Paradise Lost.

It's been a very busy and emotional week, with a special birthday celebration in the house, and the start of our eldest daughter's university career with which to cope. Her growing up and taking her place in the adult world coincides with our letting her go, hence it was a fairly tearful pair who watched her stride off into her new environment, feigning a confidence I'm sure she wasn't feeling. 

All things told, we headed off to our now beloved St. James tidal pool for a Friday evening dip to wash away the wear and tear of the week. The water wasn't quite as clean and refreshing as it usually is in the early mornings which we have come to enjoy so much, but we had a quick dip and left feeling a little more refreshed. A large crowd was having a picnic supper on the stairs at the bathing huts, which we presumed to be a family gathering or celebration, and we remarked on what a good idea it was to watch the sun set and share good times together there.


Come Saturday morning, which dawned in a state of Cape perfection, we hotfooted it down to the pool to get a good few laps in before the hordes of day trippers arrived.  Having slept in just a little later than usual, we had missed our usual crack of dawn swimming friends, and noted a good few people already paddling, rather than swimming in the pool, as we looked down from Main Road. I did mention in my original blog entry (St James - my personal epiphany 21.1.12)  when we first discovered the delights of St James, how spotlessly clean the beach and pool were, and marvelled at the fact that municipal cleaners were at work well before our arrival at 6 am each morning. Last weekend, one of the cleaners whom we have come to know, approached us to ask if we knew of any odd jobs he could do, as his weekend cleaning contract was coming to an end. We have his number and are on the lookout for him, a hardworking husband of an unemployed aircraft construction worker and proud father of a two year old son. However, the alarm bells which should have started ringing in my head missed the signal. Who, in his place, would be cleaning the beach?


Nobody, as it transpires. We were assailed with the smell of fly infested excrement in the subway, and looked in horror at the state of the beach. Litter EVERYWHERE, but most noticeably, on the ground all around the plentiful, large green rubbish bins. This had all happened overnight, as we had left the pool at 8 pm the previous evening. It defies any sense of logic, civic pride or social mores or laws, that people could defile such a beautiful place. That they could not take their sweet wrappers, chip packets, cigarette stompies, beer caps, plastic bottles, watermelon skins and other unmentionable debris and place it in the bins provided leaves me shuddering with rage and disbelief. It also pains me that this is what faced Mark and his colleagues at 5 am every morning, yet they did the job willingly and smilingly to earn honest wages, and are now unemployed.


Our swim was short and less than sweet, and St James is badly tainted for us. I'm afraid there won't be a photo in the blog today, as my heart is heavy and it will take me quite some time to get the images of this morning's subway and beach out of my head. I do know that I won't be going back for a while, but that I will be talking to anybody who will answer their telephone at South Peninsula Municipality first thing on Monday morning!


Signed: A Sad Suzy Q


Ps. Further to my recent blog entry on Dog Owners (13.10.12) please read the latest on this sorry saga. Let's hope that tomorrow will herald a better day...


Rottweiler that attacked girl put down - Cape Argus | IOL.co.za

February the 2nd and The Big Bash.

The Big Bash to which I refer is not the upcoming party for all UCT students, but the recent 100th birthday party of the ANC, and the relevance of the second of February. As you no doubt know, Suzy Q is a party lover of note, and a glass of champagne will be proffered at the drop of a hat, should the occasion dictate. I did however, have cause for concern over the mega ANC bash held in Bloemfontein to celebrate the party's centenary. The past is important, it made us who we are today, but we also have to consider what we are doing today and what we are going to achieve before tomorrow. The ANC, as far as I can see, and  please don't mock my kitchen sink vision, is spending so much time commemorating it's noble past leaders, and so much of it's current funders money, that it's navel gazing (sushi jokes aside) allows for no future planning. They may just have read one of my earlier blogs, and taken the "make hay while the sun still shines" suggestions way too literally.

The Big Bash was held in a truly elitist fashion, with fat cats cruising in to play golf in state of the art vehicles (knocking the"we were only allowed to be caddies before" dictum for a six) whilst wearing designer gear and expensive watches, watched on by the impoverished masses they are overpaid to represent. Style gurus/public thieves to aspire to and look up to? Role models for the next generation? How could they honestly, with a clear conscience, squander so much money when unemployment, poverty and hence crime are at an all time high? Aislinn Laing in The Telegraph (see link below) asked whether it would not have been better to mark the occasion by building 100 new schools, roads or hospitals? Not to be so ambitious, Suzy Q asks, what about 100 clean, private latrines?

