The Kindness of Strangers...

In a world which, on occasion might turn Suzy Q into a hardened cynic, it is the kindness of strangers which gives my spirits an infinite lift. I am rereading a much loved book, Are you Somebody? by the late, highly acclaimed Irish  author, Nuala O'Faolain. It is such an honest and moving account of her life that I can really recommend it as a first rate, very moving, read.  One of the heartwarming tales to emerge is that when she was young and down on her luck, an older writer,  Mary Lavin loaned her the money to resit her university exams, thus allowing her to continue her studies and move on to great heights. But for Mary's kindness, Nuala might  have been tending a dishwasher in the basement in a London hospital forever more, and the world would never have heard of her and a great talent laid to waste.

                                    www.newisland.ie


The Big Issue is a cause very close to my heart and the only magazine I support. It costs R18, is published every three weeks, and as you no doubt know, is sold by street vendors who are marginalized and desperate to earn an honest crust. R9 goes to the vendor, so a proffered R20 (the price of a smoothy or a large cappuccino) will put R11 in their pockets. It can be no easy feat manning their street beat come rain or shine, smiling and praying for a sale which might just cover the cost of transport to and from home to the depot and to their pitch. The magazine has grown under the editorship of Melany Bendix, and has many very interesting articles, perfect for reading in your car whilst waiting for your children or over a cup of tea.

The section which interests me the most is the Vendor's Corner, as it inspires me to read such tales of hardship and courage, and of course I am always thrilled to read of those vendors "Ready to Go" who have found some form of permanent employment. SO, imagine my delight when, in the latest edition out on the streets last Friday, I read the story of Cynthia Gogotya, who had dreams of studying to become a social worker but could not afford the UNISA fees. (This after completing her matric after her fortieth birthday.) Readers were so touched by her plight that close to R12 000 poured in to help her fulfill this dream, and Cynthia is overwhelmed with gratitude and ready to continue her studies.

The one source of funding which really caught my attention was the large donation made by the We-Are-Lucky project. It seems that a recipient of a large inheritance has initiated a project to anonymously donate 1000 pounds (or near  equivalent) to a worthy stranger, with the proviso that they in turn do something good with the money. Spread the luck and good fortune around it seems, and create opportunities where there were none before. Sounds almost too good to be true? Having looked at the website, and been moved by the tales there, it all seems to be for real, and is happening right here in Cape Town. Congratulations and what a wonderful thing to do! Join it if you can, or simply spread your own brand of kindness around.                    www.we-are-lucky.com

                              

Not being quite that cash flush, I try to spread a little kindness in my own small way, and only share this as an idea with you, not to shout from the rooftops as some folks do about any good deeds done. May I suggest that you "Adopt-a-Vendor" as we do. There is a most pleasant, but painfully thin young man named Mzikize who sells TBI at a busy intersection I pass on my daily school run. Having bought the magazine from him for many years now, I was somewhat surprized to learn that he is supporting his wife and young child on his meagre earnings. I try, whenever possible, to pack an extra lunch for him to drop off when passing. (This sometimes requires some death defying manouvering by both of us in busy traffic!) It's usually a sandwich and some fruit, a bottle of cold Oros in summer or a hot Cup-o-Soup in a recycled yoghurt container in winter to sustain him during his long days. It fair breaks my heart to see how quickly he sits on the curb and tucks into this meagre offering when I consider all the lunch boxes round the corner whose contents might well be dumped when they arrive home. Come Christmas and we pack a big hamper and wrapped gifts for his family. One year this included pastels and drawing paper, and I was soon proudly shown his artwork which had been published in the magazine. Self esteem at street level.  We seldom manage more than a quick greeting, but I hope that the little moral support and sustenance we offer will help him in a harsh world, and that the kindness of strangers will help him through his life and long days on the pitch.
                                   www.bigissue.org.za

I'd be most interested to hear any of your kind stranger stories please? Love to hear more from you!


