Relating to my Picture Perfect blog

The "African" dancers. Their performance was very un-African, performed by Brazilian dancers who had never been to Africa. They had tremendous energy, though we kept expecting their straw outfits to catch fire against the candles.

Every year, we would go to the South African Consulate Function in April. It was usually a rather grandiose affair, but on this occasion, they had outdone themselves. Food was French style, ie. more artistic than designed to sustain, with an appetiser of Carpaccio of Ostrich, a rare meat here, but fairly common in South Africa. Wine flowed freely the whole evening. Designer gowns, flashy jewelry, and fancy cars abounded. The venue was an upmarket Bingo hall, Imperatriz. The building was palacial, done in an African style, with dark African warriors lining the walls, huge tusks curving up towards the ceilings, which were lit with myriads of tiny lights. The entrance hall boasted enormous statues of elephants and giraffes.

The place and the event epitomised extravagance to me in every sense of the word.

Lindiwe Zulu, the South African ambassador to Brazil broke out in song during the speeches. I think the chap standing behind her looks somewhat uncomfortable. As you can hear by the background noise, the song was a hit, especially among her fellow Xhosa's.

The "African" dancers. Their performance was very un-African, performed by Brazilian dancers who had never been to Africa, and the ambassador was angry. A few nasty office memo's flew around after the event.


Apologies for the video quality with this last one.

It seems some can't view the Youtube videos. They can also be found here:
"African" dancers
Ambassador singing

Visit Picture Perfect to view more examples of Extravagance or to join in the fun.

And, no, I am not translating! hahaha! Apologies for the... uh... language ; )

Leaving South Africa... (I'll try to keep this short)

The why's and wherefores go back quite a few years, so bear with me. We had immigration plans as far back as 1987. We were actually on our way home to Port Elizabeth (south eastern SA) from visiting the consulate in Pretoria (northern SA), when we had our accident, putting paid to any plans for many years.

In 1994, Jorge was retrenched on the grounds of affirmative action. The company, a Zimbabwean company, wanted to put managers in that were more in keeping with the new government policies. Top management went first. No one would employ a white manager after that. Affirmative action was the 'word of the day'. To say it made us angry, is probably an understatement. Jorge had worked really hard to get where he was. First thing we lost was the car. It was leased through the company. We had no savings (ah to be young and foolish). We only had our land. We lived off the land. Fortunately, we love farming and we did pretty well from our efforts. Jorge did odd jobs at first. We had wonderful friends supporting us and referring us. I went out and got a job after being at home for many years. Between the odd jobs, my new job and my sewing, we managed. From his 'odd-jobbing', Jack of all Trades was born. We contracted out to factories and restaurants, doing building and maintenance. We did private homes too. Tat and I went through parking lots and shopping centers handing out flyers promoting the business. It was fun :) Work came in and we were happy. We bought a used van and one of our clients did the signage. This kept us going for some time.

Roll on 1997... We were on our way home when a loud bang rocketed through the bonnet of our car, one we inherited from Jorge's dad who had recently passed away. A hole was shot in the engine casing. I didn't even know it was possible!! That put that car out of commission. Jorge and a friend rebuilt that engine as cheaply as possible, but as one thing was fixed something else went wrong with it. Then our very necessary van packed in with one of those faults that the fine print in the contract never covers. Gosh, we were fools! The cost of repairing the fault would have been almost the same as buying another van. With that and the death duties from his father and the car giving trouble... it all added up and we were in trouble. The business required a van. I was working, but that covered the monthly bills and not much more.

Jorge made one of those long-thought-out-split-second decisions. Bearing in mind, his dad had recently died, so the estate in Brazil was now an issue and as Jorge said at the time, "After all, we have nothing left to lose" - ah... we would still have our time of wanting to take those words back. Within 2 weeks, he was on the plane to Brazil. The plan was for him to find work here, then bring the family over. I was to do the whole immigration application process, as I was the only one that didn't qualify for residency on the basis of his citizenship. We put our furniture into storage, Tat and I moved in with a friend (on hindsight, not recommended... at all).

10 Months later, Jorge was still struggling, not able to get a job. It costs R$5000 and a course to have his engineering qualifications recognised here. I decided that the family needed to be together. I sold what I could, which got me virtually nothing, as so many South Africans were leaving the country at the time and selling up. Through a friend, we got a good price on our tickets to Brazil, but we had to leave right away. There was no time to go through the storage facilities. I left the remainder of our goods there for a friend to sell, pay off our bills and dispose of. Our personal effects that we didn't have time to collect.... well... who knows what happened to those.

