Ugly bits of human nature?

I wasn’t sure what to title this piece.

With the declining health of Nelson Mandela the last few weeks, I have seen something that has been bothering me quite a bit. An ugly bit of racism. From my nation. The Afrikaner.

I am an Afrikaner. Half of my family were French Huguenots that fled persecution in France, and came to South Africa in the hopes of making a better life.

The other half came from a German village that was burnt to the ground.

The Germans came to South Africa from Speyer after it burnt to the ground during the  war of Palatine Succession in 1688. The Huguenots arrived the same year.

They settled in the Cape area, and like many others, endured the Great Trek in the 1830’s – 1840’s when the British came to control the Cape Colony. The Great Trek was a fascinating bit of history, those families were made of tough stuff. Hauling oxwagons over mountains, in some cases the mountains were too steep and the wagons were disassembled and carried, piece by piece, over the mountain and reassembled on the other side. Racial separatism formed part of the constitutions of the 3 new settlements in Transvaal, Free State and Natal – but they prohibited slavery. Much of the racial separatism stemmed from their religious beliefs.

Even before the Great Trek, the settlers had border wars with the Xhosa tribes.

During the Trek, they encountered the Zulu and more battles ensued.

Later on as they settled the interior, the Afrikaner fought the British in the Anglo Boer wars. That was a nasty business with the British adopting a scorched earth policy, burning our farms and homesteads to the ground and putting our wives and children in concentration camps (where 26,000 died). We were oppressed in a land we fled to, to get away from oppression.

I am no psychiatry expert, but I have read about how the oppressed can become the oppressors. Which is what happened in 1942 with the introduction of Apartheid.

I was born in 1975. I was oblivious to Apartheid and what it meant during my childhood days. I know that our men had to do compulsory military duty for 2 years after leaving school. I went to an all-white school, I had a black maid growing up (whom I loved dearly)

But it is truly only when one starts thinking outside of ego, and putting yourself into the other persons shoes, that one starts to understand.

That understanding I find, is lacking in a large population.

There are white Afrikaners that say that the blacks were better off during apartheid

They say that the crime rate was lower during apartheid. And maybe it was! My early childhood memories of my grandparents place were of ornate burglar bars in front of the windows that open, and a low garden wall and gates, mostly to keep the pets in.

I remember when they installed the security doors in front of the outside doors. And then burglar bars in front of all the windows. Next, Grandpa started locking the gates. Slowly, the neighborhoods low walls got replaced with 8 foot high electric fence, or walls with electric fence on top.

At first all you had to do was lock your vehicle to prevent it being stolen. Then came the guerilla steering wheel lock. Then immobilizers, then satellite tracking devices became mandatory in order to insure your vehicle. Guards in parking lots became the norm. Gated communities with security, and security firms and armed response patrol the streets. Crime is the reason I left Africa.

I don’t have the answer for that. I do not truly know the reason for all the violent crimes in South Africa.

I am sure inequality plays a role. Corruption is rife.

I do believe that education is a great part of it. And understanding. And the latter is surely lacking. I have read so many nasty posts on Facebook the last while. It would appear that farm murders in South Africa are rife. White farmers are targeted in extremely violent crimes, too horrific to describe. Why? I am not sure, but I have some ideas.

Some white farmers treat their workers well, but others truly treat them as nothing better than slaves. The farmer lives in a nice house while his workers live in housing that he provides – which is mostly just basic 2 or 3 rooms. A lucky few have indoor plumbing and electricity. Most are illiterate and live far away from schools. The kids have to walk for miles to get to school. You can see the discrepancy there.

But there are other senseless murders too. When I was growing up, we had a neighbor  Mrs Robinson. The sweetest old lady, lived by herself in a middle class neighborhood at 94 years old. Well, her trusted gardener came to her house one night. She opened the security gate. He raped her and strangled her and took off with a few bucks. Why? I will never understand.

