Living in a "like" Society.

 

Living in a “like” society

I’m not sure that I actually belong in the world/society I live in. By belong I mean I kind of don’t fit in mainly due to the fact that I have great difficulty if “belonging” to a multitude of different “social apps”(is that what Instagram/twitch/X/Whatsapp/Facebook/LinkedIn/ ad nauseum are known as?)

Everything I come across needs me to “like” and I feel so out of it if I don’t… an article comes across my desktop and it has 397 “likes”- and I read it and am quite neutral about it so don’t really “like” it. Is there something wrong with me?

What does it mean to “like” something?

Used as a verb I am told it means as follows:

• To feel attraction or pleasure in something or someone
• To want or wish to have something
• To do well in something
• To electronically indicate approval of something, such as a social media post
• To feel inclined or disposed
• To prefer or wish to do something

I see the 4^th bullet seems to tell me that if I “like” a post on social media it means I indicate approval of it. 397 people approve of the post I have referred to. Approve? Really? Or have we simply reached the point where we automatically click on “like” as a matter of course? I tend to think the latter.

If 397 people like what I have written do they also like me? My ego needs it!

Any chance we can include an “unlike” somewhere?

The unseemly veneration of political leaders

I am not an American, nor a citizen of any of the major countries of the world… but I have visited, stayed, taught, and held leadership positions in a number of them.

I respect the country of my birth- no I do not love my country (even though I donned a uniform and fought like many others in so-called preservation of it). I do not understand how one deems a country to be loveable. I love my wife, my children…

And so? Your point pray do tell dear sir!

Leaders of countries, politicians (yes presidents/prime ministers and similar ilk) are employees of a country. They are placed in positions of power by the people. Hence the people being their employers. Nothing more nothing less!

Yet I read too often of politicians who are viewed in glowing terms, even revered! What nonsense!

It was Harry S. Truman 33^rd President of the USA who apparently said the following: “Show me a man that gets rich by being a politician and I’ll show you a crook.”

How do we manage to speak of country leaders almost in the same tone as that of the Mother Teresa’s/Mahatma Ghandi’s/or perhaps even Martin Luther King? They are certainly not altruistic, self -sacrificing, servant like beings. They are human! Filled with the same foibles as you and I.

It is time we stopped venerating them. The leaders of my country are not truly interested in alleviating the lot of the poor (even if their speeches say so)- or raising the living standards of all, or making the access to medical practices easier for all. They are in power to stay in power and to ride generally roughshod over anyone who stands in their way.

Make a country great again! Was any country ever great? Oh yes perhaps once Rome was… but that was then.

 

Enough!

 

Enough!

I have been in Education for almost 50 years… if I include my own initial schooling then indeed I move beyond 60 years. As a Headmaster/Principal/Director in 3 countries over the years and a teacher/lecturer and leader I now need to say enough is enough!

Education CANNOT be reactionary! We cannot be speaking about how to fix things in schools/classrooms/districts/countries when what we ostensibly are preaching about fixing should never have been broken. Educational leaders (and here I include the teacher in the classroom) know what works. The list of “how to’s” is endless but all I read and hear is the modern world bewailing the same things that have been echoed since time immemorial. We use a multitude of excuses to cover up inadequacies… Insufficient funding/too many in a classroom/no support from the so-called upper echelons/and and and!

A teacher… is a teacher! She/he knows how to teach… what is needed to take a child from almost infancy to adulthood- and this is what is needed from teachers/educationalists/Principals/Headmasters/Directors/District Heads. Get on with the job and stop bleating. Follow in the footsteps of those who have taken young people from nothing to greatness while teaching under a tree or only having the basics with which to work.

Teaching… being an educator is a calling… and if you do not know what this means then get off the bus now! You are not going to become a wealthy yacht owner with two homes in the Bahamas and a Lamborghini in the driveway as a teacher. But you are going to be far, far more wealthy in who and what you are and have achieved with those who have sat at your feet and prospered. ( and NO I am not suggesting that an honest days work does not deserve and honest days wages!- this may be another debate for another day!

Our world needs dedicated teachers with dedicated support people. If you are a Principal/Headmaster/District Head, get off your rear end and support the people who are actually doing the job of teaching in the classrooms of the world. That is your job! Not to sit and enjoy the comfy office and the fancy coffee! You are a servant of those in the classroom! Not the boss!

I have said enough for now.

The soon to be physically dysfunctional society

 

The soon to be physically dysfunctional society

Some time back I commented on the need for proper, well- structured education to begin in the Pre-School arena.

Allow me to expand on this.

I am seeing more and more little ones unable to cross their midline. More and more unable to do things which need fine motor skills. More and more already in the early years of their little lives with eye problems.

And the reason for the above?

Children being supplied with tablets/computers and phones almost before they can walk. Parents who are so focused on themselves (why have children I ask myself?) that it is easier to get the kids out of their hair by letting them immerse themselves in the digital world.

So let me provide a few early parenting rules: (if you are considering having a child then READ- If you already have a little one, then READ:

FROM BIRTH

1.       Talk to your child- Sing together/read with her /him. The earlier the better.

2.       Introduce good music to your child (No NOT rap etc.- That’s NOT music)

3.       Play with your child ( yes- you are not too tired after a day at work- if you are, see a doctor!) By the way… the onus to do these things does not rest with one of the parents- Both are responsible.

4.       Playing includes: (as the child grows older so these skills will develop- they will not though develop if the child has been deposited in front of a tablet/computer/phone.

a)        Sitting and cutting out pictures with your child (no not looking at video’s/television).

b)      Using playdough to make sculptures. (No you do not have to buy playdough- make your own using flour- google will help you and your child will love making the dough as well.

c)       Pasting pictures to form artwork.

d)      Drawing on paper (not on the walls!)

e)      String beads

f)        Eating with a spoon (use different sizes) Yes messing is part of the growing up process!

g)       Get dad to cut different blocks of wood so that different structures can be created.

h)      Paint pictures with fingers/paintbrushes (when a little older)

i)        Pick up sticks

j)        Play outside in the rain/mud/water- Allow their immune systems to become strong!

k)       It is not just a teacher in a classroom who needs to tell your child to sit up straight- you do too!

