A clearer view of Hazyview... and my parents

Fortunately my brother Abrie arrives by car to come and pick me up from the Kruger International which indeed received a major make-over from when I saw it last.

That time, if memory serves correctly, it consisted of a single, dirty pre-fab structure and a windsock wilting in the blazing heat along with the ten or so passengers eyeing the small twin prop aircraft that was due to transport them to Joburg with all the suspicion it deserved. I was there to drop off my girlfriend of the time and I silently feared for her life.

But now 60 odd passengers arrived in a four-engine jet plane from British Aerospace to be welcomed by an attractive thatched-roofed building and a direction board indicating "International Arrivals" and "Domestic Arrivals" in the same direction ... for a moment I fear that it would be the same entrance ... but no ... the internationals split off at some point ...

But then I think that if a domestic and international flight arrived at the same time there would really not be anything to stop the al Qeada operative from just walking in with the locals. I hope that the airport authorities have some kind of plan for such an eventuality ... but knowing the locals of the Slowveld I'm not going to bet any money on that.

Meanwhile I arrive home (chez les parents) armed with two bottles of wine and we have our normal familial conversations about nothing and then go to bed.

This morning I wake up to go for a leak in ... a beautiful garden ... resplendent ... even in winter ... with an astonishing array of bright colours. From the bright post office red of the poinsettias to British racing green with canary yellows to orange to auburn ... thrown in ... and much in between.

Then I realise that I have been giving Hazyview a raw deal. It is a beautiful place and it is the perfect base camp from which to visit:
Blyde River Canyon

• The Kruger National park
• God's Window
• The falls
• The Potholes ... no not the same ones you see on the roads ... for which the authorities seem to to think that putting up boards telling you to beware of them for the next 5km ... every 5km ... is a solution. My brother Abrie correctly points out they could save a lot of money by simply putting up one board saying: "Potholes for the next 7000km". This would be more cost effective. They could even do better by putting up signs outside every airport saying: "POTHOLES EVERYWHERE!"
• Elephant rides

In the morning my mother sits me down and complains ... she is lonely here ... all her friends are dead or departed ... that sounds strangely macabre ... let me put it differently ... all her friends are dead and gone ... that's not right either. OK, so here friends who are not dead all left the area and went to live in old age homes somewhere... and she wants to do the same. I mean go and live in an old age home...

My father and I disagree with her...

Why give up a luxurious environment, if somewhat financially constrained, for a small room in an old age home somewhere where it is cold and windy in the winter and warm and windy in the summer ... Cape Town ... and be more financially constrained?

My soon-to-be 80-year-old father is the general handyman for my very able sister-in-law Maretha... (Was that a bad case of hyphenitis or what? And don't say what).

So my mission of the day becomes to get them online so that my mother can chat to her offspring where-ever they may be.

First I explain the wonders of google and gmail to them ... Storing your shit in the 'cloud' and all that and having live video chats and all of that plus google docs as well as spreadsheets and the internet BEING the computer ...

Using my father's upcoming 80th birthday as fundraising motif I phone my brother Noddy and he agrees that the old folks must get connected and he pledges his financial support for the project ... as does Abrie.

The end result is that my parents will soon be talking to YOU online.

Life makes up my mind for me....

I spend the whole morning trying to do just two things .... to connect to the internet to check my flight times and make up my mind about how I'm going to get to the airport. Last night I decided to go by 'public transport' ... minibus taxis.

This morning the idea seems slightly less appealing... It would involve a lot of walking and I have a Level 3 on the Baboon Scale hangover. It is also quite warm I realise when I go outside to leave for Nuno's where I know my internet connection would work. Up to then I spent two hours trying to go online without success.

Then to confuse and frustrate me even further Charles Moore phones to tell me two things ... Firstly that he counted 169 flags on cars on his way to work ... this is fantastic news ... my flagging campaign is clearly taking off ... remember a mere two or three weeks ago when we began our survey we counted only 64.

However Charles reckons that this jump in flags had nothing to do with me ... but rather with the fact that Bafana Bafana won their game against Colombia 2-1. The Star's headline reads: Delighted fans ignore chaos. And by the sound of it I was right again. It was a cheerful shambles with all of South Africa's idiosyncrasies on display .