My uncle was shot dead by intruders while sitting in front of the TV one night. My aunt was in the bedroom and was lucky to get away with her life. She had jumped through the window and stood outside trying to dial the police, when the intruder found her, pointed the gun at her, grabbed her cellphone and ran away. My cousin was hijacked at gunpoint one night with her two small children by her side.  That kind of violent crime is rampant, the last statistics showed 52 murders per day in South Africa.

But the crime is a side-aspect of my rant here. My rant is really about racism.

Every white person should think about what it would be like to live in the townships of South Africa. The sprawling mass of one room shacks where millions of poor blacks live. They cook over fires or with kerosene. Some have power while others light their small homes with candles. Lots do not have indoor plumbing. Some have to walk for miles to fill water jugs for drinking water and to wash clothes by hand. Put yourself in that position. For years you were oppressed by the minority rule. Your schools were separate, your education sub-standard. Because your oppressors believed that you just needed basic schooling to become a manual laborer (for the men) or a maid (for the women).

Picture living in a one room shack with your family while you see the oppressor living in nice middle class homes with vehicles, electricity and running water. How does that make you feel? Really and truly put yourself in that position. Ask yourself if you would feel bitterness towards your oppressor, the same way your ancestors felt bitterness towards the British, and their ancestors felt bitterness towards the French and German oppressors.   

In 1993 the public schools finally became mixed race. Really that is only 20 years ago.

How do you make it right? The new government, aware of the lingering innate racism in the hearts of most white Afrikaners, instilled Affirmative Action – meaning that if a black person and a white person with similar qualifications applied for a job, the black person will be chosen. They came up with Black Economic Empowerment – where companies should reflect the demographic of the population in their employment by employing 80% black and 20% minority. The same thing happened in sports teams.

I do not believe that this is the right way. It keeps racial segregation alive.

I do not know what the right way is. It would be like asking my great-grandfather who fought in the Boer War to make friends with the British. Or a Jew to forgive and befriend a German. It takes great courage and understanding and compassion to be able to forgive and understand.

Nelson Mandela can tell you a thing or two about courage and forgiveness. He left the bitterness behind when he walked out of prison. He understood that the healing required forgiveness. And I think that is the heart of the matter – in order to truly heal the soul, one needs a deep understanding that forgiving and feeling compassion for your fellow human being could bring true peace.

Our Oil Addiction

Human beings.

Innovative, clever, and hopelessly addicted to fossil fuel and it's byproducts.

Like an addict, we are just concerned with our next fix. We don't care about the cost. But its not just a financial cost. It is far, far greater, our impact on our planet.

We are poisoning our home.
The place that gave birth to us and nourishes us.

Do we even realize what all is made from oil and it's by products?
Here is a link to a website with a partial list of items, 144 of 6,000 items.
http://www.ranken-energy.com/Products%20from%20Petroleum.htm
A 42 gallon barrel of oil makes 19.4 gallons of gas.
It's in your toothpaste and your toothbrush. Your milk jug, your yogurt tub. The packaged meat and food you buy at the store and then take home in plastic bags, where you sit on a couch with plastic in the filling or even the upholstery, holding a plastic remote to control some plastic electronic device. Your credit card, your lotions, soaps, shampoo. The pen you write with, the keyboard you type on. The pipes that bring running water to your house. The stuff that insulates the electrical wiring in your walls. Your bike helmet. Your clothes and your kids toys. In your house painted with an oil by product, or a linoleum floor. Or carpet. No matter, it's there. It's everywhere.
The plastic trunks you buy to 'clear the clutter' of stuff, stuff made from fossil fuels, stuff that society tells you you want. You need. Got a headache just thinking about it? Well I hate to tell you it's in your aspirin, too...

How do we overcome our addiction?
We are creative! Oh, so creative! How else would we have dreamed up so many uses for oil? We can think outside the box!
But like an addict, we are using more and more, and we do not realize... Like an addict, most of us WANT to stop, but without help, we don't know if we CAN.


There are things about our society that really, really bug me. And some things seem pretty simple to change!

