Places Where You Are

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the muchness of everything

I’ve lost track of where you are

From you still lingers the idea

Almost right, almost wrong

That in wild, untamed nights

When the wind insinuatingly blows

Your presence is widely sowed

As if nothing had changed

And dreams were alive and strong.

Silly Parallelism

 

From time to time I wonder about the reasonability of still writing tales, since this is almost a one-way blog and people seem to be diversifying their communication options. However, I keep repeating to myself that if I stop I shall easily lose what I’ve gained in terms of learning.

 

I am not new in diary writing. I used to start agenda diaries, but soon I would resume my entries to sentences like: Today we went to Nelspruit. Laconism. Who would tell I could suffer from it too?

 

Even without comments, I am under the impression that a few might stop by from time to time and that gives me the incentive to write more than just two lines. A couple of readers are relatives that I don’t see or contact often.

 

Besides the above two reasons, this diary-blog has already helped as a source of information of past facts. This happened recently. The club where we keep our boat Navegador decided to penalize us because it’s long since the boat last went to sea. If there’s no justifiable reason, the boat owner loses his right to keep a box. We had sent a report after the boat accident, explaining that it could take a while to put it back together since the cost of a single motor is around R200.000.

 

Guess what? The report was lost and we have been facing the possibility of losing the rented box where Navegador rests. The pressure is not bad at all because, finally, we decided to repair the damaged boat. Paul had to write a second report and that’s when this blog became useful again.

 

But at the same time I was associating that accident with the start of my blogging adventure, the possibility of stopping just because the boat is going to be okay again assaulted me. Silly, silly idea!

Wasted Summer

 

It was a strange summer or it was we acting strangely, as if we were all waiting for things to happen. Instead of merely doing plans and enjoying, we sat and waited. Andy waited (and still waits) for a place to start a business. Paul waits (and still waits) for an interesting and rewarding occupation. JP spent three months waiting for a ticket back to where he is now. Even TD and girlfriend have been waiting until recently. I have a master degree in terms of waiting. Oddly, I didn’t felt the usual anxiety associated with the waiting.

 

Then someone came and said “Maybe we have to wait another year…”, and we all start dreaming. Material dreams can be so galvanizing!

 

Besides dealing with quests and dreams, I’ve started my autumn cleaning. The first thing I noticed was the shell-decorated basket where I keep my unused bikinis and two words crossed my mind: wasted summer.

One Night Read

 

Cooking books that show a bit of the author’s private life must be trendy. I received two, not so long ago, and read both in two consecutive nights. It didn’t take me long, so no sleepless nights were required. I just read the non-cooking texts and glanced at the recipes, picking a few I would like to try.

 

One of the books is very cosmopolitan, both in terms of the author’s lifestyle and food, while the other is definitively country. In the second one I met a family that moved from the big city to a farm and learned to live differently.

 

Two aspects stood out from this second book. Real country people seem to live basically on salads and veggies, reserving the meat for special occasions – very much the idea I had from old descriptions of how people used to live. I also found interesting the author’s contradiction when firstly I read that they would never eat their own farm chickens, while they do eat the farm pigs and admit that producing their own meat is part of the country life scheme.

 

The next day I still felt puzzled, but then I remembered that in terms of eating we are authentic walking contradictions. At least, I am. I wouldn’t be capable to eat any animal I saw alive and the list of meat that I don’t eat is long enough to step on it. Despite all that, I do eat some meat and that is a major contradiction I have to live with.

Mountain Secrets

Arrogance vs Aggressiveness

 

A powerful country decided to bring 40 doctors to work in Mozambique. There’s no question they are needed. For reasons that only the reason knows, the Ministra do Trabalho (labour minister) decided to impose a few conditions. Being one of them the proof of their qualifications, I think Mozambican authorities suspect they could be only basic technicians, cashing most of the promised aid as if they were real doctors. Whatever the motives, the storm is over our heads.

 

The other part didn’t like and has been producing all sorts of menaces. The debate is on fire. That powerful country is threatening to cut all the aid (USD300 millions-year), while most Mozambicans are taking the minister side with two arguments: 1) They are sick and tired to be told. 2) It’s time Mozambique stops begging and starts to live on the existing resources. I kind of agree, but I’m afraid there’s more arrogance in such declarations than feasibility.

