Thirty years on

Almost a year ago, I wrote a blog about my 30 year high school reunion. I was anxious and nervous about how things would play out. As with most things we fear, the anticipation turns out to be far worse than the reality. 

I have reconnected with more than 20 amazing, creative, successful and happy women who are approaching 50 with grace and humour. Listening to their stories, hearing the pride in their voices as they talk about their children. Hearing them sharing their academic successes, hearing them talk about the paths that they have traveled, was one of the most uplifting experiences of my life. 

This is a very diverse group of women. There are academics, doctors, lawyers, engineers, accountants, full-time moms, entrepreneurs, teachers, an incredibly talented sculptor, businesswomen, artists, animal scientists, and the wanna-be writer (me). We are bound together by a shared experience whether we were close friends at school or not. The boarders and daygirls were quite distinct, but because I had been both, I had shared experiences with everybody, and I honestly can say that there wasn't anybody that I didn't like at school. The joy of seeing these people, some after 30 years or more, was indescribable. 

I sat for a while next to someone with whom I have a very special bond, even though we haven't seen each other for 30 years. She went to primary school with me, and her mother died the year before mine. I remember my mom (already fighting for her life) telling me about her, and how I should be extra nice to her because she lost her mother. I realise that she was preparing me for her own death, and to see Anita again and talk about the terrible thing that happened to us both was very therapeutic. 

The 1980s was a time of turbulence in this country. Things were changing politically, there was rebellion and revolution in the air, and there was also a culture of silence. We did not have counselling or therapy. Nobody talked about their pain, or fear. Each of us carried our individual burdens alone. How cathartic it is to look back now and say, I wasn't alone, even though it felt like it. One of the girls remarked that it wasn't only the girls who came top of the class who had made a success of their lives (although they did) - the real successes are the girls who thought they were worthless, or were different, or were outsiders. The girls who felt as if they didn't "fit in". Who felt alone and isolated, and who couldn't wait to leave school behind. Our class has triumphed over this, they have made peace with it. This is the true success of our class. We have all made peace with ourselves, and each other. 

Our class lost three people too young. Raquel Aguirre, Mary-Ann Callendar and Carol-Ann Ramsden. Their spirits felt very close yesterday. Cazzie, Marzie and Callie, we missed you, and we wish you peace.

To everybody who didn't come because they felt that they couldn't face us for whatever reason, please read what I have written again, and make your own peace. Let's not wait another 30 years to see each other again. 

Class of 1985, I salute you! You are all women of substance, I am inspired by you and I love you all.

An Evening with Amanda Palmer

In 2012, I was sitting in a bar with three friends, participating in a pub quiz. As we ordered our drinks, one of them said "we've done something crazy". My mind flew to "will I have to help bury bodies?", but it turned out that they had bought a House Party with Amanda Palmer from her massively successful kickstarter crowdfunding campaign, at a cost of $5000. Now, this was at a particularly low point in my life. I had lost my job, my self-esteem was non-existent, money was tight and I was expending every ounce of energy I had into putting on a brave face and trying not to recede into a permanent foetal position. I remember being excited, but a part of me didn't actually believe that it would happen. I mean, why would Amanda Palmer, singer, performer, writer and artist extraordinaire, travel all the way down to the bottom end of Africa? 

2012 turned to 2013, and Amanda's phenomenally successful tour progressed apace. I got a job. My friends got e-mails to say, she's definitely coming, but maybe in September. During this time, one of Amanda's closest friends was diagnosed with cancer and she cancelled all her gigs to spend time with him. We sympathised and understood. Amanda would come. Eventually. As 2013 relentlessly turned into 2014, we began to wonder, beckettesquely*, whether she would ever come. In the meantime, we had set up a Facebook page advertising the House Party, to offer fans the opportunity to attend the house party and contribute towards the not-insignificant price-tag. The forums were a-buzz, and none were more vocal than a group of people in Cape Town. These poor souls had tried to raise the funds to buy one of the house party rewards, but had lost out due to the fact that they were snapped up almost immediately. My friends had taken the risk, fearing that the rewards would go quickly (they did), and had pledged the money themselves. This speaks volumes about the differences between Johannesburg and Cape Town. Let's just say Cape Town was not happy and leave it at that.

As 2014 drew to a close, I asked my friend whether she thought that Amanda would really ever come. She said that she had received mails, but that the scheduling was proving incredibly difficult, and it might be more practical to take a refund on the house party, and move on. 

Suddenly, in January 2015, we got the mail. Amanda herself wrote that she could squeeze us in on her way home to America from Australia, with 10 days' notice. Would that be ok?  

It was. Of course it was. 

