Remembering the warriors of yesterday

I haven’t written a book review on this blog for a looooonnnggg time. It was always the intention of this corner of WordPress, to have a book-and-wine pairing review blog. Seeing as the only wine available to me under current circumstances are a pinot noir and a malbec/cab franc blend, they will just have to do for the tale I’m about to review.

Full disclaimer, it’s taken me a really long time to find my way back to reading after having gone through the first year of life with my child. The last brilliant book I read (which, as I type this I realise it needs reviewing too) was George Saunders’ Lincoln in the Bardo (next on my list to review, I promise). Then came the sleep deprived hazy days of the fourth trimester, which turned into the sleep deprived hazy days of a breastfed co-sleeper.

When I finally found myself again, the only books I could read were the trashy Bridgerton novels, which in all fairness served a purpose of getting me reading again, but the mind-trash could only last so long before I was hankering for something meaty and meaningful.

With my kindle, I often find I download samples and then never read the actual book. So while I had a slew to choose from, nothing caught me enough for me to spend $16 on it.

Finally, I found a hardcopy of Laura Hillenbrand’s Unbroken. A journalism colleague had recommended this book to me many years ago. And in this book not only did I discover one of the most magnificent stories of survival, resilience and redemption, but I rediscovered my love of reading.

When I started the story of Olympic runner, Louis Zamperini, my knowledge of the Pacific arena during World War Two was bookended by Pearl Harbour on one side, and Hiroshima on the other, with no knowledge in between. Firstly, I had no idea of the battles wages across the Pacific islands, nor the extent to which Japan had become an Asian version of Germany, complete with the belief that the Japanese were a master race designed to rule all.

The depth of information in this book was astounding, and Hillenbrand poured over hundreds of war records and documents and conducted interviews with the men who fought and survived this tale of courage and despair, including Louis himself.

I realise I’m waxing lyrical about everything but the story itself. Let me get to that. Louis lived the most extraordinary life, and I really believe it was his incorrigible outlook which protected him mentally against the horrors he endured. Horrors, I believe, no one of the current generations would ever be able to survive. An Italian immigrant in America, Louis was a wild ruffian heading for juvie until his older brother channeled his energy and determination into running.

Louis made it to the 1936 German Olympics, along with legends like Jesse Owens. When war broke out, he enlisted in the Airforce, and was stationed in Hawaii. The book blurb will have you believe that his is a story about surviving at sea (for which he broke the world record, along with many others throughout his running career). It isn’t. While Louis and his flyboy captain Allen Phillips survived at sea for an astounding 42 days, what this really is about is his time as a Prisoner of War under the Japanese.

Louis Zamperini examines a hole in his plane, SuperMan, after a firefight with the Japanese

Without giving too much away, I cannot overemphasise how I was gripped by this story that truly reads like fiction. It is literally like watching a plane crash, and the books title Unbroken, could not be more apt for the horrors that Louis and Phil endured at the hands of their captors, as well as the aftermath of war on a generation of young men.

Louis’ story is amazing, powerful, inspiring, heartbreaking and unbelievable. At a time when the world is reeling from the psychological impact of two years in quarantine, stories like this have never been more important, or more timeous than now.

A second reason I picked up this book was because the young, smiling man on the cover reminded me so much of my grandfather, who has been on my mind and my heart these many months, but especially this weekend past when we would have celebrated his 92nd birthday.

My grandfather was born in Clydebank in 1929. Many people still do not know the story and history of Clydebank during World War Two. As a dockyard, it was strategic in building ships for the British Navy, and crucial to the war effort. The Germans knew this too, unfortunately. And despite many blackouts and bomb shelters, the Germans made Clydebank a target.

On the 13th and 14th March, 1941, when John McDonald (my grandpa) was just short of 12 years old, the Luftwaffe descended on his town, and demolished it. The son of Irish immigrants (Mary and Alec) and number 12 of 13 children, John witnessed what would be the worst Blitz in the history of the war, but which was covered up by the British press to prevent demoralisation amongst both the population and the troops in Europe.

