Sharing truths under the Ponderosa

I finally got around to answering Jennifer from under the ponderosas's excelent questions. It did impact my essay on English as a global language ever so slightly but it I had fun which is more important.

So many of your photos include your dog, I'm curious about him. What's your favorite thing to do with him?

There are actually three dogs. :) The slightly smaller greyish one at the back is Fey, the mother and the other two are her nine month old puppies. The big male, with his head in the air is called Arjun and the slightly orange coloured female in the front is called Shanti.

My favourite thing to do with them is to go for a run into an open space where they have never been before. The get very exited, leaping up into the air and landing where they hope their prey might still be lurking. Their noses go up, they sniff the breeze and their faces light up with huge doggy smiles.

I love your house. I try to imagine what it's like to live in. Does it feel earthen, like a cave or a den? What does it smell like? Is it light & airy inside or does it stay dark?

At the moment it is still quite light inside because we had to pull down our first attempt at a roof. The feeling inside is magical. Imagine being surrounded by double storey walls made out of earth. They smell like earth, feel sandy against your cheek and they radiate a slight coolness. The thickness of the walls buffers most sounds so it is very quite inside.

What's your favorite time of day?

The moment just before the sun goes down. The birds hold their breath and then everything turns to gold.

Tell me something about ordinary, day-to-day life in S.A. (I know almost nothing!) -- maybe tell me about the grocery store or about riding the bus or walking around the school campus...

Driving to work in the morning I see a duck flying over the highway. A mini-bus filled with passenger fly past me on the left and swerves into the middle lane barely missing a car hurriedly pulling out of the way of a BMW approaching with flashing lights on my right. Both cars are ignored by the traffic cops, leaning against their orange, blue and white patrol cars, pulling older vehicles over and hinting that bribes are cheaper than fines.

Waiting at the traffic lights I spot an advertisement, fastened to a lamp post. It reads: “You are now entering a crime free neighbourhood.” A few meters down the road a four metre high blow up doll with the message “KEEP THEM OUT” is used to advertise security systems. He is wearing a striped jersey, a mask and a voracious grin. In his one hand he holds a blow-up knife twice the size of his hand. In the other hand an even bigger gun. Behind him a strip club billboard shows the crossed legs of a woman and a message that reads “Teazers – now open for business”.

I drive in and out of several neighbourhoods on my way to work. Our neighbourhood is an agricultural holding with horses, trees and the occasional owl. I cross the highway and drive through Alexandra a township where thousands of people live in small corrugated iron shacks or low income housing. I notice goats sniffling at the trash, a father in earnest conversation with the small schoolboy whose hand he is holding, a beautiful young woman immaculately dressed walking to work and a half dressed women washing her upper body using a bucket. Some people walk to work, some catch mini-bus taxis and some drive expensive cars.

I drive into a middle class suburb with hardly a person in sight. Broad pavements are covered in green lawn and trees peep over high fences. On an aerial photograph Johannesburg shows up as one of the biggest man made forests in the world. I turn onto another highway and slam on the brakes as traffic crawls to a standstill. Flickering blue lights announces the reason, an overturned minibus taxi.

Taking the earliest possible off-ramp I now drive through an upper-class suburb. Hired security guards stand on every corner. Houses and expensive townhouse complexes with ridiculous names like Sea-view (I kid you not and no, there is no ocean in Joburg) are glimpsed through expensive ornate gates. The radio news informs me that someone is holding up a radio station in Pretoria to protest against crime.

I pass the Nelson Mandela foundation and several other luxury office complexes and turn into our office park. I wave in the direction of the person who opens the gate. I cannot see him because of the tinted glass he sits behind.

Walking into the foyer of our building, owned by a female black empowerment investment company I am confronted by two paintings. The one shows a black girl wearing a head kerchief, smiling shyly and the other a grim, rough looking older white man. Both paintings have the words “Whites only” stencilled across the bottom.

I could write far more about the contrasts found living in South Africa. The guilt of driving a car when so many have to walk to work in the rain or buying groceries from women who work up to 12 hours shifts earning little money and respect; the powerlessness when reading about escalating crime, intolerance and corrupt powers; the wonder of hearing many languages spoken at the university campus and getting glimpses into the cultures and opinions of my classmates formed by lives so different from my own.

Writing this there is voice in my mind criticising what I’m writing. I represent only my view of living in this country. The outlook of a middle class white woman brought up in a time of apartheid. My voice can not adequately describe living in this country. I do not speak an African language. My life is often isolated from the suffering surrounding me.

But I am here now. I cannot change my history. I can however keep an open mind and heart in order to change the future. I can refuse to turn my back on injustice mumbling that there is nothing I can do to change these things. I can acknowledge that I need to change and investigate ways of doing so. I can cultivate having respect for other people, their histories and the way these histories influence their choices. And I can hope and dream of a future enriched by our differences and a better understanding of our pasts.

Lastly: what's your favorite joke?

The Zen master steps up to the hot dog cart and says: "Make me one with everything."

The hot dog vendor fixes a hot dog and hands it to the Zen master, who pays with a hundred rand bill.

The hot dog vendor puts the bill in the cash drawer and closes the drawer.

"Where's my change?" asks the Zen master.

The hot dog vendor responds: "Change must come from within."

Ps - some good news. My company has agreed to let me work only three days a week. Yippee!