Let us take plastic shopping bags as an example:
They are extremely abundant. They have been made thinner, some stores charge a small fee on them, people are encouraged to use reusable shopping bags. Why not just ban them outright? You will only forget your reusable bags the first time :) after that, you will remember. People adapt. They may complain, but if that can save some of our massive oil addiction, if that can reduce our massive plastic floats out there in the ocean and filling our landfills - why not just ban them?

Recycling
That should be made mandatory, not voluntary  There should be random audits in peoples garbage and fines issued for people that do not recycle. (there's some job creation!) I am disgusted when I go to the town dump, to see how much is just thrown out. Food waste that can be composted, paper, tin cans, milk cartons, plastic.... the list goes on. There is no AWAY, people! We all live on the same planet. Sooner or later with 8 billion of us, there will be nowhere to put the stuff. None of us like garbage. So try and reduce it!
Some bigger cities have curbside pickup of recycling and I think that is awesome. I understand that is not possible in the rurals but give us more options. Stuff like hard plastics - shampoo bottles, detergent containers, salad dressing containers... they are all recyclable, yet our local SARCAN doesn't take them. I have to take it to the city to recycle it.

The amount of plastic simply drives me nuts. Everything comes in plastic! I buy frozen fruit or vegetables - it's in a plastic packet. Buy cereal in a box (not that I do, really!) and there's a plastic bag inside it. Buy yogurt and there is the plastic container, then the little plastic you peel off and throw away (!!!) under the lid.
Honestly.

And that is the problem with oil. It has turned us into junkies.

National Geographic had a great article that can be read here
National Geographic
about oil in the shale in North Dakota. The statistics are absolutely staggering.
The lifetime of an oil well takes:
2 million gallons of water
4 million pounds of proppant (a mix of sand, and man-made ceramics)
and
350+ barrels of chemicals. What chemicals, you ask? Well it seems that we are not privileged to know.
Where does it go, you ask? Oh, it gets pumped back into abandoned wells - 2 miles down, they say. Far away from water, they say. Our aquifers will not get contaminated, they say.
I believe a little area on North Dakota where the Bakken Shale formation is (the very same that goes through  south east Saskatchewan), has over 65,000 wells. They see potential for 200,000+ wells, according to the National Geographic article.
Soooo 200,000 x 350 barrels..... 70 million barrels of chemicals pumped into the earth. In a space the size of a big city, really.
Not to mention 2 million gallons of water x 200,000..... = 400,000,000,000 gallons of water.

I know what you are saying. You are shrugging it off right now, saying what can I do? I'm just.. me. I try to remember to take my reusable shopping bags most of the time. I recycle. Heck, I even have LED or some other form of 'green' lighting in my house and an energy efficient fridge.
I'm telling you, that's not enough.
We have do stop the insanity.

How?

I don't have the answers.

But I'm willing to listen if somebody does.

Ode to my Mom

I have been contemplating life and death the past week as the anniversary of my moms death came and went. Feb 18 2008 she passed away, 6 months after I moved to Canada.

The funny thing is, the more I think about it, the more I didn't really KNOW my mom. I couldn't tell you what her favorite meal was. Or her favorite color.
I know that she was a lady. Always well dressed, hair done, nails done, makeup on, always high heel shoes. She was soft spoken and always polite. In other words - the complete opposite of me :)
There are other things about her that I understand more now, after her death, than what I did when she was alive.
I can tell you that she died of a broken heart, nearly 30 years after my dad passed away. I promise to do justice to their incredible love story in another blog.

my mom and dad

mom and dad very much in love :) 

Yep - my mom was a bombshell :) 

I know that she was incredibly brave, single mom in 1979 that went out and got a job and did what she had to do, for ME. She bought us a condo, and a few years later, a house.

