Plane Stories

An American colleague in Haiti told me that Haitian rum is well worth taking home. Unfortunately, I hadn’t had any time or means to get to a store to buy some during my days there. I had no hope that I would be able to buy it at the airport given my experience at arrivals. Picture an old, small, run down arrival terminal with one baggage carousel . My guess is that it never was a luxurious airport to begin with but now even less so since half was destroyed during the earthquake. So, after clearing security, imagine my delight when I saw a tiny closet of a room with a pass through window where the only product for sale was duty-free Barbancourt Rum. Had a bit of communication difficulties at first – my poor French, lady behind the counter doing her best with English. I wanted to know what kind of rum, of the 5 available, she recommended for a mojito? Cocktail? Mixed drink? None of these words worked, and I realized when she pointed me to the cafe/bar next door, that she must have interpreted my efforts at communication as desperation for a cocktail then and there. I managed to convey that I was not a drunk dying for a fix and I ended up with 3 nice bottles – one white, one reserve, and one fruit (just to try it) for $27 total.

Arriving at JFK
The Good News: almost without exception, every official I encountered was friendly and helpful. Friendly immigration guy with a classic Brooklyn accent took the time to inform me about hotel shuttle procedure; Information desk guy gave excellent AirTrain instructions; guy at Federal Circle AirTrain stop was almost overbearing in his effort to be helpful.

The Bad News: It is winter in New York and that is depressing. Everyone on the AirTrain looked drawn and pale, even brown skinned people looked pale. And why, oh why, oh why, do we insist on wearing dark, drab colors in winter. You look outside and everything is grey. The color has simply drained away. Why then wouldn’t we choose clothes that look like gardens to get us through these cold lifeless months? Imagine how different our moods would be if everyone wore winter coats with flowers on them? Big gold sunflowers, bright red dahlias, soft pink tulips? Of course, I wouldn’t expect that everyone could pull off the bold garden coat. But is it too much to ask that instead of the navy down jacket we insist that the store carry coats that are willow tree green, sunshine yellow? Can someone please make this happen before I come back?????

Back at JFK in the morning to take the final leg of my trip NYC to Joburg. Do the “Hands in the air or I’ll shoot” pose at security. Wait for the call to come through. This time my head and left arm raise no suspicion. But apparently my rear end does. A rear end pat down. Very nice way to start the day.

Just FYI there is No Starbucks in Terminal 4 at JFK. There are at least 3 Peets, which I know is fantastic for all the dark roast lovers out there, but I was jonesing for a Starbucks Chai given my Pavlovian Addiction (and you would get this if you read my last post from the trip over). Peets, which never used to carry Chai, must have decided to lower its standards because I see on the menu board, which is titled in big capital letters HAND CRAFTED BEVERAGES (ridiculous), that it now carries a Masala Chai Latte. My conclusion: It is expensive and yucky and best to take it off their menu of “HAND CRAFTED BEVERAGES.”

I am guessing that there must be a law in NY that restaurants – or maybe just coffee shops –post the calorie count of their offerings. I realized that after my Medium Chai, egg/ham thingy, and a medium peppermint mocha (which I tried to see if I still like them – I don’t), I came close to consuming my entire recommended daily caloric intake. Wow. Good to know. Thank you government regulation!

Today’s copy of USA Today – you know the free copy that comes outside your hotel room door and that you enjoy with your Peets chai -- had an article about this new sampling machine which registers your age through some sensors and if you fit the right profile - in this case, an adult – it will dispense a sample of Temptation dessert. Comment from Stephen Keith Platt, director of the Platt Retail Institute, a research and consulting firm specializing in the consumer experience, “This is wow. I’ll now have the ability to interact with a cool device that dispenses a unique product versus walking up to some old lady with a white apron on.” I think I wouldn't like this S.K. Platt guy very much.

NJ mom with 9 and 13 year old girls getting ready to board flight to Joburg. Dad sits only a few feet away but with his nose buried in his centimeter wide blackberry, he has created a mile of psychic distance. Clearly, the mother has a plan for getting the family through this flight and ready for SA. Says, “girls, get ready because in a few minutes I am changing my watch to the time where we are going.” To younger daughter, “you will be going to sleep at 4:00 this afternoon because that is 11pm SA time. I have medicine to make you go to sleep.” When she implements the next phase of her plan it become evident that she has lost the power to boss her elder daughter. The elder one reads while Mom leads the younger one in pre-board exercises. I don’t think she has much longer with younger daughter as I have never seen such lackadaisical arm circles. As I move away, I hear her say, “well, honey, why don’t you do downward dog.”

I got a little panicky yesterday when I saw I was reaching the end of the one and only novel I brought along on this trip and still had the 14 hour NY-Joburg plane ride ahead of me. (The book is The Help – which I could do a whole other ranting blog post about but probably won’t.) So, I treated myself to a browse at Hudson books in the airport. When traveling in the states I would occasionally allow myself to buy a book at the airport, but always felt somewhat guilty about spending the money as I could always get the book at our local library. Now, though, with books so expensive in South Africa, and the libraries not very well stocked, I treated myself to not one but two books! It made me realize that good libraries are in my top 5 things I miss about America.

