbow, he is crazy.

Keeping his watch during the long years, the man has come to know even the fleas on the guard's fur collar. Growing childish in old age, he begs the fleas to persuade the guard to change his mind and allow him to enter. His sight has dimmed, but in the darkness he perceives a radiance streaming immortally from the door of the law.

The Judge:
The evidence before the court is
Incontrivertable, there's no need for
The jury to retire.
In all my years of judging
I have never heard before
Of someone more deserving
Of the full penaltie of law.

Man from Countryside:
The way you made them suffer,
Your exquisite wife and mother,
Fills me with the urge to defecate!

"Hey Judge! Shit on him!" 

 

And now, before he dies, all he's experienced condenses into one question, a question he's never asked. He beckons the guard. Says the guard, "You are insatiable! What is it now?" Says the man, "Every man strives to attain the law. How is it then that in all these years, no one else has ever come here, seeking admittance?" 

His hearing has failed, so the guard yells into his ear. "Nobody else but you could ever have obtained admittance. No one else could enter this door! This door was intended only for you! And now, I'm going to close it." 

Man from Countryside:
Since, my friend, you have revealed your
Deepest fear,
I sentence you to be exposed before
Your peers.
Tear down the wall!

 With Reference to Pink Floyd - The Trial - Franz Kafka 

Spanish Train ... Peace Train

“ Now I've justified this to myself in all sorts of ways. It wasn't a big deal, just a minor betrayal. Or we'd outgrown each other, you know, that sort of thing. But let's face it, I ripped them off - my so called mates. But Begbie, I couldn't give a shit about him. And Sick Boy, well he'd done the same to me, if he'd only thought of it first. And Spud, well okay, I felt sorry for Spud - he never hurt anybody.

So why did I do it? I could offer a million answers - all false. The truth is that I'm a bad person. But, that's gonna change - I'm going to change. This is the last of that sort of thing. “ (Trainspotting, the movie.)

There's a Spanish train that runs between
Guadalquivir and old Saville,
And at dead of night the whistle blows,
and people hear she's running still...

And then they hush their children back to sleep,
Lock the doors, upstairs they creep,
For it is said that the souls of the dead
Fill that train ten thousand deep!!

Now I've been happy lately, 

thinking about the good things to come

And I believe it could be, 

something good has begun

Oh I've been smiling lately, 

dreaming about the world as one

And I believe it could be, 

some day it's going to come

Well a railwayman lay dying with his people by his side,
His family were crying, knelt in prayer before he died,
But above his bed just a-waiting for the dead,
Was the Devil with a twinkle in his eye,
"Well God's not around and look what I've found,
this one's mine!!"

Just then the Lord himself appeared in a blinding flash of light,
And shouted at the Devil, "Get thee hence to endless night!!"
But the Devil just grinned and said "I may have sinned,
But there's no need to push me around,
I got him first so you can do your worst,
He's going underground!!"

Cause out on the edge of darkness, 

there rides a peace train

Oh peace train take this country, 

come take me home again

Now I've been smiling lately, 

thinking about the good things to come

And I believe it could be, 

something good has begun

"But I think I'll give you one more chance"
said the Devil with a smile,
"So throw away that stupid lance,
It's really not your style",
"Joker is the name, Poker is the game,
we'll play right here on this bed,
And then we'll bet for the biggest stakes yet,
the souls of the dead!!"

And I said "Look out, Lord, He's going to win,
The sun is down and the night is riding in,
That train is dead on time, many souls are on the line,
Oh Lord, He's going to win!.."

Oh peace train sounding louder

Glide on the peace train

Come on now peace train

Yes, peace train holy  roller

Everyone jump upon the peace train

Come on now peace train

Well the railwayman he cut the cards
And he dealt them each a hand of five,
And for the Lord he was praying hard
Or that train he'd have to drive...
Well the Devil he had three aces and a king,
And the Lord, he was running for a straight,
He had the queen and the knave and nine and ten of spades,
All he needed was the eight...

And then the Lord he called for one more card,
But he drew the diamond eight,
And the Devil said to the son of God,
"I believe you've got it straight,
So deal me one for the time has come
To see who'll be the king of this place,
But as he spoke, from beneath his cloak,
He slipped another ace...

777

Ten thousand souls was the opening bid,
And it soon went up to fifty-nine,
But the Lord didn't see what the Devil did,
And he said "that suits me fine",
"I'll raise you high to a hundred and five,
And forever put an end to your sins",
But the Devil let out a mighty shout, "My hand wins!!"

And I said "Lord, oh Lord, you let him win,
The sun is down and the night is riding in,
That train is dead on time, many souls are on the line,
Oh Lord, don't let him win..."
 