The above begins as early as possible.   I have listed but a few activities that will allow children to avoid sensory deprivation and to be able to be properly physically active.

So when do I advise you to provide your child with access to the digital world?  
If you are doing all of the above with your child then a tablet/computer can easily form part of the process, but NOT (personal view) before the age of 2 or 3. Under strict control and not being allowed to sit for hours playing games. You brought her/him into this world, now raise her/him. Do not abrogate your responsibilities and devolve this onto a remote world. Let them explore the digital world with you in control.

A child does not need a cellphone with internet access until they are in High School!

 

Let our stories be told

Nobel Laureate (1992) and St Lucian poet Derek Walcott once stated, “The English language is nobody’s special property. It is the property of the imagination.” Is it not the imagination that has brought us the developments the world now enjoys? Buildings that tower, bridges that span vast distances, medical advances that have people now walking when paralysed, science launching into the realms of the previously impossible. These all existed in the mind(s) of those that imagined beyond the here and now. And how is this imagination developed? Not by fingers scrolling through mindless reels on a cellphone, nor spending hours vegetating in front of a television. Reading and losing oneself in the world thus created is where the imagination runs riot. Where colours are most vibrant, where the world of anything is possible exists.

Professor Dorian Haarhoff, South African-Namibian writer, poet and a storyteller par excellence, reminds us that each of us has a story to tell but few actually are given the space to tell.  Years ago I shared “The Stolen Child”, a poem written by William Butler Yeats way back in 1886, when he was 21 years old. It is a reverie of his homeland Ireland, written almost as a fairytale. I remember wondering if the young people would get the gist of the story- they more than did so! One student, a girl born and raised in the then Northern Congo wept as she recounted part of her childhood and how she missed that world filled with the simplicity and wonder of nature she had been surrounded with.  I cannot remember her exact words but I do remember that she hoped that one day her dreams would come true and if so that the world she lived in would always be radiant and never be dim with prejudice. Powerful thoughts!

We need to give space for the imagination that lies within each one. How wonderful would it be if a young person, immersed in the Shakespearean world of Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, sat down and penned a rewrite of one of these immortal works in her/his own milieu, with characters drawn from the village of her ancestors. This is where the imagination can take us. And our young people are not going to get there, nor understand the beauty of our different cultures and backgrounds unless we grow our youth together and more than that, we read…and read.

Allow me to end here with the words of Vusamazulu Credo Mutwa, words he quoted from one of his books “Indaba My Children” as I sat at his feet in the 1980’s and listened to his story : “My child never must you doubt for one single moment that there is a God, because to deny or doubt the existence of God is the greatest form of madness there can be”… God is more in you and is more part of you than you are in any part of yourself. Your soul is immortal because God is immortal”

 Let us allow space for our stories to be told.

 

 

 

Environmental Nutrients

 

We previously mentioned “Interventions” and suggested one of the most important early interventions in the life of the human child is that of attending a good Preschool. This needs emphasising! This is where our authorities need to focus! Personal experience in various countries underlines this need. One of the challenges countries face in education is the need to understand cultural diversity. Many refuse to accept this challenge and create Preschool environments consisting of a particular “culture”. It is my contention that the preservation of a “culture” lies in ensuring the home environment is solid and exposing the growing child to a Preschool which celebrates different cultures.

But enough! I am sure you get the picture.

Interventions later on in the development of the child are equally important. Read to your child- often! This is an early intervention. Each time you read to your child you are investing in their future and opening a world of opportunity which may only become apparent in later life, but apparent they will become.  (it is both exciting and amazing how quickly your child will want take the book from your hand and read her/himself.)

In my last article I suggested removing the cellphone and placing a book in your child’s hands. I am not telling the world that the 5^th Industrial revolution should be negated and we should go back to using a coal stove- not at all! We need to develop, to grow, to understand and to have young people (and older ones) who never stop learning and finding new ways/better ways of doing things, but to get there we need to grasp the basics of life and AI (Artificial Intelligence) cannot replace the reality of being truly human. Children (and adults?) scrolling through mindless reels on Facebook or the like I posit has NO VALUE at all except to waste the wonderful time that allows the mind to experience words in a book, or the smell of the flowers in the garden, the sound of the sea crashing against the shore and yes, even being stung by a bee!

Interventions which some call “remedial actions” have a place in our world and I believe AI will ultimately assist in this at various levels but in this article allow me to finish by suggesting that the best intervention is to build a relationship with the malleable, growing child. I was delighted to hear a grade 3 teacher frequently praising various individuals in her class during a Mathematics lesson. “Well done!” she said many times and I am confident there are going to be many confident young Mathematicians emerging from her class.  Kids need environmental nutrients. If they get these environmental nutrients perhaps no intervention will be necessary.

 

 

Interventions

 

Interventions!

With the dropout ratio (young people leaving school before matriculating) in South Africa exceeding 40%, Education (Capital “E”) may well be deemed to be in a crisis. Are we alone in this? Certainly not, many developed countries cry out for interventions that will alleviate the problem.  (The USA for example quoted some years back figures of 30% not completing high school and some 40% + of 8^th graders not being able to read!)  Quoting figures of other countries though does not solve our problem (although detractors will use said figures as an excuse for us not to worry of course)

So where to now? As the title above suggests “Interventions” holds part, if not all the keys to solving the challenges. After some 48 years in Education in countries across the globe that word “Interventions” which often strikes fear into the average parent, remains key for me!

Interventions are a normal part of life in a lifetime of learning! When are they most effective?

·         Preschool: Invest in genuine, positive Preschools! Not backyard creches! Years ago in conversation with a Federal Reserve Chair in the USA, he suggested Preschools to be the “ one cure for inequality”- and I agree with him! Make sure you send your little one to the best Preschool you can afford! It is an investment in her/his matric. Health and social skills are improved and entering Junior or Elementary school becomes far easier. (Education Departments should apportion the biggest part of their funding in this area)

·         Is your child lost if the early years have been fraught with problems (for whatever reason)?  Not necessarily. Early intervention is possible and good at any age. Human development is a long and continuous process. Age appropriate interventions are needed. The child who struggles with reading and is in Grade 8 or above… DOES NOT want to be assisted at elementary school level- her/his world is different.

