John Nicholson lived in Lavender Hill, a rather poor suburb on the Cape Flats.
He lost his job at a furniture factory when the owners disappeared without paying their staff, so he took on freelance upholstery jobs.
Gail and John
John was a devout Christian and the need of the kids in his area bugged him. Alchohol abuse is rampant in their area; other forms of abuse too.
John and his wife Gail provided a safe space for kids in need. They began feeding the kids as well.
The project became a regular soup kitchen.
But, said John, what is the use of a full stomach when the head remains empty? So, in order to fill the minds, he began collecting books and started a library in his backyard.
In 2016 he was given an award by the ATKV for his work.
John with the award in his hand
John passed away yesterday. It was a privilege to have known him.
Ek het vandag ’n fassinerende onderhoud met Solet Scheeres op Voertaal gelaai. In Nederland is die lees van storieboeke vir die lekker net so belangrik as Wiskunde, sê sy. In Suid-Afrika, daarenteen, is ons so behep met eksamens dat ons vergeet van lees. Eish.
Ons huidige
skoolstelsel moet dringend plekmaak vir ’n uitkomsgebaseerde stelsel. In Australië
werk dit, in Nederland werk dit. In Duitsland is daar voorbeelde wat werk.
Hoekom wil ons nie wegkom van die onderwysstelsel en kurrikulum wat nog
uitgedink is toe ek op skool was nie?
Should you not be able to read Afrikaans graphic novels, do
purchase the two stunning full-colour graphic novels by Luke Molver. At the beginning
of the year, just before Covid struck, I gave a lecture to the history teachers
in the IEB system, explained just how wonderful these two books will augment their
grade 9 teaching.
Last Friday
I took off my warm jacket and told a doctor to plunge a needle into my arm to potentially
infect me with Covid-19. Since then I have had to take my own temperature
daily.
Twelve
hours after being injected I suffered from rigors and was lethargic for another
12 hours. Thereafter and since I have been fine. I am doing my usual morning
runs again.
Why did I
do that? I signed up to be a test subject to help find a vaccination against the
dreaded Covid-19.
But why?
I want to help find an affordable,
safe vaccine soon. Very soon. South Africa’s economy needs tourism and retail
to resume to normal.
I am healthy.
I am privileged and understand the
potential consequences.
For Women’s Day 2020* I asked a number of women in the book industry one question: “Which woman gave you a voice?”
The answers were varied and wonderful. Mothers, aunts, grandmothers, a headmistress, well-known authors and illustrators were mentioned. Karin Brynard even nominated Harald Pakendorf, a man who stood up to inequality.
One answer took my breath away. Chanette Paul, a hugely successful author, had this to say:
“The woman in the mirror in my early forties. I did not know her anymore. Even her name was strange to me. I no longer knew who she was or where she was going. For my self-preservation, I would have to try to figure it out, I realised. It was the hardest decision I have ever made. It was also the very best one.
“Nobody can give you a voice. You have to find it in yourself. Only then can people support you and help you hone your voice; you in turn should help them.”
So, this morning I joined more than 35 000 people in running
a virtual Comrades. I have run eleven real Comrades Marathons; seven up, four
down. I run barefoot for the 144 kids in the Durbanville Children’s Home.
(Afrikaans friends, there are a few personal notes in
Afrikaans below.)
Printing the number emailed to me
Part of this morning’s the fun was being able to run in my
green number. It was official. But why run a short, virtual race?
The Comrades started as a remembrance run for fallen war
comrades. It has since grown into the world’s biggest ultra-distance race. It
is not the toughest by any means, but it is tough and due its size it has come become
known as “The Ultimate Human Race”.
The real Comrades is tough.
The real Comrades also shows one so much about camaraderie, or
comradeship. That is why I chose not to do a long run today. I chose to run 10km,
and I have asked many others to join me in running 5 km.
I know I can run 90 km without shoes, my green number is
proof. I so wish to have more people be aware of the spirit of Comrades. This
morning was an act of Camaraderie rather than Courage.
Getting up
I got up at 05:40.
This is unusual. Race day normally means getting up between
00:30 and 01:30 – yes, just after midnight – depending on whether it is an up
or down run.
For a real race one has to check everything: Time chip, bus ticket (to the start or back from the finish), race numbers, everything has to be checked with precision, then rechecked.