Are we forever going to be looking backwards, spending good money celebrating the achievement of past, braver, leaner leaders, or are we ever going to make progress? Feb 2nd marks the day that in 1978 absolved prison warders of murdering Steve Biko, and in 1990 announced the imminent freedom of Nelson Mandela and the unbanning of the ANC. Is this what our beloved Madiba spent 27 years in jail for, being urinated upon by prison warders on his journey to Robben Island and missing the funeral of his son? Is this what Steve Biko died for, being bludgeoned almost to death before being driven naked, manacled and uncovered from Port Elizabeth to Pretoria in the back of a truck? Is this what Dr Neil Aggett, tortured to death for his liberal white beliefs gave his life for?

No, I definitely think not! I really, really don't think so...


I truly cry for my beloved country!


See: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/africaandindianocean/southafrica/8999921/ANC-at-100-This-isnt-a-celebration-for-us.-What-have-we-got-to-celebrate.html

Parent Orientation.

A scorching hot Saturday saw me heading to UCT for my Parent Orientation Programme, to best facilitate my daughter's arrival and survival on campus.  (At last, I can use the word "campus" in it's true sense. A school is a school and a university is a campus. Finis.) What a wonderful idea, as the transition from school to university is fairly monumental, and we'd all like to help her over this time with as much love and understanding and support as we can possible muster. UCT is such a beautiful place to study, with it's unrivalled position on the slopes of Devil's Peak and magnificent old buildings. I felt like a student myself, puffing up Jammie's steps to listen to the inaugural speech by the Deputy vice-chancellor, Prof Crain Soudein, a warm and eloquent man, whom I imagine started his studies at UCT in 1973 under difficult racial circumstances. I was moved listening to all the subsequent introductory stuff, thinking of course how far we have moved on in south Africa. The speakers all hoped that we would back in those same seats in four to six years to see our babies being capped and gowned, and that prospect, of course, further reduced me to tears. Oh, the joys of motherhood!

We then split up to be addressed by the individual Deans of Faculties, and I listened with no small amount of fear and awe as an attractive, confident woman, younger than me, gave us the lowdown on the workload for Law students. I'm sure I asked the dumbest questions, and cried nervous tears in the hope that our baby is up to the challenge, and made friends with other trepidatious new parents, hoping our children would have someone to connect with on their first day, but I left with a happy heart. The Dean assured us that she was there to help, and outlined the student mentor system and all the other support systems in place to help first year students. I so hope that our little Miss Suzy Q No 1 will find her feet and flourish in this nurturing environment, and I give bountiful thanks for this opportunity.  


The times, they really are a'changing, and again, all for the better. I too went to university, having just turned 17 (my daughter is a day or two short of 19) and was all but dumped at the door of res and left to my own devices. There was no orientation for students, let alone parents, and this was yet another rite of passage to cope with and conquer alone. In fact, even though we were under age, we were plied with drink by the randy SRC and Rag Comm members, marched around the field in a cattle parade for drummy selection, and given no academic support whatsoever. Still, there was something so glamorous about seeing our beautiful Rag Queen, dressed in white dress and gloves, flanked by her two princesses aboard her float on Rag Day. Has feminism ruined the aspirations of beautiful young women who will never again have this moment, or is it better to level the playing fields and have no unfair advantage and be judged for academic achievements only? Come on, everybody loves a looker, so why discriminate on campus? Those who might want to enter a beauty pageant should have the right to do so, and those who don't can avoid the whole sexist scenario. Miss World still exists for a good and commercial reason.

My happy day on campus ended on a slightly sour note, sorry to say, as I'd prefer to focus on the positive. Having watched an Orientation video of students discussing the cultural diversity they experienced emerging from their childhood comfort zones, the parents were asked to turn to their neighbours and tell their stories about preparing their children for university. As I was on the end of a row of seats, I turned expectantly towards the Muslim man on my left, who was accompanied by his wife and daughter, hoping to break new ground, but he studiously avoided me and continued talking to his family on his left. A crying shame, when a handshake, or a smile or a minute or two of idle parental chit chat would have broken good ground. Ah well, I had met so many pleasant and excited parents of all races that morning, and we were all on the road to building a bright future for our children and our country. 


Let not one miserable, inward looking man ruin it for the rest...


Suzy Q