·         A word to end: Take away the cellphone- give her/him a book. The sooner the better. More on the topic of Interventions next week.

Freedom Of Expression

 

My world has always been coloured by and in a world dominated by the political system of Apartheid- a world in which Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela was ever present in terms of his physical presence being incarcerated a mere few kilometres from where I lived and in fact during my life I had cause to visit the island prison no fewer than 15 times… This essay loosely tracks this strange world in which I and the “father of my nation” lived almost side by side yet truly, worlds apart. 

In 1945 my father shipped back to South Africa . He was not the same man that had left the shores of Cape Town some 3 years earlier. Part of him remained in Tobruk, on the streets of Italy along with two children he had seen, huddled together and frozen to death on a park bench. Another part was left in the mud under the half-track that had almost taken his life one August afternoon and which was to take his life at the age of 52, some 24 years later. And the tears that often welled up when he sat in silence, hunched over his reel to reel tape recorder trying to make sense of his life some year later, were those tears reserved for his partner whose head had disappeared from a dum- dum bullet that had shattered the windscreen of the military vehicle they were travelling in. I was to be born some 7 years after he stood at the dock in Cape Town along with others of the Sappers that had returned.

And I was to enjoy some of the “freedom of expression” he had fought for, even though his own “freedom of expression” now hid behind clouded eyes.

In 1948, 3 years after those who had fought for freedom in the world, had returned, the Nationalist Party in South Africa came to power. Despite having fought alongside their white compatriots, the black and coloured soldiers would now be denied the right to vote and their oppression under the new regime would grow apace in the ensuing years.

4 Years later, in 1952 in a nursing home in Kenilworth Cape Town, I would be born, the only son to a man who had sacrificed much and been given nothing back by a country which would now become  a world pariah.

In 1964 after the Rivonia treason Trial Nelson Rohlihala Mandela was sentenced to life imprisonment on Robben Island. I was then in Standard Four, a 12 year old oblivious to the political machinations and only slightly aware of the fact that I attended a whites only school, travelled in whites only sections of buses and trains. That the man who worked in the garden was coloured and the woman who came to the house once a week to help my mother clean was also coloured meant nothing at all! This was how things were supposed to be in my well protected, well sanitized world. I also had no idea that in fact I was growing up in the “poorer” suburbs and that my parents at that stage were deciding how they would be able to afford sending me to a “wealthier” suburban school some distance from where we stayed. But send me they did!

In 1966, the cotton -wool cocoon world that I lived in suddenly began to dissipate like proverbial candy floss. Each day I cycled some 7 kilometres in one direction  to attend a school on the slopes of Table Mountain, just below the University of Cape Town and another 3 kilometres from where a famous surgeon would perform the world’s first heart transplant taking the heart of a young girl, Denise Darvall, the accident which had caused her premature passing taking place in the road I travelled each day. The headlines became part of my history, and Louis Washkansky the recipient, was closely followed in the newspapers. Somehow the world had been forced to notice another side of the “pariah”.  For me though the “Freedom of Expression” I had seemingly enjoyed was now becoming filled with questions… the teachers at my school, Westerford High, many of whom were anti -apartheid activists, were leaving questions in my mind, and a young girl who sat two rows in front of me, Ruth Carneson would soon leave due to the actions being taken on her anti -apartheid parents by the authorities. I was slowly awakening.

Freedom of Expression? Was that what I was enjoying whilst a few kilometres away from where I would enjoy a day at the beach, Nelson Mandela and his compatriots chipped rocks in the midday Robben Island sun.

Freedom of Expression? Was this what I was enjoying when I was visited by the police shortly after I had begun visiting a coloured friend in the then District Six area?

Freedom of Expression? Was this what I enjoyed when I was ostracized by family and friends when I had had the temerity to fall in love with a coloured girl, a relationship which was of course doomed from the start due to our freedom of expression. I was white- she was not! The irony only became supremely evident when many, many years later, my younger sister in tracing the family tree, discovered a hitherto undiscovered coloured branch.

1969 and whilst still at school and about to write my final examinations, my father passed away. The times I had sat at his feet and listed to him as he shared some secrets of life would now no longer continue. He had started an ardent Nationalist Party supporter- it was fairly obvious but also paradoxical he would be a Nationalist, after all, he had sacrificed much as he took up arms against the Nazi threat. The years though mellowed the truck driver who had wanted to study and become a gynaecologist but never had the funds to pursue his dream… a dream he would pass on to his son, although the gynae part was not something his son would aspire to. The truck driver too, would begin to question the Nationalist party propaganda machine and the allegiance would change to the PFP or Progressive Federal Party.

The South African apartheid system was though at the height of its power and in 1971, scores of young men, who had recently completed their formal school, were conscripted to fight in a war most of us had no idea why. The idea of a Communist threat, lurking on an Angolan border was to erase much of our freedom of expression as it had done to our father’s some 30 years earlier. Under the guise of protecting our freedom, my friends lost theirs- sometimes in a hail of bullets. I was fortunate and lived.

1976 the anti -apartheid movement had begun to foment and South Africa was not only a world pariah but was slowly being isolated by sanctions in many forms- perhaps one of the most effective sanctions occurred when the national sporting teams of Rugby and Cricket were banned from participating against other countries. South Africa, although relatively small in numbers, is an extremely proud sporting nation and to be isolated by the world (in the UK Peter Hain was a major force for change in this sense, advocating the isolation of South Africa). For me, along with many of my sporting colleagues this was a personal blow as I had been fortunate to be selected for Provincial Cricket, Soccer and Hockey teams and suddenly the prospect of a career in sport was taken away from me… was this the ”freedom of Expression” I would reflect on in later years? I had already served my country in one tour of duty as a soldier…I had already lost a love due to the political dispensation, now I faced the prospect of losing the opportunity of representing my country in the  international sporting arena.

