This was a special trip to CT. Not that the previous trips were not.

Maybe because it had been ages since my previous visit. Maybe because there were many "firsts" on this visit.

Maybe because my "looking in" was less romanticised and the stark reality of how difficult life is in CT too, was more obvious.

Maybe because I got to hear the stories of the less fortunate and that distrust and uncertainty near tangible when working with foreigners accused of taking jobs away from locals and being pinpointed as the reason for crime on the rise .

Maybe because I had the good fortune of 3 days in the company of a Gentleman from abroad who shared his opinions on geopolitics and his view of SA. A Gent at the apex of the hierarchy corporate world.

......maybe because i am always blessed with the finest of Gentlemen in my personal space....THAT is a given .

Whatever it may have been, a realness holds me....and returning back to my hometown, another Stark reality that says... change may happen to some and then to others the distrust of that which is not like you, shall remain no matter what.

Why do I say that?

Well....landing at OR Thambo and having to go down the escalators to fetch our luggage, there seemed to be some holdup ahead of us.

A young African lady was walking back up the escalators and an older African lady was blocking the top of the escalator.
It became obvious that the older lady was scared to climb onto the escalator.

Many offered their help. Women. Men...older, younger.....strong, skinny.

Eventually after many African Men had pushed past her and she had brushed off the offer of help from others....she settled on an African gent and allowed him to escort her down.
He was smaller than her.
But.
She felt safe with him. Trusted him even though many a burly white man had offered to help her.

Is this a criticism? Not at all.

An observation that spoke to the truth of what is.
An observation that forcing people to "cohabitate " when culture, creed, customs, and traditions are soooo different , is bound to fail.
Is bound to lead to frustrations.

Rather, to live together and be respectful of each other without forceful "cohabitation" may reap better results?
Live and let live?

Can that work?

RB.

Traveling is a school most wondrous...

This time it is the bush.




The silence in the bush is alive.
The humming of electrical cables,which we have become deaf to, missing, as many other urban sounds
Replaced with sounds of nature without the intrusion of man.
As animals, unseen, move through the bushes, birds calling, a sound foreign...trying to identify what it is, where it is and, how far it may be.
This morning...Flfrozen terrain and then the cracking of the icy grounds as the sun rises higher....spotting a "puff" of breath giving away the location of buck....the cold air would do that.
A flutter of wings of birds not seen among the urban highrise as if interrupted by something clambering up tree trunks and racing through bushes...aaah! Of course a troop of naughty monkeys playing "catch me if you can".

Sitting above the lands, a place built to enchant the visitor, mesmerise a person , i have the good fortune of being....and my companion sensing and understanding the hold such beauty has ....to bring me a cup steaming coffee and join me in complete silence and absorb so much we take foregranted while living the rat race.

The gift of Mother Nature.
That balance...cruel in so many ways. The survival of the fittest yet, each knows their power.
Even the smallest to outwit the biggest , the fastest or strongest.

A serenity felt . Once again to just....BE.

That is the hold of nature. That is the beauty of the African bush. We, the intruder, nature knows to weave its magic round and hopefully remind one that no matter the urban high rise....should humans annihilate each other, it remains and shall prosper more majestic than it has under the so called guardianship and care of humans.

How selfishly we demand and live.


RB.

The Durban July.

It was a trip to the coast nearly every year for as long as i can remember. My late father part of the "horsey" community, big friends with the bookmakers, had us, as a family live and enjoy the excitement of the Durban July.
We knew the name of jockeys.
The horses names and the owners. All thanks to my late dad. He loved sharing with us.
My mum and I , the day after the race, buying the HUGE Sunday Times to look at the photos of those that attended and the pics of the winning horse with jockey and owner. My late father full of tales
The horses and jockeys and owners never lost the centre stage, even though many best dressed people filled the newspaper too, and prestige bestowed upon the main race and its participants was what drove people to punt on their favourite horse with the jockey and horse's previous winnings, closely followed.


It was the event on the horse racing calender

Over time, it changed.