Getting to the start
I jumped into my little car and drove to the parking lot across
the road from the Durbanville Children’s Home.
Normally it is quite a trek to get to the start. I have been
fortunate to have a chauffeur (my mom) over the last few years. She lives close
to Pietermaritzburg and knows the backroads well.
For a down run one has to get relatively close to the
Pietermaritzburg City Hall (meaning about a kilometre.)
For an up run, one has to get to the bus in Pietermaritzburg
that will transport you to the start.
The start
I asked permission to start and end my run at the
Durbanville Children’s Home.
Normally, at a real start, one waits in holding pens according
to your seeding. And waits. The wait before the start is cold on a down run.
My first run in the green number was cool, but it was only
when I was allowed into that special holding pen for green-number athletes that
the enormity of it all hit me: I was surrounded by legends.
I guess I will never be a Comrades legend, but that is why I
supported and encouraged so many to run this virtual race with the legends. “Race
the Comrades legends” was the idea behind the race.
And so, with a selfie I was off. All alone.
Normally there are 20 000 runners and thousands of spectators,
TV crews and drones. The helicopters take off at first light.
We normally fill both carriage ways of the street. This
morning I had the start to myself.
No cock crowing.
No national anthem.
No Shosholoza.
No cannon blast.
The few minutes before a real Comrades starts make for an amazing experience. If you are physically capable, do it at least once.
I am off
With a small tap on my Strava App, I got going.
Normally it takes about 5 minutes after the gun to get to
the start line.
This morning I was able to run circles around the Durbanville
Children’s’ Home. Nobody was in my way, nobody, but the satellites tracking my
cellphone, there to be a witness.
The run
I circled the Children’s Home once and set off into the
surrounding suburbs. The home owners in this area often support the Children’s
Home. Many of the kids in the Home attend schools for which the upkeep is paid
for by those living in this suburb.
Many decades ago the relationship was more problematic. Durbanville was where the up-and-coming Afrikaners took root, and the Home was an eyesore to some. That wonderful chef and restaurateur, Michael Olivier, once told me that he was at school with the kids from the Home and they were known as “kaalvoetkinders” (barefoot kids).
Guess why I now run barefoot?
The real Comrades is between 87 km and 90 km, depending on whether it is up or down.
On the down run you exit Pietermaritzburg via the notorious Polly
Shorts. At Polly Shorts we normally get some first light.
A very different sunrise
Then we run through Camperdown and start climbing towards
the highest point of the race – close to the “Lion Park” – they do have lions there!
From there we run a long way with a bunch of uphills to towards
Drummond, which is halfway.
Halfway: No banners, no dancers, no spectators
My halfway this morning was close to Durbanville’s race course
(horses). I chose some off-roading for fun.
I checked in on the Children’s Home again and took a picture
of the local Dutch Reformed Church. The Home is massively supported by the NG
Kerk community.
Another loop took me to heart of Durbanville where this beautiful set of art works has been placed.
In 1938 the centenary of the Groot Trek (Big Trek) was celebrated at this spot. The original Trek happened when a group of rebels moved away from British rule and tried to take the lands occupied by the local African peoples.
Fighting was inevitable. Many black Africans were killed, many settlers died too.
In 1938 the nationalist movement was firmly in place and fuelled
by Hitler’s rise in Germany, the Groot Trek was celebrated as an exclusively
white and Afrikaans thing – something it never was.
Here at this spot the Centerary Trek held an important
stopover with all the Nationalist rhetoric.
This lovely group of sculptures, in the form of clay oxen – seemingly made by a black boy, but representing the rainbow of a modern-day South Africa, is wonderful. It embraces the spirit of the Trek, but not in an exclusive, acerbic way, much rather it celebrates South Africa.
I stopped and took these pictures three quarters into my
race this morning.
Normally, at three quarters, I would be approaching Pinetown
and my entire body would be sore. The pain associated with Comrades is hard to
describe. By 60 km everything, absolutely everything, in the body is sore.
At this stage of the real Comrades stopping for a picture is dangerous as one may not be able to start running again. Exhaustion and confusion sometimes make people do odd things around this time. The spectators are amazing, though. Fellow runners too.
As the sun started rising over the last quarter of my race, I saw a few more fellow virtual-Comrades runners.
