Surviving a Storm

 

After the storms that from time to time wreck our lives, we always learn a precious truth: life goes on. Semper.

 

Friday, 11pm - It has been a hard, tiring day. We usually ignore how our own dramas affect other people around us. I just hope a quieter tomorrow.

 

Saturday, 11am - Lunch is almost ready. Cook Tieta is off due to her annual malaria spell. It came a little late this year. There’s a thing we women instinctively know: food can comfort us throughout crises. I went for a divers’ favorite: Brazilian feijoada with sun dried meat. Andy and two friends are already waiting…

 

Saturday, 4pm - I convinced Paul to came with me to a craft exhibition. I think the idea of showing the work of a few special local artists is great, but is should be taken more seriously and maybe include Mozambican (or even African) gastronomy. There I met a friend I didn’t see for a long time. “I checked on you and someone told me you have been dancing flamenco,” she said. (Kind of funny this connection with something I am not doing so regularly these days.)

 

Saturday, 11pm – I am t-o-t-a-l-l-y in the mood for movies and biting my nails (unmistakable sign of fighting the exhaustion I feel, I need to sleep and at the same time I want to stay awaken), but the movies available are serious crap. I decide to watch 10 minutes of the beginning and 10 of the end of each, so that I don’t have to lose time with things that add nothing to the quality of my life. This if I didn’t fall asleep during the first five minutes!

 

Sunday, 1pm - Costa do Sol restaurant with its coriander clams is still here, as a living proof that it’s possible to survive numerous storms. A sunny day put us chatting about Xai-Xai and Inhambane beaches. When I am starting to believe I am almost there, Paul remembers: “What about Keket?” Icy shower over my enthusiasm. For now puppy Keket is too small to be left alone. “Maybe Marracuene…” I conveyed. Sometimes dreams have to give space to reality.

Record of Dive-5

 

A storm has been unfolding and I am right in the middle of it. I’ll write about the matter as soon as I see some kind of epilogue. Meanwhile, this is what we have been doing besides striving through rough weather:

 

Date of Dives: March 2009.

Dive Location: Mozambique.
Type of Dive: bell sat.
Maximum Depth: 250ft.
Breathing Mixture Used: polluted.
Weather Conditions: stormy.

 

Divers & Jobs: Andy is riding the storm and is like someone about to sink but still fighting to keep afloat. We are all trying to be a sort of buoy to him but he just cannot accept the reality. JP is also facing a storm of his own, a professional one I mean, completing almost two months without being called for a new job. I am relieved to see that TD is active. He has just finished a clip for one of the themes of his new album and that means they intend to promote it and sell it to a wider audience. He returned to Joburg but he will be back in a week or so for a local jazz festival. I haven’t seen NB but the idea I have is that things have been stormy for him for quite a while. Maybe he is the kind of diver so used to storms that he even believes storms are a way of life. On the contrary, Vic has been taking the right steps and I just hope he still pursues his goals. Jo is starting a new life as a married man. Though some doubt it, things may turn out better for him than for the rest of the group. Paul is busy doing this and that. At least I can say one of us has been productive. Seabell is entertained with her new playful puppy Keket. It took her three days to learn our methods. Pups fit into a routine in a couple of days while people usually never fit adequately into most of the routines designed for them. And maybe that’s the best aspect of being human: nonconformity.

The Lion’s Scarf

 

It’s not easy to sort out what is wise to keep from what is plainly cluttering our lives. I remember criticizing my mother because she kept stuff for ages, but today I like a few things she handed to me, like my first robe de chambre and a couple of lace shirts.

 

Recently I had to decide if the kimono I wore from 8 to 10 was good enough to pass to a special little girl. Unfortunately, I don’t think so. That’s why I ask myself how wise is to keep things if they won’t live enough to give pleasure to someone else.

 

On the other hand, I still wear my teen lace shirts and I hope one day someone will enjoy wearing them too.

 

I do regret a couple of things I get rid of. I had a pair of shoes whose cost today is a fortune. Even if I could afford them, they are so, but so difficult to find! I know one day I’ll buy a new pair just because they look like the real deal – and maybe found some solace – but until then I cannot stop wondering why on earth I gave them up.

 

My father used to be a hunter. He killed wild beasts because that was a sport for him (and unfortunately for too many more), but today I only remember the lioness he shot to save his friend’s life. Because the skin of that particular specimen wasn’t collectable, someone from the village send the lioness’s skull to him. My mother wrapped it in a green scarf and from time to time we stared at one of the few things left from my father’s past as a hunter. I don’t know what happened with that skull but I owned the green scarf for a while and lost trace of it. It was just a scarf but it represented a special memory too.

