The grand thing (okay, okay, the BESTEST thing ever) of living the rural life, is that by 8 o'clock you are in bed. And you can read. There are no cinemas or friends or braai's or parties and other such frivolous things to distract you from bed time and reading time! So, I'm reading a lot.
I moved to Otjiwarongo, and I was, well-prepared. In the books area at least. I'd gone extensive book shopping at my faverouite second hand booksote in Obs - it is the best place, and the owner is simply divine. He reads his clientelle like, well, books and knows just the right new book you must buy. No argument. Lovely.
And yet, after a year, my collection of unread books was becoming alarmingly thin. I shudder to think what I would actually do the day I am stranded without reading material.
And so, in order to avoid that armegeddon, on my short visit to Johannesburg a friend of mine led me to the second best bookstore in the world.
Let me just, at this point, add: Do not, ever, especially if you love books, walk into a second hand bookstore with a credit card after you've had three glasses of red wine. Just don't. Okay. Good.
I did. And well, I'm now the proud owner of a collection of books I never thought I'd actually look at twice. Some of them are my normal fare, fiction without plot but lot's of character. But some, like "Myrren's Gift", a fantasy book including magic dogs, dungeons, torture of naked females, an evil king, a beheading, and ofcourse, our wonderful hero, are not normally books I read.
And yet, being in Otjiwarongo, where about three other people read and the closest bookstore about 290km away, I grabbed the book the other day.
And I'm loving it! Absolutely adoring the predictable plot, the black and white characters, the murder and mayhem, the secret assasins, the neighbouring kingdom on the verge of war with a sickly Queen..... I've seen it and heard it all before, and yet...
Reviews (of books bought while slightly intoxicated) coming soon!
June 21, 2007
She Said, He Said, She Said
It is a conundrum I find myself in today.
Four people telling me one story, another (the one I trust most) a different story.
I find myself entangled in a truth / lies story. The story is so insignificant, I might laugh (soon!) but at the moment I find myself frowning.
You see, I flew to Johannesburg last week. Just before my departure I received the news that I was shortlisted as a candidate for a news reporter job. I thought quickly, and requested that my leave be extended by one day. Clever I thought. I would return at the time planned, and then have one extra day to go to this interview. Naturally, naiive that I am, I told some colleagues.
On my return to the office, I was immediately bombarded with the news that my 'supervisor' had 'told' our bosses about my interview. That very same day we had a meeting and at the close of this meeting, my boss said:"Just remember. This is a small town and a small office. We hear everything. If any of you go for an interview, please let us know."
Naturally, to my mind, this confirmed the 'rumour' that my supervisor had told my bosses. I was livid! I felt, and I still do, that this information was mine to do with as I pleased. If I had thought it neccessary to tell the bosses about the interview, I would have. But I didn't want them to know, for no more specific reason than that it was none of their goddamn business.
This morning I was called into their office. Apparently on some side-line issue. However, when asked if I was happy at the company, I told them that to me, the high-rate of gossiping was getting to me. They asked for me to give them an example. I told them about the interview, saying I would have naturally told them about it, once I had gotten the job (I didn't get it). They looked very surprised and then said that they had not known about my interview at all!
Ha.
Blush. Gurgle. Blush.
Oh. Well. In that case, I laughted very nervously, no worries. Obviously, my 'friend' had told me a lie. Or had been misinformed.
So after that little embarressment, I asked my friend-colleague (the one who had told me that the supervisor had run to the bosses) that they hadn't in fact known, and that the supervisor therefore didn't tell them.
But she is adament. They did know and she did tell them! The supervisor herself told her that she had told the bosses.
I trotted to the Supervisor. Time to speak to the one person who would know if she told them or not. She emphatically denied this, and even hugged me when I apologised to her for thinking that she had told them.
And yet, when I went to my original 'source' again, she tells me she is certain that they knew.
So.
I am left with the mind-tingling (numbing???) situation, spinning as it were. The issue of my interview is tiny, even a bit childish. Who cares if they knew or not? Who cares if she told them or not?
But it leaves me with this interesting set of truths/untruths. And I wonder at human nature again.
Who is lying? Why? What for? Am I naiive?
Perhaps it is again a sign, that as much as I should write for a living, being a reporter is not the way to do it. Can you imagine my mind when things start getting really interesting? When real lies have to be hidden, and not some stupid little interview?
Four people telling me one story, another (the one I trust most) a different story.