On those two nights, John’s family huddled in a bomb shelter, while my grandmother, growing up in the same town, watched her father (Also Alec) hold the hatch down in their back garden against the relentless bombing of the German airmen. Mary, John’s mother, ran down the road to warn her sister, and when someone else made it to his shelter, young John was told that the street his aunt had lived in was no longer standing. (Mary had made it out, fortunately, before the bombs hit). John’s sister, Georgie, was at the popular La Scala theatre on Graham street in town that night before the air raid started. The La Scala, remarkably, was one of the few buildings left standing after the bombs had done their evil work.

What didn’t survive was his town or his school. For two years after, the residents of Clydebank lived as refugees in the nearby hill towns. His school was never rebuilt, and at the age of 14, John went to work at the shipyards. One day, as he watched them pulling out bodies from the bombing which had never before been recovered from the Clyde, John was overcome with a sudden and crippling fear of heights. I remember him telling me how his Acrophobia began. Sitting on top of a crane watching the men working on the river, the fear overcame him, and adults had to carry him, paralysed, down from the heights he was on. He never recovered.

At 16, John went to war in Palestine for the British army. While in a Wade, he was shot through the delicate area between his neck and collar bone. Put on a ship for 6 weeks back to the UK, the operation at the time to retrieve the bullet and heal the wound was a delicate procedure that only two doctors in the whole world could perform, one of which was also a McDonald.

My grandparents on their wedding day

Convalescing in Scotland, he met my gran on a tram in their home town. She told him she was older than she really was, but the next time he saw her was at her 16th birthday party. He being an “Orangeman” and she a Catholic, the union was strongly frowned upon, and men of Dunbarton used to hurl rocks at my grandpa when he went to visit young Catherine. They married, and made it to their 67th wedding anniversary before he passed away.

With two small children (aged 3 and 5) the McDonalds sold their furniture, and with 10 pounds in their pocket, sailed to South Africa on a 6 week voyage, in search of sun and a better future. Here, my grandpa became a renowned football referee, fielding famous matches, including one between Arsenal and South Africa.

He lived an adventurous, exciting life, surviving some astounding historical events (not as many as Louis Zamperini to be sure). But there’s no doubt in my mind that he was amongst the greatest generation to have lived and endured what they did.

When my grandpa died, he faced it as he faced everything in life, fearlessly. He made a decision to stop taking his heart medication, and to stop eating. He had been telling all of us he would be dead by Christmas. It took a little longer than he anticipated (and I assure you, he didn’t die in pain, we had nurses by his side with morphine and comfort), but it was his choice. He was done, and it was time to close the chapter on John’s remarkable story.

So. Maybe this should have been two posts. But that is the tale of Louis Zamperini. And that is the tale of John McDonald. I found many parallels, and many differences. But let me end by saying, read the book, Unbroken, and remember the great heros of the past who have fought for the free world we live in today. It is wonderful.

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick,” writes the psalmist (or was it proverbs? been a while since I sat down with the Good Book).

It’s been so long since I’ve let my secret heart dream. To think that anything could get better, or that anything could be new.

We all know that 2020 was a lost year, but it seemed less noticeable, having a newborn and dealing with all the change that comes with being a first-time parent.

But now as the world begins to open, I sit here feeling like my mind has cracked, too paralysed by fear, not only to make decisions, but even just to venture out of the house, believing that every breath I breathe on someone else could make them sick, or vice versa.

The smallest inconveniences or irritations push me over the edge, and my emotional bandwidth for chaos is clogged with the daily anticipation that it could be us who get sick next.

I sit with the sickness of hope deferred, with some semblance of memory that the world used to be a different, mask-free place. A place where I could go to the theatre, sit next to a stranger on a plane, listen to my favourite band in concert, breathe, sweat, dance, even just talk with other people, complete strangers, with never a thought for the consequences.

Now I cancel dinner dates and birthday parties. Now I hug no more, keep my distance, lock myself away to protect myself while I quietly unravel alone.

