A little bit of French goes a long way

A few weeks ago we popped into a shop here to buy some appliances. As we paid, we asked the lady at the counter where we go to collect the stuff. She rattled off something long and fast in French and we both stood there, staring at her blankly. Noticing that there were people in the queue behind us, we said "Pardon" and she repeated it slowly in French again.

At some point in that reply I picked up one word and said to My Man "We fetch it from behind the shop."

He looked at me stunned and said "How do you know?".  I smacked him on the bottom and said..."You have a nice derriere". 

Needless to say the couple behind us thought it was funny. That was the only word I picked up - but who said knowing how to say "Nice behind" in French wouldn't help one day.

* * * 

A Bah Humbug Post

*Warning: A little rant ahead....

Perhaps it is like this everywhere, but since I have never gone in and out of the city on public transport, or walked around a city as often as I have here, I wouldn't know. Another thing has really struck me. Most people, and not only the younger generation, grip their cell phones and have their headphones in as though they relied on them as a personal life-giving charger.

When I see them on the bus, plugged in and hooked up, and on FB or watching a movie on their phone, I want to gently shake them and say, "Please, at the least, greet the person you're dumping yourself down next to, and wow, what if you actually tried to have a conversation with them?"

When I see friends walking down the road next to each other, phone in hand and earplugged in - I want to shout at them - TALK TO EACH OTHER!

Bah humbug - social media may be succeeding in making us anti-social in real life situations.

"My South Africa...."

This was shared on Facebook today, I loved it.

Being away and hearing foreign news reports about home - it's easy to see why the world has such a distorted view and why people are wary.

But this is my home - and will always be my home and I share these sentiments and I wish more people knew the real heart of the people there who care deeply for their country and the welfare of all cultures who live there.

'My South Africa' by Prof Jonathan Jansen.

“My South Africa is the working-class man who called from the airport to return my wallet without a cent missing. It is the white woman who put all three of her domestic worker’s children through the same school that her own child attended. It is the politician in one of our rural provinces, Mpumalanga, who returned his salary to the government as a statement that standing with the poor had to be more than just a few words. It is the teacher who worked after school hours every day during the public sector strike to ensure her children did not miss out on learning.

My South Africa is the first-year university student in Bloemfontein who took all the gifts she received for her birthday and donated them – with the permission of the givers – to a home for children in an Aids village. It is the people hurt by racist acts who find it in their hearts to publicly forgive the perpetrators. It is the group of farmers in Paarl who started a top school for the children of farm workers to ensure they got the best education possible while their parents toiled in the vineyards. It is the farmer’s wife in Viljoenskroon who created an education and training centre for the wives of farm labourers so that they could gain the advanced skills required to operate accredited early-learning centers for their own and other children.

My South Africa is that little white boy at a decent school in the Eastern Cape who decided to teach the black boys in the community to play cricket, and to fit them all out with the togs required to play the gentelman’s game. It is the two black street children in Durban, caught on camera, who put their spare change in the condensed milk tin of a white beggar. It is the Johannesburg pastor who opened up his church as a place of shelter for illegal immigrants. It is the Afrikaner woman from Boksburg who nailed the white guy who shot and killed one of South Africa’s greatest freedom fighters outside his home.

My South Africa is the man who went to prison for 27 years and came out embracing his captors, thereby releasing them from their impending misery. It is the activist priest who dived into a crowd of angry people to rescue a woman from a sure necklacing. It is the former police chief who fell to his knees to wash the feet of Mamelodi women whose sons disappeared on his watch; it is the women who forgave him in his act of contrition. It is the Cape Town university psychologist who interviewed the ‘Prime Evil’ in Pretoria Centre and came away with emotional attachment, even empathy, for the human being who did such terrible things under apartheid.