Problem? I'm Anxiety girl, remember. As well as I have been doing, the idea of walking into a situation with 45-odd strangers was terrifying. I roped in a friend to go with me, and I knew a few of the people who would be there, so we set off on our adventure. 

Well, it was extraordinary. I have never in my life walked into a room full of strangers and felt so immediately at home. United by our adoration for Amanda, and the "otherness" that drew us to her in the first place, we immediately all became friends, and witnessed this indefatigable woman bare her soul for us. She told us a story about author Judy Blume, a staple of my childhood reading. I was suprised to hear that Judy Blume had become an advocate against Literary Censorship, having borne its insidious brunt herself. I was shocked to hear that her books were banned in some states in America. Amanda's songs were incredible, the interaction was wonderful, but what inspired me more than anything else was that raw honesty. It burned so brightly that you couldn't help feeling warmed by it. It made me resolve to live a more honest life, to stop worrying about the stupid small (and even the big) stuff that clogs up our lives and drowns out our voices and creativity. 

For a long time, fear has ruled my life. I have made good progress in dealing with those fears, but one line from Amanda Palmer's Ukulele Anthem stuck in my head that night, and has not left it since. That song has become my theme song, and that line, my mantra. "Just because you get bad grades it doesn't mean you're failing". Can't sing? Who cares. Sing anyway. Can't play the drums well? Who cares, keep playing them. Don't think you can write a book? Who cares. Write it anyway. 

Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Amanda. You have inspired me for many years, but I believe that you changed the way I look at my life that night. 

Thanks to Natalie, Reinier and Pieter, without whom this wouldn't have happened. 

*I know that word doesn't exist. But Shakespeare made up words, and so do I. It means "in the surrealist manner of characters in Samuel Beckett's play "Waiting for Godot" ".

Another Musical Interlude - South African Music

In an earlier post, I thought about songs, musicians and composers that inspired me. Not one of those songs or pieces of music were from a South African musician or band, so I thought I’d rectify that and take a look at the wealth of artists our country has given to the world.

In South Africa during the 1980s, times were turbulent. The country was in the grip of a National State of Emergency, and this gave the state almost unlimited powers to detain anyone (without trial) for expressing an opinion contrary to the hegemonic patriarchy of the day. This gave rise to an unprecedented period of musical opposition. International bands were beginning to take notice, and some incredible protest songs were produced. South African bands no less so; however, because of the perfidious Detention without Trial, these musicians had to get creative with their protests. I’ve put together a list of songs which were part of my early and late teens. Each represents a song that had a special meaning for me.

Best Golden Oldie - the one that started it all

 One of the first songs I remember hearing by a South African musician is Kinders van die Wind (Children of the Wind) by Koos Du Plessis. This song has enjoyed a long life, thanks to singer Laurika Rauch, who performs it to perfection. Although Laurika's version is best known today, I have included the original in tribute to the songwriter. 

 

Best International Struggle Song

 There are a few songs which could be mentioned here, but for me, it was Biko by Peter Gabriel. A South African by birth, he fronted the hugely successful Genesis before embarking on a stellar solo career. His poignant tribute to Steven Biko, who died at the hands of prison guards in one of the most shameful acts in a sea of shameful acts this country endured, is a musical tour de force and still resonates today. I cannot hear this song without wondering how much richer a nation we would have been if Mr Biko had not been taken so young. 

Best English speaking Struggle Song 

The tragedy of the human condition is nowhere better expressed than in Bright Blue's song Weeping. It is quite simply one of the most beautiful songs ever written. 

The Granddaddy of South African Music 

No list of South African music can ever exclude the incredible Johnny Clegg. His first band, Juluka, formed with close friend Sipho Mchunu burst onto the music scene in South Africa in the late 1970s. The international markets quickly embraced him, and he became known as Le Zoeloe Blanc (the White Zulu) in France, where his concert in 1992 outsold Michael Jackson's. Juluka gave way to Johnny Clegg and Savuka, and further success ensued. As a sought after solo artist, Johnny Clegg still performs today, and his son Jesse is making a name for himself as a musician also. A lot of the songs that Juluka and Suvuka produced were struggle songs, and the best of these is Asimbonanga (we have not seen him) written for Nelson Mandela during his incarceration on Robben Island.  If you watch the clip all the way to the end, the great man himself, Tata Madiba, makes an appearance.

The first song of Juluka's that I ever heard was Scatterlings of Africa, which spoke to me on a very personal level. I am one of the scatterlings, and I feel the red earth in my veins and the copper sun on my skin. 

Best Campus Band- English 

For me, this is and always will be The Spectres. I met the band at university, and loved them from the beginning. More pop and less struggle, nonetheless, the band was very politically sentient and were ardent members of the End Conscription Campaign. Their song "Teddy Bear" enjoyed national radio play, and is probably their best-known song. However, the title track from the album Be-Bop Pop called Vox Populi (the voice of the people) is my favourite. I can't choose between the two, so I offer them both for your listening pleasure. 