TK here was doing the 45 km. This would have been his third
Comrades.
As I closed in the Durbanville Children’s Home again, I realised
that I’d need to plan my last kilometre carefully to make my 10 km end at their
gate.
I carefully chose a route around the local convenience and
suddenly was hungry.
At 10 km I ran up to the gate.
Job done.
Virtual race run. Not quite the same as the real thing, but in
the spirit I loved it.
Should you ever get the change, you should experience the
end of a real Comrades. It is overwhelming. No matter how sore and tired you
are – those last few hundred metres on the grass is an experience I am not capable
of describing.
Done!
With one last selfie I walked to the car.
The Home needs old cellphones and tablets, as the kids are also
doing virtual classes during Covid. Anyone able to help, please write to [email protected].
Post race
I had breakfast and helped my darling in the garden. Normally,
especially after a down run, it is nearly impossible to walk for 24 hours.
Post mortem
I salute the Comrades Marathon Association for this
initiative. I’d suggest that it should happen very year on Comrades Day. Those
who can, should do the (real) 90km. Everywhere else in the world I would love
to see 5, 10 or 21,’s races being run in the spirit of Comrades.
Iets persoonlik
Die wat my goed
ken, sal weet dat ek in die Comrades tyd gewoonlik na my ma gaan.
My ma, wat self
al ’n hele aantal kort padwedlope voltooi het, doen tans iets heeltemal anders.
Sy en my twee sussies loop die virtuele Camino de Santiago. Elke dag stap sy en
my sussies in drie verskillende stede op twee kontinente en registreer hulle
Camino-afstande.
Dan kry hulle ’n aanduiding
waar hulle op die roete is. My ma was Vrydag iewers in die Pireneë.
Toe ek Saterdagmiddag my klere regsit en alles nagaan, stuur ek vir haar ’n foto en sê dis vreemd om voor te berei vir ’n Comrades sonder haar. Haar antwoord? Wel, soveel is virtueel deesdae. Verbeel jou ek is virtueel by jou al is ek virtueel in Spanje!
Ongekaart, saamgestel deur Cas Wepener en Anandie Greyling, uitgegee deur Bybel-Media se druknaam Bybelkor, is merkwaardig.
Soveel mense is
al seergemaak deur die kerk, of dan deur pionne van die kerk, wat glo hulle
verstaan die pad na die hemel; hier kom dié merkwaardige boek en vra: Wat van
hulle nie op die hoofweë wandel nie?
Ons almal ken die
formulier vir die doop, maar hoe help die kerk mense tydens ’n miskraam of
aborsie? O, die wit rok voor die kansel is ’n bekende plek, maar hoe help die
kerk as jy wil skei? Wat is die kerk se respons as jy ’n swerfgenoot het?
Tydens die doop word ’n naam aan jou toegeken deur jou ouers, maar wat van mense wat van gender verander en dus ook ’n nuwe naam wil opneem? Hierdie boek verskaf raad.
Die kerk het baie
mense seergemaak en weggestoot in die verlede. Ek bewonder diegene wat die
kaarte as muurpapier gebruik en trots nuwe, ongekarteerde waters invaar.
Hoe help die kerk ’n persoon om te erken sy/hy is gay? Hierdie boek gee raad.
Terwyl baie kerke
nog gay mense wil wegstoot, bied hierdie boek hulp aan dominees wat mense wil
bedien wat ’n lewensverbintenis wil maak met iemand van dieselfde geslag.
Die kerk bestaan
uit mense, en is daarom feilbaar. Die NG Kerk het al baie foute gemaak, maar
hierdie boek, en ander deur Bybel-Media, wys hoe ver die Kerk (sien die
hoofletter) al gevorder het.
Koop dit. Koop
nog. Gee dit aan mense wat nog ongekaart is.
Die boek het dalk
nie al die antwoorde nie, maar dit vra reeds uitstekende vrae.
This morning while walking the dogs I met someone from my neighbourhood whose grandmother had died during the Big Flu. Today it was exactly one hundred years ago.
The beloved with two of our dogs.
She did not allow me to use her photographs or name, but the story is fascinating.
One of the reasons why I document my neighbourhood during the pandemic is exactly to tell personal stories that may in future touch the lives of others.
Throughout my career I have enjoyed telling the smaller stories, because when we see the human being, not the stats, we can relate.