Love, as always and thanks for taking time to read my blog, kind family, friends and strangers.


Suzy Q

Today's Cape Times...

Catching up with today's Cape Times reminded me of our old title for my favourite local newspaper back in the days when we called it The Cape Crimes. (Back then Suzy Q was better known for hanging out on the crime trail with a dear and sadly departed friend who was a crime hound of note. Oh gentle readers, the sordid places I did visit and the sordid sights I did see!) Looks like not much has changed unfortunately, only the nature of the crimes.


Now I know some of my loyal readers expressed some surprize, if not shock at the crime story posting a few days ago and I promised to keep things lighter, but I did mention that my blog would also voice my concerns for the state and future of this fair land of mine, so I must just mention a few issues which caught my eye today.

1) Well it goes without saying that the gang rape of a 17 year old Sowetan schoolgirl who was then kept hostage and the video of the horrendous event  which has gone viral takes precedence and makes me wonder if we haven't descended into the depths of Sodom and Gomorrah. Ditto the DJ from Khayelitsha who groomed two boys under the under age of ten before raping them. Words fail me. Yep.

2) Juxtapositioned with these disturbing stories is a small report stating that the trauma rooms attempting to create a safe, relatively comfortable space for  counselling the many victims of crime are to be closed down. WHY when they have already been established, and have been filled with donations of toys and clothes as many of these victims are women and children, and are often manned by volunteers?

3) Never mind the soaring crime rate, my local Kirstenhof police station has been served with eviction orders for non-payment of rent. Perhaps a massive tender has been signed out there for huge, shiny new premises. Chapman's Peak perhaps? I do hope that wherever they have to move, we will at least be able to retain the staff as I would hate for them to lose their jobs. Strangely enough, it is also kind of reassuring to know we have some form of police presence in the area, and any dealings I have had with them have been dealt with efficiently and courteously.

4) Turning to John Scott's column hoping for something a little lighter, I certainly enjoyed his take on President Zuma's impending nuptials and the statistics for the astonishing amount of children he has sired and the time management his post nuptials will require.  I was, however, less amused to read how much has been spent on his 70th birthday bash and on refurbishing the royal kraal. And who's going to pay for the wedding?? Three great ANC parties in one year and we're not even halfway through. Now that's what I call a GREAT party.

Seriously, a president for the people? Whilst he and his wives, many offspring and cronies whoop it up in high style, our basic services are falling down around our feet. Perhaps the cunning plan is to put our local policemen out on the streets, then we surely would have more bobbies on the beat. Nice new initiative. Maybe other noteworthy world leaders will pick up on the idea and it can go global.

Amazed, but definitely not amused,


Suzy Q

On to subjects more cheerful...

Ok ok all you ostriches out there, sorry if I upset you at all, really didn't mean to upset the applecart, but these are sad facts of life and subjects close to my heart. However, we'll stick to the frothy stuff today, message taken!

I did promise a little while back to fill you in on my Good Service awards after our party, so perhaps the time has come to share the secrets of the super service we experienced from various sectors. These service providers were all unearthed after extensive research (and you wondered what had been taking up my time and energy earlier in the year?) and I am happy to spread the word, as I believe good service should be rewarded with more business to keep them in business.

So, food first...after several hit and miss enquiries ranging from simply ridiculous to unbelievably confusing and inefficient, we chanced upon Ambrosia Catering, owned and run by Beatrice McShane in Diep River. From the moment she responded to me with a simple to decipher, factual, reasonable quote and delicious sounding menus, I reckoned we might be onto a good thing. Of course, the proof of the pudding is in the eating, so we arranged a tasting at her premises with a few of our choices.

