The Sacred and Profane

When people ask about my life in Africa, sometimes they’re shocked to discover that I live in a big city, much like any other big city throughout the world. It’s dirty. There’s too much traffic. Shopping malls everywhere. Lots of concrete and asphalt and old buildings that aren’t exactly quaint. But it’s beautiful too. Especially early on a Saturday morning when the streets of my neighborhood are quiet and the flowers in bloom. So, today I thought I’d (try) to keep my big mouth shut and simply give you a few visuals from my world.

First, my morning run...

(Yes, I took a camera on my run in preparation for this post, and yes, I felt like a Big Dork. I thought it would be a total pain to haul my camera around while running, but then I remembered that for the first 6-7 years of my running career I carried a walkman that was three times the size of my current camera. Crazy, huh? Yet another example of how Buffy, the pink iPod shuffle has totally changed my life.)

Now onto the pictures:

The neighborhood...though you probably can't tell since you can't see any houses. We're kind of obsessive about our walls/gates around here.

And the beautiful park where I run on the weekends.

Beautiful! Gorgeous! Wish you were here!

And below you will find Roger, Moose, and I having a picnic at said park this past Wednesday on Heritage Day, aka National Braai Day (braai is the Afrikaans word for BBQ, or grilling out. For example, "Do you want to come over for a braai next weekend?" South Africans love their braais almost as much as they love their meat. Biltong and Borewors especially.)

(There is totally a lion hiding there in the brush...Moose ran him off before we could snap a photo.)

And of course, the weird reminders that despite my beautiful surroundings, I'm still living in a Big Bad City.

Yes...That's razor wire wrapped around the tree and scary spikes lining the wall.

Wait. Did you notice this???? Look at it again.

Notice the extra-cautious combination of electrical wires and scary spikes...

And this...this needs no comment.

But here's my favorite...the House of Optimism. Okay, as far as I know, I'm the only one who calls it that, and not just because it has a pretty pink door, but because it is the only house in the area that's not surrounded by a fortress. I'm sure it has an alarm and quite possibly invisible laser beams shooting across the front lawn, but I don't know that. To me, it just looks like a nice house in a normal neighborhood in a nice city that doesn't require security guards posted on every street.

So there you have it. Now, you've practically been to my little corner of Joburg. And all without that nasty eighteen hour flight.

Thank me later.

Back to Basics

Last week, I mentioned my fear that one day I’d look back at all this drivel and ask “What was I thinking?”

Well, “one day” came sooner rather than later.

I mean, what am I doing? I used to be a relatively private person. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that some people, when they meet me, might even say I’m hard to get to know. I don’t share my life story with strangers (unless of course they have a “Dr.” before their name and a nice comfy couch). I’m not someone who dumps all my opinions on others. And I’m a big believer in keeping a bit of mystery in a relationship (which is why it’s so frustrating whenever I share a quirky detail or memory with Roger only to discover I’ve already told him…like ten times). So that being said, how did I end up with a blog? Why is it that here, in this bizarre public forum, I feel compelled to air my secrets, share my opinions, confess my sins…

I’ve lost my mind. Clearly, living 10,000 miles away from my friends and family has made me so lonely that I’ve taken to confiding in a computer without realizing the repercussions. And occasionally, there are some.

So, enough of the controversial. I’m way too much of a people-pleaser to be controversial. Besides, you don’t come to me for commentary on the happenings in the US, you’re here for a glimpse of South Africa, right? So, I am now renewing my commitment to the original purpose of this blog…to share my Adventures in Africa.

Stay tuned.

Genius!

I don’t think I’m alone in my belief that the iPod might be one of the greatest inventions since…well, ever.

In fact, I’m pretty much in love with my iPod, and I definitely couldn’t live without my tiny pink iPod shuffle (her name is Buffy and we work out together).

I’ve recently updated to iTunes 8.0 and I’m both fascinated and terrified. Seriously, it’s genius. No, I mean it! It’s Genius. And this Genius took one good look at my music library, and sized up everything I'm missing. Now it keeps a running list of the songs I "need" on a handy sidebar complete with icons tempting me to purchase the missing tunes for just 99 cents a pop. When your library is as lacking as mine (apparently) is, this could get expensive.

And what next? Is Genius going to start making fun of my tastes in music? I can see it now, a pop up message from Genius reading: “OMG hun, you really don’t wanna listen to that. Trust me.” (What can I say? My Genius is a trendy gay man whose opinion I’m powerless to ignore.) Or worse, it’ll be an audio file and I’ll hear the words spoken aloud as I double-click on Alanis Morissette, yet again.