I am fascinated by statistics and I love a spreadsheet. I have read countless articles of the curves during the big flu of the previous century. But meeting this “neighour” from down the road, made the story real.
We need the big picture. I love reading popular, well-crafted articles in magazines and newspapers throughout the world. Yet, any good journalist will tell you: Find the human angle otherwise your story will be dry.
One of the most unassuming journalists out there is called Brandon Stanton. Never heard of him? I am not surprised. But you may have heard of Humans of New York, or HONY.
Brandon began photographing the humans in New York. His hood. Soon he realised that his readers craved the stories, less so than the pictures (his words). I believe it is both. Brandon has that uncanny ability to draw one to the story with a picture, then he punches you with that last line. Mini stories. People. Humans. No wonder Brandon has been flown all over the world by the United Nations to give a face to the refugee crisis in the Mediterranean, or the homicide Rwanda.
When I was in academia, we looked at the personal narrative vs. the Master Narrative.
My son and his dog
And so, back to my “neighbour”. I am fascinated by archives, by the photographs and artefacts of yesteryear. One day someone will try to learn about Covid-19. The facts will there and will be debated, even then. The personal stories will touch the readers. Why else do so many people read historical novels? We follow one person through a period in the past. She / he / they becomes a guide for us.
Each one of us are contributing to the stories for tomorrow.
Each blog or insta account that documents a personal story does something for tomorrow.
I phoned the author Irma Joubert the other day. I had the privilege of joining her on the marketing tour for Mentje – Kind van Pas-Opkamp. She explained how she had read many personal accounts of the “onderduikers” (those who had been in hiding during World War II). Irma often said: “Imagine how hard it would be to raise children who have to remain quiet and indoors.”
I phoned her up and said: “Lockdown has taught me to appreciate that book even more.”
***
Who will write the definitive novel of someone living through Covid-19, with flashbacks to the Big Flu?
Who? Yes, exactly. So were Jeanne Baret, Ynés Mexica and Marianne North. Who?
Mary Treat was held in high esteem by Charles Darwin, yet she is not on the A-list of international celebrities.
I have recently read two books about explorers of the truth whose gender made it impossible to excel in a world where people operate beyond truth, where questionable morals superseded scientific fact.
***
Vir Afrikaanse leser. Daar is ‘n brokkie laer af oor ‘n fantastiese kinderboek.
***
The two books cannot be more different. One is a heavy, fascinating novel, the other a delightful, thin children’s book in full colour about a polar bear who sets off to the Amazon in a rowing boat. Yet, at the core of these two books lies the fact that an ice bear in the tropics may have a better chance of succeeding on a mission than women who seek the truth in a world that cares only for convention.
***
Animal explorers: Lola the Plant Hunter
Sharon Retta sends a polar bear, Lola, into the rain forest to look for a rare plant.
The second last page of the book holds a sobering reality check: Lola merely represents real-life female scientists who had had to overcome severe prejudice due to their gender.
The title of this wonderful book is Animal explorers: Lola the Plant Hunter. I read the Afrikaans, beautifully translated by Jaco Jacobs, called Diereverkenners: Lola en die singende orgidee.
***
Unsheltered
The other book is Unsheltered by Barbara Kingsolver.
I am a major fan of Kingsolver’s and this book did not disappoint. After reading it, I phoned my mom and said: Get it! She got her copy a few hours before lockdown.
One could write a thesis on this book, but I’ll try not to bore you.
The book explores the lives of families from Vineland in New Jersey.
First, in the present, we meet Willa Knox. She is a typical middle-class woman for whom the American Dream seems to be fading. Knox’s husband is a college professor and they are struggling to make ends meet, for tenure is something most academics do not get in the USA. She discovers that a little-known scientist, Mary Treat, who used to live in the same town – possibly even extremely close to her own home.
We then jump back to the 1800s. The reader then meets Treat’s neighbours. Thatcher Greenwood is a teacher at the local high school. He desperately tries to teach science, but his stubborn headmaster wants none of it. Science, the headmaster says, is for people who do not believe in God. Thatcher also tries to educate girls, and that seems preposterous.
Thatcher lives with his young wife, Rose, who desperately wants to be a society girl, like her mother once was. Rose’s sister, Polly, is the one who understands Thatcher’s quest and she really turns into a delightful character. I adored Polly.