At 9:55 am, boarding time, I am waiting by the gate when a slightly disheveled young woman with shiny gossamer threads in her hair arrives just as a tall (as tall as me and I love her for that) well put-together late thirties woman arrives. Shiny thread girl turns to well put-together woman, and with a big bubbly grin says, “I knew it - you too for gate B 26. I knew I recognized your accent!” Just then an announcement informs us that our boarding will be delayed for 20 minutes due to flight crew caught in NY traffic. Bubbles turns to new best friend and says, “Come on, let’s go get a margarita!!” Well put-together woman, smiling uncertainly, follows Party Girl Bubbles without a word, as if caught in the spell of her shiny threads.

Can I make two movie recommendations from my there and back viewing? Win-Win with Paul Giamatti is excellent (great story with multiple threads, believable dialogue, likable and real characters) as is a South African film, Black Butterfly (about poet Ingrid Jonka). Two very strong unrecommendations: Larry Crowne with Tom Hanks (Tom, you disappoint me with this silliness) and The Notebook (reminded me of that schlocky Titanic).

It's the Small Things that Make Life an Adventure

Following are some little things I noticed on the journey from Johannesburg to Haiti. Of course, the big things will be in Haiti itself, but that is a different blog.

1) I’ve come to the conclusion there really isn’t such a thing as a workable sleeping position on an overnight flight. I would find a comfortable position, only to find my head dropped down to some awkward place or a body part aching after about ½ hour. So I’d change positions - ahhh, this feels better, this is the right position. In ½ hour another part of my body would be aching. After about 3 rounds of this, I realized the "ahhh" was just the relief of giving that particular body part a break at the expense of another. And that was with having the seat next to me open. Eish, maybe on the way home I'll find the magic position.

2) Despite what travel agent says, you must collect your baggage at JFK even if connecting to another international flight. Despite what flight attendant says, you must pass through customs even if you are connecting to another international flight. Which normally for a law abiding citizen like me wouldn’t be a problem, but I was carrying highly illegal contraband – biltong. I chatted up the customs agent so he would be distracted from my obvious criminality. In hindsight this is probably exactly what he is trained to notice – nervous chit chat. However, he choose to let me go. You might want to make a note – do not include me on any criminal adventures you may be contemplating as clearly I would give us away in no time.

3) Check-in kiosk for my connecting flight didn’t pull up the Port Au Prince part of my itinerary - just the return flight to Joburg. Made me a bit nervous – glad I had 3 ½ hours between flights. All was better though when the desk ticket agent looked at my passport and saw that we shared the exact same birthday, month, day and year. I took it as a good sign, if not for the whole trip, then at least for the JFK airport part of my journey.

4) As I walked the long journey from one place to another at JFK, I kept feeling like I should recognize someone. After all, I was in my native country. Not one person though! Weird.

5) Security in America is intense. You walk through this machine and hold your hands in a “Hands Up” position and then it x-rays you – right down to your body parts. Then you wait by the TSA agent till she receives a call on her radio telling her what to check. Person in front of me got her left and right forearm patted down. The call for me came through – left forearm and HEAD! Head? Yes, I got my first head pat down. And my right arm felt a little left out.

6) Addiction or Pavlovian response I’m not sure. Every airport in America has a Starbucks, so the minute I touched down – actually before we even took off – I started thinking about a Starbucks Grande Nonfat Chai – my beverage of choice from years ago. Even though my gate for Port Au Prince was 12, I had only a momentary hesitation when I found out the one and only Starbucks was at Gate 47. The walk was worth it - tastes so delicious – just like I remember it.

7) Waiting now at Gate 12. At least 250 people waiting. Only a few white faces sprinkled in amongst the Haitian and Haitian Americans. Creole all around me. I am definitely not going to Kansas.

8) At least 10 elderly passengers have been wheeled up in wheelchairs. There is a story there.

9) Waiting in the gangway to board the plane. AA agent comes pushing someone in a wheelchair down the gangway saying, “excusez moi, s’il vous plait” over and over so she could pass. You should have heard the angry chatter from the waiting line. No idea what folks were saying as it was all in Creole, but they were pissed!!

10) Once on the plane though lovely to see how helpful folks were to one another. Particularly a couple of men who took it upon themselves to help the elderly (and the short) put up their baggage in the overhead bin and find their seats.

11) Hats must be big in Haiti. One lady got on the plane with 6 hats, all nested inside one another, on her head. Another had a sporty little hat on, tag still hanging off the back. An older man had on a very dapper little hat with an identical one just underneath. I had to take a close look at one lady as she looked like she was wearing a covered lampshade on her head, but I realized that it was just protection for the hat underneath.

Oh Holy Night

Anyone who has spent anytime with me knows I am a Halloween Scrooge (early costume trauma), a Thanksgiving Scrooge (cook bland white food all day, eat it till you're stuffed, then spend the rest of the day cleaning up the mess - can someone please tell me what is appealing about that) and an Easter Scrooge (crappy chocolate, crappy weather). But I love Christmas!! I am the anti-Scrooge. I love the decorations, I love the lights, I love the Christmas tree, I love the Christmas cookie baking tradition, I love the family time, and I especially love Christmas carols. As soon as Thanksgiving is over - and I mean the day after - the Christmas carols start ringing away in our house. That is until we moved to South Africa.