Efficiency must be her middle name, as she was waiting in her spotless kitchen with a platter of delectable bites (we wanted finger foods so our guests could mingle) and we were sold. The big problem was narrowing down our choices as her selection was so exciting and innovative, and I spent hours poring over her menus, wondering if our friends would enjoy the mini seafood curry bunny chows more than the baby caramelized red onion and balsamico quiches. Beatrice also subcontracted an excellent function hire company who delivered and collected punctually, not leaving me hanging about waiting for them to arrive, and who provided quality glassware. Our waiter and kitchen service was professional and friendly and looked after our friends very well, and left our kitchen clean with any leftovers packed away in the fridge. After all that, I can barely remember tasting a thing as it was such a busy and happy day, but our friends really enjoyed Ambrosia's cuisine and some are still talking about it.

So thanks to Beatrice and team!
www.ambrosia-catering.co.za

Flowers next... I miss dear Joan Pare, our world famous florist from Forget-me-Nots who used to present flowers to the Queen, and who did our wedding and baby flowers, but I have since given my loyalty to Alison's Flowers in Wynberg. It is such a beautiful shop, and Camilla made our experience very personal and special. She sourced flowers slightly out of season and was so enthusiastic about our whole occasion, that the collection the day before the party of such exquisite, tenderly made coronets and posies made us realize that our big day was actually becoming a reality.

Thanks Camilla and all at Alison's!  
www.alisonsflowers.co.za

If music be the food of love, play on... Once again, by trial and error, and then a spot of good luck, we found Mike Laatz to play the dreamy kind of saxophone music, including our favourite old Louis Armstrong numbers, which we adore. He was more than willing to accomodate all our requests, bent over backwards to try to help us with music for the Mass despite being a jazz musician, was here to set up timeously, and gently played the day away creating just the right mood, until we reluctantly let him go. He played for over four hours for a very reasonable fee.

Thank you too Mike for making our day!
www.mikelaatz.com

Oh for another party. Any wedding bells out there...?


Mwaah,


Suzy Q

This week's flash fiction carries a forewarning - Not for Sensitive Readers

Well, hopefully this won't be too shocking for you, in that it's not the usual frothy sort of story to which you've become accustomed. It's not all candy floss in your favourite online column, and this story was inspired (or provoked?) by an incident on the mountain track where we love to walk. Food for thought...  

                

                              MOMMY and DADDY

             

“Ok, lots of sun block on your little noses and drink lots of juice, it’s going to be hot today my darlings. Have fun at play school and Mommy’ll be back to fetch you at lunchtime. Maybe we can go get a Happy Meal for a weekend treat.”

                                “ Bye, love you Mommeeee…”

Jen watches her fledgling children totter into the mayhem of their own new world. Big steps for little feet. She loves them so much, yet much as she misses them, she’s enjoying getting some of her old life back. This morning she is dressed in her running togs and her new Nikes. A gift from Tim for Mother’s Day “to get her back on her feet”, after the housebound years of rearing toddlers. She’s set herself the goal of running the Women’s Half Marathon next month. She has to laugh at herself, considering how fit she used to be, getting nervous now about a mere 12km race.  Not to be deterred, and despite the fact that Kath has already made excuses for not joining her today, she’s eager and ready to resume her training schedule.

It’s midmorning and a beautiful day as she sets out on the popular track. She thrills to her newfound freedom as she gets into her stride. Not bad for an old bird she reckons as she glances at her watch.  A little ahead she spies a smartly dressed guy. Not the usual morning hiking sort she muses, as she nods a greeting to him in passing. But just as she shoots past him, he grabs her roughly by the arm. Before she can blink or realize what’s happening, he has dragged her into the bushes. She hears a crunch as he punches her first in the jaw and then strikes a blow to her skull. She feels her own fresh, red blood spurting down her face. He is ripping off her shorts and pushing her down with the weight of his body. She blacks out. Then comes to with the agonising realisation that this is not a nightmare. Not a nocturnal one anyway.

