Tag Archives: south africa

Admissions of a closet political analyst

This year marks the 20th year of South Africa’s young democracy. I have vivid remembrances of that day in 1994, the first time the majority of South Africans were able to vote for the first time. People stood in long snaking queues for hours. Nobody minded because those hours were nothing compared to the decades of struggle it took to get South Africa to that point.

This year, on the 7th May, we have another National election, and it’s the first time the “born frees” (those born after 1994) will be exercising their vote.  The website of the Independent Electoral Commission of South Africa states that 80.5% of the eligible voting population are registered to vote.

Yesterday I spoke to an expat couple from Spain who said that voter turnout on election days in Spain has been gradually dropping due to various reasons, not least of which is dissatisfaction at the government’s handling of the country’s financial situation.

Out of the 80.5% registered voters in South Africa, we will only find out on the 7th May how many actually turn up to vote on the day. I hope that, unlike Spain and other European countries, many South Africans will exercise their right to vote and turn up at the polls on the day.

I admit to being a news geek and addicted to politics, locally and around the world. I have kept up to date with the unfolding situation in the Ukraine, and been more than alarmed at the reports coming out of Venezuela.

And that’s just this week, adding to the woes of a world increasingly at odds with itself.  I majored in Political Science at university, and once, a long, young and naive time ago, I still thought of doing something with it. I don’t regret never having gone into a related field, although I sometimes toy with the idea of going into politics.

But that idea is short-lived because I have no illusions about the sacrifices and compromises even well intentioned politicians have to make. So I’m happy remaining a closet political analyst.

Shapes, light and shadow in Freedom Park

I recently visited Freedom Park. It is worth a visit for many reasons. It sits on a hill overlooking Pretoria and provides a spectacular view of the city. There’s a lot that I like about Freedom Park, not least of which is the acknowledgement and celebration of our heritage as a diverse South African nation.

I was struck by the naturalness of the building materials, the merging into the environment and beautiful shapes in the construction of the facility.

Freedom Park – I love these stark angles and the play of light and dark, sun and shadow


Freedom Park – natural stonework on the wall, blue sky, shade, curves and lines

It was there that I met a sangoma who had some very interesting stories to tell. We sat there, like kids, listening in fascination, as she demystified the modality. I don’t know why people are afraid of them, or why they are looked down upon as a lesser form of healing. Like all modalities, there are the good sangomas and the ones that aren’t good and prey on human fears (remember those flyers that are handed out at robots promising all sorts of improbable things). Like homeopathy, naturopathy and chinese medicine, to mention but a few, it has its protocols, processes and materials for healing (e.g. herbs). There are cultural belief systems surrounding sangomas, ancient ones. I wouldn’t hesitate to make use of one. A whole lot of us went home with her business card :-).


Those days of thunder #FreedomDay

One day she was there. The next day she was gone. She was gone for a very long time. When she came back many who knew her didn’t recognise her. What happened to her during the months she was gone can only be speculated upon. Those were the days of thunder before the birth of our young democracy. As we celebrate the 18th year of a democratic South Africa, I thought it appropriate to share this true story that I was a witness to.

She came into our lives like a tornado…beautiful, vibrant and completely uninhibited about everything. Her dress, her behaviour and her political views. With her wild dreadlocks she attracted everyone’s attention, especially the boys who couldn’t take their eyes off her. And us girls, could only stare in a mixture of envy and admiration. Secretly, she was the girl we all wanted to be like. But would not openly admit it.

The backdrop to this story is Wits University. The year was 1985.

During this time I picked my way to lectures very carefully. I had classes in the both the East and West Campus. As I rushed to class, I kept my eyes and ears open to any unusual noises and any unusual cloying suffocating smells. The sounds of dogs barking in the beautiful green lawns of Wits was unusual…and usual for the time. Shouting and screaming, the sounds of running feet, also out of place…but not for the time. Smoke and tear gas unusual…but not for the time. I was very careful not to get caught up in the chaos of a raid on the campus by the then security police. It was a dangerous time, especially for those who were actively fighting for freedom.

I was studying political science and the debate in class was always cautious. Except by her…she debated her views openly. One day, half-way through the first semester, she did not come to class. I wondered at this because I always looked out for her, such was my intense fascination. The next day I looked out for her in class, but she was again absent. She was gone for a very long time.

Towards the end of the academic year she came back. I didn’t recognise her at first. Gone was the vibrancy. She was skeletal. She walked in and out of class very quickly, not pausing to say hello or make eye contact. She sat at the back and was quiet. She was flanked, protectively, by her friends. Her wild dreadlocks were gone, her hair shaved very close to her scalp.

Once, she met my curious gaze – what stared back at me was a shell, barely recognisable as the beautiful and vibrant girl of a few months back. Her haunted eyes spoke of things too terrible to mention.

Soon after that she did not return to class. I never saw her again. I still think of her and I wonder what has become of her, where is she now?

To me she will always be the beautiful and vibrant girl I was fascinated with…and I didn’t even know her name…

In tribute…


Blogger’s note: I wrestled with myself whether to tell this story. It was a sensitive time for many. I would have published this earlier were it not for my irrational fears. In retrospective I am glad that I waited to post, because today was probably the most appropriate day to have done it.

Hooter Tooter


Car in Pune
Hooter Tooter

This post is being co-written with Sharon, my travel buddy – and it’s the first time we are both visiting India. And one only gets to go to India for the first time once (so says Regina Martins – LOL!)! So we are going big.

Today’s blog is about the simple hooter. With all the mystical, spiritual and cultural allurances of India, you find that it is the small things that makes one stop and pay attention. And one such thing is the tooting of the hooter.

Continue reading Hooter Tooter