Warm sunny days just do not go with Christmas. I see the decorations at the mall, I hear the carols, I see the big Christmas trees, and just don't feel it. It does nothing for me - no stirring of Christmas spirit, no happy thought of pulling down the boxes of Christmas decorations, no desire to sing my all time favorite carol, Oh Holy Night (nothing better than actually falling to one's knees while belting it out at the top of your lungs.) Oh Holy Night just doesn't sound right when you sing it while wearing a tank top and short slip of a skirt.

But tonight we did go to the Pridwin Carol Service. And I must say I was pleased to feel twinges of my old Christmas spirit as we stood and sang Joy to the World, The First Noel, Oh Come all Y Faithful. (No "Oh Holy Night" which is probably just as well as I would have felt compelled to fall to my knees and people just don't know me well enough there to appreciate my particular love for this song). It was a rainy cool night requiring long pants and sweater and this no doubt tricked my Christmas spirit into peaking out.

So how do I choose to spend Christmas when the usual doesn't work? Last year we spent Christmas Eve and day at the Cheetah Game reserve with sister Quince. This year we will spend it with my mom, and two sisters at Lions Valley Game Reserve driving around in an open vehicle looking at animals which I still find miraculous - the rhino with its prehistoric head that is so huge you don't know how it holds it up; the gently elegant giraffe; and the industrious dung beetle which has soared into my top 5 favorites. No Christmas carols, not a decoration to be seen, no tree to trim. Feels just right.

Weaver Birds

All of a sudden, about a month ago, I noticed the yellow weaver birds were yellower and busier and all over the place. Spring is the time for romance, so the males had replaced their dull winter coats in favor of bright lemon yellow ones in hopes of attracting a lady friend.

Although an attractive plumage will get a female to look his way, the ultimate test comes in his home construction skills. The male works diligently, pulling leaf fibers into fine strips, and using only his beak, masterfully weaves them and twigs and grass into an elaborate pouch shaped nest.

The female, using criteria known only to her, inspects and gives the nod of approval or the thumbs down of rejection. If not happy, she will dismantle the nest and the weary male must begin again.

P.S. Shhhhhh, don't tell anyone. Not one of these photos is mine - I just can't take a good bird photo,especially with my phone, so I resorted to stealing from the internet.

The Fantastical Baobab

I was looking through Chapter 5 of The Little Prince trying to find a clever quote to include in this little bit about baobabs, but the Little Prince doesn't like these magnificent trees and in fact digs the babies up as soon as they become distinguishable from rosebushes. I guess if left to grow they would soon overtake his asteroid and the roots would tear it to bits, so it is understandable that he views them as quite a menace. But they don't seem to pose any such threat to earth and so I love them!

I have been thinking about doing a blog on baobabs for a while now - well actually just a blog where I posted a bunch of pics of them. But then, the universe had other plans for me. While at the local library with Q and A, what was on the return book cart but a children's book, This is the Tree, The Story of the Baobab. So the book inspired me to learn a bit more about these plant mammoths.

My favorite fact - "the flowers begin to open around sunset, lasting only until the next morning. They give off a strong, rotting smell which attracts bats, bluebottle and nocturnal moths." Bats pollinate the tree when they crash into the flowers as they are chasing insects. But don't pick the flowers because legend has it that you will be killed by a lion.

Baobabs are ginormous - up to 10 meters in diameter. They have been hollowed out and used for prisons, stables, bus shelters, dairies, and weavers workshop.

We went into one 47m circumference tree that had been made into a pub, which I felt was a bit degrading for such a noble tree. This tree has been carbon dated to +-6000 years old!!!! When the compost that had formed inside the tree was cleared out there was evidence of both Bushman and Voortrekers having lived inside.

All parts of the baobab seem to be useful as food or medicine. If you find yourself hungry and stranded, cook up the leaves or roots. Need mouthwash - dry the root and pound into a powder, which just might cure your malaria too. And don't worry too much if you cut the bark in the process as it will heal itself.

If the Little Prince had only known how wondrous these marvelous trees are he surely would have figured out a way to have at least one on his asteroid.

The Girl Who Loves to Read

One year ago, we were at my mother's house in Maryland - our last stop before boarding a plane to come to Johannesburg. Quince would beg my mother to read to her, and my mother would oblige being the good grandmother that she is. Quince absolutely loved books and loved being read to, but she struggled with reading herself. Being the Tiger Mom that I am, I would insist that Quince read to my mother before my mother read to her, or that she read one page, my mother the next. Now of course I was worried. After all, Alexander was reading Harry Potter by the time he finished 1st Grade and here Quince was struggling with the most basic sentences. Maybe she was dyslexic, or had ADHD, or was a drug addict. Was it a huge mistake to even go to South Africa?

But our bags were packed, so I packed up my anxiety too, and off we went. One year later we don't have a drug addict on our hands, but rather a reading addict. She can't get enough. Big books, little books, books she's already read, on the sofa, at Alexander's sporting events, on geocaching expeditions, in the car, at dinner parties - it doesn't matter - she just needs to read.

The Secret (and Genius) Life of Plants

One of the highlights of our stay at Mopane Bush Lodge in July was the morning walk with the Lodge Manager, Andrew Rae, an incredibly knowledgable and personable ranger. He shared all kinds of facts and tidbits about the bushveld animal and plant life.