The year we were all afraid

It’s so frustrating. In fact, I think the word “frustrated” is too small for how the world feels at the moment. I find myself watching pre-COVID movies, where characters have parties, gather in pubs, hug friends, and I ask the question “Will we ever get back there again?”

I guess I choose the word “frustrating” because how is humanity being whipped by something that can be stopped through simple hand washing, yet, if not stopped, can result in mass devastation?

I can’t understand it. I’m tired of living a half-life, locked in a house and constantly overshadowed by a sense of dread, even when simply accepting a delivery or going to do grocery shopping.

I guess most of us have adjusted to what we’re calling “the new normal”, and I really do believe that this fallow year will allow humanity the opportunity to take a step back and reset the way we do things.

At the same time, my thoughts, when not filled with that underlying sense of dread, turn to those who have lost jobs, particularly the most poor, domestic workers and nannies, single moms who have to manage kids that are home from school, while trying to earn a living, or find one, at best.

I think, selfishly, of my favourite Italian deli in Parkhurst, which could not sustain operations due to the impact of the virus. This mom-and-daughter team had succeeded in turning their small, cupboard-sized deli into a little restaurant on the most popular strip in Joburg. They’ve had to shut it down, retrench staff and move all sales online.

I worry about my parents, who live 1562km away from me. A two hour flight always made the distance seem small. Now, with a newborn child, the 15 hour car drive seems an impossible task. Besides that, there’s that ever-present risk of infection, heightened for those over 60. When will I get to see them again, and when will they get to meet their grandson? I just don’t have the answers.

In preparing for birth, I read a book about mindfulness, meditation and breathing. I’m not really into any of that stuff, but one thing that stood out to me was how life is often full of contractions that we just have to breathe through. This year feels like one long contraction, and every day, I’m just trying to remember to breathe in and out, at least while I can.

Seeing the words for the trees, a year of learning my own language

As someone who writes for a living, I sometimes can’t see the wood for the trees. Meaning, I don’t always appreciate the beauty of language.

But at the beginning of this year, while perusing Pinterest as per usual, I came across a word that caught my attention, it was beautiful, and perfectly encapsulated what was happening with many of my colleagues in the office at the time. That word was absquatulate, which means to leave without saying goodbye.

I’m sure you’ve snuck out of a party without greeting anyone. Or been stopped on your way out of a house, and just asked the host to say goodbye to everyone for you. Such a good word for such a common action.

This little joyful discovery sent me on a mission to write down one or two new words that I’ve learned each week in the little notebook I use to set tasks for myself at work. I thought I’d share them here.

Absquatulate: To leave without saying goodbye

Petrichor: The pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a period of warm, dry weather.
(I especially love this one because of the song of the same name by The 1975, and I discovered it during Joburg’s thunderstorm season).

Coddiwomple: To travel in a purposeful manner towards a vague destination.
(I do this in airports and shopping malls all the time)

Limerence: The state of being infatuated with another person.

Acatalepsy: The impossibility of comprehending the universe.

Sillage: The scent that lingers in the air, the impression made in space after something on or someone has been and gone. The trace of someone’s perfume.
(I love this one!)

Eutony: The pleasantness of a word’s sound.

Melliflous: Pleasant sounding/pleasingly smooth and musical to hear.
(I was obviously going through a phase with these two)

Fungible: Mutually interchangeable, replaceable by another identical item.
(My husband actually used this one in a sentence)

Scripturient: Having a consuming passion to write
(I like to describe myself this way)

Cicatrize: To find healing by the process of forming scars

Philocaly: The love of beauty

Hiraeth: A home sickness for a place to which you cannot return or never knew. A yearning grief for the lost places of your past.

Vellichor: The strange wistfulness of used bookshops

Ceraunophilia: Loving thunder & lightning, finding them intensely beautiful.

Brumous: Filling or abounding with fog and mist.

Decathect: To withdraw one’s feelings of attachment from a person (idea or object) in anticipation of a future loss.
(I think this is one of the most poignant ones for me, because it is something I definitely do with people.)