 

Nobody knows how animosities could escalate to such extremes or when they are going to end. And I won’t give you a genial insight (I don’t have one, anyway), except for the above title and maybe tell you something less political and hopefully more entertaining.

 

Over the years I could feel a big difference between Northern and Southern mentality. Maybe because of the weather, Northern people tend to be more active and aggressive. I don’t think they are well aware of that aggressiveness and I even believe most of them regard it as a quality. On the other side, people living in regions where the weather is less severe seem to develop equal doses of laziness and gentleness. It should be good if both parts could take those differences in consideration. At least I try.

 

From time to time I have to read texts coming from people not aware that their words can offend people with a different sensibility. I always try to soften the edges, because I do believe that we can say what we have to say with politeness and diplomacy. Recently, I had to change the words of someone in a way to fit the local mentality. We all know that people are poor, naked and starving, but they don’t need or want an outsider pointing at it. They know too. We all know that governments perform badly, but they don’t want to hear it from an outsider. The same way Europeans wouldn’t like to hear a visiting African criticizing their endless social and political problems, come to that, environmental too.

 

As soon as I finished reading that text I send it to the author saying: “I respected the original, as usual, and only introduced a few subtle changes.” For an average intelligent person I wouldn’t have to explain that, besides mistakes and inappropriate language, I had to soften the criticism. Instead of pointing the finger at this and that, why not just say that there are pressing questions to be addressed – especially when the publishing objective is neither social nor political?

 

I suppose you are guessing what happened next. That person sent back the text reintroducing all the negativity I had erased. I cannot tell you how furious I was… In my opinion, there’s only one thing as bad as aggressiveness: stupid arrogance. Not knowing your own place is a sad way to be.

 

Yes, I protested. Paul advice was: “Chill out and stop worrying… You know what happened when that person was working on a project in Mozambique? One day, tired of demands and aggressiveness, Mozambican workers locked that person in a room and told they would only open the door when good mood and manners returned…” Imagine how I laughed!

Bright Ideas

 

Our neighbours had the bright nice idea of gardening part of an empty field not far from where we live. Our first reaction was congratulating them, but in just a couple of weeks the rubbish, once difficult to spot, started to stand out against the green of the immaculately tended grass.

 

Rubbish is like a malign flu affecting this town. Let’s see. It’s now 34 years since independence. I know (we all know) that there are endless issues to be addressed, some of them very important and difficult to solve due to the lack of resources. That’s no excuse because, meantime, there’s a lot to be done depending more on work and enthusiasm than budgets.

 

Talk with anyone and you’ll hear the same complain: “We pay a tax for the rubbish to be collected, but it’s no use. They just don’t care.”

 

I know that it’s not possible to face all the questions this town and this country still have, but at least two should top the national agenda: 1) Rubbish. 2) Organizing Marginal and Costa do Sol.

 

The two of them should have been regarded a long ago as relevant for tourism, a fundamental sector to the management of a country.

Two Restaurants and One Week

 

As Sunday is the first day of the week, I can say I started mine with a visit to a new restaurant. The distance between wakening and finding myself at the restaurant door felt like a morning sigh.

 

I was positively surprised by the spaciousness and bold décor of that new space. I was expecting creative food. My taste buds were begging for something different, maybe modern with an African twist. Instead they were terribly frustrated with an uninspired, standardized cuisine. We left the restaurant under pouring disappointment. And rain.

 

Monday? In my mind Monday represents the day the pain in my sneakers injured legs decided to give me a first break. Yes, I still can remember the relief of pain free breathing.

 

Tuesday I had a set back. Fear. Could the pain return with the tae bo? Nevertheless, it never crossed my mind to skip the class. Besides I am this close to convince Paul to participate and decide if he has the wisdom to swap the computer screen for a few kicks. It might be fun…

 

I was out part of Wednesday and, as usual, I’ve spent a good deal of the afternoon taking care of my dogs, Thoth and Keket.

 

Thursday I was up around 6am and even before that morning sigh I found myself on the road to Nelspruit. We only go there if the reasons are enough for the trouble of 440km and the usual mess at the border.