Get your bags together, 

go bring your good friends too

Cause it's getting nearer, 

it soon will be with you

Now come and join the living, 

it's not so far from you

And it's getting nearer, 

soon it will all be true

Well that Spanish train still runs between,
Guadalquivir and old Saville,
And at dead of night the whistle blows,
And people fear she's running still...
And far away in some recess
The Lord and the Devil are now playing chess,
The Devil still cheats and wins more souls,
And as for the Lord, well, he's just doing his best...

Now I've been crying lately, 

thinking about the world as it is

Why must we go on hating, 

why can't we live in bliss

Cause out on the edge of darkness, 

there rides a peace train

Oh peace train take this country, 

come take me home again

And I said "Lord, oh Lord, you've got to win,
The sun is down and the night is riding in,
That train is still on time, oh my soul is on the line,
Oh Lord, you've got to win..."

Now I'm cleaning up and I'm moving on,

going straight and choosing 

life.

I'm looking forward to it already. 

I'm gonna be just like you.

The job, the family, the fucking big television. 

The washing machine,

the car, the compact disc and electric tin opener, 

good health, 

low cholesterol, dental insurance, mortgage, 

starter home, leisure wear,

luggage, three piece suite, DIY, game shows, junk food, 

children,

walks in the park, nine to five, good at golf, 

washing the car,

choice of sweaters, family Christmas, indexed pension,

tax exemption, clearing

gutters, getting by, 

looking ahead, the day you die.” 

From the movie, Trainspotting.

Sometimes we just need a little peace...

(Peace Train - Cat Stevens/ Yusuf Islam, Spanish Train - Chris de Burgh)  

Sacrifice ...

Can you remember the defining moments in your life? Moments where everything changed… moments that will be etched in your mind forever.

Last week I had such an experience.

I had the opportunity to meet an extraordinary man in Cape Town a few days ago. R is a man in his late-thirties who had a car accident in his early twenties. He lives in the beautiful town of Strand in the Western Cape, South Africa.

Hello my friend
We meet again
It's been a while
Where should we begin?
Feels like forever

When I had my eighteen month stint as a teacher back in the mid eighties I had the privilege of teaching Geography to R… at the time I thought then that when I have a kid one day, I really wanted him to be like R. Bright, friendly, Handsome, brilliant sportsman, full of energy and light. A kid that had the whole world at his feet. Someone with a wonderful future ahead of him. (And I have been blessed with a wonderful child, my son... JP. When I grow up...I want to be like him ;)). I can still remember how R always argued with me about getting higher marks and his wisdom at that young age really impressed me.  Over the years I always wondered what happened to this brilliant young man. 

Within my heart
Are memories
You gave to me 

Through the wonder of facebook I saw his name again last year, we connected. I immediately wrote him that I would like to see him again and joked about the time I was a young teacher. He responded that he couldn’t remember me… I was a bit pissed of…and told him so… my fragile ego in pieces.  I mean, I always thought that I was an above average teacher and that some of the kids would at least remember me. At least the bright ones.

We've seen our share
Of ups and downs
Oh, how quickly life
Can turn around
In an instant

 It was then that he told me about his accident and apologized that he could not remember me due to gaps in his long term memory.  After having been in a coma for a long time, he recovered miraculously. R had to stop his studies and had to change his life completely and ended up working as a labourer. The insurance only paid out more than 15 years after the accident and he can now afford a small apartment and has a pension to take care of him. He also started studying again, involved in charity work and dream of running his own business again one day.

R said one thing to me that I will remember for the rest of my life. He said that he became the person that he always thought he never wanted to be... a dependent, someone who couldn't do it for himself... and that he had to make peace with that and start living again. I can see that he does not regret what has happened to him, but that he sees it as one big opportunity. The ultimate sacrifice…

This brings tears
To my eyes
This sacrifice…

There are so many things that scare me…. scared that my plans will not work out, scared that I might loose my possessions… scared that my son will grow up in a world where he will not be okay… is this just survival instinct kicking in? Would it make me a better person if I stop fearing so many things? Or would it be like the turning point in my life when I realized that the bullsh** indoctrination by the church kept me captured by fear for such a long time.

Isn’t it now time to have multiple turning points side by side by side… ? Maybe this is the way to create a big bang “orgasm” and explode into a magical world of constant ecstasy and wonder.  Life is short… how do I make sure that I live it to the fullest? 

It feels so good to reunite
Within yourself and
Within your mind
Let's find peace there

Something happens inside of me when I meet wonderful people like R. My intention is to give to him. I want to give him hope. I want him to know that I am sincerely interested in him and look forward to a long friendship. But I left having received much more than I can ever give. I left realizing that less is so much more...

There are so many wonderful giving people in this world... people who realize that we need to give to keep life safe for future generations. Give (up) good for great...

As it is in heaven...

It is now that my life is mine
I’ve got this short time on earth
And my longing has brought me here
All I lacked and all I gained

Lena: My grandfather will have to paint another angel now.

