LIFE IN A COZY COCOON WITH CRACKS

This is the view from our bedroom window. I am proud of this photo.

Despite both of us working hard—Glen at consulting and me at getting us settled in—we have made a cozy life here in Hyde Park. The house is comfy, we have a small yard and now with pots of herbs and flowers growing. The swanky mall complete with restaurants and cinema is just up the street. We attended to his daughter’s youth orchestra concert on Sunday, are off to a national park for the weekend and have tickets for a play the following weekend. Anyone with money can cocoon here and live the good life.

Then there are the cracks. The political ones.

Glen has been consulting with the Ministry of Higher Education. He is on a Task Team to provide desperately needed reorganization of the South African colleges. This is not the first time this has been attempted, but this time, it looked as if it could really succeed, partly due to the leadership provided by the Director General of the Department with whom he’s been working closely. Let’s call her Mary. Mary is the highest ranking civil servant in the Department and answers directly to the Minister. Let’s call him Blade. Mary works HARD. Calls and emails from her on evenings and weekends are not unusual. Glen responds happily because he holds Mary in such high regard. Not only does she work hard, but she understands the issue to its core and provides great leadership. Glen speaks of her with the greatest respect and admiration.

Sunday morning, Glen received a text saying there was a rumour Mary had been let go by Blade. Today it has been confirmed. Politics are always nasty business, but this is completely disheartening. Glen has been deeply affected and is discouraged.
There was progress. There was hope for finally getting the colleges on track.

Today’s paper says, “The administration has to align itself to the political direction of the government.” It only begs the question of, “Isn’t the political direction of this government education, jobs and prosperity for it’s grossly undereducated and unemployed populace?” Glen’s not a political insider and can only speculate as to the real reason. Does Blade, an ANC and Communist Party stalwart, feel threatened by this brilliant white woman? Or are there simply backroom politics of which we have no idea?

In a country where the President’s theme song is the macho aggressive, Awlethu Mshini Wam, or “Bring Me My Machine Gun”, there is a long way to go before the democratic ideals on which this baby democracy was founded can be achieved.

Lightning, Thunder and a Happy Home

The rainy season has been threatening us in the most aggressive way the past few nights—thunder, lightning and howling winds. The junk trees in the vacant lot next door move with the litheness of agitated dancers. Weather here in Johannesburg is never dainty but echoes the city—violent, aggressive, angry. Despite all the flash and drama, only a few drops of rain have fallen. The city is dry and dusty. Our potted plants devour water daily.

Meanwhile, Glen and I are settling in to our new place in Hyde Park. The last boxes are disappearing, art is going up on the walls and order ensues. Everything is clean and white—the walls, the cupboards, and the doors. As someone who prides herself on having a place full of colour, the cleanness and neutrality is satisfying. We add colour and life in other ways. Each day we comment about something we hadn't noticed previously that we like about thisplace. What is most satisfying is that everything works, the roof doesn’t leak and all the toilets flush! We are easy to please. Each day, it feels more like home.

FAREWELL EMMARENTIA

October 1st, 8:15 am. Moving Day.

Every single item we own was boxed and ready to go. We were ready. Grace, our domestic helper, was busy wiping down counters so that we left the place in the best shape possible. Flowers and chocolates were in place for the new owners.

So where was Sean the Mover who had been booked and triple-confirmed for 8am???

I called, “Stuck in traffic, “ was his reply. I thought, “Ok, it’s the one day of the month he makes all his money, so he squeezed in another job before ours.” No problem. 9:30 am. Still no mover. When he stopped answering calls, I sent him a text. “Delayed until noon, but could possibly arrive at 11:30.” I believed him. Glen and Grace were moving delicate items in the Landy while I waited……. By early afternoon, he was not answering his phone, stopped returning text messages and his voicemail was full. That cursed house was not going to let us exit gracefully!

The new owners were coming by to pick up keys at 2pm. Panic rising, I resolved to call every mover in town until I could find someone who could get us moved that afternoon. As I walked onto the porch, laptop under my arm to start the task, there was my Beloved going through the Yellow Pages doing exactly the same thing! If we are anything, we are in sync.

After only a few calls, an angelic man named Heinrich said he had a truck finishing a job and could be at our place by 5pm. By 8:30pm, they had us completely moved into our new place. May blessings reign down on him and his crew!

Before heading to the new place to hang curtains in our very exposed bedroom windows (while Glen stayed to supervise the move), I walked through the Emmarentia house one last time. The only phrase going through my head, was “Fuck you, Eileen!” She had left us a disaster but Glen had triumphed though a great real estate deal. It was just payback for the nearly five years of unnecessary divorce agony she had put him through. Surely this was the final page of that chapter.

By the way, that wretched Sean Naidoo never did show up. May his tires always be flat.