I was particularly struck by two stories he told us about plants. Near the Limpopo River live the Fever trees - just as Rudyard Kipling wrote about. Earlier in our trip we had gone to the Treetop Walk on the Limpopo River at Mapungubwe National Park and I noticed that there were these big, yellow barked trees each with one big black limb - how strange I thought. Turns out that the ground water near the Limpopo contains a lot of salt - but since these poor trees can't really rely on some factory filtering their water for them, they have no choice but to drink it up. Smart things that they are, they funnel all the salts into one sacrificial limb so the rest of the tree can enjoy pure non-salty water. Clever, huh?

The second even more amazing thing Andrew told us about are these acacia bushes with huge thorns. Apparently, the leaves of these bushes are especially delicious to giraffe and eland. You'd think the thorns would be all the defense the bushes would need, but the giraffe and eland use their long tongues to weave past the thorns to get at the tender delicious leaves. The wily acacia then employs its second defense. As soon as it senses its leaves are being devoured it emits a tannin into its leaves making them much less tasty. Within 5 minutes the giraffe is on its way. I think this is wonderous- but it doesn't end there. The bush also emits a chemical into the air which gets picked up by neighboring downwind acacias letting them know evil leaf eating beasts are about. By the time the unknowing giraffe wanders to a nearby acacia, the leaves are already filled with tannins. But giraffes are no dummies - they have learned to go upwind to find the next acacia. Oh cruel nature!!

Western Gender Training and the African Art of Humbleness

For most of my adult life, I have fought against my Western female training to underplay what it is I know. This downplaying does me no good and can be perceived in our male-culture workplaces (yes, still) as indicative of insecurity and incompetence. So, I've tried to rid my speech of phrases such as, "well I'm not sure, but I think. . ." or "I could be wrong, but. . ." or making sure I attribute some facts to the source because me saying it just doesn't hold enough credibility.

American men, on the other hand, I find are trained quite differently. They can hold forth on topics with the utmost confidence, never giving sources, and not even blinking an eye when they wade into territory they might not know that much about. In fact, this phenomenon is so well documented that it has been given a name by the great social scientist Carole Mitnick: Male Answer Syndrome.

But here I find myself in situations having to reincorporate these downplaying phrases into my speech. This is particularly true in work situations with people from certain black African cultures. I am in awe of their artistry in prefacing their comments to make sure they do not come across as arrogant or knowing more than the others in the room. One colleague - actually quite high up in the project I work for (Chief of Party to be exact) -- set out to answer a tricky question during a discussion. He began, "Please let me begin to answer this, and then I'll turn it over to my colleagues to answer correctly." Recently, working in a small group, we had the assignment to draw an eye (another story). Two of us quickly said we couldn't and the third graciously said, "Okay, I'll try. Fortunately, we have plenty of paper if I mess up." She then proceeded to draw a perfectly perfect eye.

I have a bit of a headstart over my American male counterparts in displaying the culturally appropriate humbleness, but I will never come close to the artform that my black African colleagues have mastered.

My Wonderful Paradoxical Girl

The reason I am focusing on my beautiful girl in these past couple of posts is that she and I have had a wonderful 5 days on our own. Bill, as mentioned in a previous post, fled to Kenya when the power went out, and Alexander is on the Pridwin Grade 6 School tour to Mpumalanga.

Quince has bought herself two books in the past week - both of which I made her use her own allowance for as they went against my feminist and atheistic morals (I once had a great discussion with a Christian colleague about how an atheist could have morals when not guided by a religion- another story).

The first book is a big-ol' Barbie fairytale book. Just as awful as it sounds. Skinny, white, long-blond haired girl fairies marrying princes, evil stepmothers and sisters and other predictably bad messages.

The second was from the Catholic book sale at her school - One Minute Devotions for Girls - I think she was bit seduced by the pretty pink cover and pocket size. Full on little lessons about loving God (fine), trusting God (okay, fine) and chasing away the devil (not fine). She reads them to me in the car. I can barely stand it but who am I to thwart my darling's attempts to figure out how she wants to engage with religion. I personally prefer her worshiping of the Greek Gods. Just two days ago, she asked me if I wanted some blessed water- which I agreed to since it had been blessed by Athena - her favorite Greek God. (this was right before she began meditating - see photo in post below)

Given her recent bombardment of messages about a girl's happiness coming through marrying princes (Barbie Book, Ella Enchanted, and the school play, Cinderella, all in the space of 5 days) I thought a conversation about what really makes one happy was in order. Her response, a job which pays well, finding a husband (like Daddy - she said - sweet) and having kids.

First, I tackled the job which pays well part - you know, more important that you find work you love, blah, blah, blah. "Quince, what kind of job do you think you would love?" "I think I would like being a secretary and filling in forms." I reminded myself there is nothing wrong with being a secretary but not what I imagined for my girl who is a star at math, has always up until yesterday said she wanted to be a vet, and is one of the most creative people I know. "Hmmm," I said, "What about being the boss?" "I don't want to be the boss - then I'd have to share all my money. If I am a secretary I get to keep all my salary.'' Quick correction on the error in that thinking and then in for the crux of the matter. "Quince, what do you think a boy would want to be - the secretary or the boss?" "The boss." Jesus help me. I know the next logical step was to explore her thinking around that a bit, but I was too shocked at how at 8 1/2 she has already been indoctrinated with such gendered thinking about work. I'll have to come back to this one with her.