As an educationalist the world of 1976 became very real as the young people of my country rebelled against having to learn a language (Afrikaans) deemed to be the language of the oppressor. For me, “freedom of Expression” had disappeared and I packed up my children (both toddlers)… my wife had left me for another, and I travelled to Namibia where I hope to avoid the plague that I found myself in in my own country. On reflection I was merely in a sense, doing a “Lady Macbeth” and trying to wash the blood off my own hands.

Nelson Mandela was still on the island! Freedom of Expression belonged only to the White minority! It would be another 14 years before he would be able to shake the Robben Island dust off his feet.

In the interim I was able to have a modicum of freedom and was (eventually) able to represent Namibia in Cricket, and provincially in both Hockey and Soccer. It was a small realization of what I could have achieved in my own country had we not been isolated.

This week the world has celebrated (celebrated?) the Freedom of the Press/Freedom of Expression. The USA is arguably one of the few countries able to celebrate “Freedom of Expression”/Freedom of the Press, whereas most countries will have some restrictive measures in place- Post 1994 in South Africa our country has been somewhat “free-er” but regrettably the new government is slowly becoming more and more austere in its approach to freedom of expression and one is very careful as to what one says in public spaces and especially if one is critical of people in government.

Allow me though to return to the idea that the world seems to have that Nelson Mandela was a/the primary causal factor in the ultimate removal of the Apartheid system and the eventual democratic elections of 1994. It is not my aim to downplay his role nor the advocate of peace that he was but perhaps at this juncture it may be worthwhile to reflect briefly on the idea of freedom of expression as it was from the outset in terms of the growth and development of the country called South Africa.

As was similar in many colonial countries from the 15^th and 16^th Centuries South Africa was “discovered” by Portuguese in their quest to discover a spice route per se. Cape Town on the  southern  tip of Africa became a so called refreshment station for ships (sailors) where they could stop and take on drums of water and various other items such as vegetables grown at the Dutch East India Companies gardens on the slopes of Table Mountain. History has shown that the then settlers m oved into the interior of the country, clashed with the Xhosa/Zulu tribes initially and so began the colonial expansion and settlement of the country by the then Dutch/English/French and various other white colonialists who obviously in their settlement (having superior weapons) dispossessed the inhabitants of their land and who then became labourers on what essentially had been their land originally. Freedom as they knew it in the early years of the development of South Africa belonged primarily to the settlers. I mention this as the idea/concept of Freedom of Expression existed before the arrival of White Settlers but in a sense of a relationship between what was then warring Black tribes. I will allow the reader to gain their own sense of how this freedom existed as it does not take much of a leap to understand how the hierarchy within the tribes, run by a King and his supervisors (a Sangoma- witchdoctor being of paramount importance) and how limited the freedom would have been for the non -royalty tribe members.

Having stated the aforesaid I purposed this to allow the reader a better understanding that South Africa has had many men and women perhaps with as great a stature as Nelson Mandela who litter the history of the country with their efforts to be free and removed from what was considered the yoke of colonialism. Recently South Africa renamed an Eastern Cape airport after one such person namely David Stuurman, who has the debatable honour of being possibly the only Robben Island prisoner to have escaped from the island- the first time being in 1809, and in fact escaped no fewer than 3 times. David Stuurman is also arguably one of the first to rebel against the colonialists who had dispossessed him and his people of their land.

In conclusion:

It is not within the context of this paper to examine the heroes who fought against racial domination which eventually became the cornerstone of South African politics under the guise of Apartheid, but rather to give a sense that many sacrificed their lives over hundreds of years prior to the dismantling of Apartheid under the leadership of Nelson Mandela and hence the giving of credence to Freedom of Expression in South Africa which we now enjoy.

Perhaps though even more than the greatness of the man in enabling South Africa to move from and oppressive State peacefully, would be some of the things he left behind to carry the country ever onwards and upwards. One of these would be his 10 rules for success:

1.      Demand Respect

2.      Prove them wrong

3.      Use your time wisely

4.      Don’t worry about labels

5.      Be humble

6.      Have heroes

7.      Take a stand

8.      Manage your emotions

9.      Be willing to die for your cause

10.   Speak with conviction

If ever a person stood for the rights of humanity and the right to freedom of expression, Nelson Rolihlala Mandela (Madiba) epitomized that.

Orwell was Correct

 

So (ever noticed how when being interviewed the interviewee in answer to a question always starts with so?)… so let me do the same here:

So I had cause to visit a medical practitioner on Monday this week. Had been feeling ill for a few days, sore throat, body aches etc- the normal winter flu type feeling. This was a doctor I had not seen before… He glances at me after briefly reading the document I had religiously filled in at reception, says to me I don’t look my age then asks me what the problem is!  I had hardly got the words “sore throat” out when he tells me to sit on the examination table, takes out his trusty flashlight, peers down my throat, says mmmm knowingly and then says he needs to test for Covid…swabs inside my brain, and a few minutes later I am thrust a rectangular piece of plastic on which a small window with two red stripes have appeared and informed I have tested positive for Covid. Within minutes I have been given a pre-packed group of medicines (all easily purchased over the counter) and handed an A4 piece of paper signed by him and indicating I have Covid. I am told I am no longer infectious as I had started feeling ill some 4-5 days earlier. And with that I am ushered out and into the start of my new Covid statistical world. Immediately my positive status is sent to the Dept. of Health and wherever else and along with others I am now part of the 5^th wave, justifying the call for harsher lockdown measures in our country!

My response?  What a load of hogwash! I will guarantee that my “flu” is no more than  that! I was not even checked for a possible strep throat or my temperature taken, or blood pressure or any other questions asked. In and out within 13 minutes (I had my stopwatch on). And all this on a brand- new patient of 69 years age?

What is more by the time I had reached home I had “apparently” given permission for all 6 doctors at the Practice to access my medical records- Discovery had sent me 6 smses telling me so and suggesting that If I disagreed I could call them to query this. I did so! Press 1 if, press 2 if and so on but no alternative given to say no to their accessing my records. Eventually after jumping through many hoops verifying that I was who I was, a consultant promised me that the permission would be revoked. I would receive an sms indicating so. No sms has been received!

