23 October... 27

Devilish Chocolate for a blessed birthday

The Help vs The Help

Last week I went to the movies with my mother and against my better judgment I chose to see The Help. The reason my judgment was against seeing this film was not because I thought it would be bad but because I knew it wouldn’t be of the quality as the novel from which it is adapted by Kathryn Stockett (2009).

Yes, the story of The Help has stirred some controversy concerning the acknowledgement or the lack there of, that was given to the contributors of the stories. None the less, the book is written in the voices of three of the characters which makes it that much more intriguing, it really is a page turner. It is written with such awesome detail of which very little is captured in the film, I don’t even think that the deep southern accent detailed in the book is as thoroughly delivered on the big screen.

I never understand how films always manage to lose parts of the story that really embrace a lot of the essence of what is being told. How is it that the director decides to completely change certain characters, their appearance and the role that they play... it really upsets me.

Of course reading the book before watching the movie almost always guarantee’s that the pictures you’ve conjured up in your own head will most probably be shot to hell and gone and even some of the scene’s you’re most excited to see, you’ll be lucky enough to have a fraction of it retold.

The story told is based on the well known race tale of the 60’s before and during the civil rights movement. Stockett however, focuses particularly on the story of the black maid, the white master and the unspoken of truths that existed between the two. It tells the tale of these average people who had a lot to fear, that decided to relate the day to day stories of their average lives, stories that were honest to their thoughts and feelings , stories that were in many ways the same as their comrades but that were still their own.

There are however things that the film does for one’s emotion that the book doesn’t quite manage. Bringing to life some of the emotion that is experienced while reading. The film allows you a more vivid understanding of the relationships that existed between white and black people in the south and particularly in Jackson Mississippi, a town that was considered one of the most racist in the 60’s. The film explores the deeply intimate relationships that existed despite the blatant hatred and hurt that was consistently inflicted. It explores and creates an understanding of the self conflict and immense confusion experienced by the children of white families who were brought up and loved by the very people they were meant to hate. It scrutinises the inconsistency that was present in the way that white people treated black people and the appreciation that a lot of them felt and even sometimes displayed toward black people.

So the book vs the movie? You have to appreciate the moments in the film of humour, hurt, vengeance and love that the actors bring to the characters but it could definitely have given a lot more attention to the detail that Stockett achieves in the novel.

The First Grader- The simplicity of Freedom

So I seem to be making a habit of going to see movies at the Labia.... or at least I’m trying.

Last night we went to see The First grader, a movie I’ve been dying to see and for the most part it lived up to some of my expectations. The film is based on a true story of an ex Mau Mau fighter from a remote village in Kenya, who at the age of 84 decides that he too wants to take the government up on their offer for free education for all, an education he could not afford to get before.

Moments of sadness and anger are balanced by some humour, from a chorus of local men and taxi drivers who constantly have their two cents to add, and warmth that keeps it from being completely consumed by the painful political milieu on which the story is based, giving you the chance to be inspired by the hope and humanity of Maruge (Oliver Litondo) instead. The children in film have the most beautiful souls that you can see through their wide eye’s and they demonstrate, as only children can, the meaning of acceptance as the take Maruge into their classroom and lives. Most of Maruge’s life is a sketch of his fight for freedom, which although Kenya eventually succeeded in getting, the film depicts him as still fighting for, even after the British are gone, in his desire to be literate and to be at peace.

With believable and inspirational performances all round Kimani Ng'ange'a Maruge’s story is given much justice in the way it has been told. Although, in as much as the story is an inspirational one, the line of the tale told is lacking in some aspects, it doesn’t quite manage to invoke the emotion you would expect from a story like this one. Characters such as Charles Obinchu played by Tony Kgoroge and his relationship with his wife Jane (Naomie Hrris), could have been more thoroughly explored. Quite frankly there are just moments that could be small climaxes in the film that are simply not fulfilled and leave your tears backed up in their ducts.

Overall the story is an awesome one, wholesome... the screenplay, not exactly award winning but one I would say you should at least watch for some insight into a history that may not be your own but the story of an individual that could teach for generations to come.

Pieces of Home

So apparently, your home says a lot about who you are... I think ours is a good mix and I think I actually like our home.








what can I do but indulge his ambitions of being a skater boy



Our growing collection of hats & scarves



A bigger more solid wine rack soon to come

Klein Paternostertjie

Food with a view




The epitome of sophistication is utter simplicity. Maya Angelou

Viva Riva Movie-ing in Cape Town

Being at the Labia on Orange has a certain wistful ambiance that I can’t particularly describe... the unchanged building has so much character you’re happy to just have a cup of coffee in the foyer or maybe even a slush dashed with a choice of vodka or gin (gotta love it) from the chocolate bar.