And yet it’s the way that I chose

My trust was far beyond words

That has shown me a little bit

Of the heaven I’ve never found

I want to feel I’m alive

All my living days

I will live as I desire

I want to feel I’m alive

Knowing I was good enough

I have never lost who I was

I have only left it sleeping

Maybe I never had a choice

Just the will to stay alive

All I want is to be happy

Being who I am

To be strong and to be free

To see day arise from night

Daniel Daréus: When you like someone, how do you know that you love them?
Lena: Well, you... it makes you happy when you see him.
Daniel Daréus: Yes. And more?
Lena: You, you think about him all the time.
Daniel Daréus: Right. What else?
Lena: You're happy when you're with him.
Daniel Daréus: Happy when you are together... Lena... I love you.

I am here and my life is only mine
And the heaven I thought was there
I’ll discover it there somewhere
I want to feel that I’ve lived my life!

- Gabriella’s Song, Helen Sjöholm

Blaas Jou Vuvuzela...

Forgive them. But the Dutch seemed to have become a lot more grumpier over the last few years. Coming to Amsterdam after I "officially" gave up my apartment in January, having lived here for five years,  feels a bit different this time.... Back in my tourist role again... But with more inside (insight?) knowledge about this beautiful place than ever before. Over the past few years my view of the Dutch has also become a lot more tempered... maybe just more realistic...

Most Dutchies feel the future is not going to be as good as a few years ago... In a way the financial crisis has highlighted a few things... Fewer subsidies are forcing people to think differently about forming new partnerships... Mmm.... Seems to me quite a few people are finding it very tough to operate in this world where the certainties are becoming fewer and fewer... The "regels" are changing....

Many have questions about the assimilation of immigrants. A new law even forces people out of the country if they cannot learn the "taaltje". (The tiny Dutch language) Most of the advertisements for jobs state clearly that you won't be considered if you can't speak the "taal". Makes one think about the "lager" mentality of the Afrikaners in South Africa before the big fall of Apartheid. I also have to smile in my blue beard when they vehemently deny the "subtle" discrimination that is lingering under the surface in Dutch society. Maybe it is just the "onderrok" (Symbolic burka) hanging out ...very visibly... it is often also the ones who complain about the immigrants that are frequently also the ones who don't live near any.

I also understand much better now why so many South Africans are hesitant to get involved with the Dutch. And I can only speak from my own personal experience. The difference in so-called first world thinking and third world thinking is just so, well... different. I often feel like a  juggler juggling a few paradoxical fireballs... character-vs-reputation... And looking with an African lens a privilege. It also highlights the fact that we only see what we want to see... So do I...

Having tried my heart out over the past few years to build bridges between South Africa and the Netherlands, it often left me totally confused. My Africanness (and weird thinking) often made me doubt myself and the way "we" do things and the way "they" do things... It is not easy to build business outside the framework of how things should be done in the Netherlands... My perception that the Dutch were some of the most open minded people in the world got dashed very quickly... Learning to think "inside" the box became a big challenge.

The Dutch are very good at complaining... Even with relative wealth and staged happiness, most of them have the ability to see a cloud in every silver lining. Even the weather... Well, in my opinion a very legitimate reason to complain, evokes strange reactions. If the sun sticks out its head after long rainy cold days, it is interesting to observe the Dutchies. They start smiling, sit outside with a coffee in hand... very "gezellig" (a word that gets to the heart of the Dutch psyche)... Just to duck-and-dive when the clouds gather again.

I often felt that Amsterdam would have been heaven if it wasn't for the Dutch. Sorry Dutchies, just some Allochtoon humour :-) There Is so much of Africa's blood and tears and gold invested in this country. And then, just when you want to give up on them, one of the several friends I have made here, does something to give me hope again. Yes, I have met some of the most wonderful people on this planet here in the Netherlands... different, but great people. People who continue to support me on the iSTART2 journey. People who give me hope that my investment in the Netherlands will not end in nothingness. People with African hearts... People who keep dreams of uniting diverse people of the world, alive, in this beautiful city...

In Amsterdam the streets are safe. Bike culture is healthy. Museums are well maintained. You can sit in a cafe sipping expensive coffee all day. Public places are well maintained. Public transport goes everywhere. The entire city is a world heritage site. Mind expansion is even available in different forms...

But I have become very weary of the Dutch over the past few years... Maybe just realizing that the utopia of freedom doesn't exist in Amsterdam? Maybe full understanding of the Dutch "treat" ? Maybe just the realization that it is good being South African... and I am glad I will be home soon. Maybe that is the biggest lesson I have learnt in Amsterdam: Freedom only exists within you... and, there is no place like home... 

Blaas Jou Vuvuzela



Hopefully this post is proof that complaining can be quite "gezellig"... And proof that I have learnt from Amsterdam...

:-)