Apricity: The warmth of the sun in winter

Swank: Elegance by virtue of being fashionable

Redamancy: The act of loving the one who loves you, a love returned in full

Anagapesis: No longer feeling any affection for someone you once loved

Sobremesa: The time spent around the table after lunch or dinner, talking to the people you shared the meal with; time to digest and savour both food and friendship

Selenophilia: loving the moon, finding it soothing and captivating

Chimeral: Created by unchecked imagination, fantastically visionary or highly improbable.

Raconteur: A talented storyteller

Meliorism: The belief that the world gets better, the belief that humans can improve the world.

Aphorism: A pithy observation which contains a general truth (i.e. a maxim or proverb)

Calcination: The stage in our lives when we start seeing the tricks, illusions, misleading beliefs and harmful habits of our egos and put them aside so we can finally explore what lies beneath.

Numinous: An experience that makes you fearful yet fascinated, awed yet attracted – the powerful personal experience of being overwhelmed and inspired.

 

If I were an author (deedle diedel dum)

I’m a writer (most days), it’s literally what I do for a living. And sometimes, I think to myself that someday, I’d like to be an author as well. I’ve had a couple of ideas for fiction books, but often I go through my day and something will happen to me, or a phrase will pop into my head and I think “Hey, that would be a great title for my autobiography!”

So I’ve finally taken it upon myself to round up potential titles and post them here, I even took the liberty of mocking up some covers. I hope you find these delightful, and maybe one day you’ll find one on the shelf at your favourite bookstore. You saw it here first folks.

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It’s not the end, it’s an uncomfortable pause

I’ve been thinking a lot about suicide. Not my suicide, of course, but the suicide of Scott Hutchinson, lead singer of Frightened Rabbit.

We all know that I lie fairly on the alternative side of the music spectrum. The first time I heard a Frightened Rabbit song was in 2010 and the track was “Swim until you can’t see land”. What primarily got me about the song was the lyrics, some of which include:

“if I hadn’t come now to the coast to disappear
I may have died in a landslide of rocks, and hopes, and fears”

And…

“Let’s call me a Baptist, call this a drowning of the past,
She’s there on the shoreline, throwing stones at my back”

When I heard this song in 2010, I was working closely with my friend, let’s call him Thomas*, together we did the breakfast show on student radio station MFM. He’d rock up every morning at 6am, smelling strongly of alcohol (Stellenbosch is a student town after all, so I thought nothing of it) and I’d drop him back at his flat after our show at 9am, his flat which was in the same block as mine had been the year before.

Then on 6 February 2012, my friend had to take his body down from the balcony where he’d hung himself.

I cried so hard at his funeral. My fellow MFM’er, refused to let me see the body (open casket, but why??) and for months afterwards, about once a week, I’d have a recurring dream/nightmare pleading with him not to do it, to talk to one of us, his friends.

Finally, the nightmares stopped in October that year, when, at an MFM function, we’d celebrated his life, and I finally understood that we all felt his loss, that I wasn’t alone in failing to understand his grief, hurt and finally, his decision.

Weirdly, I never thought his suicide was selfish. So many people say it is, but I look at the Frightened Rabbit lyrics, which are essentially the internal thoughts of someone who committed suicide, chronicled over a ten year period, and I can’t feel that way. Losing someone to suicide is tragic, but when I hear Scott Hutchinson write about death in the same way he writes about romance, I can’t help but think that some people are just too good to be here, people like Thomas*.

The reason I’ve been thinking about Scott Hutchinson in particular is because this week, I thought I’d take a listen to some other Frightened Rabbit songs, not just those on The Winter of Mixed Drinks. I discovered their 2016 album, and listening to it knowing the outcome has been an overwhelmingly emotive, powerful, and I even want to say, creative experience for me.