This cinema was the perfect place to watch the first film out of the DRC in 25 years, Viva Riva written and directed by Djo Tunda wa Munga. A depiction of Kinshasa’s shanty towns, local night life and a glimpse of a decidedly mysterious culture is incorporated into a well known storyline of gangsters, a girl, a score and Riva... this simple plot manages to keep the entire theatre engrossed with laughter, revolt and gasps throughout the film.

Brown Paper Packages tied up with string

My first Lost & Found purchase... Absolutely love the thought of a brown paper package!!

Thanks Amy... you've created an amazing experience

Contact Amy for a great range of vintage clothing.
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100001375701325

A dash of media with some politics

International headlines read “Racial Tensions Flare”, they are right, tensions are at quite a high but whether or not racial is the best term to describe it is questionable.

There is an abundance of racial remarks and references to disloyalty among black people and more particularly the “black elite” being flung around in our media. Some of it, or perhaps even most of it is in defence of possibly shady politicians. The defence of these politicians by thought leaders such as Eric Miyeni against the likes of Ferial Haffajee is not where the problem lies. There seems to be a growing phenomenon in this country to confuse freedom of speech with hate speech. Politicians and media alike have lost any sense of respect or fair interaction. Insults of a sexist and racial nature are hurled ad infinitum. There are just no boundaries.

The sad thing is that even if there is any validity in the thoughts being published, uttered or murmured, its completely drowned out by the noise that are the remarks of Julius in reference to Lindiwe Mazibuko, about being “a tea girl of the madam” because she had been seen with the white opposition once too often. Rhetoric about being “a black snake in the grass” and being “necklaced” by Miyeni in reference to Haffajee because she dared to be persistent in her attempt to hold Malema to account for any illegalities he may be involved in. This noise shouts loudly in the direction of hate speech.

In all of this back and forth concerning black capitalism and how it is obtained, there may be some compelling points if we could just get past using our blackness as the rationale behind every probing article. Maybe we could actually recognise traitors for what they truly are, if we stopped finding them in rightfully enquiring minds.

Just an All Star night

I love going out in Cape Town, there is nothing pretentious about it. There is no need to plan your outfit days in advance or make sure that your hair is "did" or be concerned about how much better than your 17yr old counterpart you look. Cape Town is as I recall Jo’burg up until about 2006. Easy. People go out to genuinely have a good time. Skirts and sneakers, jeans and t-shirts it actually doesn't matter. It’s a party people vibe, all over, no judgement, no pretence. Its easy.

I shall call you home and you shall be mine, you shall be my home

So it’s been a while since I’ve blogged and a lot has happened in the past couple of months, many changes, lots of newness...

The name of my blog has been so relevant this year, things have just been happening at an unbelievable speed and yet there are parts that are simply not happening fast enough and have managed to frustrate me and almost pull me into depression.

At this moment, I am sitting in an apartment in de Waterkant Cape Town, this is officially my new home for at least the next couple of years... so how exactly did this happen? I think there are still times I sit quietly and think about how rapidly this has happened, perhaps this is something I may do for a while.

My experiences over the past couple of months have really had me revisit my faith, my belief that things happen the way they should and that things are the way they are meant to be. The sequence of events begins with me losing my job at the end of April, I was retrenched and other than the fact that my income went with the job, I think it was the best thing that could have happened. I found myself stuck in job where I was contributing very little and learning much less, I was sitting in a job that was doing absolutely nothing for my career.

I am very grateful to the mother I have because she taught me the importance of saving, which is what has kept my bills paid until now. But the loss of my job has forced me to be dependent on the people around me, the people who love me. This has been to their detriment at times because my frustration at not being able to be dependent has put them in direct firing line... I’m sorry...

Searching for a job in Johannesburg just seemed to be completely unfruitful, I kept hitting dead ends, no responses, rejections and I really needed to just breathe... I was constantly anxious and panicky and just completely dejected... I felt sick I can’t say that these symptoms are entirely gone but I’m learning to cope with them a lot better.

I’m in Cape Town now and still searching and even though I have days when I feel a lot less than useless, I still believe that a job will find me in time... and at this point, I am able to focus on finishing my honours modules.

Jo’burg my Jo’burg... It’s not the city ill miss, it’s my people... Good byes were extremely tough, a lot more difficult than I expected... My friends, I know who you are. My family has never been more important than right now. This was not at all easy.