Here we are...
Changed so drastically as has the reason why many would attend the race , becoming a thing of the people attending, rather than the jockeys and horses and, race itself .
An event to be seen at.
Horseracing by the sideline.

Flash.
Loud.

But yesterday, even that flash, Loud....felt flat.
Something was amiss.
It dawned on me.

Those that made that flash, that loud solid and extremely appealing, natural and befitting of the person and, in these ever changing times ..were not there.

Those from the rest of Africa.

They have an attitude, and I don't mean it in a bad way. They own the event, meaning dressed to the t, free spirited and engaging of the event.
I am sure many won't get it.
But there will be many who shall.


The Durban July needs to be renamed, just like many of the cities and streets have been renamed.

Everything about it, is no more. As is the fact that very little of what cities were, is no more.



RB.

Durban.

The shops,are dead.

The streets are quiet. The Marine Parade no longer a colour of trinkets and toys displayed for sale.

Those informal little stands, day in and day out, set up without fail for the Durban visitor....even if no sale took place, even if only R50 be pocketed...gone.

The malls quiet.
Those that fed into the economy, gone .
Those that generated a small income, gone.

And,those that depend on the mad weekend rush, mad month end rush, feeling concerned.

The failure of gvnmnt to implement social infrastructure, address the dynamics that impact on living standards and productivity, education, have led to a nation in free fall.
Have led to a lazy nation.
Have led to a nation resorting to scapegoating and, in line with those in government seats...blame politics .

Ofcourse NEVER to be an advocate of any illegal activity, including illegal immigration.

I walked around and what was obvious, those that should have been the first to be kicked out, were still present.
The drug lords, the runners, the thieves, the illegal activities still prevalent.

I had to wonder. Who were the ones that fled for their life and who are the ones that are still in South Africa and, will remain, flourishing and untouched ...protected by high end officials and officers of law because the money is too good to hand them over to the "authorities".. actually ..the authorities very careful to not pinpoint or touch the cash cow even at the detriment of ALL South Africans.

Did i walk around feeling less fearful of my safety?
Not at all.
It is a fallacy to believe that a South African too, cannot be a rapist, murderer a thief.

It is a tragedy that a South African will never display the integrity required and, take accountability for a failed state of equality and, democracy. ...I dont mean all BUT, that pocket full of excuses is, a pocket already too much.





RB.

It was a given.

For years.

10am teatime.
Lunchtime

And then

4pm hometime.

The hoards...and yes...I know it is a positive word...intentionally used....filling the streets.

Umhlanga ridge is the mecca of call centre's.
Hundreds upon hundreds of young people looking for work, their first step to employment...a call center, you know, those irritating calls you get selling you something.

I have no idea how salary or wages works. How they earn their keep.
The truth that was for all to see, was how many young people applied to do some work...maybe a stepping stone to better things.

Of course, strategically placed, food outlets offering take-away and sit down meals.
A captured guaranteed market. All they needed to do was make sure to have the goods, be prepared, work like mad and cash in the money. No time for laziness. No time for bad customer service.
You wanted to get your food and return timeously to your post? Best you be first in line.

Another obvious among these young people, was the exuberance that electrified the air.

Of course, irritating for the traffic and person who needed to get somewhere real quick.

Of course irritating for someone like me watching the litterbugs dropping their litter on the street while standing right next to a bin.

But. What was obvious, was the will of these people to make the most of what may be on offer when it came to "employment".

I know many can turn around and point to negatives as to the "employment" of these young people by such call centers.

Valid or not. Shortsighted? Only time will tell.

And now, on with my observation on this trip.

Those young people are missing.
The food outlets are dead.
The streets empty and...the exuberance gone.

Could it be that most of these younglings were undocumented immigrants???

Or

Could it be the fear of xenophobia?

A child of an immigrant?

Were these younglings appointed as call centre employees without valid documentation?

When asked...the answer was...they too scared to come in for fear of attack and arrest and not because they undocumented.

What does one believe.

I believe that xenophobia has raised its ugly head and the price to be paid?

Only time will tell.


I wonder how many of those food outlets will still be there on my next trip to Durban.



RB.