'Ticket checkers' taking tickets and disappearing with them ... to sell on .... taking bribes to let some people in faster ... and at the wrong entrances and in general making sure that the seating arrangements inside the stadium became 'a cheerful shambles' and clearly despite this and the mammoth traffic jam to and from the stadium counted for nought ... a good time was had by all although it is reported that the vuvuzelas were deafening ... I will do a full blog on that South African idiosyncrasy soon.

The second thing Charles tells me is that he is trying to organise one of the work minibuses to take me to the airport ... but he can't guarantee anything ... This third option throws me completely ... 'public transport' ... private taxi ... or waiting for Charles ... and still I have no real idea when my flight is ...

So then I pack three longjohns, a pair of jeans, shampoo, toothbrush and perfume head for Nuno's ... oh yes and my laptop with power supply this time.

At Nuno's I establish that my flight is at 3:30pm. I ask the darkie waiters about taxi transport to the airport and they give me the lowdown ... which sounds slightly complicated ... but I'm ready to go ... Having plenty of time I have a breakfast and drink a cleansing beer. I am on holiday after all.

Then I begin arguing with myself. "I have the money to pay for the taxi and not having a car saves me a lot of money every month. Think down-payments, insurance, petrol and general maintenance," says one part of my brain.

"You are just lazy and/or afraid to leave the comfort zone of the one taxi route you use," says the other part.

It's a hung parliament and I am called upon to make a decision. I go with the latter view ... It would be the most interesting option ...

I begin walking and only then look at my watch and realise that I have to be at the airport an hour before departure ... Life made up my mind. I turn on my heel and phone Levi ... my regular taxi guy ... he wants R350 for the trip and we settle on R300 because I'm his 'customer'.

On my way to the airport I remember why I wanted to write the blog about going to Hazyview yesterday... I was because my brother Abrie threatened to come and fetch me with his micro-light in Nelspruit ... I did not speak to him again since ... so I'll just have to wait and see what form of transport the last leg of my trip would be... And I guess forgetting about it while writing yesterday's blog was extreme denialism ... But just In case ... I'm at the airport in Joburg now and knocking back two double gin and dry lemons... My plane is due now

Not clear why I wanted to write about Hazyview ...

My parents live on my brother Abrie's farm near Hazyview. That's about 400km from Joburg and I'm going there tomorrow.

Initially the plan was to rustle up the usual suspects and go as a group ... my brother has a backpacker facility on the farm. After initial excitement about the prospect my so-called friends began cancelling on me ... but all was fine ... The back-up plan was that my sister Emily and her kids would go ... then Emily cancelled yesterday.

A visit to my elderly parents is really long overdue ... I was last there two years ago ... so I decide I will go alone and book a ticket to the somewhat pompously named Kruger International outside Nelspruit in the Lowveld. The last time I was there it looked more like the Kruger Backwater, but that was some time ago and things change ... sometimes for the better ... one can only hope.

With the main leg of my trip taken care of I phone my brother Abrie to hear if he'll come and fetch me ... no problem ... farmers are always looking for an excuse to go to the nearest big town.

Now it's time to train my considerable intellect on the vexing problem of getting to the airport from my house ... I am loathe to ask one of my so-called friends to take me and averse to spending a fortune on a real taxi ... that means public transport in the form of minibus taxis...

When I faced with the same problem coming back from Oyster Bay I even wrote a blog about the lack of public transport to and from OR Tambo International ... your gateway to the nearest traffic jam ... but that was before I knew about the only 'real' public transport here.

A kindly reader then sketched the route for me and said a trip to the airport should come in below R20 if you know where you are going ... So once again I'm faced with a three-leg voyage before I can embark on the second leg of my real trip.

First I have to get to Park Station in Joburg Central ... from there I must take another taxi to Kempton Park and from there another one to the airport. I'll start out early....

Now Hazyview is somewhat of a tourist destination itself. In itself it has all the charm of a gigantic but poorly planned shopping mall, but there are more types of accommodation to suit every pocket and people use it as a base-camp to explore the many natural delights of the Lowveld about which I will write at length once I am there.