I find myself entangled in a truth / lies story. The story is so insignificant, I might laugh (soon!) but at the moment I find myself frowning.
You see, I flew to Johannesburg last week. Just before my departure I received the news that I was shortlisted as a candidate for a news reporter job. I thought quickly, and requested that my leave be extended by one day. Clever I thought. I would return at the time planned, and then have one extra day to go to this interview. Naturally, naiive that I am, I told some colleagues.
On my return to the office, I was immediately bombarded with the news that my 'supervisor' had 'told' our bosses about my interview. That very same day we had a meeting and at the close of this meeting, my boss said:"Just remember. This is a small town and a small office. We hear everything. If any of you go for an interview, please let us know."
Naturally, to my mind, this confirmed the 'rumour' that my supervisor had told my bosses. I was livid! I felt, and I still do, that this information was mine to do with as I pleased. If I had thought it neccessary to tell the bosses about the interview, I would have. But I didn't want them to know, for no more specific reason than that it was none of their goddamn business.
This morning I was called into their office. Apparently on some side-line issue. However, when asked if I was happy at the company, I told them that to me, the high-rate of gossiping was getting to me. They asked for me to give them an example. I told them about the interview, saying I would have naturally told them about it, once I had gotten the job (I didn't get it). They looked very surprised and then said that they had not known about my interview at all!
Ha.
Blush. Gurgle. Blush.
Oh. Well. In that case, I laughted very nervously, no worries. Obviously, my 'friend' had told me a lie. Or had been misinformed.
So after that little embarressment, I asked my friend-colleague (the one who had told me that the supervisor had run to the bosses) that they hadn't in fact known, and that the supervisor therefore didn't tell them.
But she is adament. They did know and she did tell them! The supervisor herself told her that she had told the bosses.
I trotted to the Supervisor. Time to speak to the one person who would know if she told them or not. She emphatically denied this, and even hugged me when I apologised to her for thinking that she had told them.
And yet, when I went to my original 'source' again, she tells me she is certain that they knew.
So.
I am left with the mind-tingling (numbing???) situation, spinning as it were. The issue of my interview is tiny, even a bit childish. Who cares if they knew or not? Who cares if she told them or not?
But it leaves me with this interesting set of truths/untruths. And I wonder at human nature again.
Who is lying? Why? What for? Am I naiive?
Perhaps it is again a sign, that as much as I should write for a living, being a reporter is not the way to do it. Can you imagine my mind when things start getting really interesting? When real lies have to be hidden, and not some stupid little interview?
well oiled gossip machine
Two things occured to me today. Images are created by rumour and perceptions, rarely by truth. Perhaps that is the point of an image. Although most of us are not in control of the creation and maintenence of an image, I suppose that is why certain people in Hollyland get paid so well because they know all about the creation of images.
Another thing that occured to me today, is that I am naiive and terribly susceptible to what I believe others think of me. It is my own hair-shirt, which I wear with a sigh and often I forget that it is self-made and merely a perception.
Aside from the occasional truth in perceptions (such as Ford Cortina's as fond accessories to any self-styled boer) perceptions are basically sneaky little f....ers, and sometimes, if you are fotunate, the truth slaps you in the face, on a cold windy day.
Perception then sneaks away, and burrows into the closes rumour, growing like a fertilised belly, to new proportions, to overwhelm and occupy my thoughts again until the next slap.
Another thing that occured to me today, is that I am naiive and terribly susceptible to what I believe others think of me. It is my own hair-shirt, which I wear with a sigh and often I forget that it is self-made and merely a perception.
Aside from the occasional truth in perceptions (such as Ford Cortina's as fond accessories to any self-styled boer) perceptions are basically sneaky little f....ers, and sometimes, if you are fotunate, the truth slaps you in the face, on a cold windy day.
Perception then sneaks away, and burrows into the closes rumour, growing like a fertilised belly, to new proportions, to overwhelm and occupy my thoughts again until the next slap.
June 15, 2007
Rural life update
A week in Johannesburg seems to have retarded me. Or perhaps I'm being to harsh on myself. Perhaps I've gained perspective, something that is as alien to me as combed hair.
You see, I find myself feeling comfortable in this rural 'dorp'. I am actually liking it. I'm not saying the people have become better or that I have changed my attitude about some of the hairstyles here (no! never!), but somehow I feel a little less judgemental and a little more at home.
So, here is a list of things I like: (I might have mentioned this before, some of the points, but by reiterating I'm putting emphasis on the points, and this blog, is afterall, a place I get rid of feelings)
* I love how close I am to my family. And if I want to see them, I simply run on over.