I tried explaining this to a fellow music lover over the weekend. His story is tragic, but also beautiful. Time and again, first in “Floating in the Forth“, and later in “Swim Until You Can’t See Land” and numerous other songs he talks about the power of the waves pulling him under, the peace he’ll find there, and most blatantly, “I think I’ll save suicide for another day”.

And in May last year, Scott Hutchinson went missing overnight, and his body was found in Port Edgar the following day. He’d drowned in the Forth, like he always said he would. In his own way, he lived his truth, and no one could say they didn’t see it coming. As his brother Grant said in an interview with The Guardian, he never expected to grow old with his brother. Scott’s ending, it seemed, was always inevitable.

For me, it makes the band’s last album that I’ve had on repeat since last Friday, The Painting of A Panic Attack, all the more meaningful, and the subsequent non-tribute by fellow musicians, Tiny Changes, A Celebration of Midnight Organ Fight, all the more beautiful (Scott new about the album before his death, and had worked alongside the featured artists).

I know most people won’t understand how this music makes me feel, I’ve been saying that line over and over in my head “I can’t express how this album makes me feel,” or “You just can’t understand what this does to me”.

Maybe the fact that I can find poetry and beauty in the death of another human makes me fucked in my own way. But I’m writing this blog post to get the feelings out, just as Scott did, to deal with both his depression and his substance abuse. For me, they’re not feelings of sadness or despair, but, in my own humble way, to give tribute to his life, his music, and the power of his words, that live on long after he did.

I’m grossed out, distressed and upset. Here’s why

Look at this. Do you know what it is? It is an ACTUAL wave of garbage off the coast of the Dominican Republic.

Did you know that every single piece of plastic ever made STILL EXISTS TODAY.

Doesn’t that horrify you? It completely freaks me out. I mean, just look at that video, we – humans – are turning the ocean into a moving mass of plastic monster. That coffee  cup you picked up at your local this morning? The plastic packet you accept at the grocery store, your shampoo bottles, plastic water and juice bottles, they will still exist long after you’ve shuffled off this mortal coil.

Those single use discarded items are likely to be the largest legacy you leave on the planet.

What I’m doing

I’m no saint, really. I use plastic too, all the time. But I’m making a conscientious effort to cut down on my consumption in the largest way I can. I’m slowly replacing all the products I buy with glass or non-packaging. I refuse grocery bags whenever I go shopping, and if I’ve forgotten to take my own, I punish myself by carrying all the groceries out. I buy loose fruit and make the tellers put the price on one of them (why on earth do we even bother packaging vegetables?)

When it comes to household cleaning products, this is a little more challenging. Fortunately, in my neighbourhood there’s a no-packaging store (which delivers) that opened up recently. While they don’t do fresh goods yet, they have placed a lot of focus on household items like dishwashing liquid, washing powder, Handy Andy surface cleaner, domestos and a range of other items. You can either take your own containers or buy them there in beautiful glass bottles.

If you think you don’t have a similar package-free shop in your area, you’d be wrong. Do a quick Google search and you’ll see there are plenty of options, and the shop I use (The Refillery) is also opening two branches in Cape Town and one in Nelspruit in the next few months. As a side note- do a quick Google search and you’ll discover a range of dairies in your area that deliver fresh milk in glass bottles daily or weekly. It’s such a simple change to make (and more convenient actually) while saving the planet.

Beauty with an impact

I’m no makeup queen. It takes me about 5 minutes to “do my face”, but I am highly concerned with both the packaging used by makeup manufacturers, and the cruel testing they still do on animals (bear in mind that those massive brands like L’Oreal are required by Chinese law to test on animals in order to import into that country, which of course is a massive market for their products). If you’re not sure whether your beloved brand is testing on animals, find a fairly comprehensive list here. I’ve opted for Nyx, which I know is both clean and cruelty-free.

When it comes to my shampoo, conditioner, face wash and moisturiser, I’ve opted for Lush products. Not only are they cruelty-free, but they are also packaging free, and they smell like heaven and a planet that is no longer burdened with our single-use-plastic-addiction. I’ll level with you, Lush products are shitballs expensive in South Africa. But they last for a fairly long time, and I can’t justify chucking another empty shampoo bottle in the bin to live out eternity in our ocean, or worse, in the belly of some sea creature.