So we left. Would I do things differently if I had the chance to do it again? Of course, but at the time, we made our decisions with the information we had and based so many of them on emotion. To answer the question of why we can't go back, I need to touch, once again, on politics. Jorge was a naturalized South African, having grown up there and worked and paid his taxes, etc. South Africa's esteemed new president decided in his wisdom that any South Africans who leave the country for more than 5 years, unless they're born there (gracious of him, I'm sure), would lose their naturalization. To go back, Jorge would need to apply for permanent residency the way I had to for Brazil.

Ah... this has been too long already... and its not that exciting, I would think. Writing it just brought to mind again how one is so inclined to make really stupid decisions when you're ruled by emotion. I learnt about immigration the hard way. The next move will be very different, I assure you. We have gathered far more information than we will ever need and have made Plan A's, Plan B's and backup plans to those too. We don't expect to use any but our initial Plan A, but we hope we can say we've learnt by our mistakes.

I will leave the "Where to now" for another blog ;)

I've been gone so long. It's just been crazy around here! Nah... I lie. I wish it had been crazy. Let me rephrase. I've been gone so long because I've been going crazy... or is it because I am crazy? No... don't answer that.

As you may remember, I was looking for my brothers. So far, I've come up with loads of dead ends. Then I figured that I'd try looking for people who may know how to find them or at least be 'on location' to find them, which sent me on a rollercoaster of memories. I started with Facebook. I have tried looking for some of these people before and come up blank. This time, I entered a name and there they were. I was suddenly finding heaps of people, from my best friend through primary school through to the best man at our wedding and many more. It was as though someone had switched on a light. This was both wonderful and terrifying. There are many memories and experiences I'd love to have gone without recalling. Contact with these people has brought all those to the fore again. Of course, not all have come back to me. A couple, I am sad about, but others I don't mind that much. 

For so long, while living here in Brazil, it has bothered me that there are so few people in my life who have seen me face to face, who know me, and still consider a connection to me worthwhile. I regularly hear accounts of my friends getting together with each other and, while I am thrilled for those friends, I long to have the same thing, though I know it is out of the question for now. I became a little obsessed with the looking up of old friends. Here were people who have known me face to face, who have been with me through some... interesting times and who still accepted me. A few have even been glad to have made contact again. I was sitting here tonight though and thinking.... I can't go back. Going back is an illusion. I know that sounds weird to you, perhaps, but to me, it was something I had to face. I have to make friends with these people all over again, some easier than others, but so much has changed. We've all moved on. Any friendships I pick up now again would have to be built on as though new. I can't build on history. So I got my wish... in a way. I can't meet with a friend for coffee now, but I have had times where I've sat and talked over coffee or a glass of wine with a good friend. Those memories will have to carry me for a little while longer.

On the subject of 'a little while longer'... and going forward...
Many folk ask me whether I've had news on immigration yet. The answer is... if I had news, I'd have shouted it from the rooftops, so.... no. We have, I think, until at least the end of May to have heard about the last application. Not much time left, is there? I suppose I should say... well, there's always next year. We've said that every year so far. What's one more? I hate even thinking about that. Everything in life has a reason. There is a reason for this too. It will all work out.

In all, I was in something of a muddled funk... on a rollercoaster ride all of my own, so I haven't been terribly talkative. Balance has never been my strong point... balancing my moods, my activities, my various obsessions. I'm trying to find the balance now between new friends and old. I'm still here though...

Link

April 10, 2008 06:33pm

"You must kill the bastards (criminals) if they threaten you or the community. You must not worry about the regulations," said Deputy Safety and Security Minister Susan Shabangu.

"I want no warning shots, you have one shot and it must be a kill shot," she told police officers, according to the Star newspaper today.

South Africa suffers some of the highest levels of violent crime in the world, with murders, hijackings and rape an everyday occurrence.

Police figures show nearly 20,000 people are murdered a year, sparking public anger at the inability of authorities to ensure safety.

Ms Shabangu told an anti-crime meeting in the capital Pretoria: "I want to assure the police station commissioners and policemen and women from these areas that they have permission to kill these criminals," she said.

"I will not tolerate any pathetic excuses for you not being able to deal with crime, you have been given guns, now use them ... If criminals dare to threaten the police or the livelihood or lives of innocent men, women and children, then they must be killed."

----------------------------

This news article was sent to me this morning. For my newer friends, if there is one thing I am passionate about, it is my homeland, South Africa. I left very reluctantly. It is no secret, though, that South Africa has one of the highest crime rates in the world, with rape and hijacking being at the top of the list. I was there when neighbours were being gunned down. I was there when girls were dragged into public ablutions and gang raped. According to friends and family, it is worse now. Killing is done for the sake of killing. Then I read an article like this. Those who know me, know that I am opposed to violence, even for the 'greater good'. I don't believe so much in the abolishing of guns simply because that puts the guns into the hands of the criminals, leaving citizen Joe Soap defenceless.