Best Campus Band - Afrikaans 

During the 1980s, disaffected Afrikaners began a musical revolution. It started with the Voelvry (free as a bird) tour, and produced Afrikaans musicians such as Koos Kombuis, Gereformeerde Blues Band and many, many more. They opened the way for many South African musicians today, both English and Afrikaans. This was the birth of Afrikaans Alternative music, and I was thrilled to witness it first-hand. 

In 1998, an outdoor concert called "Houtstok" (Woodstock) was held. I went, and it was spectacular. The evening ended with Joos Tonteldoos en die Dwaarstrekkers putting a spin on "Wild Thing". 

You can hear the song here.  

Best Afrikaans Love Song 

 I can't offer a list of South African musicians without mentioning the incredibly talented late Ralph Rabie. As the leader of the Gereformeerde Blues Band he gained fame as Johannes Kerkorrel, bringing a scathing critique of white middle class indolence and complacency to life. He tragically took his own life in 2002. His beautiful ballad about Hillbrow, a suburb of Johannesburg in which I lived for 2 years, is nothing less than a love song. 

 Best Afrikaans Struggle Song 

This is a very controversial song, because the struggle it refers to is the Boer struggle during what is now known as the South African War (previously Anglo-Boer war). I've included it because this is part of my heritage too. My great-grandmother fought against the English in the South African War, and was interred in a concentration camp. It is a beautiful song, and pays tribute to a great leader. 

There are many artists and bands that I have left out, and the new generation of singers and songwriters are doing a fine job of keeping the flame alive. 

I am going to leave you with one last song. I love the energy of this song, and it never fails to get my feet tapping! Big by Qkumba Zoo. 

The nature of loss

As part three of my "nature of" trilogy, I thought I would take a look at loss. Whenever we think about loss, as opposed to losing something, there are always deep emotions involved. As a child, I suffered a traumatic loss at age 10. My mother died, a terrible loss in itself, but as I look back on the 36 years since her death, it is the small losses that devastate us. 

My mother never got the chance to see me grow into a woman, see me fall in love for the first time, nurse my inevitable broken heart when it went wrong. She didn't see me walk down the aisle on my father's arm, or see the birth of her grandson (my nephew). 

For a long time, I never spoke about this. People are uncomfortable with grief, and don't really know how to respond. As a child, I sensed this. More than anything else, I didn't want pity, so I never spoke about my mother. This repression was almost as damaging as the event itself. I trained myself to show no emotion, to wear a mask, and to ignore the pain, with catastrophic results for the adult me. My brain now believes that to show emotion is to show weakness. To ask for help is to show weakness. To allow people to see the anxious girl behind the confident woman is weakness. And weakness is not acceptable. If I trust someone and they hurt me, somehow that is my fault. I was the fool for trusting. 

Now, having experienced the aftershock of my loss, I see that this was wrong. I see that trusting someone and being hurt is not my weakness or failing, it is the other person's. I see that showing emotion makes you human, not weak. And I am beginning to see that being able to get up and go to work even when I was terrified to leave the house, makes me strong, not weak. 

As I write this, a friend of mine is going through a terrible loss. Her husband died suddenly in January, and she is coming to terms with the loss of her soulmate. She was very kind to me when we were at school. I was a few years younger, struggling with my demons, and she cared. I met her husband once, and he was a wonderful man, taken too young. But as long as she and their children continue to love and honour his memory, he will live on. 

I regret that I never knew my mother as anything other than "mom". I didn't get to find out the type of person she was, what her dreams were, and how she would have helped shape the person I might have become if she had lived. 

To J, keep remembering him, keep talking about him, keep his incredible spirit alive as you have been doing this year. As the anniversary approaches, know that there are many people who are standing with you, in spirit if not in person, and we are all there to provide what little comfort we can. You inspired me all those years ago, and you continue to do so now.

The nature of friendship

In my last post, I talked about the nature of change and how I haven't seen most of my class-mates since 1985. I have stayed in contact with a few, but by and large, my deep friendships started when I left school. However, it was at school that I met one of my closest and dearest friends. She stayed only a year, but during that year a friendship formed that has " looked upon tempests, and is not shaken", in the immortal words of William Shakespeare (Sonnet 116). 

She lives halfway around the world from me, in Canada. We stayed in touch sporadically after she went back, but that thread holding us together always remained firm. 11 years ago I tried to find her. I was going through a divorce, and I yearned to reconnect with her. I couldn't find her. I tried a lot of things, but she remained elusive. 

