Vir Volk en Vaderland

Ek wonder of DIT is wat die 23 lede van die Boeremag in gedagte gehad het toe hulle meer as 11 jaar gelede hul aanslag op Mandela se lewe beplan het...
Het die Pretorius-broers dalk minute voor hulle die bom, wat bedoel was om die struggle-reus Mandela om die lewe te bring, geplant het, saam met die res iewers gebid, "Here, seen U uitverkore volk"? Want hoe kon 23 mans dink dat hulle 'n staatsgreep sou kon uitvoer sonder bonatuurlike hulp?
Het hulle in die vroee oggendure, wanneer hulle terugkom van 'n geheime vergadering op 'n ryk boer se plaas, langs warmgeslaapte vroue ingekruip. Het hulle dan in die donker le en luister vir die loei van polisie-sirenes; die Judas-kus...?

Het Pieter van Deventer sy seun en dogter elke oggend gegroet asof vir die laaste keer, en het die 21-jarige Jacques Jordaan ooit besef wat hy besig was om homself voor in te laat? Of was hy maar net ge-brain wash met praatjies van patriotisme, mag en haat? 'n Haat vir dit wat anders is as hy. 'n Haat wat dalk al van kleins af by hom ingedrill is, deur die skool, die regering en die kerk...

Het enigeen van hulle ooit kon dink daar sou 'n tyd kom, 11 jaar later, wat hulle deur 'n wit regter in 'n swart hof veroordeel sou word? 'n Regter met 'n van so Afrikaans soos hulle s'n, en dat hulle weggelei sou word deur swart polisiemanne om 'n leeftyd lank agter tralies oor hul sondes te dink...?
Het hulle gedink oor hoe hul vroue en kinders sou huil, hoe die geween teen die hof se mure sou uitklim? Hoe kinders, half-wees, hul ontstelde ma's sou troos en vroue met opgehewe rooi oe aan mekaar sou klou?      

Het hulle enigsins kon dink dat hulle plan sou faal? Of het hulle nie daaraan gedink nie? Dalk was daar belangriker dinge om hulle oor te kwel. Soos die oorlewing van die Afrikaner Volk. Hulle volk. ONS volk. Dalk was die voortbestaan van 'n klein volkie wat vir jare lank deur die Engelse verdruk is, in die oorlog uitgemoor is en hulself weer van voor af uit die stof moes opbou, belangriker as hul vryheid.

Dalk was dit vir Volk en Vaderland en BASTA met die res!

So I'm a bit of a scatter brain...DEAL wth it!

A "bit of a scatter brain" is probably the understatement of the century! Anyone who knows me can testify to that.

Let me give you a quick over view:

You know that one person who realises half way to Mozambique that she forgot her passport...?

Or that one friend who turns up at your birthday party without wishing you a happy Birthday, only realising weeks later that thats what the party was for in the first place!? 

Well...that's me. 

I stopped counting how many times I locked myself out of my room while I was staying in a hostel in Varsity. And where I'm staying now, I know my house mates have stopped counting the number of times I let the alarm go off because I forgot to check if it was on in the first place! (Our local security probably knows my number off by hart).

Being a scatter brain in my profession is also not ideal. I once drove all the way to Benoni for a speech the mayor of Tshwane was giving. It only dawned on me later that it was strange for the mayor of Pretoria to give a speech in Johannesburg...needless to say, I was an hour late.  

I know not everyone takes well to this kind of behavior. I'm told there are actually people on this planet who are in control of their lives, who plan ahead and never forget or lose ANYTHING!! Except maybe their temper.............with me. For not being as organised and focused as they are.  

But do you think I willingly CHOOSE to be like this?

That I don't get frustrated with myself?

You think I LIKE driving all the way back from work because I forgot my cell phone at home or because security phoned to tell me I left the gate to the street open?

Believe it or not, I don't do it for others' entertainment. And yes, it's easy to say, "Elaine, you need to start getting your shit together." 

Really, it would be my pleasure! But its just not that easy...

So if anyone knows of a cure, please, be kind enough to share your secret, because I would LOVE to be more focused, organized and in control of my life.

But in the meantime, Just. DEAL. With It!  

To War

Somewhere a rooster is crowing

as light creeps across a darkened sky  

and a farmer herds his cattle

patiently to where green pastures lie

Somewhere a mighty king

is ordering his five horses

to war, to war the brave soldiers shout

whether they will return, they dare not doubt

Somewhere a prayer is being said

for God’s mercy to bless every head

while somewhere in a crop field

someone’s beloved lies dead

Somewhere on a lonely hilltop

a cross is being erected

while somewhere in silence  

a broken heart is being mended

Somewhere a woman’s scream fills the night

As a swallow leaves the nest to take its first flight

Somewhere a bereaved mother is crying

While somewhere the last of day’s light

is slowly dying.