A swimming pool was added, for me. I had all the pets I wanted (apart from a horse, even though I nagged and whined and didn't understand that she couldn't afford one. )

She loved dance, that much I know. She did Spanish dancing. She was quite the beauty queen in her day, too :) Hence I was dragged through Ballet (which I hated, I'd much rather have had a horse!)
I was also entered in a few beauty pageants for kids, but because I was so painfully shy, that career never really took off  either(haha!)
She loved the ocean and always talked about retiring to the coast. She didn't really like cooking or baking, and she was dysmal at sewing/needlework/knitting. So much so that when she helped me with school projects, my teachers never guessed it wasn't my work!
Art she was good at  - painting and drawing. Very creative! She was sensitive.

Please note the high heels, nails, hair and makeup :)

When I eventually started getting into horses, she enjoyed coming to shows with me. She kept track of jumping scores, rushed to tell me which obstacle was giving the most problems, and when Piet was video taping, I could hear hear audiable gasps of mother fearing for her daughters life in the background!

Like me, she enjoyed a bit of writing and wrote some pretty funny poems - one in particular about the day the garbage collection comes. I will have to translate it from Afrikaans and post it here. :)
She also wrote some really, really sad pages which helped me understand the depth of her depression.
You see, in 1979 there wasn't any trauma counselling or psychiatrists. You didn't go see a shrink if you couldn't cope with the death of a loved one - shrinks were for looneys. All the years she struggled with it. Denied it, I think even to herself. She somehow coped with it when I was small, but as I grew older and started becoming more independent in high school, her fear of losing me, of losing the one thing that connected her to the memory of my dad - consumed her. That fear coincided with my teenage years and did exactly what she didn't want - it drove me away from her. In the ways of teenagers, I couldn't understand this sudden change in our relationship. How she seemed clingy and needy - like a child. I moved out at 18, not being able to cope with it. She had a few attempted suicide episodes - taking overdoses. I know it was a cry for help. We got her booked into rehab, and for a while things were better. She was diagnosed bipolar (which I believe was wrong - there were no manic/depressive phases, it was just depression. Post traumatic stress.)

I know that as a kid, I didn't make it easy for her to have new relationships either. I was possessive in the way of single children. I can look back at my 10 year old self and see that now.

She started drinking, which didn't mix well with anti-depressants. She got booked off work for long spells.
We (being me, her sisters, parents and the ever faithful Piet, my uncle and father figure through many many years) begged, pleaded, talked nice, shouted, cursed, fought.  Tried and tried again to get through to her. It was incredibly frustrating. I understand now, having been through another addiction problem with my late best friend, that really, there IS nothing you can do. It is an incredible struggle to watch someone you love destroy themselves. I was haunted with it. Give it one more try. Give up. Try again. Give up again. Even now, after her death, I sometimes wonder if there wasn't something else, one MORE thing I could have done. But the truth is, they have to help themselves. They have to WANT to help themselves.

My mother gave up the will to live. She couldn't see past her depression, didn't want to be helped.

I talked to doctors, to psychiatrists, to people she knew. She worked in the medical profession as a secretary and I knew a lot of her co-workers. I asked advice. But they all knew that it was in vain. They all loved her, but watched her shut everyone out, even her work friends. She would see no one, go nowhere.

I knew I had to come to Canada, as this was part of MY life that I was making for myself. Some might say it was selfish, that I should have stayed. But I am sure if I had stayed, the outcome would have been the same.
I told Piet before I left that, Either the shock of it would get her back on track, OR she would be dead within 6 months. I was right. I left July 2007 and she passed away February 2008. I couldn't go back for the funeral. By this time, I had a job and obligations in Canada and I simply couldn't afford the flight back to SA and back to Canada.

The last thing I had sent her was a Christmas card. Piet kept it as a surprise and gave it to her Christmas day 2007. We spoke on the phone occasionally  it was hard to talk to her by then, she was always sad and it upset me terribly. I remember being quite short with her when she called me one Sunday in late January. That was to be the last time I ever spoke to her. That haunts me too. How I wish I could have spoken to her one more time, told her that I loved her so, so, so much. Told her how thankful I am for all she sacrificed for me, for giving me this life that I hold so dear. Tell her how sorry I am that I couldn't do more for her. Tell her how I would have loved for her to come to Canada and see the snow, how much she would have loved Christmas here!