Five years later, in 2009, she found me. Our thread was still connected! When I opened up the e-mail from her, I immediately burst into tears. It was a moment of such emotion that I was overwhelmed by it. We have managed to stay in touch ever since, and thanks to the marvels of modern technology, can speak to each other, text each other or like a post on Facebook. 

I have that thread with very few other people. Some because I have never lost touch with them, so the thread never tightens. Others because that is not the nature of our friendship. 

Today I felt the tug of the thread again. I worked on a project in Poland in 2011, and met someone who became one of my best friends. He supported me in my dark days, and I supported him during his. We were geographically apart, but never more than a call or text away from each other. He married, had children and moved to Australia, and slowly, as one does, we lost touch. This morning, his birthday, we chatted for over 4 hours. It was as if we had never stopped talking. We slipped back into our friendship like a comfy pair of slippers. 

Friendship is one of the most important things you can ever experience. It nourishes us, and the delight of hearing from old friends is measureless. 

I am not one for resolutions. I like lists, remember. But I am making a promise to myself that I will keep in contact with more of my friends who are far away. Just because we don't see each other often (sometimes for years) doesn't mean that we can't be in each other's lives. No-one is ever too busy to type up a few lines to say "my friend, how are you?". Life is fleeting, and one day I might be sorry that I didn't do it more often.

The nature of change

One of my loyal readers (who first encouraged me to write this post) asked me why I had been so quiet lately. It's not because I don't have anything to say - that would never happen! It's just that I've been thinking about courage and cowardice, and I need to do research, every writer's scourge. So today I thought I'd take a look at something that has been on my mind a lot lately. 

Next year signifies 30 years since I finished school. This is a momentous milestone, and I'm involved in arranging the reunion. Re-connecting with classmates whom I haven't seen in nigh-on 30 years has been a very interesting experience. One of my classmates posted an interesting thought - why do we attend reunions? Is it to see how much worse off our classmates are than us? 

To be honest, that thought never occurred to me. I attend reunions every year, and it is always sad when no-one else from my class attends. I would love to see the people I went to school with, and to experience the stories of their journeys. Many of my classmates did not have a happy time at school. We all had awkwardness, geekiness, insecurity, and to top it off, we were at school during the 1980s, a decade which, frankly, was not kind to clothes and hairstyles. We laugh at those pictures now, but facing people who shared one's formative years is always difficult. 

As anxiety girl, I am terrified of being judged and found wanting. To make matters worse, I have been elected as Chairlady of the Old Girls Committee, which requires me to stand in front of a crowd of people and make a speech. The very idea of it makes me feel nauseous. To do it in front of people I went to school with somehow makes it worse. 

I'm all about facing my fears, which is why I accepted the nomination as Chairlady. I will proudly stand up in front of those people, most of whom have no idea of what I suffer, and do my best. I will hopefully make them laugh, too. 

I consider it such a blessing that I will be able to see women who have grown into themselves, who have attained success, happiness, motherhood, and who will hopefully understand that the bond that binds us together means more than any petty schadenfreude because this girl is a bit fatter, or that one is divorced. I am thrilled to be able to meet people who were in my life 30 years ago, and show them that I am not afraid. 

To the class of 1985, I can't wait to meet the amazing women I know you have all become. And to Raquel, Mary-Ann and Callie, you are remembered, your memory will be honoured, and you will all be very much with us in spirit. 

Purple Haze

Every year in October, the town I live in becomes a blaze of purple. This is from the Jakaranda trees planted by some well-meaning soul back in the early days of Pretoria. I must confess that I love them. They are beautiful, and the colour is so gorgeous that it feels as if Pretoria is under a gossamer purple blanket.

Unfortunately, this well-meaning soul ended up doing more harm than good. Jakarandas are an alien species here in South Africa, and although they are well-suited to the climate, they have become pests. The pollen is highly allergenic, and they steal water from indigenous plants.

Sometimes, it's hard to tell what's good and what's not. I am constantly being exhorted to try an "all-natural" cure for stress, weight loss, hair growth and many other things. The people who are peddling these products are, by and large, well-meaning. They are merely agents, and as such have no idea that there is absolutely no regulation in the herbal supplement industry. Stuff made in China may contain the same contaminant that was found in baby formula, but because it's 'all-natural", it's ok.

Well, I have news for you, suckers. Plutonium is all natural. Wouldn't want to stir that in my coffee, if it's all the same to you.

Snake venom is all natural. No preservatives there either. Would I drink it? I don't believe so. Not everything "natural" is good.

The Jakarandas are slowly being eradicated. It is now illegal to plant one, and the municipality is chopping down many of the older trees along public thoroughfares. Although I think it's a shame to cut down a tree, I understand that these pretty predators are causing damage to the ecosystem. In the same way, I am cutting out all the pretty predators in my life. Because in the long run, it's going to be better for me.