And not only is Genius a know-it-all when it comes to what I should have in my music library, he also knows how to make a better mix tape than me. Shocking, I know. I once considered myself pretty talented in the art of mix tapes, but no, Genius puts me to shame. He starts with just one song (of my choosing) and then proceeds to create (in all of three seconds) a playlist so good it makes me wanna cry. Seriously.

It's Genius.

Zum and Gloom

(okay, so the title only works if you know that Zuma is pronounced Zooma...you know, so it's a play on Doom and...oh, never mind, if I have to explain it to you then really...)

Last week a judge made a pretty big decision here in South Africa. I thought, at the time, you know, I should write something about this, but I was kinda fuzzy on the details and what do you think I am, a reporter? I’m way too busy lurking around the blogosphere to conduct research! However - though I’m still not 100% on the specifics - I think it’s worth mentioning. Plus, you’re probably sick of all the political drama on the home front and you might enjoy a bit of gossip about the oh-so-respectable leaders of this country I call home.

So here goes…

Jacob Zuma, the president of the African National Congress and probably the next president of South Africa, had a good friend named Schabir Shaik. Three years ago, Shaik was convicted of fraud and corruption in connection was a multi-billion dollar arms deal. Now during the trial, it became clear that Zuma had accepted large sums of money from this joker. The judge declared that the relationship between the two of them was “mutually beneficial.” Yep, South Africa’s next president and a known arms dealer. Nice.

So with all this proof, you’d think Zuma would go down too, right? But not so. At least not yet. It’s been one delay after another, with charges dropped, then brought again, then delayed (and of course there was that pesky rape trial that Zuma had to contend with), then – as of last Friday – a judge "declared the decision to prosecute him on fraud and corruption charges invalid".

That morning (before the judge made the decision), a scrolling headline on SKY news read: “Judge’s decision could cause chaos in South Africa.” I asked Roger what he thought might happen. After all, we’d already suffered through the uncertainty of a potential black hole swallowing us up earlier that week, so I wanted to know what to expect in this regard. Roger explained that Zuma’s involvement in the scandal was so clear cut that a judge would only drop the charges if he was being blackmailed or bribed. He said people would be outraged if the charges were dismissed.

I countered that the people who would be outraged by a decision to drop the charges weren’t exactly the types to cause “chaos,” you know, the rioting and looting type of chaos. People truly outraged by government corruption tend to be the more law abiding types, right? Wouldn’t there be more chaos if the charges weren’t dropped? I mean, despite Zuma’s questionable character, he has many devoted fans and followers. I was more worried about chaos ensuing if the court was brave enough to uphold the charges…

But alas, the prosecution was declared invalid, and as far as I can tell, the people Roger thought would be so outraged are taking it pretty well. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by their seeming complacency. I mean, how are upstanding citizens supposed to react to an obviously corrupt government? Well, they’re certainly not protesting or rioting or looting. Instead, they’re just leaving. Now more than ever, South Africans (1 in 3 according to this article) are seriously considering leaving the country. They’re leaving in droves to go to Australia or New Zealand or the UK. (It’s never to the US, nobody likes the US anymore, didn’t you hear?) Anyway, I’m not sure what it all means, but there you have it. So now you can stop obsessing about the upcoming US election, because either way, our next president can’t be as bad as this joker.

And like I said, I’m no reporter, but I did do a little research and found this timeline extremely helpful.

And according to this article, it looks like Zuma may still find himself in court…we’ll see.

The Big Bad Blogosphere

Okay, so once again my husband has abandoned me for a business trip (he's oh-so-important, you know) and here I am - left to my own devices. I'm happy to report that I haven't even turned on the television (proof that my husband it to blame for all the hours we waste in front of the TV), but I’ve found another way to waste time this evening...by prowling through the blogosphere. And over the last three hours (Yikes! Has it really been three hours?), I've realized a couple things:

1) There are a lot of clever writers out there. Seriously from the mommy-bloggers to the author-bloggers to the city-chic-bloggers to the travel-bloggers... there are way too many people out there with a lot of cool stuff to say. A girl could get lost in there. So, I encourage you to dive in too. Seriously, if you people are wasting as much time in the blogosphere as I am, I won’t feel quite so gulity about my own time-wasting. Oh wait, you’re already wasting your time here with me…um, thanks for that…yeah, you don’t need to check out the other clever people. They’re not nearly as cool as me, um, I promise.

2) In my exploration of the blogosphere, I’m both encouraged and intimidated. Encouraged by the fact that blogs get a lot of attention these days, so even if I’m never actually paid for my ramblings, it’s still cool to think that my writing is out there. And just like I might stumble upon an old friend from high school’s blog, she too might stumble onto mine. Or that old boyfriend might even see it and think “Gee, her life turned out pretty good despite the fact that I broke her heart into a million pieces,” or maybe the girls I tried so hard to impress in college will read it and think “I always thought that geeky chick had potential!” Who knows? But the mystery of it all is pretty exciting…and terribly intimidating. I mean, what the hell am I doing? There is so much good writing out there…what makes me think I have anything important to say? (Ahem, I meant to say…I’m very important...um, this is by far the coolest blog in the blogosphere. You’ve come to the right place, I promise.)