I then, very incompetently, attempted to tackle the husband and kids part. Nothing wrong with husband and kids mind you - and yes, they can be a great source of happiness. But I got a little worried when she referred to her future husband as her prince -- maybe I am just too jaded in my middle age and should leave her to her fantasies. Thoughts?

Quince Being Quince- A Photo Collage

Winter Pictures

Frost on the Ground.

Tanya came over the other night to watch a movie with me. Check out the level of bundle-up-edness. Hoodie, down long winter coat, two blankets, space heater right next to her. Please note, we are not outside at a drive-in movie. We are in our family room. Do you believe me now how f***n' cold it is.

Trees in winter - just like Boston!

Quince's Friday Uniform

Now that it is winter, the St. Teresa's girls get to wear their golf shirts, track suits and white takkies (sneakers) every day to school. As a girl, I so would have preferred that to the summer blue dress uniform -- but go figure, Quince is not me. She is a dress/skirt girl through and through.

She gets her desire on Fridays. Fridays they go to Mass and wear a white blouse, tie, dark blue dress, blazer, long socks (or tights which Quince hates because they itch - every girl and woman out there knows what she is talking about), black shoes. Hair must be pulled back or up in a navy blue elastic.

Glorious, Horrible Jozi Winter

I am at this very moment at 1:30 in the afternoon sitting outside in our outdoor living area stripped down to my bra and underwear (TMI?) soaking in the sun like a lizard. (photo to be posted soon).

I wish, like a lizard, I was actually able to retain the glorious warmth, but by 5:30pm, I kid you not, I will be pulling on long underwear to get through the evening. Houses are not heated here and it drops down to near freezing every night - we have seen frost in the fields in the morning.

Our house in particular retains the cold because it is all tile - fantastic in the summer as you can imagine. During the days I open up doors and window with hopes that the warmth from outside will push out some of the cold air out -wishful thinking, I'm sure. Even in the heat of the day - like now when I am down to nothing in our backyard, I will need to pull on a fleece if I go inside.

Just like when 21 December rolls around in Boston, I am celebrating reaching 21 June here as it means a slow climb back to longer days. We are now getting up in pitch blackness to get kids to school. Between the darkness outside and the cold inside it is almost impossible to roust the kids out of bed. Like Boston too, though, 21 June/21 Dec does not mean a slow climb back to warmth. We apparently have to get through July and part of August till we return to warmer days.

I need to organize my life so I spend June-August in the States and the rest of the year here.

Johnny Clegg in Concert

From Wikipedia: Jonathan "Johnny" Clegg (born 7 June 1953) is a musician from South Africa, who has recorded and performed with his bands Juluka and Savuka. Sometimes called Le Zoulou Blanc ("The White Zulu"), he is an important figure in South African popular music history, with songs that mix Zulu with English lyrics, and African with various Western European (such as Celtic) music styles.
Last weekend, Alexander, Tanya, Alexander's friend, Wesley, and I went to see legendary Johnny Clegg in concert at the Lyric Theatre. We were dead center, 4th row. We invited Wesley because he is a huge JC fan - and as hoped that infected Alexander. Fantastic concert, great to be out and about in Jozi with my boy and best friend in SA, happy.

Cash or Credit or Bank Transfer

I took this photo of this KFC sign because it illustrates a common situation here - that relatively regularly stores cannot establish a connection in order to run a credit card transaction. I guess KFC must experience this regularly enough that they had a sign printed for these occasions that they could post as needed.

A couple of weeks ago I was at Macro (think Price Club) with about 20 check out lines and a line of about 40 people (I am not exaggerating) waiting patiently . The only credit card machine working in the entire store was the one in the office. So, they rang those of us with credit cards up at a till, then sent us into the office one by one with the amount written on a slip of paper to have our credit card put through. Given the circumstances, they managed this process fairly efficiently.

Yesterday I went to buy beds and sat while they tried for 20 minutes to get a line to run my credit card. Finally, they gave up and suggested I come back later in the day. About 3:00pm Sisco from Dial-a-Bed called and said don't bother, come tomorrow, lines still down. Fortunately Dial a Bed is 5 minutes from our house so I was able to quickly get over today to finish up the transaction. Whew.

A very common way to pay for things here is through bank transfers - even from regular person to regular person. For example, say I borrowed R500 from Tanya. I could get her banking details and transfer money from my account directly into hers. I guess you can do the same thing in the States - just we don't do it commonly.

Service Delivery

We just had municipal elections here (a blog post about that soon) and a very very very big issue is Service Delivery. I knew what this meant - at least in the abstract. Except for an inconvenience here and there, we had been blessedly free of any first-hand experiences.

On Friday evening at about 9:00pm, we noticed that some of our downstairs lights and oven were not working. First thing Saturday morning, we called our landlord, Stuart, so we could get an electrician in to do a quick fix and be back in business. Long story short, electrician says it is not the house but rather a counsel problem - in other words, it is the source of electricity- City Power. Yikes - only we didn't know at the time to think Yikes.