 

Let’s see. Paul wanted supplements. I wouldn’t mind to buy a couple of shampoos. Andy needed to order a few spare parts for a friend. Stuff for dogs was a priority, mainly: 1) Pick a new bed for Thoth. 2) Register our dogs.

 

I never felt the urgency of certifying Thoth’s pedigree. Certified or not, he is exceptional. We have Thoth’s documentation but not yet the certificate. For us he is only Thoth, but after the registration he is going to be Richmax Magical Thoth (family, mother’s name and his own name).

 

Keket is the one worrying us because she is already certified as Snowwhite, and such a name, knowing what we know about her, sounds like a joke. Richmax Queen Snowwhite? I don’t think so. Queen Keket she is. We have to change that certificate. Both our dogs belong to the same family. They are distantly related.

 

Back to Thursday. Supplements? Checked. Shampoos? Checked. Spare parts? Checked. Thoth’s new bed? Checked. Registration? Oops. It’s unbelievable how we could forget one of the main reasons for the trip! I think a nice sushi platter erased what we were supposed to do next. Andy picked fish and ships, but he wasn’t happy (We are constantly forced to realize why so many restaurants don’t figure in the best hundred list.) and for the first time he showed interest in our sushi. He will get there. Andy was driving. We arrived earlier and feeling so fresh that I went to the tae class, as usual. No pain. Only gain.

 

I’ve spent Friday trying to create room for Paul in our main drawer. Theoretically, I should achieve that by organizing my own armoire. Theoretically. I just underestimated the space winter stuff occupies. I changed everything I could, only creating a small compartment. I also felt like embarking in a lace and ribbons extravaganza for my own armoire, but then I remembered that when we share space with someone we have to give a little. In the end, Paul was happy with his new conquest and I was am completely in love with the organization of my armoire. Can hardly be far from it!

 

Tieta became our Saturday star with a rice with clams and coriender, good enough for gods. Paul commented that a restaurant better than home is still to be invented. Another high moment was Keket’s first promenade. Unless I moved a few steps ahead and called her, she squeezed her belly against the ground and simply forgot she has four useful legs. Outside was very summery. Today I heard the temperatures have been oscillating between 10ºC and 30ºC. In a single day! “Almost desert amplitudes,” Paul remarked. If by chance you plan a visit right now and are sensitive to weather extremes, maybe you should think twice.

If It Weren’t For the Words

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If it weren’t for the words
For the birds perched on fences
For places oblivion enhances
For green salads with herbs
For the sanctity of reserves
For songs we occasionally hum
For memories echoing like drum
For the emphasis of doubt
For the feat of speaking out
For silences contained in tempo
For the lightness of momentum

 

If it weren’t for the sea
Now ripping now landing
I wouldn’t be a tree
                                still standing

A Bad Patient

 

Some people are more inclined to sickness than others. I mean the concept per se, not genuine sickness. That I concluded by hearing people given to: 1) Talk about health issues. 2) Complain all the time about health issues. 3) Use health issues as an excuse.

 

You may think that I am not being kind towards sick people, but that is not my intention. Health obsessed people are not usually sick.

 

During the last weeks I’ve been attending tae bo classes almost alone since my colleagues constantly alleged flu. Two weeks ago I started to feel a strange pain in my legs. First I suspected flu, but kept quiet and followed the tae routine. It took me days to discover that a nasty pair of sneakers I only wore for three consecutive days had injured my muscles.

 

How often does such thing happen and how irresponsible manufacturers are to do such awful thing? I have completely normal feet and even so I can’t wear a well know label without hurting myself. And when I talked about this matter with my teacher, she reported a similar experience (different model, same label).

 

Though the pain was almost paralyzing, and sometimes it felt like electricity running up and down my legs, it never crossed my mind to skip classes. Contrary to Paul’s advice and insistence, I didn’t miss a single one.

 

I’ve been slowly coming out of pain, still furious with the sneakers manufacturer. And at the same time I have to admit that my last two weeks were difficult to the point of almost surrendering, I am equally glad to say that I am too rebel to be a good patient.