On a side note, this evening I have also discovered that Roger’s absence is the perfect excuse to eat random items from the pantry for dinner. So far I have consumed hummus, jalapenos, carrots, peanut butter, and oreos. (Though I explicitly asked Roger to hide the peanut butter before he went out of town, but alas, he failed miserably. He must have thought I was joking... I wasn’t.) So here I am, sitting at my laptop and listening to Madonna’s Something to Remember album (on repeat) while trying to figure out how I feel about all the blogging going on in the world…

I’m not exactly sure. I still think blogging is a bit narcissistic, but obviously, I’m a fan. I’ve always loved journals and diaries and scrapbooks, and surely blogging is the ultimate way to document experiences. But are my experiences (and navel contemplations) worth documenting? That’s a rhetorical question, by the way, I’m not fishing for encouragement (though comments are always appreciated and, okay, worshipped).

I definitely dig all the blogging going on in the world and I’m happy to be a blogger myself, but I have a feeling one day I’ll look back at all my drivel and shake my head with an expression that already annoys me and say, “Oh, how silly I was then! How little I knew about life!”

Can I please reach into the future and smack this version of myself? I mean, I know she knows more than I do, but that doesn’t mean I have to like her. And yet, she’ll hold this damn blog over my head as proof that I was selfish and clueless and ate far too much peanut butter.

Then again, I’m sure there’s a way to delete all this crap when I’m ready.

But come on, we both know I’m far too narcissistic for that.

Someone Else

This blog exists as undeniable proof that I take myself far too seriously. And finally, all the neurotic introspection is even starting to get on my nerves.

In the oh-so-eloquent words of Pink:
“It’s bad when you annoy yourself.
So irritating.
Don't wanna be my friend no more.
I wanna be somebody else.”

I want to be someone else for awhile. Someone cool and apathetic and confident. Or if not confident, then at least someone who hides their insecurities with snarky comments that unintentionally make other people feel like they’re not as cool. I want to make jokes about things that make other (less cool) people uncomfortable. I want to poke fun at other peoples' tastes in music and randomly drop the names of obscure bands that no one has heard of (except all the cool people, obviously).

Yes, I think – just for a little while - I’d like to be someone other than me. Someone who doesn’t lie awake at night obsessing over past interactions, wondering if she said something stupid or offensive. Someone who doesn’t care what other people think. Someone aloof and mysterious. Someone who thinks romantic comedies are lame and isn't counting down the days until the return of Grey’s Anatomy (11, by the way). Someone who would never quote Pink. And of course, someone who wouldn't contemplate their navel week after week in a public forum.

So, there will be no whiny introspection today.
Today I’m someone way too cool for all that.

Sea and Spirit

Photo taken by my brilliant brother-in-law, Gary, in Playa del Carmen, Mexico

There is nothing more awe inspiring than the ocean.
Except maybe the sky.
Just when I think one has finally outdone the other, I’m faced with a vision that takes me back to the original question. But I think I’ve finally decided; it’s the joining of the two. For me, there is no greater beauty in this world than the rendezvous of sky and sea - the fiery sphere of the sun reflecting on the waves as they dance to a rhythm set by an unseen moon. In fact, I’m not sure how anyone can behold (and no other word suffices here, certainly not ‘look’) this magical scene and question the existence of a Creator.

Don’t get me wrong, I have plenty of questions for the Creator and about the Creator, but I’ve no doubt He (or She if you prefer…and I sometimes do) exists, and for whatever reason, I feel closest to Him/Her when I’m near the ocean.

Wherever I’ve travelled on this planet - and I’ve been blessed to travel quite a bit - the ocean is a delightful constant. Its brilliance is guaranteed. From the dark and stormy North Sea to the crystal transparency of the Gulf of Mexico. From the crashing waves of the Pacific to the milky waters of the Arabian Sea to the foamy spray of the Indian Ocean. Glorious and glittery, unpredictable and…well, indescribable (as has become apparent by this pitiful attempt).

I’m amazed that no matter what ocean you have the privilege of beholding (there’s that word again), it’s all connected; it’s all part of the same dance. So in that sense, when I’m near the sea, the world seems a little bit smaller, a bit more manageable. But at the same time, the power and enormity of the ocean is intimidating, so I can’t help but feel small and insignificant as I stand before it. What am I compared to this vast expanse of might and beauty? But then I consider that the ocean is sort of a gift, a blessing, and looking out at God’s masterpiece, I feel cherished and loved and even a little bit important…to be the recipient of such a gift.