Stuart calls the City of Johannesburg and leaves a message. Naively we thought okay someone will get on. No power Saturday night - eat out. Sunday morning, thank goodness friend brings over croissants. (did I mention that Bill decided he couldn't live without an oven and left Saturday night for almost 3 weeks to Kenya.) Sunday lunch, over at a friends. Sunday dinner, heat up leftovers in microwave.

Monday morning, no power. I wait hopefully for the landlord to make things happen. Monday evening a colleague of Bill's stops off to drop off some things. When I mention the problem, she says "Oh you must call Mhairi" (another colleague) who it seems is, unfortunately for her, an expert. Sure enough she is. Poor thing has the number for City Power memorized. She says call, call, call. In fact, have as many people as you can call for you, and first person to get through reports the problem and must must must get a reference number. Because you will be calling back to follow up.

Okay - one thing you need to know to begin to understand part of why this is so damn inconvenient is that phone service is ridiculously expensive here. We are on pre-pay for our cell phones and each minute you are burning through rand. Using a landline would have been cheaper but wouldn't you know our landline is inexplicably out - again - for about the 5th time since we got it in January. (so yes, we have experienced incredibly poor service delivery with our phone service - goes out, we report it, no idea when it will be fixed.)

So what does wonderful Mhairi offer to do - she calls City Power for us, stays on hold till she gets someone, gets a reference number and reports back to me that the problem will be attended to in 1-4 hours. Yay!! I am so relieved. We go out to dinner, assured that we are on the way to full power again. Mhairi had recommended I call back in about an hour just to check so I do when we get home. About 2o minutes on hold - just under $5. They say by 11:00pm someone should be there to fix it. I go to bed.

3:20am our gate buzzer rings. Yay - it is City Power to fix the problem. I walk out in pj's and slippers to chat with them. They assure me they are on it. I go to sleep confident that I will wake up to a working stove.

Ha. No such luck. I call City Power Call Center - surprisingly and delightfully get through in about 5 minutes. Oh they say, the problem is fixed. I assure them it is not, and they give me a new reference number and tell me that someone will be here in 1-4 hours to fix it.

I squeeze into my day buying some airtime because I am burning through it with these calls.

I come home in the afternoon disappointed to find it still is not fixed. I call - 45 minutes later of listening to this horrible music over and over, I give up. Woolies roast chicken, picknpay precooked rice, and salad for dinner. I check my phone airtime balance - I had had R300 rand after I recharged, am now down to R100! We go to bed.

1:20am - Security company, CSS Tactical, calls - they report our alarm system is no longer sending a signal to the control center. Sure enough the alarm panel is dead. They send the heavily armed, body armored security guys to check all around our property. Fortunately, all clear. But a little nerve-wracking to be in the house with no working alarm system for the rest of the night. I sleep fitfully. (have I done that post yet on security here?).

5:30am, our electric fence alarm goes off. As soon as I turn it off that panel too goes dead. Great. CSS Tactical guys come again to check around - only this time they can't get in the electric gate because that too has lost power. Double Great. The only good thing is that it is almost morning so I won't lie awake hearing bad guys jumping over our non working electric fence and breaking into our non-alarmed house.

I call City Power at 6:00am - and am told, unbelievably, that the problem has been reported as fixed at midnight. I am furious and frustrated and so ask to speak to a supervisor and beg beg beg them not to put me on hold because if I hear that music again I am going to lose it. In fact, I lose it anyway and cry and they put me through to a supervisor and I cry to the supervisor,Jabu, as I explain that I now have no security, can 't get out of my gate, have two small children (ok - that was a little white lie) and that he must promise me that the problem will be fixed today. He does. I make him promise again and he does - I am sure he was desperate to get off the phone with this hysterical woman. He says he needs to check with the Technical Department and will get back to me.

As the minutes tick by I lose hope, but then my phone rings and it is my new best friend, Jabu. He says the technician is leaving the depot now and my house will be his first stop - he will be at my house not later than 10am. Since it is now only 7am, I am a little suspicious that I am really first on the list. I comment that the depot must be very far away. He says he is allowing for traffic. I let it go.

I make the decision to come straight home after dropping kids at school and not go the once-a-term Pridwin mums' coffee so I can be there when this guy comes. Too bad because I like these coffee mornings but much more important to be there when the technician arrives.

Meanwhile, Stuart is also working an angle. He knows a City Power technician who sometimes does some side work for him. They are to meet at our house at 9:00. I worry vaguely what will happen if Stuart's get a little business on the side guy is there working on the line when his on-duty colleague shows up. Oh optimistic, silly me. 8:00 comes and goes. 9:00 comes and goes. 10:00 Stuart comes - his guy is still sleeping, having worked the night shift. Stuart is not optimistic that his guy will come at all.

Furious that I trusted Jabu, I call City Power, and ask to speak with him. Finally, after more minutes of the terrible music and draining my airtime, Jabu comes on the line. "Ma'am - you should have lights now. They fixed the problem." Fantastic, only when I flick the light switch, nothing. "No, Jabu, still out." He promises to get back to me in 5 minutes.