* Having 5 dogs and 5 cats is not something that can easily, or with a good conscience, be done in a city. Here, they always have company and we have enough space.
*It's quiet. When there is noise, it's so palable because of the silence. In Johannesburg, silence is just not possible.
*It is nice that people know you. Aside from the negatives of not really being able to get naked in the pub on the spur of the moment, without people you know winking at you for the next few decades, it's actually kinda cool to have people around who care, even for the wrong reasons. (Okay, this point is not very well made, I'm really still working on this)
*It's a literate 4 minute drive out to nature. To being alone. That is simply wonderful and not to be underestimated.
*Your own lack of uniqueness seems not to shabby compared to some of the characterless clods you share a town with. In Joburg you constantly see people who are prettier, richer, funnier, more settled, cooler than you.
*There is so little to buy. And so, you aren't constantly feeling you lack things. There are 3 shops and if they don't have it, you don't have it, and it's okay. In Joburg I found all the shopping malls so cloying and intimidating.
*People don't drive yellow Hummers. I mean. Please! What is up with that?
*Windhoek's airport is like a park in the desert. Then you land at OT Airport in Johannesburg and you want to faint!
*There is no smog.
*When your'e car breaks down you phone a friend. And it doesn't matter where it broke down, someone is there in half an hour. Try that on the N1 in Joburg. It took the police an hour to arrive, never mind the road-assistance.
*Nothing is more than 5 minutes away in town. Now that, my friends, is awesome.
Okay. So I guess I could press this list to include a few more things. Naturally it's still not perfect here. But where is it perfect? And although it's still bloody lonesome here in the outback, I think I've finally found a few reasons to be okay with that.
You see, I find myself feeling comfortable in this rural 'dorp'. I am actually liking it. I'm not saying the people have become better or that I have changed my attitude about some of the hairstyles here (no! never!), but somehow I feel a little less judgemental and a little more at home.
So, here is a list of things I like: (I might have mentioned this before, some of the points, but by reiterating I'm putting emphasis on the points, and this blog, is afterall, a place I get rid of feelings)
* I love how close I am to my family. And if I want to see them, I simply run on over.
* Having 5 dogs and 5 cats is not something that can easily, or with a good conscience, be done in a city. Here, they always have company and we have enough space.
*It's quiet. When there is noise, it's so palable because of the silence. In Johannesburg, silence is just not possible.
*It is nice that people know you. Aside from the negatives of not really being able to get naked in the pub on the spur of the moment, without people you know winking at you for the next few decades, it's actually kinda cool to have people around who care, even for the wrong reasons. (Okay, this point is not very well made, I'm really still working on this)
*It's a literate 4 minute drive out to nature. To being alone. That is simply wonderful and not to be underestimated.
*Your own lack of uniqueness seems not to shabby compared to some of the characterless clods you share a town with. In Joburg you constantly see people who are prettier, richer, funnier, more settled, cooler than you.
*There is so little to buy. And so, you aren't constantly feeling you lack things. There are 3 shops and if they don't have it, you don't have it, and it's okay. In Joburg I found all the shopping malls so cloying and intimidating.
*People don't drive yellow Hummers. I mean. Please! What is up with that?
*Windhoek's airport is like a park in the desert. Then you land at OT Airport in Johannesburg and you want to faint!
*There is no smog.
*When your'e car breaks down you phone a friend. And it doesn't matter where it broke down, someone is there in half an hour. Try that on the N1 in Joburg. It took the police an hour to arrive, never mind the road-assistance.
*Nothing is more than 5 minutes away in town. Now that, my friends, is awesome.
Okay. So I guess I could press this list to include a few more things. Naturally it's still not perfect here. But where is it perfect? And although it's still bloody lonesome here in the outback, I think I've finally found a few reasons to be okay with that.
June 4, 2007
Rural Mutterings
mutter mutter mutter.
Sometimes it's not so much a spluttering as a muttering and the claustrophobic life in a rural community can lead to some unexpected thoughts:
I prefer life in the shadows, watching, noting, wondering, sometimes, I won't lie to you, judging. But in a small town, living in the shadows can be difficult. You work with the same people you see at nights at the pub, you gym with the people who visit your mum’s bistro, you gym with the ones you work with, you see your gym people at the pub. Starting to get the picture?