 

I know that from now on I have to be wise and careful before deciding what stays and what goes. I don’t want either to clutter or to make mistakes I’ll regret later. I think it’s just a question of realizing how valuable each item is to me.

No Time to Sleep

 

These days I have little to say except for Keket, my new pup. She changed my rhythm and I cannot escape from her charms or forget the tears I saw in her eyes during the first twenty-four hours here. She is now in her second day with us, definitively the first one tears free.

 

For now it’s impossible to ignore someone with the size of a foot, who identifies my own feet as her world. The major trouble for now refers to my sleeping patterns. Basically, I’m used to sleep through the morning and be productive during the afternoon and part of the night. I even talked with my nutritionist guru about the strangeness of my sleeping ways and she explained with her usual thoughtfulness: “You sleep whenever you feel like sleeping, as long as you try to sleep at least eight hours…”

 

Right now I don’t have a pattern at all. I sleep when I can while Keket sleeps over my flip-flops, ignoring any other fancy bed I might have prepared for her. Monday I slept from 5pm to 11am of the next day. I was that exhausted and deprived!

 

If you think I asked for it, you are wrong. It just happened and I simply can’t or want shake her off. I sleep when she lets me sleep. Anything but tears in her eyes…

Pink & Black

 

Andy drove to Johannesburg and back so that we could bring Mrs Thoth to her new home. We spent a great part of Friday on the road, with a few stops along the way. We found the Riverside Mall once again closed owing to a power cut. It’s becoming an unpleasant routine I don’t want to comment. We turned our backs to it and went to the trout stop.

 

The weather changed suddenly and a tropical storm rode with us. That’s how a summer day became a winter evening! Nonetheless, the unexpected cold didn’t change our plans of visiting a Japanese restaurant in Rosebank.

 

We had a few compromises scheduled for Saturday (thankfully sunnier and hotter than the previous day), but if I had to be sincere the highlight was the gourmet journey the three of us embarked on. It started with breakfast in a new Italian restaurant in Parkwood, followed by an early lunch in Sandton, a late lunch in Hyde Park, tea (and a lot more) in a Greek restaurant, followed by a Chinese dinner… Just for the record, it was a bit too much. Work or no work, we spent 60 per cent of the day at restaurant tables.

 

Yesterday we could buy fresh stuff for our fridge and call a taxi so that we didn’t had to face the incognita of driving through unknown neighbourhoods to pick up our new dog. Only after that we started our road trip back home, with a few stops for water and other obvious pup’s needs, besides a short detour in Nelspruit for one of the best meals we had: grilled fish for Paul and Andy, plus sushi for me.

 

Keket slept most of the time. She seemed comfortable when close to my black tee, either because of the color or the smell left in it by one of her brothers. Keket (Keke for fiends and family) was born February 4, so she doesn’t have two months yet. Her provisory name was Snowwhite (make us wonder!) and now she is Keket, the Egyptian goddess of darkness but at the same time regarded as the one that brings the light.

 

In spite of our long journey, she had a good day. (First shopping experience is unforgettable for any girl… ) She has been playful and cheerful, yet sometimes her eyes are sad and not long ago I found her a bit tearful. She must miss her three brothers terribly. They looked very close, as brothers usually are. Well, from now on my universe is pink and black or black and pink, as you wish. Soon she will start to bite and chew everything. That’s when she can stay with Thoth. She will be stronger and capable of doing more harm to him than vice versa. Poor Thoth!

Boys’ Year Out?

 

Girls might be growing in number but boys are showing themselves more often. I don’t know what is happening but guys seem to be changing.

 

Since tae bo and dance classes started (nearly 2 years ago), we just had to deal with the sporadic presence of a boy from time to time. I was convinced they weren’t the least interested in that sort of activities.

 

This year we have almost the same number of boys attending flamenco and the number of them adhering to tae bo is visibly growing.

 

Though I believe to be hard for girls to compete with boys in matters of strength, for now we are showing off in terms of endurance. I think we, tae girls, are a really tough bunch. Boys who joined this year must be surprised with our performance.

 

I still do dance for posture and challenge, not regularly though. If the activity we pick for ourselves is supposed to give us a good feeling, then tae bo is the right one for me.