I now know City Power uses a factoring system when it comes to time. I don't panic when 30 minutes goes by. Meanwhile, I must go to my doctor's appointment. I am 5 minutes from the Dr's office when David from City Power calls. The technician is at my gate!!!!! As I make an illegal U-turn I plead with David to have the technician wait for me. He says he will wait for 10 minutes. I drive like a maniac while calling the doctors office to cancel my appointment. Not the safest thing I know but maybe you can understand my level of desperation to talk face-to-face with a technician.

Hallelujah!! Jomo is there waiting for me!! He assures me they can fix the problem. Guy goes up in one of those bucket things, tightens some wires, does some other mysterious things. 20 minutes later, Jomo says your gate is now working. Sure enough it is, and when I go in the alarm goes off - Hallelujah again!!!! Lights work, stove works. All fixed. Why I ask Jomo did these other guys not fix it when they came out. He shrugs - he can't explain it.

On the advice of Stuart, I got Jomo's cell number. Why? Because I am going to bypass City Power Call Center next time and go directly to Jomo. Understood that if he can sort it out, there will be something in it for him. Rather give him the money than spend it in airtime for fruitless calls to the Call Center. Is this just good common sense or the slippery slope of corruption?

December Weather

This is an old post that was written back in December but not posted.

Another couple of inches and we would be skiing.

Two days ago, after a hot day the skies clouded over and rain poured down, thunder clapping right overhead. Quince was looking out the picture window and yelled for us to come look - the rain was pushing all these moths out of the ground. No wait, not moths - it was crickets jumping into the air. We ran over to look, and quickly realized it was hail coming down, hitting the ground hard, and bouncing back up.

Yesterday, same thing, hot, hot day bringing on intense thunderstorm with hail, dropping the temperature at least 20 degrees in a few minutes. The kids, along with two friends over for playdates, watched the rain and hail come down, and then couldn't resist.

They suited up in warm rain gear and went out to play in the hail storm.

Flowers

I am feeling particularly in love with South Africa at the moment and thus my flurry of blogs. One of the things I have come to luxuriate in are the cut flowers. Since I am not gardening - which I don't miss - I have occassionally allowed myself the luxury of having beautiful cut flowers in our house. I go to Dunkeld Fruit and Flower and wander amongst the buckets of color. I spend 30 minutes putting together a bouquet - just ask Kate who called the process something like epic (I don't think she meant in a good way).

I start with something that catches my eye - usually a flower that is unusual (at least to my American eye), like proteas or these minature birds of paradise. Then I wonder around looking for what might go with it. Adding some, taking away others, determining what is the perfect filler green, until I am satisfied. Then I take it to the guys behind the bouquet counter and they snip and arrange and wrap in cellophane, tie with a big bow, and hand our joint creation back to me. The Protea-The Giant Protea is the National Flower of South Africa What pleasure I get both in the process and in my days of enjoying them in my house. Even now as I write this, I can't help but occasionally glance over and smile at how beautiful they are.

Spoiled Rotten

One challenge of moving to a new place is making friends . For some reason, I guess being a relatively friendly person myself, I didn't fully anticipate how hard it would be to transition aquaintances into friends. In fact, this has nothing to do with South Africans per se, who are by and large extraordinarily friendly, just that breaking into existing friendship circles is difficult. So I go to these school events, for example, and even with the wine that I spoke of in my earlier post, it sometimes felt a little lonely as I have no real go-to people yet that I can hang with. All the work was on my side to break into existing clusters of friends to chat - exhausting. I reached my limit of this and decided to do something about it. So, last night we hosted our first margarita and guacamole happy hour for a bunch of Pridwin parents. (Also served as a fantastic excuse to buy the next wave of items to make our house nice - like pots and plants --I thought maybe I left that obsession behind in the States but it turns out it is just as fun here and whole new kinds of plants to learn about. ) All well and good, you are saying, but get to the Spoiled Rotten part. This was a party for about 12-14 people for a couple of hours - not dinner - just margaritas, wine and apps. Bill and I have plenty of experience entertaining and certainly could have pulled this off with no help. But then I asked myself why not get help? Why not ask our housekeeper to stay later and help -and it works for her too because she can earn some nice extra money. So, Trica did her usual cleaning of our house - which is one reason I am already spoiled beyond repair, then spruced up our outdoor living area, then she was sous -chef to my appetizer making. And then while I showered (despite all this help I still only had 20 minutes to get myself presentable - what is wrong with me?), she covered and moved all our apps out to the patio. While we were entertaining, she zipped the kitchen back to order and post-party, she cleared everything away and in a jiff everything was done. Can you imagine - I did not put one left-over away (of course, I found out later that most sadly ended in the trash), wash one glass, wipe one counter. Luxury beyond luxury! But as if this weren't enough, I had asked our gardener to come during the evening of the party to let people in and out of our security gate and watch their cars so nothing would happen to them. (I really will get to that blog on security). He then suggested that rather than come his normal day to do the yard work, he do the gardening the day of the party instead so the yard would look its best. And remember those pots and plants I mentioned before - suffice it to say I was not the one who actually potted them. (Efron also was very happy to have the extra work/money too as he sends it back home to Malawi). I am doing my best to keep my head on straight and to be ever so grateful for this luxurious help, and never become too used to it. In fact, as you can imagine, as nice as it is, coming from my solidly middle-class background, it is a little hard to justify having all this help. But, as more than one person has pointed out to us, with unemployment being so astronomically high in this country (some reports put it at 40%!), who are we to not employ people when we can afford it.

