THE SWEET SCENT OF SMOKE STILL LINGERS.....

The scent of sweet smoke still lingers in our house from Hermon, the sangoma’s, visits. It is especially strong in certain cupboards and the pungent, but pleasant smell, reminds me of what we’re trying to do here—that is, move on from what this house once was to a place that is our own. All the challenges, both physical and emotional, can make the road a little bumpy at times. Fortunately, we are each equipped with steel belted radials to smooth those bumps as much as we can.

Hermon’s take on the “vibe” of the house was interesting and I think very accurate—he said it wasn’t filled with negativity, but felt very dead and dormant. I thought. “It’s true—this is a house where love died and where honesty and creativity and even basic maintenance all went dormant.” His rituals were intended to clear out the past and make room for all good things to enter while covering the house is a protective dome of light. Hermon reminded us to bless whatever passed through this house in letting go of it.

He did make an interesting comment about our bedroom—he said it needed very little work. We had brought light and fresh air into that room ourselves and made it a place, as he termed it, full compassion and passion. What more could one hope for? This was especially interesting to me as I wanted us to have a different bedroom from the one Glen shared with Eileen. Quite frankly, moving into the same bedroom creeped me right out! But there is one very LARGE bedroom in this house with an en suite and a weird little attached dressing room. The two other bedrooms are teeny, so there really was no choice of what room should be ours—and it is HUGE with LOTS of light and over looks the back garden. Although the furnishings are spartan, we have made it our own so Hermon’s comments rang true.

Speaking of gardens, our new gardener quit on Saturday. He is a knowledgeable older fellow, so I was worried about him feeling overwhelmed at our large unruly garden. I kept saying, “Don’t get overwhelmed. Just focus one small section at a time.” But, alas, it was too much! He arrived with his son, also an experienced gardener, who will be replacing him. The new gardener worked like a demon and now we are afraid he won’t show up next week! I never understand why Africans are thought of as lazy—all the ones we have hired have worked incredibly hard for modest fees. Racism is well preserved in South Africa. The gardening family, Joseph and his son, Oliver, are from Zimbabwe or “Zim” as it’s called here. South Africans shorten all words when possible—for example a swimsuit, which they call a “bathing costume” is a “cossie” and “flip flops”, called “slip slops” is shortened to “slops”.

I return from that sidebar—what I wanted to talk about is more serious—the difference between Black South Africans and those from Zim or other African countries. The people from Zim I have met are easy to chat with (even though they struggle a bit with my accent.) One gets the feeling that we speak as equals, pure and simple, and just as it should be. They are doing their job and simply getting on with things. Encounters with Black South Africans can be distinctly different. Glen and I have a game we play when we are out for dinner—I always know when the waitron (yep! that’s the gender non-specific word they use here!) is NOT South African and I have taken to asking them “Where are you from?” I am almost always right. People from Zim and other parts of Africa are confident and at ease with white customers. They chat in that friendly waiterly way. With South African waitrons, there is always a strong and distinct discomfort--- there is a formality that comes across almost as fear—no friendly banter or chitchat. Just, “Yes, Sir” “No, M’am”—it is, of course, the legacy of apartheid—the separation lives on and will take many more decades to change.

The Emmarentia house saga continues—but I am slowly becoming to accustomed to the things keep breaking down. We had electricians here for 4 days rewiring half the house as well as replacing the security system in the aftermath of the cable theft. Today, we noticed a LARGE wet spot on the kitchen ceiling. The geyser is leaking! Let me explain, the “geyser” (pronounced “geezer”!) is the hot water tank and is located places that a Canadian would find distinctly odd. In Glen’s apartment, it was mounted on the wall despite being a full-size tank like the ones we are accustomed to in the True North. In this house, it is located in the attic! Because we suspect there are rats up there, neither of us is brave enough to go up there and inspect. Fortunately, Glen tells me that geezer problems are always insurance claims, so back to the insurance company! EISH! I guess the dome of protective light doesn't extend to geezers hidden in dark attics!