I still have to form an opinion about this article though. What do you think?

I know an article like this brings about strong opinions. I'm game for that, but please keep it clean and respectful.

Yep, well, I was pretty depressed this morning (in case no one noticed). I then got an alert that someone had commented on the Laurika Rauch video I had uploaded to Youtube. I went to the guy's profile and watched a video of his, then got sidetracked by other South African videos. One thing led to another and ALL South African videos have to, at some point, lead to Leon Schuster!

I am actually surprised that Leon Schuster is still alive. He has mocked every institution and public figure in South Africa, bar none... no one is sacred, regardless of race, colour, age, status and in SA, that is a dangerous thing. Thing is, the victim always laughs... you can't help it. This guy is funny.

So, without further ado, I give you Leon Schuster and the Rookie firemen. I'm laughing so hard, the tears are streaming...

Leaving South Africa... (I'll try to keep this short)

The why's and wherefores go back quite a few years, so bear with me. We had immigration plans as far back as 1987. We were actually on our way home to Port Elizabeth (south eastern SA) from visiting the consulate in Pretoria (northern SA), when we had our accident, putting paid to any plans for many years.

In 1994, Jorge was retrenched on the grounds of affirmative action. The company, a Zimbabwean company, wanted to put managers in that were more in keeping with the new government policies. Top management went first. No one would employ a white manager after that. Affirmative action was the 'word of the day'. To say it made us angry, is probably an understatement. Jorge had worked really hard to get where he was. First thing we lost was the car. It was leased through the company. We had no savings (ah to be young and foolish). We only had our land. We lived off the land. Fortunately, we love farming and we did pretty well from our efforts. Jorge did odd jobs at first. We had wonderful friends supporting us and referring us. I went out and got a job after being at home for many years. Between the odd jobs, my new job and my sewing, we managed. From his 'odd-jobbing', Jack of all Trades was born. We contracted out to factories and restaurants, doing building and maintenance. We did private homes too. Tat and I went through parking lots and shopping centers handing out flyers promoting the business. It was fun :) Work came in and we were happy. We bought a used van and one of our clients did the signage. This kept us going for some time.

Roll on 1997... We were on our way home when a loud bang rocketed through the bonnet of our car, one we inherited from Jorge's dad who had recently passed away. A hole was shot in the engine casing. I didn't even know it was possible!! That put that car out of commission. Jorge and a friend rebuilt that engine as cheaply as possible, but as one thing was fixed something else went wrong with it. Then our very necessary van packed in with one of those faults that the fine print in the contract never covers. Gosh, we were fools! The cost of repairing the fault would have been almost the same as buying another van. With that and the death duties from his father and the car giving trouble... it all added up and we were in trouble. The business required a van. I was working, but that covered the monthly bills and not much more.

Jorge made one of those long-thought-out-split-second decisions. Bearing in mind, his dad had recently died, so the estate in Brazil was now an issue and as Jorge said at the time, "After all, we have nothing left to lose" - ah... we would still have our time of wanting to take those words back. Within 2 weeks, he was on the plane to Brazil. The plan was for him to find work here, then bring the family over. I was to do the whole immigration application process, as I was the only one that didn't qualify for residency on the basis of his citizenship. We put our furniture into storage, Tat and I moved in with a friend (on hindsight, not recommended... at all).

10 Months later, Jorge was still struggling, not able to get a job. It costs R$5000 and a course to have his engineering qualifications recognised here. I decided that the family needed to be together. I sold what I could, which got me virtually nothing, as so many South Africans were leaving the country at the time and selling up. Through a friend, we got a good price on our tickets to Brazil, but we had to leave right away. There was no time to go through the storage facilities. I left the remainder of our goods there for a friend to sell, pay off our bills and dispose of. Our personal effects that we didn't have time to collect.... well... who knows what happened to those.

So we left. Would I do things differently if I had the chance to do it again? Of course, but at the time, we made our decisions with the information we had and based so many of them on emotion. To answer the question of why we can't go back, I need to touch, once again, on politics. Jorge was a naturalized South African, having grown up there and worked and paid his taxes, etc. South Africa's esteemed new president decided in his wisdom that any South Africans who leave the country for more than 5 years, unless they're born there (gracious of him, I'm sure), would lose their naturalization. To go back, Jorge would need to apply for permanent residency the way I had to for Brazil.

Ah... this has been too long already... and its not that exciting, I would think. Writing it just brought to mind again how one is so inclined to make really stupid decisions when you're ruled by emotion. I learnt about immigration the hard way. The next move will be very different, I assure you. We have gathered far more information than we will ever need and have made Plan A's, Plan B's and backup plans to those too. We don't expect to use any but our initial Plan A, but we hope we can say we've learnt by our mistakes.