One More Reason to Love This Country

Perhaps given my last post, this one may be ill-timed. Be that as it may, let me share with you one of the many things I find delightful about life here.

For those of you who have or have had school-age kids, you might especially appreciate this feature of South African life. At almost every late afternoon, evening school event there is wine. Before the school play, buy a glass of wine at the cash bar (serving also as a fundraiser for the school or PTA), and if you like take it into the auditorium with you. At the Back to School Parent Night, bring a bottle of wine, put it in the communal ice bucket and sip away as you listen to the headmistress talk about the coming year. Going to your son's waterpolo tournament, bring a cooler with a few bottles of wine and some glasses and share around. Now mind you, no one is getting drunk, or really even tipsy. We just sip away and enjoy the evening so much more.

My one disappointment is that they did not have wine at the parent-teacher night. Now wouldn't everyone have been so much more relaxed and found it so much more enjoyable if we could talk about our son with his teachers over a glass of wine?

Let me add, this feature only applies to events post 5:00pm. Prior to that, like at these endless cricket matches, the hosting school provides tea for the parents. A lovely table set up with china cups and saucers, perhaps a few cookies and serve yourself coffee or tea.

Since I can't bring the weather, I think I might figure out a way to at least bring this custom back to the states.

Don't Drink and Walk on the Road - You May Be Killed

The other day as I was enjoying my little bottle of pinotage on a domestic South African Airways flight - yes that is right, complimentary wine and snack even on my 75 min flight, gotta love this country - I glanced at the warning label as one does and guess what it said? Don't Drink and Walk in the Road - You May Be Killed.

One thing I think this illuminates, besides the high rate of alcohol abuse in this country, is how many people rely on walking as their mode of transport. People walk on small roads, highways, on-ramps, across fields. . . When we first got here, it was so weird to be zooming down the highway and see people walking along the breakdown lane, or more disconcertingly, running across the highways to get to the houses on the other side.

Given this high rate of walking, you'd think sidewalks (or pavements as they are called here) would be plentiful and in good shape, but of course, the exact opposite is true. So people walk in the road. And cars, by custom though apparently not by law, have the right of way. When I wave a pedestrian to go ahead and cross, she will look somewhat bewildered and then scurry across perhaps afraid I was only kidding and plan on running her over. Or sometimes when I am lucky, I get a big smile like I have done a Mother Teresa kindness. I like those times.

Now, let me be clear. There is a certain segment of the population that hardly ever walks - and if they do, it is for exercise and then best done in a group. I belong to this latter category. A combination of affluence allowing us to own cars and then afford the petrol, and fears about crime drive us, no pun intended, to rely on our cars for every little errand. One parent of a Pridwin boy was joking that her son would get killed trying to cross the road because he has had no experience with it. Maybe we just need the warning, Don't Walk in the Road - You May Be Killed.

Elephant Encounters

Last month when we went to Madikwe, we came across a Bull elephant in "musth": suffering from severe testosterone poisoning--up to 60 times greater than normal levels!  This bull was watering itself at a pond.  Our guide mentioned that he was quite excited and you can see that in the video when he is peeing.  I guess he didn't like us filming him as he gave us a charge to let us know who was boss!  This was probably a "fake" charge as an elephant will pull back its ears to protect them in a real charge.  Fake or not, you don't want to stick around when a 5 ton behemoth is moving your way.

Later in the video you will see two young male elephants showing who is stronger and tougher by banging into trees, trying to topple trees and whacking each other with their trunks.  This is standard behavior among young male elephants, but they are not likely to cause each other injury because they have nothing to really fight over.  They still can do a number on the trees!

South African Currency

South African Currency is colorful and instead of displaying dead presidents it has wildlife much like Canadian Currency.  In fact, the five animals on the currency make up the famous Big Five. The interesting thing is that the size or power of the animal doesn't correspond to its value.  The mighty rhinoceros is pictured on the lowly 10 rand note. 

Rhinoceros

Elephant

 

 

Lion

Buffalo

The rare Leopard is found on the elusive 200 Rand note

Moshi Monsters

 

Quince’s recent obsession has been Moshi Monsters.  Moshi Monsters are Japanese anime-styled cartoon monsters which have different personalities.  There are Moshi Monster books and a web-site, of course.  There is the free version of the web-site and then the paid subscription part where you get more monsters and can do more with them. 

Quince has been drawing the Moshi Monsters and sharing them with her classmates at school.  When she first started drawing them, she was besieged by her classmates clamoring for a drawing.  Things have calmed down more recently. 

She has also branched out into Moshi Monster currency and hopes to start a Moshi Monster market economy!

The rare Moshling Three Monster bill

The Karate Quince

You want a piece of me?

Quince has been taking Karate lessons here through an afternoon program at her school.  It has been great to see the progress that she has made.  She is a yellow belt and will test for her orange belt next month.  She is practicing regularly at home. Hi-ya!

Eyes forward, ready to begin a "kata." Ichi, ni, san...

She especially likes to kick.  So far, no object or person has been hurt!