Voices! The man has his hand over her mouth, and is telling her, eloquently, that if she makes a sound, he’ll slit her throat. Jen daren’t look at him, but she can smell his sweat and her own fear and blood and juices mingled together. She wants to retch but his hand forces all the bile back into her mouth. The voices grow louder. He gives her one last shove and slams her face onto the rock below them. She feels unbearable pain and shame, as she lies choking on dirt and blood and tears. The hikers find her, face down, half naked and barefoot, bleeding and sobbing hysterically.

“Daddy…

What’s the matter with Mommy?

Why does she cry all the time?

Why is her face so sore?

Why doesn’t she take us to school any more?

Why don’t you smile any more?

Don’t you and Mommy love us anymore?

Daddeee…?”

(The sad rejoinder to this story is that the innocent victim was a highly qualified professional, who has since left the country, with all her skills and family, though we have heard that her marriage has sadly disintegrated after this traumatic incident. No arrests were ever made, and a family lies in tatters.


Jacob Zuma, our esteemed president, is about to embark on his fourth marriage - no cost to us tax payers we are assured - but whilst he obviously has time aplenty for fillies and festivities, what effort has he put into tackling crime in this country?)

A day under the dryer...

One day when I was having my little grey devils done at Curl up and Dye (only kidding, just my local corner salon, but ever since I saw that name painted above a little village hair shop in the West of Ireland some time back I've been dying for a chance to use it) I was seated next to a Dynamic Young(ish) Woman. She was dressed expensively in black and had an aura of command. Whilst my once- every-six-weeks salon treat warrants a lady with a pair of scissors, a box of store bought Clairol No 75 and a paintbrush, this DYW had no less than three stylists dancing attendance on her. It is, by the way, one of my recurring nightmares that I should get stranded on a desert island sans said magic muthi, so I keep a year's supply just in case. And now you also know that ol' Suzy Q might just be showing signs of grey too. True confessions of an aging Suzy Q.  This madness has to stop.

But back to the salon. Ms All in Black, was, I was informed by good authority (Suzy Q's spies at work again) a daughter of a great publishing dynasty. Well, with all that money and privilege, one would have hoped that she might have learnt a few lessons in decent decorum, even if she clearly hadn't made it to a Swiss finishing school. Whilst her three stylists worked and clucked and fussed and shaped her dyed black mane, she clicked away at her black macbook (natch) and bitched down her black iphone, leaving her attendants in abeyance as they could not continue cutting with all the angry bobbing of said head without slicing off her ear. Oh, Van Gogh, where are you when we need you? We have pretty clear rules about cellphone etiquette. Always on Silent in restaurants, meetings, church, and never taking calls even at the checkout, treating those harworking ladies as if they didn't exist as human beings. So this was some experience, being in such close vicinity to such a vociferous female. Perhaps being born so wealthy and self important had led her to believe she really was the Centre of the Universe. I do however know people who could knock her family fortune into a cocked hat who remain ever humble.

"What do you mean you don't know?" she barked at some poor hapless employee, trying to feed his/her family.
"Do you hear me, loud and clear? Get where I'm coming from?"


The stylists took another step back, their next appointment could wait, for this was after all, a VIP.


"Get me the numbers before 5pm or you're done. Got it!? WHAAT? I'm not interested in excuses. This is your problem not mine. Just handle it!!"


Click. Back to her very important emails on the black mac.


Or perhaps she was adding herself as her only facebook friend or googling herself to get her numbers up.


Stylists resume your roles.

I hastily left with my two (much younger then) daughters in tow, lest they be infected by this self aggrandized female, thinking how relieved they must be to live with sweet, gentle me, all be I a bit lumpy, dumpy and frumpy these days, rather than with the ubercool Cruella De Ville. 


"Did you notice that lady in black in there?" I baited them.
"Oh yes!" came the reply. "She's our role model." 

Sigh, sigh, sigh (or should I cry?)


Suzy Q

Ps. You may be happy to hear that as they approach maturity, the little Misses Suzy Q have turned out nothing like The Barking Woman In Black, for which I give abundant thanks to all the the powers that be.