I will leave the "Where to now" for another blog ;)

The photo was of Tat, age 9, before our move to Brazil. Jorge (my husband for those not 'in the know') was already over here, trying to get tenants out of the house, so that we could move in. This photo is symbolic, I think. Tat was wearing her Brazilian Pica Pau outfit (the character on the front is well known in Brazilian cartoon world), with the backdrop of the miniature SAA planes in the theme park on Durban's beachfront. It was taken on a really hot Durban day. The silly child insisted on leaving the hotel room barefoot and was smiling in spite of the fact that her feet must have been in agony on the hot concrete.

I am often asked "Why Brazil?" when the rest of South Africa fled to Australia, New Zealand, Canada, USA, UK, Holland.... everywhere but here. I usually avoid answering, as its one of those responses that have a Russian doll effect... or 'peeling the onion'. You uncover one reason and have to explain the reason below it.

In a very large Brazil nut shell... Jorge's mom is Brazilian. His dad is Lithuanian. Jorge was born in Brazil and his family emigrated to South Africa back in '66, so Jorge was raised pretty much South African. I am, of course, South African to the core. When they left Brazil, they left a house behind. This house was the source of major controversy for many years. His parents split up. As good Catholics, they would never have dreamt of a divorce, though neither ever went to church. She returned to Brazil. He stayed in SA. When he wanted to sell the house, she refused. Then she'd want to sell and he'd refuse. Then there were the tenants. Here, if you take up residence, the owner has to pay you compensation to move or you can, after a certain number of years simply claim the house as your own. Tenants are also free to do just about anything with a house - bad news for property owners if there is no contract. The house was pretty much 'claimed' and thoroughly wrecked. I'm going to cut out a lot of why's and wherefore's at this point (subject for another blog one day). His parents eventually died within a month of each other, on opposite ends of the ocean. Hate can be a strong bond after all. Jorge inherited the house.

We had immigration intentions then already, though Brazil was far from our dream destination. We decided to come over here, sort out the property, sell it, and move on to our final goal. We had nothing left to lose in SA - or so we thought (yet another blog subject of its own).

So there you have it. We moved into the house here, got the tenants out, sold the house after 7 long years of struggle and are finally ready to move on. It took thousands upon thousands to clear the legal mess and make the house barely liveable.

And, no, moving back to South Africa is not one of our options at this point. Of course, there is a lot more to be said on the subject, but I don't want to bore everyone :)

The photo above is taken in the Valley of Flags outside Steytlerville in the Klein Karoo, South Africa. I was in boarding school there for a time.

I received a phone call from home today. There is a possibility that I may be going home for the first time in 8 years. My friend is having surgery and lives alone. She's looking for a 'baby sitter', as she won't be able to manage on her own while healing. I will probably, if I go, be there for 6 - 8 weeks. This has brought a surge of memories and emotions to light. Its something I have dreamt of with an unrelenting homesickness.

This song is by Laurika Rauch, one of my favourite South African artists. The song is very folkish and in Afrikaans, so you're not expected to understand it. In the refrain, the words go:

"...'n Reis deur die verlede sal ook hartseer bring, maar my voete wil weer dans en my lippe wil weer sing..."
which translates to: "... A journey through the past will also bring heartache, but my feet once again want to dance and my lips want to sing..."

The song takes me through familiar scenes (not the car!) and memories.

I know a trip back home will bring heartache. I am terrified of disturbing the past. We are at a time where we are looking to the future with great excitement. Now I am facing the past again. I am terrified of leaving my daughter and husband. I know they will manage and will hardly starve without me. I think its me that needs them, not the other way around. We've so often spoke of me going home, but now that the reality may be here... I find myself hesitating. I'm afraid of what I might find. As my friend said, its sure to cure my homesickness. Naturally, if she calls, I will go. Its just who I am... if a friend or family member needs me, I'm there. It helps, of course, that she will be paying for it.

Ugh! Why am I worrying... nothing is confirmed yet and the whole thing could still fall through.

To answer questions I get asked all the time... I am South African. My ancestors were among those who stepped off the ships from Holland in 1652. It is a strong lineage, so I can say from the depths of my being that I am a child of South Africa. It is where my roots are.

I met a lovely lady, who is now living in Scotland. She wrote this poem after having to leave her own homeland, Rhodesia (Zimbabwe). Its a poem that echoes the way I feel.... I have permission from Michelle to post this poem on my site. For those who read it, please respect her copyright and always include her name with the poem.

I had a lighthearted post in mind... about an endearing little dog. I think I'll post that tomorrow when I can think a clearer.