Everywhere you go, you know someone and they know you. Your mum knows how pissed you were and with how many bikers you flirted before you can even remember the next day!
It’s like living in a big house with people you barely know, but you can’t call them strangers either.
I was driving home one night, when I saw the local IT ‘expert’ (I’m using the word very loosely here) riding his bicycle very hard on the main road, in the opposite direction of his home. Now, I don’t know what his last name is and I’m not able to tell you exactly where he lives. But I knew that he was visiting his mistress in the middle of the night. The mistress, who is the wife of the local doctor who I now knew, was obviously not in town. I don’t know much about these two people, I don’t know their musical tastes or whether they prefer to shower rather than bath. But for some reason, and I really can’t recall where I heard of the affair, a man riding his bicycle in the middle of the night was not just some passing stranger, but part of the town’s narrative. And I knew all about it.
It becomes difficult then, to stay in the shadows, unobserved.
Suddenly, I'm being observed. And it's eerie. Like a cheap horror movie, my basic little life has been slowly unzipped by people whom I would not have looked at twice while living in Cape Town. And although I can hear them whisper, I can not make out the words, but they are insidious, like little drops of hail pounding on raw, cold skin.
I’m not saying it’s all bad. I’ve met some wonderful people, and I know that in a bigger city we would have never crossed paths, because those paths were so far apart. But here, we all walk the same path, or at least, if they don’t walk the same one, they will know someone who saw someone who knows you walked it yesterday. At 12.43.
So, it's made me wonder, is then the closeness forced upon the small community in part not responsible for their narrow mindedness? How can individuality bloom or erupt like an open wound, in such a closely watched, and watching, environment? Is this not one of those catch 22 situations? The defined narrow mindedness of the community is not because of the lack of many different opinions and views etc, but really because so many opinions and views can not be developed when one is so closely watched all the time.
I don't know if I was able to really capture my thoughts all to clearly here, but I am starting to think, that for all it's quaintness and rusticness, the small community life is rather more interesting from afar, from where IT can be watched and not from so close, where IT can watch me.
Sometimes it's not so much a spluttering as a muttering and the claustrophobic life in a rural community can lead to some unexpected thoughts:
I prefer life in the shadows, watching, noting, wondering, sometimes, I won't lie to you, judging. But in a small town, living in the shadows can be difficult. You work with the same people you see at nights at the pub, you gym with the people who visit your mum’s bistro, you gym with the ones you work with, you see your gym people at the pub. Starting to get the picture?
Everywhere you go, you know someone and they know you. Your mum knows how pissed you were and with how many bikers you flirted before you can even remember the next day!
It’s like living in a big house with people you barely know, but you can’t call them strangers either.
I was driving home one night, when I saw the local IT ‘expert’ (I’m using the word very loosely here) riding his bicycle very hard on the main road, in the opposite direction of his home. Now, I don’t know what his last name is and I’m not able to tell you exactly where he lives. But I knew that he was visiting his mistress in the middle of the night. The mistress, who is the wife of the local doctor who I now knew, was obviously not in town. I don’t know much about these two people, I don’t know their musical tastes or whether they prefer to shower rather than bath. But for some reason, and I really can’t recall where I heard of the affair, a man riding his bicycle in the middle of the night was not just some passing stranger, but part of the town’s narrative. And I knew all about it.
It becomes difficult then, to stay in the shadows, unobserved.
Suddenly, I'm being observed. And it's eerie. Like a cheap horror movie, my basic little life has been slowly unzipped by people whom I would not have looked at twice while living in Cape Town. And although I can hear them whisper, I can not make out the words, but they are insidious, like little drops of hail pounding on raw, cold skin.
I’m not saying it’s all bad. I’ve met some wonderful people, and I know that in a bigger city we would have never crossed paths, because those paths were so far apart. But here, we all walk the same path, or at least, if they don’t walk the same one, they will know someone who saw someone who knows you walked it yesterday. At 12.43.
So, it's made me wonder, is then the closeness forced upon the small community in part not responsible for their narrow mindedness? How can individuality bloom or erupt like an open wound, in such a closely watched, and watching, environment? Is this not one of those catch 22 situations? The defined narrow mindedness of the community is not because of the lack of many different opinions and views etc, but really because so many opinions and views can not be developed when one is so closely watched all the time.
I don't know if I was able to really capture my thoughts all to clearly here, but I am starting to think, that for all it's quaintness and rusticness, the small community life is rather more interesting from afar, from where IT can be watched and not from so close, where IT can watch me.
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