She was 54 when she died.

Happier days

Me and my mom

My mom with Piet

Mom dressed up as a mafia guy for a dress-up at work. Note the mustache above the lipstick ;)

And the nails, of course :) 

Here is a piece I discovered in her belongings, in 2009 when I returned to South Africa. I type it as it is written.

She wrote it the eve of her birthday (her birthday was Nov 18) Nov 17, 2000

Dear Lord
I've overheard stories through my life, about the gifts of God. Some were humorous  some were really true.
But it crossed my mind,  that somehow, they were all meant to be. To learn someone else about something - or to forget
I've overheard funnies like:
When the Lord handed out noses, I thought he said ROSES so I ordered a big red one.
Or, when the Lord handed out brains, I thought he said TRAINS, so I didn't want any.
But when I sat down one night, I thought of myself
Maybe some was true
I thought:
When the Lord handed out tears, I thought he said bears, so I ordered a barrel full.
When the Lord handed out loneliness, I thought he said loveliness and I could not resist.
But when the lord handed out Chris, I thought he said BLISS, so I took it all.
And then when the Lord handed out Liezel, I thought he said DIESEL, and I had to run on it *INSERT

But, when, eventually, the Lord handed out hopelessness, I thought he meant youthfulness and that's when I failed. 
When the dates were handed out for death, I thought he said breath. But I could not take it.
But I have learned, and I have seen. 
Lots of given things not taken - and left there for nothing.
I should have taken all the right things you offered, and not have listened to what I've heard.
But I heard Your call, and I responded. Maybe I will have listened closely now: I'll be by your side.
What is the struggling for, why all the pain
When it was over - everything in vain
Why did I have to be the one there?
I don't know why he had to die then
Leaving me lonely and leaving me sad
This wasn't surely the life we should had
We were so happy, we were so young
Why did this have to go so very wrong
We had such big plans, we had our hopes
Then we were caught in life's tangling ropes

*INSERT
But Diesel, you drove me forth. Over mountains and sands.
You gave me meaning and love in life. You were my pride
and my only drive, which I will never forget - 
Always look at the stars - you will always find me there.
Remember the song - Somewhere out there -  and a moon
I will always be with you my only love -  ALWAYS! 
Your mother 


And here is one from a year after that : dated December 21, 2001

Tonight I thought again - how to go out of this life.
I feel invincible and incapable - Although I try!!
I try to do everything right - and it seems I fail.

I don't have the courage, and I don't know how - 
but what I do know, is what I do now.
I cannot do better, I cannot do worse,
but I do know that now I am not all that worth.
Nobody matters, nobody cares, and I am left with sorrows and terrible fears.
This is not life to me, so please take me, maybe I'll matter in some place out to be - 
I find this unbearable, and also unthinkable, but I can not sit here and be nobody at all.
I feel that my story is told in Joseph - right from the start, 
but now I am there where I need to depart:-

Close every door to me, hold out the world from me,
bar all the windows and shut out the light
close every door to me, take those I love from me,


for, nobody heard, but I have seen the land!
They thought it was nothing, but they'll understand - 
I have been lonely, and very sad
thought I thought, all just thought I was mad
I know Your promise, and I should upkeep,
But all I can do now is sit down and weep
This is not life here, and I should just wait
but all I can see is the impeccable bait
Please Lord, remember me, and don't oversee
that I could be better if I could just be
I will just wait now, don't know how long, 
but I will do better just where I belong.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I had to write this to lay to rest my own demons. 

Mom, I love you. You will remain in my heart. ALWAYS. 