Thoth is Getting Married While I Crave Sushi

 

Thoth, if you don’t know yet, is our dog. He was born on the 3rd of July 2006 and is an adult dog now with almost 3 years old. He came to us a little late to do a lot in terms of his growth, but he was well trained and displayed a nice personality from the start.

 

From January on I’ve been looking for a companion for him. I am glad I only had to say no once. The second one seems perfect and arrangements are now made. Well, the only thing left for us is to pick up the bride, this sweet black thing still unnamed, and introduce her to a very unaware groom.

 

While all this happens, Seabell is starting to feel a bit gourmand with the unexpected opportunity to celebrate with two or three sushi dinners.

 

We do have reasons to toast in bridal terms, even if with sake. Jo, who is JP’s friend and colleague, besides being one of my seven divers, married yesterday. Though we didn’t stayed long because of another compromise, I liked Jo’s wedding very much.

Dancing for Hours

 

If you are serious about dancing, there are two qualities you have to stock: 1) Perseverance. 2) Resistance.

 

I knew about the first one but only got the fully meaning of resistance last Saturday when I had to endure five hours of flamenco workshop. When I heard the word workshop I automatically thought of dancing (non troppo), talk (troppo) and video material (allegro). Nope. It was five hours of straight dancing with three stops of ten to fifteen minutes for barefoot, water and snack.

 

Our flamenco group is clearly divided into professional and amateur dancers. Though flamenco is all about individual expression, this year there’s female and male dancers equilibrium.

 

In terms of productivity, the difference between amateur and professional is palpable not only in posture and getting the choreography right but also endurance. After four hours, an amateur is completely numb while the professional keeps going.

 

Since I joined this group I started to understand why dancers look a little distant and somber. With all the physical effort they put into dancing, there’s little room left for affability. And I am not even entering in more complex areas such as competitiveness and constant self-improvement.

 

I tried to keep up to the challenge of five hours of dance. The result? I slept almost fifteen in a row. The next morning Paul looked at me and noticed: “You have lost 2 or 3kg since yesterday.”

 

I didn’t check if he was right. Instead I baked a cake and decided to go for a long Sunday walk with Paul. Sometimes, we have to dance with someone.

Prawn Soup

 

My appetite for prawn soup faced a terrible contrariety: to make it creamy, as any prawn soup has to be, I had to use either flour or cream. As I avoid both, I was restricted to a forced prawn soup diet.

 

I tried to make it using potatoes as a base, but the potato has a recognizable taste and texture I don’t like in this particular soup. The cream must be velvety and discreet so that the seafood flavor stands out.

 

After a few attempts I discovered I could only reach the result I wanted by mixing rice and potato – sweet potato since my nutrition guru recommended it instead of regular potato. It’s too simple and too tasty to believe.

 

1. Put together into a large pan:

a good quantity of water
10 to 20 large prawns, at least half of them with shells and heads
1 or 2 onions
2 to 4 garlic gloves
½ of an average size sweet potato

3 to 4 tablespoon of white rice

2. After well cooked, blend it well and strain it carefully.

 

3. Season the resulting cream with salt and a drizzle of olive oil.

 

4. Let it boil until the required consistency: light and creamy.

 

5. Right before the end of the process, add a generous amount of shopped fresh coriander leaves and don’t forget the pepper too. Serves 4 to 6 and… bon apétit!

I Like Ravines

 

I do like street ravines and until recently I though my appreciation had deep roots in childhood memories. It might be so, but there’s more into it.

 

A few good moments of my childhood were spent playing with other children on the streets of my father’s hometown, the kind of village where everybody knows everybody. I remember waiting by the window for the rain to stop so that I could go out. I have the clear image of a freshly washed street, after the rain, with water still flowing vertiginously through the side drains. It only lasted minutes but it gave us the kind of entertainment one never forgets. (Forgotten were the expensive toys stacked in the playgrounds of a few.) We used those temporary “rivers” to sail paper boats, running street down and we after them so that we could collect them and bring them back for another ride.

 

That was the kind of pleasure kids knew it could only last scarce minutes when nature was generous. All the cheers and laughs died out very fast. So, I was convinced I liked steepish streets for reasons buried in the past.

 

More recently I discovered a sort of mature explanation for fancying ravines. Streets were still wet by the rain and the lights already on, making the newly washed tarmac glitter. It was at that moment between day and night, when umber prevails over so many other shades, that the street where I live became a tarmac mirror vibrantly reflecting our city life. That’s when I found another reason to like street ravines.