Where am I going with this blog? That is my more immediate concern ... my view has indeed become very hazy about that. I could swear I had a point when I started out... seems to have deserted me ... I'll just publish and be damned .... and such a poor piece on top of Rian Malan's must-read piece of earlier today... I'm shooting myself in the foot. What the hell maybe inspiration will hit me in Hazyview .... and then again not ... the locals call it Lazyview in the Slowveld...

Welcome to Rachel Tolton... and Hazyview.

Rian Malan tells it as it is ... couldn't have done better in a month of Sundays update

The following piece by Rian Malan was sent to me by email and since it encapsulates many of my personal views so much better than I could say it I decided to post it here. I'm sure Rian won't mind ... if he does ... let him sue me.

It's a sunny weekday afternoon in Jo'burg, and I am lunching with friends at an outdoor restaurant. The joint we're in was hit by armed robbers earlier this week.

The newspapers on the table are full of hair-raising tribulations – our former police chief on trial for bribery, commuter buses shot up by murderous taxi bosses who won't tolerate competition, and elders of the African National Congress declining to sign the charge sheet against Julius Malema, the controversial youth leader who made global headlines the other day by endorsing Robert Mugabe, the cocky little psychopath who ruined neighbouring Zimbabwe.

Malema is now facing disciplinary charges, but no one in the ruling party is willing to take the risk of being identified as his accuser.

This is worrying. Are racist demagogues winning the battle for control of the ANC? Are decent black men scared to take a stand lest they find themselves alongside whites, trussed up in the missionary cooking pot while Malema lights a fire beneath us?

In a normal society, such questions would induce nervous breakdown, but my mates and I are laughing.

We're sitting in the African sun, sharing jokes, and wondering how to con foreigners into coming here for the World Cup.

Once upon a time, South Africans imagined that this soccer extravaganza would make us all rich.

Myself, I struggled to believe that half a million football tourists would cross the planet in the midst of a brutal recession to visit a country best known for its high crime rate.

My neighbours scoffed, preferring to believe they would make a killing by renting out their homes. Alas. Bookings are running at about half the anticipated level.

Would-be scalpers are stuck with tickets they can't even give away, and Fifa's gluttonous marketing arm has reportedly managed to lease only 1% of the luxury private boxes in our enormously expensive new stadia.

I am rather enjoying the resulting cries of pain. Fifa has made a monkey out of South Africa , encouraging us to spend billions we don't have on football stadiums we don't need in the absurd belief that we could recoup our losses by gouging football tourists whose willingness to come here was always in doubt.

Our own leaders collaborated enthusiastically, partly because they relished the glory of presiding over an event of World Cup stature, but also because they were eager to participate in murky backroom deals that saw politically connected individuals reaping obscene profits on taxpayer-funded construction contracts.

Now we're all saddled by debts it will take generations to pay off. I'm so riled that part of me would be gratified if the World Cup were a complete failure.

But South Africa is a complicated country, and there's always another side of the story. As I write, a certain Mrs Gladys Dladla is ironing clothes in my kitchen.

Gladys is an old-school Zulu matriarch, struggling heroically to maintain a huge family on her meagre earnings as my once-a-week char. She lacks the wherewithal to bribe officials who control access to state housing, so she's lived in a tin shack for 16 years.

In recent weeks, getting to work has become a frightening ordeal thanks to renewed tensions between police and the aforementioned taxi thugs.

Gladys's life seems entirely miserable, but she always shows up on time, chattering cheerfully about church and her hope that God and the ancestral spirits will soon guide us to victory in the national lottery. Gladys and I have a little syndicate going.

The World Cup is an event of huge symbolic importance to Mrs Dladla. In the next several weeks, oily ANC politicians will attempt to convince you that this tournament is a tribute to their heroic victory over apartheid and associated triumphs of the human spirit.

Hm. For people like Gladys, the longing for success is actually rooted in despair. They're so tired of being losers and also-rans, trapped at the bottom of a society that constantly threatens to degenerate into just another African basket case.

Their dream was that in June 2010 the world's eyes would descend on us, and at last find something to admire. Mrs Dladla looks on these things with enormous pride.

She feels that their glory reflects on her directly, and besides, there's always the hope that football tourism might generate jobs for her unemployed offspring.