Do's and Don'ts when going through a Break-up

Going through a break-up is never easy.

Having recently been through the third "serious" break-up in my 24 years of existence, I now consider myself a pro in break-ups and have thought to share my knowledge and experience with the off chance that other tortured souls may benefit from it and my misery would not be completely meaningless.
I have there for decided to compile a list of do's and dont's when suffering from the aftermath of a break-up.

Avoid any sharp and dangerous objects. This includes bread knives, machine guns and Ratax (better make sure you lock the medicine cabinet altogether, just for in case.) Also preferably avoid driving or crossing the road, as the prospect of walking or driving into an oncoming car may actually seem quite inviting.

Don't listen to any CD's or Radio stations, except maybe talk Radio702, as every single song will remind you in some way of your ex and the lost relationship. There is also the possibility of you starting to cry while listening to music whilst driving, which will cause your vision to blur and lead to an accident (which once again, we would like to avoid).

Try Not to think, whether it's about the good times or the bad. Chances are it will only worsen things and you will become obsessed with trying to figure out what went wrong. Whatever happened, it's water under the bridge and worrying about it will only make you old. There's no use crying over spilled milk.

Getting intoxicated beyond the expansion of your brain is Not Necessarily the best idea. If you Do decide to take this route however, do it responsibly (a.k.a no drinking and driving). And whatever you do, do Not drunk dial your ex.

Do concentrate on the task at hand. You will find it quite uplifting after accomplishing simple tasks, like locating the damn brush playing hide and seek somewhere under the tons of crap on your dressing table, or making breakfast without burning the toast.
 

Do eat a lot of chocolate and ice cream without feeling guilty, you'd be surprised at how many calories you burn by crying.

Crying is another luxury you CAN afford yourself, as long as you don't start crying hysterically when setting up a new bank account and the clerk asks you if you are single.
 

Above all, remember that you are Not Alone. At this very moment thousands of souls are going through the same heartbreaking sadness as you are. And there is always some way in which it could have been worse (*touch wood)

List of movies to whach after a break-up:    

1. Kill Bill (Volumes 1-3)

2. 300 (Lots of blood and gore is good in the first few days)

3. House of wax (Purely because Paris Hilton gets a spear through her head)

4. Jennifer's Body (Not a big fan of Megan Fox but the way in which she kills off all the guys is schweeeeet)

5.  Monster (Just to remind you that that's what you'll look like if you take the whole comfort-food-thing too far.)

6. My Super ex-girlfriend

 7. Dispicable Me (It has absolutely nothing to do with break-ups, but its awesome!!)

8. John Tucker Must Die

 

  
  

Lot van 'n (on)kreatiewe siel

Ek sit en luister na my gunsteling Valient Swart CD. Die een met Sonvanger op (Maanhare. 2002), en verwens my eie wanvermoë om enigiets half-decent op papier vas te pen.

Idees is daar baie van. Halfwe gedagtes en woorde wat nog gevorm moet word, daaraan is daar geen gebrek nie. Maar die kuns om dit reg uit te druk ontgaan my. Asof daar iewers in my kop 'n kamer is met eindelose poëtiese skatte , maar iemand het die sleutel weggegooi en my pen bly droog.

Hoe graag sou ek ook gehore met my woorde, my diepste geheime en verlange na plekke en mense wat ek nie ken nie wou bekoor. Hoe verlang ek nie om met 'n paar verse 'n emosie so naak en rou vas te pen dat dit gehore uitasem sal laat en my, die skepper, magteloos oor die effek van my skepping.
Om iets van hul menswees aan te raak, iets waarvan hulle dalk self nie eens bewus was nie, en so ook 'n deel van myself bloot te lê.

Johannes Kerkorrel, nog 'n groot insperasie, se gesig staar vanuit die middelblad van een van Beeld se bylaes na my. Tien jaar na sy dood en sy bydraes tot Afrikaanse musiek word nogsteeds gevier. What a legend.
Maar waar laat dit my? Wat het ek om tot die mensdom by te dra? Ek, met my wegholgedagtes en flitse van iets wat dalk die moontlikheid het om potensiaal te toon (As dit enigsins sin maak?). Want dit is daar. Wat ook al DIT is.
Ek ervaar dit elke keer as ek in Pretoria se middestad ry, na die blokke verwaarloosde flats kyk en stories opmaak oor die mense wat daar bly. Ek ruik dit in 'n bosveldvuur of die vars oggendlug nà 'n aand op die plaas. Ek sien dit in die heerlkheid van die sonsopkoms en vind dit in ou vergeelde briewe tussen geliefdes. Ek voel dit in die geweide atmosfeer van 'n ou NG kerk met sy geruite vensters.