Orwell was correct with his Big Brother, 1984 novel! The only difference was he was a little early and the Novel was not 1984, but Covid.

No longer proud!

 

I have been a South African since birth. My parents were both South Africans- born here! I have fought for South Africa (literally & figuratively). I have studied and taught in my own country for over 45 years. I have always been a proud South African even more so post 1994!

As a voting South African and a believer in Democracy, I have fully understood that even if the party I voted for is not in power, I then must support the government. This is what democracy wants me to do. This I have done. Yes, I may well have voiced concerns at times, but that is also part and parcel of being a citizen in a democratic country.

Today though I find myself asking more questions than I feel comfortable asking. Let me share some of them with you, my reader.

·        Russia is at war with the Ukraine- perhaps more appropriately I should rather state “at war with most of the rest of the world”. This is a statement, not a question- or is this still under debate? It would seem to be so in South Africa!

·        Why do we continuously abstain from voting in the UN when it comes to matters of sanctions etc on Russia?

·        Why do we refer to the WAR as a conflict?

·        Why do we seem to be avoiding (at all costs?) confronting Russia?

·        Why does it seem to be the idea that “razing cities to the ground” is not an act of war, but simply because the inhabitants are defending themselves and in essence “it is their fault”?

·        Why does it “seem” that South Africa is in a tight allegiance with “Mother Russia”?

·        Why does it seem that the idea of Communism rather than Democracy has more support in Government?  (Am I the only one who detects this in certain policies that are stated?)

It is not my intention to simply castigate the government in power over these matters, as I would also suggest that the Opposition Parties, due to their deafening silence in most cases also deserve a tongue lashing at the very least!

In the immortal words of Martin Luther allow me therefore to say: “Here I stand, I can go no further”-

I am no longer a “proud South African”- My citizenship rests uncomfortably on my head (apologies to the Bard)

HELP!

 

I need help! Woke up this morning with a runny nose. Not sure if I should have a Rapid Antigen test or a PCR? Or did the CDC in the USA not rule that these were totally ineffective in testing for Covid? Perhaps a booster vaccination or two -which would also (of course) assist in using up the vaccinations soon to expire and certainly aid my dear struggling government in satisfying their bedfellows in certain other countries. Was R1.2bn also not spent on Covid Emergency reception areas? Have we used them at all?

I certainly would not dream of taking any of aunty Agatha’s home remedies, honey and lemon drink, perhaps with a dash of cinnamon, or heaven forbid something as outlandish as an OTC remedy! I must do something though as I am terrified of being the ground zero area which causes another lockdown courtesy of another aunty, NDZ- did she really threaten us with another lockdown?

Am I also right in noting that Covid19 (SARSCoV2) has been listed as a Group 3 Hazardous Biological Agent? Are we aware as to what this actually means? Effectively this gives the employer greater scope to insist on vaccination! In practical terms though all workplaces should now (it is an airborne pathogen is it not) install airlocks and special filters for all exhaust air from aircons. One cannot have possible droplets being emitted from the workplace especially not from me and my runny nose!

Sanitize your hands my dear Pilate

 Unlike Pontius Pilate and Lady Macbeth, those in positions of power these days sanitise their hands instead of washing them. Indeed we are now forced to do the same and one questions whether it is to protect ourselves from an invisible virus or rather to assist in washing away the guilt of those who have forced the world into further poverty and despair. Do we now carry the guilt with them I ask?

Is there any real difference between Genghis Khan, the leaders of the Crusaders and so-called holy wars, the Viking Hordes, Hitler and his minions, Putin and his, or the leaders of the free world who surely have as much blood on their hands as anyone else.

I suggest not!

And here in SAfrica we now limp on to a 30 day process to further slowly cleanse ourselves of the last vestiges of Covid (is this a swearword he asks sotto voce)... and as the days move on we will allow the mask to slip down (careful politicians do not allow your masks to slip) from over the nose until as the days draw on we move it to around our necks and then? Then we carefully wash and gently store for future pandemic useless use. 30 days is apparently the legal time post the ending of the State of Disaster and has absolutely nothing to do with Covid per se. But all protocols related to Covid shall be maintained for 30 days... then and only then may you remove your mask and hug your neighbour! 

What hogwash!

I was told recently that 68% of our population had been vaccinated! 68%? Of which group I ventured to ask with the figure lurking in the back of my mind of some 32% of the population actually having been vaccinated (out of 60mil). I did not receive a reply which made any sense whatsoever. (people over 50 years was mentioned) and then (all over 12 years). Really?

Apparently vaccination against Covid19 does NOT prevent one from getting the virus and indeed vaccinations are limited in efficacy as the weeks/months wear on (I guess I should be getting my new measles/mumps and Rubella vaccinations soon as it has only been 65 years since I originally had them!)

A Poetic Blog

 

 

If the 2020-2022 (so far) pandemic has meant nothing but negative, it has certainly opened the eyes of the world to a new way of thinking. In fact the concept, “thinking about thinking” has become a very real part of our lives. Time has taken on a new dimension. No longer does time fill a 24-hour span and remind us of appointments, meetings, when to fetch the kids from school, supper time, breakfast time, dinner time, sleep time, time to relax… Time is now calculated in terms of time spent in a location. The bedroom, bathroom, lounge, dining room, kitchen- these are now time encompassing places under the heading “lockdown” or “staying at home”.

Staying at home is a time! And in “thinking about thinking” whilst within the staying at home time, the world has become eminently creative. People have discovered talents, talents that would never have surfaced had the pandemic not crept across the world as a virus from Wuhan to wherever.

For me “staying at home” has rekindled a love of writing and in particular of poetry. Whilst not all of the poems written and commented on in this collection have been written during “lockdown”, many have resurfaced from old tomes resting quietly at the bottom of an undisturbed box of memories. Perhaps for someone, the reading of these may too, kindle a hidden flame, and get the creative juices flowing. Or allowing some long-forgotten memory to resurface with a gentle but emotional tear flowing down a cheek.

If either happens, my writings will not have been in vain.