One other thing – disposable plastic razor blades. Just buy a metal one or get waxed. It’s that easy.

There is one other thing I need to talk about on this subject, and I know I’m a hypocrite because honestly I’ve found the adjustment really difficult. But let’s talk for a second, ladies, about Mooncups. All I’ll say is, they’re better for your body, better for the environment. You and I both know how much waste we dispose of during that time of month.

A note on palm oil

A while ago I wrote this emotional Facebook post about palm oil. The reality is that palm oil is not bad, in fact, it can help poor communities lift themselves out of poverty and it is less harmful than farming alternatives like soy and coconut – but only when it’s farmed ethically.

So (as with Lush, which only uses ethically-sourced when they have to) you can check the back of products to see which use good palm oil. Bear in mind that any product that lists “vegetable oil” as an ingredient likely uses palm oil. The guys at Medium have composed a working- list of products in SA that you can buy with a guilt-free conscience. You can also download apps like Buycott, which allows you to pick causes that you care about, and then scan product barcodes to see if the conglomerate that produced is breached any ethics while doing so.

I’ll get off my soapbox now

My mood as I’m writing this post is both dejected and hopeful at the same time, if that’s possible. I’m hopeful that I’ve given you some practical tools to help you change your lifestyle, and I’ve also managed to remind myself that it’s small, simple steps that help you make these changes.

I’m dejected because something’s got to give, and it’s got to be us. We made this mess, we have to fix it.

 

The Renaissance of Relient K

There’s a beautiful phrase I came across a couple of years ago. It was “Death by a thousand paper-cuts” and what it means is, all those irksome, daily small trials of life build up in you to the point where you just want to curl up on the couch and cry for three days (at least, that’s my interpretation of it). Or take it as a modern “Straw that broke the camels back” -type phrase. When all those little things add up, they can become monstrous, and hard to deal with (like the millions of needy, lonely Ralphs in Ralph breaks the Internet)

I haven’t had to wrestle with this phrase for a long time, but last week was one of those that embodied this phrase more than those that preceded it. I lost a client in uncomfortable ways, we had guests at the house for a week, my husband had violently aggressive food poisoning for four days, and my dog died. A thousand little paper-cuts.

It’s in times like these when I turn to the familiar. I retrace my roots to find a source of comfort, this time around it came in the form of a very special sound from my youth: Relient K.

The case for Relient K:

Some (most) people have never heard of this Ohio-punk-Christian-rock outfit, and those who have are likely to not be huge fans, but for me, I still remember the day I walked into our local Christian bookstore and picked up “The Anatomy of Tongue in Cheek” the band’s sophomore album. That was back when CDs were still a thing, and still pretty expensive too. I listened to “Pressing on” for hours on end, a young punk-rocker with baggy sweatpants and black eyeliner. I loved it.

I’ve grown up since then, and so has Relient K. In fact, many members came and left the band over the years, with Matt Theissen and Matt Hoopes remaining the only original members. But what I find magical about this band (besides the honest fact that Matt Theissen is one of the few punk-singers who can actually hold a note) is that their music is apropos for phases in my life. And in a week of a thousand paper-cuts, their cleverly-thought out, relevant, poignant lyrics express my emotions when I don’t have the words to do so myself. So here are some of their best words, that capture my feelings when I can’t, for the moments I feel faint.

 

My love affair

Today, I was lying in Pilates class as the instructor pushed my legs over my head, with my glutes burning like she’d just lit a pile of a-grade Namibian hardwood under them, when I had a eureka moment.