Mary Treat’s life and scientific pursuits provide elastic bands that hold these two worlds together.
Treat’s scientific mind and her friendship with an ever-more desperate Thatcher, is juxtaposed with shallow pursuits of his wife and those who want to be seen to be in the correct circles. Truth means nothing to the men in high places; in this world even a deliberate murder can happen with little consequence to the perpetrator.
In the present Willa Knox has to deal with en egotistical megalomaniac with an orange skin who runs for president. In the past we meet a feeble president who cannot keep the rampant capitalists at bay.
The book explores how politicians get away with disregarding the truth in order to make more money. In opposition to them are the “unsheltered” scientists who go out on a limb to find the truth.
So we find one part of the title unfolding.
The other part of the title is more ominous. In the present Willa Knox lives in crumbling house. In the past Thatcher Greenwood and his family did as well.
The book is a delightful interplay of past and present, with figures seemingly leaping across the decades. Polly, the delightful young women in Thatcher’s household, finds a present-day match in Tig, a four-foot tall woman who refuses to bow to society’s demands.
Tig is short for Antigone, and that of course unlocks an entire intertextual world to the Greek feminist texts; as does the fact that Willa’s husband is Greek and knows the myths. Mary Treat had little recourse to resources, but she succeeded despite her gender. In the ancient times and in the present we find her experiences sandwiched by the two Antigones.
Mary Treat was a woman in a time when her gender meant that her scientific work would not be recognised by most – even though she was held in high regard by the likes of Charles Darwin.
Unsheltered is not an easy read, but is a really good book. I loved it.
So we return to the delight polar bear who rows to Amazon in search of an singing orchid. Fantasy? The orchid is not, but spare a thought to real-life female explorers whose passions and careers were trashed simply because of their gender.
***
Diereverkenners: Lola en die singende orgidee.
Hierdie wonderlike kinderboek is ’n inspirasie vir grootmense ook.
Lola hou van blomme. Sy wil, soos haar oupa, die wêreld gaan verken. Haar oupa moedig haar aan en só beland Lola in die Amazone.
Hierdie fantastiese boek is te koop by alle goeie boekwinkels. Ondersteun hulle asseblief wanneer ons nie meer ingeperk is nie. Jy sal vind dat Bargain Books en Graffiti dit sal hê, of dadelik sal bestel. Die ander groot winkels sal dikwels ook moeite doen as jy ’n boek soek.
André Trantraal, Olivia M. Coetzee, Ricardo Arendse en Jitsvinger gesels met Theresa Biberauer. Theresa praat Afrikaans, al kom sy die pad van Cambridge Universiteit in Engeland.
André Trantraal het Jason Reynolds se Ghost na Afrikaans vertaal as Spoekie. Hy het ook al talle ander vertalings gedoen en is ook die skrywer van Keegan en Samier.
In Ambre Nicolson en Jaxon Hsu se boek Die A, B, C van Suid-Afrikaanse Baanbrekervroue is daar ’n bepaalde inskrywing wat my positief stem. Die letter U is oop. Daar staan U, onbekende vrou wie se stories ons nie ken nie.
Vanoggend, in die vroeë ure kry ek ’n boodskap van Marilyn Gantana wat vertel haar ma het gesterf. Toe ek die boodskap oordra aan ’n toenmalige baas wat vir Marilyn geken het, vertel hy my sy eie ma is die naweek oorlede.
Net daar gaan kyk weer na die letter U.
Drie geslagte, Ma Sophie in die middel
Ek het Marilyn se ma net een keer ontmoet, toe ek hierdie kiekie geneem het, maar ek het haar “geken” uit Marilyn se vertellings. Die toenmalige baas se ma het ek nooit ontmoet nie, maar sy was ’n legende onder van my vriende.
Dit is eintlik die punt van hierdie inskrywing: Hoeveel ongelooflike vroue kry nooit die kollig op hulle nie, word nie in boeke verewig nie, maar maak uiteindelik ’n geweldige bydrae in die samelewing?
***
Jare gelede het ek met Marilyn ’n aantal onderhoude gevoer. Elkeen is maar so 30 sekondes lank. Luister hoe baie haar ma genoem word. (Die boek is lankal uit druk, koop dit tweedehands as jy kan. Dis stories wat tel.)
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