Die verlange is daar, die hartseer wat ek my verbeel groot geeste soos Kerkorrel en Koos Dup moes gevoel het. Die blote vermoë om te VOEL.
Maar hoe om dit oor te dra...DIT bly my ontwyk...

Buddhist Temple

Driving Toward the N4 from Pretoria toward Bronkortspruit, you will notice a majestic red building to your far right.
It is here, at the Buddhist Temple, that people from all religions gather yearly for the Festival of Light, to pray that God's love and mercy may shine upon South Africa - who ever you perceive God to be...

 

People gather in front of the three statues of Buddha to meditate and pray and then light a candle as symbol of their being the light of a nation.

 A candle for every prayer of piece and prosperity in South Africa...

 ...and there were many.

Other statues adorn the temple and create an atmosphere of peace and tranquility.

 

Op 'n bakkie in Mosambiek

Oppad terug na die Mosambiekse grens ná ‘n idiliese vakansie in Ponta Malangane, kyk ek vir oulaas na die klein rietdak-huisies langs die pad, diep versteek tussen die ruie gras en bome van die Mosambiekse landskap.

Klein kindertjies wat langs die pad speel kyk ons verwonderd aan en ‘n swanger vrou, haar hand op haar lae rug, strompel uit een van die hutte om die kinders terug te roep. My lewe voel wêrelde verwyderd van hulle s’n. Vir hulle bestaan daar nie iets soos tyd nie. Jy staan op as die son opkom word en jy gaan slaap as dit donker is. Tussen-in probeer jou en jou familie aan die lewe hou.

Die Bakkie wat ons grens toe vat word bestuur deur ‘n vriendelike local. Hy vra uit oor ons vakansie en wanneer ons weer terugkom.

Nee, antwoord ons, seker eers weer volgende jaar wanneer dit tyd is vir die jaarlikse musiekfees.

Hy lyk afgehaal. Die mense hier kripeer. Toerisme is hulle enigste bron van inkomste. Met die verkoop van ‘n paar handgemaakte houtbakke, krale en uitgekerfde sluitelhouers kan hulle net-net die wolf by die agterdeur weghou. “We need the tourists, here is no money, no bread, no fokkol,” sê die drywer.

Stalletjies in Ponta Malongane

Ek kyk weer uit na die landskap wat verbyflits soos die bakkie vinnig oor die sand hop. Die paar huisies het verdwyn en al wat oorbly is die wit sandheuwels en yl plantegroei. Dis mooi, maar dit bly niks.

Die yl landskap oppad grens toe

 Die drywer bly sy lewe lank al hier. Dwarsdeur die oorlog wat Mosambiek amper ‘n dekade lank getyster het.

Ek en my vriendin praat in Afrikaans oor die lang uittog huistoe wat vir ons voorlê.

“You speak Afrikaans?” vra hy, met die klem op die eerste lettergreep.

“Ek ook ek kan kleeeeeeeeein bietjie prat,” sê hy en wys met sy duim en sy wysvinger, sy aksent swaar.

Hy vertel van die Afrikaans/Engelse woordeboek wat hy het en hoe hy brand om sy woordeskat uit te brei, maar dat hy iemand nodig het om die woorde vir hom te verduidelik.

“But I háve to learn Afrikaans, I will fight to learn the language so I can visit your beautiful country. South Africa is such a wonderful country.”

Die prentjie wat hy van ons land skep is een wat ek amper nie herken nie. Ek wil hom vertel van die keer toe ek by die robot met ‘n mes teen my keel beveel is om selfoon oor te handig, of dat twee van ons bure nou die aand wakker geword het met gewapende mans langs hul bed wat vra vir die kluis se sleutels. Ek wil hom vertel van die korrupsie wat stukkie vir stukkie besig is om ons pragtige land op sy knieë te dwing en die boere wat elke aand in vrees met ‘n geweer langs hul bed gaan slaap. Maar ek bly liewer stil. In hierdie oorloggeteisterde land waar die bar grond nie genoeg kos kan lewer om sy eie mense te voed nie, kan Suid-Afrika maar net soos ‘n paradys lyk.

By die grens gekom help hy ons om die bagasie van die bakkie af te laai en groet vriendelik. “See you again soon.” Hy lig sy hoed en ek kyk hoe sy bakkie tussen die stof verdwyn.

Terwyl ons wag om ons paspoorte te laat stempel gee ek my laaste pakkie beskuit vir ‘n swart seuntjie wat langs die pad staan en bedel.