This weekend at the coast, I felt especially close to God, or at least, I spent an unusual amount of time thinking about the subject. You see, a few months ago I asked my mom to send me a book I’d read about in an online NY Times article called The Shack. I’d been fascinated by how the book's grass roots marketing campaign had landed the private-press book on the bestseller list. According to the article, it was becoming a cultural phenomenon, not to mention a first in the world of publishing. As someone trying to break into that world, I was intrigued by this renegade book. And of course, I was also attracted to the little bits I’d read about the story itself. God appears as a black woman named Papa...Some religious leaders are embracing the book while others are scorning it as heresy...I was immediately sold.

My mom ordered it from Amazon the very second I mentioned it to her (She's always eager to encourage my somewhat lacking spiritual development). Of course, thanks to the ever-efficient South African Postal Service, ten weeks later, I still didn’t have it. In fact, I’d almost forgotten about the book when a notice for pick-up appeared in my mailbox on Wednesday. But I picked it up from the post office on our way out of town last Thursday and had finished the book by Saturday morning.

Now, it's not unusual for me to bury myself in a book while on vacation, but The Shack kept me fascinated me with its creative portrayal of God and its innovative attempt to answer the questions that haunt us. I was riveted, turning page after page, anticipating the main character's ‘Ah ha!’ moment and hoping to experience the same. But alas, while The Shack made a valiant effort, my ‘Ah ha!’ moment never came. Because no book holds all the answers…no, not even that book. Um, perhaps I should now take my laptop underneath the bed to hide from the inevitable bolt of lightening. But really, the Bible can’t explain poverty and famine. It holds no answers for why mankind continues to harm each other with war and crime and terrorism. It doesn’t offer answers as to why Bryan and Mrs. T and millions of others have to suffer though cancer and chemo. It doesn’t even explain why God’s magnificent ocean gets angry this time of year, turning against us by taking lives and destroying homes…explain that one, huh?

Okay, some people would say that the Bible does explain all that…Genesis 3, to be exact. That line of thinking says the Fall of Man set all the bad stuff in motion. Adam and Eve ate the fruit, so they brought it on themselves (and all of us too...how fair is that?). Well, I don’t find that answer satisfactory. It doesn't make sense to me. Why can’t God just rewrite the rules? He was the original author, right? What’s so wrong with a revision? Can’t He make a few exceptions? Still hiding from that lightening by the way!

I admit, I hoped The Shack would provide more answers than it did, but it’s still worth the read. If nothing else it reminded me that my questions – my ‘issues’ – with God aren’t at all unusual. Like a teenager whining that no one understands me, I’m just like the six billion other people on the planet trying to figure out what it all means…

Whew. I'm a bit nervous about hitting the 'publish' button tonight. But I figure, I spill my guts about everything else in this forum, so why not address yet another taboo? Yep, what did they tell me when I was going through sorority rush? Oh yes, polite conversation avoids the three B’s…Boys, Booze, and the Bible. Hmmm. I think with this post we will have now covered all of them!

And as always, I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject…

Wonder-full Wednesday

About a month ago, I stumbled across a fabulous blog that now makes me smile on a regular basis. Every day over at Wonders Never Cease, author Becky Ramsey posts a different ‘wonder’ of the world. It’s the perfect way to remind myself to appreciate the little things…and there are usually some pretty cool pictures too. This week, she challenged all of her readers to post a wonder of their own so here you will find mine. Thanks to the people over at flickr for allowing me to use some of the photos below (Well, the good ones are from flickr, the less impressive ones belong to me!)




Today’s Wonder is HANDS!

I love hands.




















Young or old; weak or strong; soft and smooth or rough and hardened…hands say it all. Certainly no other appendage is quite so multitalented. In fact, I bet feet are pretty jealous.












Flickr photo by Sara Heinrichs


Hands can point, touch, caress, even hide.















Flickr photo by -rt-


They count, write, type.













Flickr photo by Guinnevere Lee

They tap, tickle, reach, hold.














Hands reveal a lot about a person.

In fact, they’re downright terrible at keeping secrets…
Remember when Scarlett’s calloused hands revealed that she’d been working in the cotton fields! Oh, the shame!

And what about this secret?

Yikes! Whose hand is that? She must have some sort of medical condition...Oh, the shame!



















Yes, now I’m embarrassed. Certainly my poor nails don’t deserve such abuse, and yet…
Am I stressed?
Nervous?
Maybe…hungry?
Or simply crazy?
Well…that’s another secret altogether.


But on this wonder-full Wednesday, I will let these magic hands remind you that it’s a wonder-full world!