Cape Town is good. It has always been good for my soul. Coming on holiday here many many times over the past years, I always felt like I needed to experience living here. So the opportunity presented itself and who was I to turn it down. I live in within walking distance from everything that is important. I wake up to the sight of two awesome mountains every morning. I’ve been given the chance to experience different cultures in a different city. I’ve been given the chance to start afresh, not to erase anything my life has previously offered but definitely the chance to try new things. I’ve been given the chance to create new memories. I know that God is here with me in this life.


It has been quite a difficult 3 months, I’ve really needed to find my faith, stick to hope, depend on the love that’s been given to me everyday and I think I may be able to actually find peace here in this place.

Love Love Love.... cant stop Loving it....

TIA

One can never really understand this term until you’ve actually experienced Africa. In all its beauty, white sanded beaches and clear sea’s, rambling mountains, ebony skinned, thick haired beauties and languages that steal hearts in the meanest of words, there are still instances that occur that remind you of exactly where in the world you are at that particular point in time.
My December vacation started with a 30 hour fling into the awesome scenery that the Senegalese shores boast and absolutely beautiful weather that can’t really be found anywhere else but right here in Africa. Unfortunately we were fully equipped for the freezing -2 deg temperatures in New York which is where we would eventually spend the latter part of our trip.
The skies are pitch black as flight SA 203 lands in the city of Dakar at approximately 2am, Eastern standard time, we are expecting to simply off load passengers who are ending their travels in this city, which also happens to be hosting a music festival with numerous artists from around the continent. As these passengers disembark, we are greeted by the captain and assured that our stop over should not last for more than an hour and that we would soon be back in the air continuing our journey to New York City. A couple of minutes later the captains voice calmly sounds through the planes intercom system again, it was at this point that our hopes of reaching the city of dreams in the next 9 hours are completely shattered, as we are informed that the weather in New York has forced JFK International airport to completely shut down as the blizzard has compacted between 61cm to 80cm of snow onto the runways bringing all aviation activity to a halt.

Inside Dakar- Yeoff Leopold Sedar Senghor International Airport, the red leather couches, heavy dark wood furniture complete with perfume sales counter and the fern pot plants in the business class lounge all bring back nostalgic memories of a Sun International hotel in Swaziland that had been designed and decorated back in the 70’s. The brightly lit Christmas tree and tinsel trimmings around the lounge is a little reminder that we celebrated Christmas only yesterday. There is a strong scent of some cheap perfume that is lingering in the air, which I suppose is far better than the scent of unwashed armpits that accosted us as we entered the airport downstairs, reminded me of being at a border on a hot African afternoon. None the less we were fortunate enough not to have to deal with that invasive odour for much longer than a few minutes, instead we spent the next 10 hours of trip curled up on the comfortable red leather sofa’s, breezing in and out of sleep. The technological savior which is wireless was an absolute joy as it enabled us to at least keep in touch with the rest of the world but even this wasn’t really effective because most of our world, back in SA, was asleep at his time.
Eventually, after we were ipoded, laptoped, twittered and facebooked out we were shuttled to Le Meridian Hotel (without having our passports stamped mind you). The minute we got outside of the airport building we were bombarded by people trying to sell CAF Franc (Senegalese currency) unperturbed by the police who stood around nonchalantly. There was an assortment of buses, taxi’s and of course people, some just standing around, some trying to make sales of one thing or another. I couldn’t be sure if we were still at the airport, a taxi rank, a bus terminal or a market… it didn’t really matter because this right here, is Africa.

As we drove through the dusty streets of the city, the constant road works and construction all the way from the airport to the hotel made it very clear that this country is in the process of much development.



Le meridian was like an oasis in the desert with its green lawns, palm tree’s and air conditioned buildings. Finally we could take a nap on a bed, take a shower and have a meal at les Jardins del’ Ocean restaurant with a really fantastic view of the ocean. Such a pity I didn’t pack my swim suit… I love this 5 Star Africa…



So being in Senegal 'illegally', our experience of it didn’t go much further than the bus and the hotel. Under different circumstances I’m pretty sure we would thoroughly have enjoyed the city especially because there was this awesome (or so it seemed) music festival happening. Unfortunately I spent most of my time there wanting to leave, even more so when we got back to the airport about 14 hours later to deal with having to fit ourselves onto an airplane travelling to Washington instead of New York (compliments of SAA and the incompetent ground staff in Johannesburg). Eventually at about 5am the Washington bound flight took off and we said goodbye to Senegal, without a clue of how we would make our way to New York once we had landed…