Written in “free verse” with some elements of rhyme scheme and generally iambic in nature with stressed/unstressed syllables enabling a hopefully easy reading of the poems.

All poems are original and arise from the pen of the author who writes under the pseudonym, Raymond Bruce, or simply RB.

At the Bottom of my Garden

There are no secrets at the bottom of my garden-

No strange misshapen thoughts to warp the bark

of some eternal tree.

Just me!

And I am open.

No Myrtle hedge surrounds

nor ivy clings- just a mere trace of thistle;

Food for the bird that sings

its aimless melody to some autumn sky.

There are no secrets, but a mystery.

RB

Commentary: The human psyche is inevitably able to accept a myriad of thoughts, like the garden I sat in and pondered in one late Autumn- Nature gives its all to us, yet is a mystery. And we? We may well be willing to open our minds but yet can remain unfathomable. As I reflected on nature in all its mysteries, the one thought that became central was that one cannot wall in nature.  One has merely to see how the town of Pripyat built originally to serve the nuclear power-station, Chernobyl, and how it has, since being abandoned in 1986 , been retaken by mother nature.

Growing Old

I wonder where we’ll be

when all our tomorrows

have become yesterdays.

When the petals of

your rose- reflected cheeks

are in the winter of their bloom,

and the silence that we shared

is real-

Perhaps then together

we can share the fruits of our vine,

and in the headiness

of our matured casks

with crystals clinking

our mingled tastes…

I wonder where we’ll be

when all our tomorrows

have become yesterdays.

RB

Commentary: Growing old gracefully is something we perhaps all aspire to. To share this with a soulmate as both share their long walk through the various stages of life is possibly one of the most magical things one can do.

Dune thoughts

Is it caramel or is it burnt sienna sand?

I let it trickle through the fingers of my hand.

A hundred years, a little heap of land,

A thousand years in front of where I stand.

RB

Commentary: The arid ecoregion known as the Namib desert has vast oceans of sand of many shades of gold and brown which shifts and changes shape daily as it has done for some 55 million years. A mere 4 lines with end rhyming tell the story of a desert dune measured not only in size but in endless time.

Truspiëel

Die gedreun, die gedruis

van die wind

en die wiel op die teer-

‘n weggaansgevoel-

weg van gister; en

soos die tyd-verspulde oomblikke

wat kleinword in the truspiëel

van die verlede.

En tog, die aankoms van die hede

verby die oogvenster,

tot hedeverlede as deel uitmaak

van toekoms:-

Wat is môre dan

voor dit vandag gister word?

RB

Commentary: The poet looks into the rearview mirror as he leaves a town he lived in for almost a decade and “sees” his yesterdays in the mirror. The poem is written in Afrikaans, which is one of the 11 languages recognized as official and spoken in South Africa.  He refers to the gedreun and gedruis as the sound of the wind as the car accelerates (a roaring and whistling  sound) and the sound of the car tyres on the tar. A feeling of leaving, away from yesterday and how moments in time have been literally spilt and become smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror of the past. He then reflects on the present and future as it rushes into his view and then past him through the window of his eyes. These become the present and the past together and make up the future. He closes with the question: What is tomorrow then before today becomes yesterday?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Walvis Bay- I

Let me think only of you;

Dune wrapped and cold sea lapped

as you nestle silent

At the edge of time.

What passing moment careless

by some god-child left you

stranded here,

whilst greener things

to distant places flew?

Ah sad; you answer not,

but ageless to some soft dumb

footprint point and wistful smile…

And I, lost, bewildered, only stare-

Until a single echoed thought

reminds me brief-

The owner of that footprint brought

me to you,

a thousand years once long ago-

yesterday!

RB

 

Commentary: The port town of Walvis Bay in the southwest of Namibia was the original stopping place for the early Portuguese explorers and holds a rich history of its indigenous peoples, the Nama (Topnaars) with their very special culture. Walvis Bay is also the second biggest city in Namibia (according to population size) and the largest port. Whilst it has, over the years, been greatly developed, it once was a town of salt roads and some 16 fishing factories, many of which no longer operate.

Shortly after arriving in Walvis, I sat pondering the bleakness, the fact that very little green existed, but all was shaded in treacle colours, browns and shades thereof.  Yet amidst it all there existed something quite magical. The dunes, the sand, the cold sea had been there for thousands of years and who was I to question its very existence but rather to sit and celebrate.

Pa se Kind

En hier sit ek eensaam tussen die herinneringe

van gisteraand en gister;

Waar is die heilige gesiggie wat sag en glimlaggend

daar in die oggend son oor die ‘brekfis’ tafel

vir my soos ‘n winkende sterretjie gekyk het?

Dink sy aan my soos ek aan haar, of het die glimlag

saam met die koms van die aand sku met die son ook verdwyn.

Maar dit kan nie wees nie-want hier in my hartsak

het ek ‘n gedeelte van die ewigheid-

en die ewigheid glimlag nog vir my.

Hou my, my kleinlief vir daardie intieme moment tussen

slaap en wakkerheid,

Vir daardie oomblik wat nog nie gister, môre en vandag

is nie-en verewig my in jou drome.

Want ek wil ‘n deel van jou wees, onskeibaar en heilig.

Soos dons wil ek jou omhels en teen die koudheid van die lewe

wil ek jou beskerm.

Gee my die sleutel tot die kamer van jou klein hartjie dat ek mag intrek

En saam sal ons die môre toekoms waag.

RB

Commentary: Life has passed by and his little girl, his firstborn has moved on in life and no longer shares his world but her own with her own family. The poet reflects on the intimacy of raising a child, especially in his mind that of a girl-child. How he wishes he could still protect her from the roughness of life and in a sense “carry her” into whatever future there may be.

The translation into English is below:

Daddy’s Child

And here I sit alone  (lonely) between the memories

Of last night and yesterday,

Where is the holy (chaste/perfect) little face that soft and smiling

In the morning sun across the breakfast table

Looks at me as if a sparkling star?

Does she think of me as I think of her, or has the smile

Together with the arrival of the night (becoming older-an adult) shyly with the sun also disappeared.