Your daughter
Liezel

The forgotten joys of radio. Talk radio

It happened quite by accident, that I rediscovered talk radio.
Shortly after having moved to my little house in the small town in the middle of nowhere, South West Saskatchewan, Canada, did I decide I wanted a radio in the kitchen. So I bought just a simple little clock radio to listen to while doing the dishes. Of course, being in a remote location, my little radio didn't receive any FM stations. So I started turning the dial and came upon 540am or CBC Radio ONE. It didn't take me long to start preferring talk radio to music stations. Such a broad range of subjects they covered! So many interesting people they interviewed! And of course, Vinyl Cafe Stories.

It reminded me of a time and place far away.
When I was a pre-schooler in South Africa, my mom used to drop me at my grandparents house before work. Me and Grandma spent a lot of time together, Grandpa was still working then. TV had come out in South Africa in 1975, but it only started at midday, and the programming ran until midnight, when the National Anthem played and an image of the South African flag showed. Then it reverted to the 'Test Pattern' and stayed on that bizarre circle with colored (later, when color TV came out) and greytone blocks.... but no matter, this is not about TV.

Grandma and I used to listen to the radio. In the mornings, there was news and weather. There was story-time for kids, when I would listen to the morning story. Then there were radio stories or 'dramas' - more like a radio version of a soap opera, I guess. That's where I got my name from apparently - my mom was listening to a hospital radio story and named me after one of the nurses.

We listened to different programs - there was a 'what-have-you' trade program where people would call in and with such-and-such to trade for such-and-such - wheelbarrows for screwdrivers, magazines for knitting needles, that sort of thing. Also an antiques show, an agricultural show, and others that I cannot remember. But I do remember the radio being a constant companion. Grandmas little radio came outside on hot summer days when we sat under the big old liquat tree in the back yard. It was inside next to the big old asbestos heater we plugged in on cold winter mornings (yes, you read right - asbestos heaters.....this is what they looked like)

It was on the diningroom table when Grandma was sewing, it was in the bedroom in the mornings.

That was the era before 'gadgets'. Grandma's radio was just about the only thing portable in the house, apart from a big old flashlight. The TV was a huge old tube thing that could not be moved, the telephone had a cord (the days before cordless telephones!)

The only gadget was the radio. You could listen to it without getting distracted because there WAS no image to go with it to distract you - you built your own pictures in your head.

Now we all have Smartphones and Tablets and computers and Sirius satellite radio. And Smart TV.
Maybe the old talk radio just reminds me of a time when we used to listen to the same programming. Nowadays everyones got their earphones plugged in, listening to their own stuff. Those days, we all listened to the same channel. We only had 2 TV channels those first years too. And the telephone was in the dining room - no private conversations with the family home!

But I do enjoy the simple joy of talk radio now. I like music, but songs just get....old. You don't learn anything by listening to music radio. So many songs are all about the same thing - love, being in love, finding the perfect guy/gal.... no learning. Now I listen to interviews with family members of Auswich survivors who had their grandmothers concentration camp tattoo, tattoed on them too... 3 generations honoring their mother, grandmother and great-grandmother this way.
I listen to talks with Indian chiefs about how to make reservations work. I listen to interviews with writers. I love the short stories on Vinyl Cafe, told so skilfully that you can see it in your minds eye.

There are interviews with scientists, Space Commander Chris Hadfield, and interviews with 12 year old chess players from the slums of Sudan. The other day they had a talk about memorable snowstorms where people called in and shared their stories about communities coming together in adverse weather.

And you know what? no ads! I do not have TV and haven't had TV in 4 years now. I do not miss the ads. Once in a while we would hook up the computer to the TV and watch some shows that we can stream through the internet, but the absolute assault of advertising really puts me off. The same ads play 4 or 5 times in a half hour program! I guess maybe people get conditioned to it, but I really enjoy my ad-free existence. I used to enjoy the History channel and National Geographic, but those shows seem so dumb now. Not the shows I remember. Everything is some 'reality show' which isn't reality at all, but just lame scripted dramas.

Give me my radio any day. As long as the dial is on 540AM.

Grandmas radio looked a bit like this one here.