My South Africa is the quiet, dignified, determined township mother from Langa who straightened her back during the years of oppression and decided that her struggle was to raise decent children, insist that they learn, and ensure that they not succumb to bitterness or defeat in the face of overwhelming odds. It is the two young girls who walked 20kms to school everyday, even through their matric years, and passed well enough to be accepted into university studies. It is the student who takes on three jobs, during the evenings and on weekends, to find ways of paying for his university studies.

My South Africa is the teenager in a wheelchair who works in townships serving the poor. It is the pastor of a Kenilworth church whose parishioners were slaughtered, who visits the killers and asks them for forgiveness because he was a beneficiary of apartheid. It is the politician who resigns on conscientious grounds, giving up status and salary because of an objection in principle to a social policy of her political party. It is the young lawman who decides to dedicate his life to representing those who cannot afford to pay for legal services.

My South Africa is not the angry, corrupt, violent country whose deeds fill the front pages of newspapers and the lead-in items on the seven-o’-clock news. It is the South Africa often unseen, yet powered by the remarkable lives of ordinary people. It is the citizens who keep the country together through millions of acts of daily kindness.”

* * * * 

Yes, our people are warm-hearted, colourful, generous, compassionate and open-handed. 

I am proud to be South African.

Instant Recognition Factor

If one had to stick the outline of say, Australia, or the UK, onto a shirt, they would look like you spilled gravy on your clothing and tried to wipe it clean - probably...

But stick the outline of Africa onto a shirt and it's instantly recognisable. 

I have a story to back this up.  These are both mine and worn often. 

In this account I was wearing the one on the right with the colourful stripes.

Just the other day I was walking through the city wearing this shirt, and a black guy with a beautiful face, big smile and bright eyes was standing outside a restaurant handing out flyers to passers-by for the eating place.

As I approached him, he called out,  "Hey Africa!"  I smiled, waved and walked towards him.

Our conversation went like this:

Me:   "Hey, yes - Africa!  Best place ever!  Where are you from?"
Him:  "I'm from Ghana!"
Me:   "Oh! I loved your soccer team in the 2010 World Cup! When we were out, I supported Ghana!"
Him:  "Where are you from?"
Me:   "South Africa"
Him:  "Ahhhhhhh --- Bafana Bafana!"

We both laughed together, and I said ---- "Yes! Sometimes very good, sometimes very bad!"
He agreed.

I took the pamphlet, we said good bye and wished each other a good day.

It was just a precious minute or two in a day that left me smiling, feeling all warm and fuzzy.

* * * 

The "British Ladies Club"

I read Heathcote Safari's blogpost this morning and she pretty much stole my thunder  ;-)

A snippet is this, but read her whole thing - it's a great read.

"When we moved here, we could have decide d to do things ‘the ex-pat way’. It’s not necessarily completely straightforward, but it does make life easier … you send your kids to an English-speaking school, you go to an international church, you buy your food in Lidl and Aldi and when you want to go out, you go to hotels or restaurants where you know they speak English. Hey, I’m not knocking it; there’s something to be said for making yourself understood.

It’s just not what we want. The focus of our ministry here may not be local, but our lives surely are. Clearly, we’re never going to pass for Spaniards but we still want to be able to talk to our neighbours, to understand why things work the way they do, to shop and eat local food."

(Obviously nationalities are different to ours, but the heart intention is the same)

The 5c worth that I would like to add for me, is this. A few of the English speaking people I have met here have said to me that I must join the "British Ladies Club" as it will be a good way for me to make friends.

I know that these people have only good intentions for wanting me to fit in and be involved, and I am grateful for their enthusiasm. At the same time, anyone that knows me will know that any of those three words would be enough to make me break out in a rash - and the three together would have me running screaming into the hills.

• British - I have nothing against Brits. Except their cricket team.... ;-)  So it's not the nationality.
• Ladies - Never ever do "Ladies" things, ladies breakfasts, Ladies Meetings, Ladies Bible Study.... Ladies Gym even - big no, no for me. I don't know why, I just feel a bit like a man there!   :-)
• Club - Usually, but not always, too exclusive. Look at each one on its own merit, but when combined with "Ladies" --- no.