As I stretched my neck out, legs dangling over me, I noticed that outside, rain was softly falling against the glass studio doors as a rumble of thunder interrupted the oh-so-zen music playing from the sound system. From this particularly picturesque spot (Rosebank, holla) you can see right across the city. The spire of the Carlton tower rises up out of the sprawl of Joburg, along with the iconic Ponty Tower and Helen Joseph Hospital. From here, I can see a panorama from the very green Edenvale and Sylvia’s Pass to the water tower of Northcliff, with the rolling Jacaranda-covered hills of Westcliff nestled in between. Above this cityscape, the moody thunder clouds are roiling around, purple, grey and black, clearing for what is set to be a sunny scorcher (at 32 degrees).

My eureka moment was this: I love this city.

If you’ve followed this blog for some time (shout-out Darrel H). You may know that we moved to Joburg about two years ago (read about that experience here). This was really hard for me, because having spent 20 years living in Cape Town, my experience of Joburg was an extremely negative one, as is the impression/expectation of most Capetonians.

Part of my eureka moment was influenced by the 3-weeks I’ve just spent in, what is undoubtedly, the exquisite Mother City. Because we have family there, we’re fortunate enough to be able to stay in beautiful places (I mean, vineyards and mountains for miles, right?) in the Boland for long stretches at a time without paying the exorbitant fees tourists would.

Despite a delightful holiday, it’s super tempting for me to launch into a slate of the Mother City right now (the people are awfully unfriendly, food prices are equivalent to daylight robbery, the wind is endless, the poverty extreme, and the drivers are reckless and aggressive). But I won’t, because this post is more about the virtues of Joburg than the foibles of Cape Town.

So here we go, why I love my new city:

1. The inescapable warmth
   Everything about Joburg is warm. The people, the weather, the atmosphere even the winters (defrosting in the sun after those -1 mornings is essential). I don’t know if the deliciously warm days, tempered by magnificent thunderstorms by night are what make the people here so friendly, but I love being able to get in a lift and have pleasant conversations with random strangers. Shared experiences are what this city is all about. Everyone is agreeable, warm, welcoming, and you never know when someone will strike up a conversation with you for no reason. Plans with friends here can be impromptu, without the need to check calendars weeks in advance, and we’ve found a couple of couples (haha!) who just want to be mates, no games or politics required.
2. The unforgettable nights
   Joburg pumps, all.the.time. It’s called the New York of Africa for a reason. If you’re a close friend, I may have regaled you with some of the late night stories I’ve collected since settling here, but I’ve had many, many memorable moments across this city. One of my particular favourites was driving in the streets of Parktown North in a drop-top Audi, squished in the back on a winters night, the stars clear above us en route to find a late night dinner at Blind Tiger. One of my fellow travellers looked up and simply stated: “I f#@$ing love this city.”
   Yeah, I have to agree.
3. The ability to do whatever I want to
   Another name for Joburg is the City of Gold. One of the reasons we moved here initially were economic. The fact is, in Cape Town I had to work two jobs and weekends to get by, and I don’t have to do that now. Food here is cheaper too, and the restaurant culture booms. But of course, it’s not just about the money (which let’s be honest, is really nice), it’s about the proximity. Joburg is closer to a lot of the great things our country has to offer: The Bush (Kruger, Pilanesberg, Welgevonden) Clarens, The Midlands, Umhlanga, and neighbouring countries like Botswana, Swaziland and Mozambique. And yes Cape Town, Joburg also has some truly exquisite hiking routes, which brings me to my next point…
4. Stepping out your door, getting swept up in the hustle
   Like any great city, the thread that underlies the beating heart of Joburg (besides the veins of gold beneath our feet) is it’s energy. People are here to get things done, stuff is always happening, be it for work or play. In fact, if I had to sum up the city in one phrase, it would definitely be the cliche: work hard, play hard. I was so anxious that when we lived here, we would be bored, and there have been weekends and nights that are slow. But most of the time, I feel like if I step out my door, I’ll be swept up into something unexpected and exciting. As above, there’s so much to do here, from hiking trails to quality markets (Maboneng, Bram), going to theatre, eating out (seriously, I think I need to do a post just about the Joburg foodie culture), picnics at Emmarentia, live bands, running at Delta Park, our local wine farm (yes, you heard right) and endless other activities and events.