But that can’t be- because here inside my heart

I have a piece of eternity-

And the eternity still smiles for me.

Hold me, my small love for those intimate moments between

Sleep and being awake.

For that moment which is not yesterday, tomorrow or today- and make me eternal in your dreams.

Because I want to be part of you, indivisible and holy.

Like cottonwool (duck feathers) I want to hug or hold you against the coldness of life

Give me the key to the inner room of your small heart that I may move in

And together we can face the future of tomorrow.

RB

On a Christmas Desert - Namib

Sing me the purple quiet of the desert eve

When the mist cloaks softly and the dunes drink deep-

Give me a hand as we footstep the deepening hue

And chill through the tumbling mists so timeless.

On thorny path and rock- strewn land,

Did Christ Himself not echo nail torn feet

on some once familiar strand…

Is this strange desert view but brother to His one too?

Ah He with majesty stood unwilling King presiding;

And who’s to judge the rough -hewn path

We tear from broken land, from broken feet and broken hand?

Eden’s toil beyond the realms of death is grand

And this our land un-Christlike will not forget…

Will grow burnished red as in the sunset with Another’s blood

And anguish sounds will Nightingale sweet soft fill

The tear- stained misty air…

But let us rather love-filled nurture that one green leaf

Of joy left so long ago by a baby Boy

And grow hands clasped to the beckoning thirsty future

Of our tomorrows.

RB

Commentary: There is something truly magical that grips the soul as one considers the beauty created by God in His nature. And in this case as he walks quietly on Christmas eve with the desert scene and coastal waters before him, the poet is drawn to muse that Christ Himself once was placed in a desert to be tempted and later how he was torn and crucified, and the land blood-stained red. There are images of the anguish of His death and beginnings of our own part in His pain since Eden… But it being Christmas eve the poet ends with a positive note as he remembers the Christchild who enables us to “thirst” no more even in a thirsty land.

 

 

 

Marsala

I seek the substance of my soul

Within the patchwork quilt of memories-

The thread therein

rolls sea-fog like towards the dim brilliance

of morning shore thought-

An empennage

holding the sunlit mind on course.

And yet the very freedom

Is a Martingale restraining thoughts

Which o’erleap themselves

To reach beyond the sun-fingered fog

of the Letheian mind.

And I, in jocular defiance turn

to offer a libation to my prudish gods.

With sweet Marsala and savoire-faire

do beguile the wards of sanity

and rest from my abortive quest

RB

Commentary: An almost tongue in cheek reflection on life made by the poet as he enjoys a glass of red wine (Marsala). I seek the substance of his soul (who am I and why am I here) amidst a myriad of memories, but they are as dim as a sea fog as one attempts to think in the early morning as one who has yet to awaken properly. He uses almost inappropriate words to describe how he struggles to keep his mind focused (empennage- used in aeronautics meaning the surfaces on a tailplane enabling an aeroplane to fly straight) Random thoughts (Martingale series), and Lethean (forgetting the past). He raises his glass in defiance as he acts socially correctly (savoire faire) and allows the wine to dull his thoughts and rest him from what was a quest/goal he would never reach.

 

Memory

A moment

A thought

Timeless

In a breathless breath filled silence

An empty room

No.

The darkness paints

And light diffuses

We stand and sit and lie

In one-

At once

Together

Alone

Again.

RB

Commentary: A somewhat sad memory (longing) of being with someone you love and who is no longer with you.

Happiness

Consider

He said

The implications

And smiled

She smiled and close- held

The laughter

In her breast his chest

And nothing

Mattered.

RB

Commentary: A moment in time shared between two people who have a special bond

 

 

 

Midnight Thoughts

A silence as the music faded

And just the imagined sound of thoughts

left behind whispered softly.

A hug that removes all sadness?

Aah indeed

And where is the therapy

but within the words and smiles

of that friend...

A soul beyond the sublime

To wrest an anguish and carry it

Petal soft on the waves of a sunlit stream.

To laugh and be loved

To be the Teddy who listens

ear attentive

always.

To give love and expect none

and in so doing there be no space

or time

for fear, regret or hate.

Be set free to fly in the wondrous sense

of just knowing

that your story may bless the hearer

that they may understand-

 that age will always be

but beauty disguised

in the little moments and things of the tomorrows

we share.

RB

Commentary:  A follow on from the previous poem in which the poet allows his thoughts to roam freely as a reflection of the sound and thoughts one shares when the music (real or imagined), ends.

Gister

Daar’s ǹ poem sȇ hy

Iewers in my mind

Maar,

En hy peins so bietjie…

Ek moet dit net find

Hy frons en sy oë verdwyn

Agter ǹ masker van gesigsplooiende denke…

Ek het jou lief!

Ag nie wѐѐr, hy sy lag

Wat weerklink asof dit van tevore gebeur het…

Dis ǹ ‘ou’ soen maar teer; iets soos,

Ja gister, toe sy/hy nog jonk was?

En voetjies onner die tafel, langs mekaar

Innie kerk;

Ag dominee

Sulke dinge…

Daar’s ǹ poem sȇ hy… en sy glimlag met

Moeëplooitjies

RB

Commentary: Two elderly people, after a lifetime of being together, share an intimate moment as they remember the past and their love for each other.

Translation:

There’s a poem he says

Somewhere in my mind

But,

And he thinks a while

I must just find it

He frowns and his eyes disappear

Behind a mask of face wrinkling thoughts…

I love you!

Oh not again, he/she laugh

Which echoes as if it has occurred once before

Its an ‘old’ kiss but meaningful, something like..

Yes yesterday, when he/she were both young?

And their feet would touch under the table, next to each other

In the church;

Sorry Pastor

These things…

There’s a poem he says…and he smiles with

Tired wrinkles

Mathematical Thoughts

Don’t be confused by hypotenuse

It’s in your quadrant, root and all.

So look at the square

No not at Pi

It’s staring you straight

Right deep in your eye.
A line is a line

Thicker or thin

It has no width

And is certainly long

And algebra’s no, not the name of a song.

Now calculate clear

Use diameter dear.