If we were to join any group of people, which we would actually like to do, they must be local people or families, so that we can feel that we are doing everything we can to embrace our new home.

It's not always easy. Especially when you are always surrounded by conversations, at bus stops, in buses, in shopping queues, restaurants....everywhere, and you realise you don't have a flippin' clue what they are saying. Whereas back in SA, I would happily initiate conversations with perfect strangers in any of those places.  

So there are language challenges, but in a way they are good because it keeps the desire to learn the language, fresh.  So far I can pretty much:

1. greet and thank
2. ask for bags at the supermarket
3. get tickets for the bus
4. ask for a burger with cheese 
5. and (drumroll) ask for red and white wine!  HAHA!  (and beer when it's really hot!)

We are just waiting to hear which language school comes recommended from My Mans employer and then we will begin evening school together.

* Disclaimer: 

This post is in no way meant to knock The British Ladies Club or those who are part of it. Each to their own! 

Picking up the Signals

A couple of things we've noticed between last week and today:

• There were lots more people on the bus to work this morning, (and wearing coats),
• The heaters were on in the bus,
• From the morning bus ride, I noticed that some of the trees had lost all their leaves over the weekend,
• The forest around us is not the overwhelming green anymore, but rather beginning to look a little more golden in patches,
• The leaves in our garden are beginning to turn  from the greens to red and orange.

I don't think we are anywhere near the winter that I am half excited / half terrified about, but today I definitely felt the signalling in of autumn, and am definitely looking forward to the colours that will emerge in this most beautiful season!

City Slicker

Yesterday afternoon I headed off into the city where I met a friend.  I thought it was a grand occasion, and decided to landmark it with the ultimate in "grand occasion wear" - heels.

Those of you who live in heels, your eyes probably just lit up a little. I'm right, hey? You didn't think you would see the day, did you!?

My heels were awesome walking to the square, and they behaved so well while we sat outside at a little cafe drinking our cupaccino's, eating our lovely pastries and chatting away.  They only started to become a little hot and bothered when I insisted that they had to do some walking. I could swear I heard them whisper to me "These shoes weren't made for walking...."

I sucked it up - I'm a big girl! It was way too much fun being out and about to allow a silly pair of heels to ruin it. We popped in to toy shops to look for puzzles, and a gorgeous hat shop (that I will be going back to) and did plenty of looking in windows.

At around 16h00, as we said our farewells, I popped into the supermarket for a nice bottle of white and a steak for My Man (and other less interesting things) for when he got home this evening. Then began the long walk (its not really long but seemed long), to the bus stop. With horror I noticed I had 40 min to wait for the bus. Looking up, I saw another bus arrive that goes past my home as well, but it didn't stop were I was waiting - so, me, heels, parcels and handbags all flew down the road after the bus looking very unladylike I am sure - I didn't care, I just was NOT waiting 40 minutes!

It was a lovely ride back home - until for an instant I forgot this wasn't my regular bus and pushed the STOP button! HORRORS!  A stop BEFORE my stop. Feeling hugely embarrassed, I felt I had no option BUT to get off the bus since I was the only one getting off there (and people saw me press the blasted thing). SO I tried to look like "Oh yes! This is my stop, yay"... inside I was thinking "Bugger!"

Oh well, me, my heels, parcel and, by this point, my blisters and I were beginning to see the funny side. I would now have to walk probably about a kilometre down and then up the hill to my house.  Of course, the story would not be complete, if there were not loads of workmen doing roadworks alllll the way up my street and it was very difficult not to (a) crawl up the hill (b) cry up the hill, (c) walk like a newborn calf!  So, I smiled and waved and tried to walk normally. I am not sure I succeeded.

So ladies (and gents) who wear heels... you can smile - and keep your heels.In spite of them - it was a fantastic day and I would do it again - and in heels if I had to!