I never thought I’d be that person, but yes, after two years I can definitely say that Joburg is one of the great loves of my life, and you couldn’t lure me back to Cape Town, even with a drop-top Audi.

*This header image was borrowed from the Twitter account of Ulrich Janse van Vuuren, a brilliant photographer and lover of Joburg. Below are some of my own pics and moments of this city.

Songs with substance

A friend of mine annually posts the question on Facebook: “What were your top-3 albums of 2018?”. This got me thinking about the music that I’ve been listening to this year.

I think that most people would agree that as a year, it’s not been a great one. Not a tough year per se, but it wasn’t a year for thriving. I might describe it as a “wonky” year. Across politics, science and the humanities, it seems like everything is upside-down (what would you expect when a reality TV-star is president of a global superpower).

With these thoughts in the back of my mind, I’ve considered which songs were not just enjoyable this year, but which I found have substance. This was also brought to my mind by the first song on this list…

About a week ago, an email landed in my personal account from Avalanche City. I’m a big fan of this New Zealand folk-rocker. His song “Love love love” was the first dance at our wedding, and after a hiatus, I’ve been listening to his second album Inside Out, quite a lot. So it was a mixture of surprise and delight to find he had a new single out: “Prayed for Love”. This is the first release from his upcoming album My Babylon (February 2019).

While Avalanche City has always had a deep-side to his really easy-listening, soft-drink sounding music, “Prayed for Love” has cut me to the core in a way many songs don’t. I really can’t express how powerful it is until you listen to it for yourself. Please do.

I don’t know who hurt Dave Baxter, but this song encapsulates all the pain of betrayal by an intimate friend. In it, he vocalises all the stages of grief that someone who’s been hurt can experience. Anger, destruction, wishing that person had never crossed your path, lack of sleep, praying for their peace, while wishing that they would come begging for forgiveness. This song is a musical expression of one of the saddest, yet most common human experiences.

I suppose I love this song so much, because I’ve had to wrestle with forgiving people who were supposed to be close to me, yet who continue to hurt me all the time. At the same time, it brings to mind the loss of a friend years ago, who felt I had betrayed her. I really feel like every human who has dealt with wounds from a friend can relate to this powerful song. What particularly catches my heart is the line “I prayed I’d see you drop from my horizon, but honestly, I’m not sure that I’d feel lighter.

So I never thought I’d say this about The 1975 (my all-time favourite band of all-time) but I found their third album bitterly disappointing and depressing. That said, they are pushing a serious agenda on A Brief Enquiry Into Online Relationships (as the name suggests). This album was preceded by frontman Matt Healy’s six month stint in rehab, so calling it dark is a bit of an understatement.

But one of the stand-out songs of this album (perhaps of their career as a band) is “Love it if we made it”. In an interview, Healy said that every time something happened in the news that burned him, he’d add a line to this song. It highlights the destructive power of humanity, not just on our planet, but towards one another. The theme of this song is “Jesus save us, Modernity has failed us” with lyrics that reference racism in America, the drowning of Aylan Kurdi (the 3-year old Syrian refugee), war, Kanye West, fame, capitalism, addiction. It’s a hard song to listen to, and an even harder video to watch. But you should, because I don’t think there’s a more true song about the human condition out there.

So the third song of substance I’d like to highlight in this post is not a new song. In fact, it’s 12 years old. “Faust, Midas & Myself” is a fable-like song that addresses the temptation of fame that Jon Foreman was no doubt wrestling with as his band’s popularity increased globally. As the title implies, the singer is followed home by the devil, who promises him the world. He wakes up to find himself in a golden world (like Midas), and the song spins out from there. With lyrics like “This is my personal disaffection/Life begins at the intersection” the song explores the weight of our decisions, the paths that we choose to take in life. Do we pursue gold, fame, fortune and sex, or do we pursue things of value that money can’t buy? While the song is old, it asks the kind of questions that form a key part of human nature, and which have never been more relevant to the world we’re living in now.