Ah the sum of the squares

No don’t move the chairs.

It says parallel there

You don’t really care?

But it all adds up

Minus one or two

To the whole of the sum

And the sum of the whole

Then 7 x 9 will do just fine

Now I’ll leave you to it

And take down the sine.

RB

Commentary: The poet’s daughter struggled with Mathematics and this “tongue in cheek” piece of writing was intended to encourage her.

Life

Sausages lay on the brown floor,

scattered.

The pan dripped hot fat.

The element glowed red.

It was 5pm.

She cursed-
the dog ate.

RB

Commentary : The normality of daily life.

Hope

Perhaps though the world is cruel-

Kindness by One…

May so stir stilled feelings,

May recall memories,

Telling of good times,

That sadness and wickedness

Will rot in the files of darkness

To be covered by layers of time

Like dust on a holiday window -sill

RB

Commentary: Somehow the closing two lines of this poem represent the theme and that is almost a fervent prayer that what is wrong in the world may indeed be covered “like dust on a holiday window sill”. The holiday window sill representing the joy and happiness of a holiday but being obliterated by the negative yet able to be removed.

 

On the Death of a Lonely Goat

The stream trickles with the sound of dust,

cracked , brown sand, cringes;

The air, liquid lava, pulsates above the arid ground.

A dying Willow weeps in the silence,

While the blinding heat drags slowly across the sullen sky.

A lonely boned goat stares sightless at the river bed,

And dehydrated crumples to sigh in the molten earth.

And the day yawns on through the screaming solitude

Echoing death in the stillness.

The bloody orb settles on the horizon,

Heat steams from the corpse earth, stifling the slow inking sky

Darkness, the Hyena slinks and the dog howls his lament

Across a naked heaven.

A Zepherous wind scuffs softly, sifting the strangely sanguine sand.

And slowly, squeezing out the red hued sunset, Night steals in-

Peace.

RB

Commentary: A few days spent in Sossusvlei, an area of rocky desert in Namibia and a place where there is very little rain or moisture of any sort. Yet amidst this the occasional depression allows a long lost river to emerge for sometimes an extended period of time and growth of unusual/exceptional kind to take root. Inhospitable except for the hardiest of creatures. The author took some liberty in expressing the vivid scene before him using an excess of descriptive language, at times almost inappropriate yet allowing the reader to lose him/herself in the moment. Some of the animals let loose in the poem do not exist in Sossusvlei, yet the whitened bones partially covered by sand seemed to haunt the author and suggest they may well have at some time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Walvis Bay- II

It is an old man this town,

With toothless gums-

Content to suck and not to chew

No vibrant virility-

Just varicose veins

Whose calloused skin abhors…

Ideas-

Like cleansing rain they fall

To lie in stagnant pools of thoughtlessness.

Sterile, vapid vacant, a peopleless

Peopled town,

Encorpsed and not inhabited!

Oh town, with varus feet

You make your way in timelessness.

What changes wrought since once

Those ghostly ships did course your mists

And echo chains upon your shores?

When men with bolder stride,

Or was it pride with flag and fanfare did abide.

Or are these changes still to come?

Perhaps your loins are yet to spawn the seeds of life

And wrench the torpid Letheian minds

That lead you from their ‘Winters’ hibernation-

Take heart oh town-

“Tis old men they say, that rule the world today”

RB

Commentary: This poem was published in The Namib Times in 1984, a newspaper in the town of Walvis Bay Namibia. There had been a meeting to discuss the way forward in terms of the fishing industry, the military base and general progress- The result of the meeting was that there would not be any immediate progress and that the status quo would remain. The background to this decision was that the people in charge (the Mayor and the Town Council) were not willing to risk any new development as they were “comfortable” in maintaining what was there. The writer then took it upon himself to make a statement, perhaps an attack on them, but write it in such a way that it would seem that they, and the town were being celebrated.

Just

Let me slip behind your sky eyes

And wander free amidst your dreams-

When in restless night you reach out

Let my fingertips touch thoughts be there

To caress away the pain of absence.

Join me and shake off the earthly chains

To bathe in light

Far beyond the realms of banished night.

There are no secret thoughts I hold but those

Which swim amidst the fields

Of your own petalled strewn dreams.

And they are but soft reflections

Of my own in life’s rippled pool.

RB

Commentary: Romance and a lost love washes through this piece of writing. The author wishes his love could return yet knows that he remains just a part of a dream which at times is also his own.

Eclectic

I held your 5c in my hand all day mommy

And when you weren’t there to fetch me

From school,

I gave it to Paul.

It wasn’t the sound of your voice

That kept me awake last night

But the silence in between

Without you

My supper gets cold

I looked at your photo yesterday

And noticed you weren’t looking at me

Commentary: Sometimes ideas float around and stick together in the most strangest of places

Artiste

And so we entered together

Each with a plastic smile

To cover our fresh frozen thoughts-

At first it was all right

As convincing as a toothpaste ad

Until the studio lights

And we began to thaw.

Don’t look said the scriptwriter

Running to fetch the makeup artist

Leaving his pen to dance to the tune of my fingertips-

He arrived too late.

RB

Commentary: Plastic people living in a plastic world. We wander through life as marionettes very often without focus or genuine thought

To Be Nina (A dog I once knew)

Thoughts at the surface

To look brown-eyed and warm

As only the canine world can.

Shall we care

Or is the tug of a ball frolic too strong

Before we share our softness despite?

Ah yes we have no devious unkempt senses

But that to please and tease some joyful laughter

From a sad-faced master

Or mistress if you want.

To be Nina is simply to be

Commentary: The devotion of a dog is complete. They will protect and supply their total love. All that is required in return is to feed and to provide some care. And the occasional time of play. For their short space of time on this earth they give far more than they gain in return.

 

Postscript: It has been a delight putting together these thoughts amidst the challenges that the pandemic has wrought. I do trust that all who may get to read these poems will have their own thoughts elevated and perhaps be stirred to write their own and assist in attaining some of the sustainable goals of the United Nations… in the above poems I hope to have moved some to consider goals 3, 4 and 16.