Jets Aren’t Natural

(Kuala Lumpur: Yesterday)

My brother, sister, and I manage to get together in one place about every two years. It’s Christmas in Kuala Lumpur this time.

Today I fly back to South Africa. Helene leaves for London tomorrow, and Brett stays home in KL. We’ve made our singular choices and live our own lives, but today this wrenching away feels awful. Escape wasn’t meant to be so simple in this world where we can race sunsets. The distance loses the knife, but the scar can always be traced. 

This time tomorrow I’ll be home. Six time zones away from today.

For all the joyful hellos and crying goodbyes airports play stage to, they’re such brutal places. Airports should be built like cathedrals, swooping heartspaces of rejoicing or solace- not the steel halogen-lit lonely places they are.

(Johannesburg: 4am today)

Feeling jet-lagged, tearful and wrung inside out. I’m home. Home in this crazy place.

As dit donker is, as almal slaap 

is ek voor jou deur en ek wag 

Sing die ou ou lied van Afrika 

sing dit sag, sing dit lank vir my 

maak oop jou hart, maak oop jou deur 

laat my binnekom, laat my bly. 

- Marianne de Jongh

(When it's dark, and everyone sleeps

I am at your door, and I wait.

Sing the old song of Africa,

sing it softly, sing it long for me

open your heart, open your door

let me come in, let me stay.)

Pace and Clarity

Tourist: “Jesus H tap-dancing Christ, that lion’s close!”

Guide: “Don’t worry, they only attack if you’re wearing Brut aftershave.”

Him: “Is this rope strong enough to hold us?”

Me: “Of course.  It’s been tested to 800 kilojoules to foot pound.”

Her: “Isn’t 120km/h a bit fast for a muddy dirt road?”

Me: ”Of course not! These lateral cambers can handle 200km/h.”

Trust Me

All these specious answers have one thing in common; pace and clarity. Say anything, no matter how preposterous, with brisk pace,  assured clarity, a pinch of convincing detail, and people will believe you, every time a coconut. It’s served me well, from the boardroom to the bedroom.

Of Course I'm Sure!
If not for pace and clarity, safari guides, motor mechanics, and all echelons of management would be out of a job. The safari guide can’t be sure that you won’t get eaten, but a snappy answer stops your terrified bleating, and gets you out of his hair.

Try it today. Your money back if anyone doesn’t buy it hook, line and sinker.

The Midlands

Today I head off on writing assignment to where I grew up. Howick, in the Kwazulu Natal Midlands; the last outpost of the British Empire. Where I get my thrift store English accent from, the place where rivers are good to swim in, and the dams and streams are full of obliging trout just waiting to be caught.

Kate Bush was a perennial soundtrack to those teenage days. Songs redolent of gumboots, walks in misty forests, and horse rides in warm summer rain. I first saw this music video at 13, and it’s remained one of my all time favourites. I like the story, and the countryside’s a dead ringer for the rolling hills of the Midlands. Oh, and when I’m old I want to look cool like Donald Sutherland.