She was a great supporter of short-lived plans to turn my rambling old home into a cheap doss house for football hooligans. In the end, I baulked at paying tribute to Fifa, whose lawyers crushed all attempts to market World Cup lodgings through any channels other than their own.

Just as well, because our doss house would most likely have failed anyway.


So now we stand before you with clean hands. We have nothing to gain from the World Cup but the pleasure of your company, so it would be nice if you changed your minds about coming. Please! We've almost bankrupted ourselves in our determination to stage a tournament that runs like clockwork.

And if it doesn't – you can have a chuckle at our expense. Last week's newspapers reported a state of abject unreadiness among the pom-pom girls scheduled to perform at the opening ceremony.

A day or two later, President Jacob Zuma informed America that we have the laziest and most useless civil service on the planet.

Elsewhere such an admission would have precipitated the government's downfall. Here, the story was relegated to page five.

I struggle to see how anyone can resist a country where such things happen. South Africa is amazing! At any given moment, all possible futures seem entirely plausible. We are winning, we are losing. We are progressing even as we hurtle backwards.

Every day brings momentous exhilarations and dumbfounding setbacks, and the sun shines brightly even in winter. Throw in the heady proximity of Mandela and Beckham, and you're almost guaranteed a splendid time.

As for crime, well, yes, crime is a threat, but our police have been given orders to smash anyone who so much as touches a hair on any football fan's head.

If you book now, you'll arrive just in time to catch a last glimpse of our fading rainbow, and the first stirrings of our next upheaval.If that sounds alarming, I wouldn't worry. There is much to be said for living on the edge, in a place shot through with "heartspace and the danger of beauty", as the Boer poet Breytenbach once phrased it.

Britain seems pallid in comparison. We are told that your election was an event of epochal significance, but from Jo'burg, it looked boring – three nice white men with almost identical opinions jostling for space on the same centrist pinhead. As for the prospect of a hung parliament… you call that a crisis? Good God. We have far worse, every day, before breakfast. And we're still laughing. Better get here before we stop.

FLAG UPDATE: Charles Moore and Kieran counted 128 flags this morning. My efforts are being rewarded.

The Boerewors Curtain lifts... and i could not do a spellcheck

So there they were ... in Soweto ... thousands of them ... all dressed in blue ... all slightly drunk and all Blue Bulls supporters ...

But they were in great spirits (no pun intended) for this historic occassion and in no small measure, I guess, excited as I was about the 'meaning' of the event.

Something to tell your grandchildren about: "I was there when the Bulls first played in Soweto..."

So there they were ... in Soweto ... all with dark skins ... all slightly drunk ... millions of them ... lining the roads ... shouting encouragement to the invading army ... some to sell 'safe' parking ... others to sell whatever and most just there for the 'gees' (see my blog about language).

All in great spirits...

So there I was ... on the back of a motorcycle ... ably driven by my boss Charles Moore ... slightly drunk ... in Soweto ... dressed impeccably in three pairs of longjohns, three thermal vests and my outer clothing ... light blue shirt by Gant ... fauve chinos from Woolworths ... black leather jacket from Markhams for Men ... pointy black shoes from a cheap shoeshop ... in fact they were not cheap ... R800 ... and an Iverness Cape.

All in good spirits ...

When Charles tells me that we will go to Soweto on the bike my stomach tightens. Those of you who read my blog regularly would know I'm not the adventurous type. Bikes give me the jitters ...

To deal with that problem I invite my sister Emily to lunch and she tells me she is also going but by public transport ... Rea Vaya (seSotho for: "We're going/moving"). The 'rapid bus transport' system between Soweto and the Joburg CBD. It is supposed to link up many parts of the metropole ... and should have been done by now ... but ain't ... this is Africa.

There was a joke about SA politicians saying: "Everything would be ready by 2010 ... Oh fuck this is 2010!!!!"

I phone Charles to tell him the good news but he points out to me that it's fine to go on the Rea Vaya ... but to come back would probably entail a long wait... and he wants to be back in time to catch the next semifinal game ... the Stormers from Cape Town against the Waratahs from New-South Wales in Australia ... So it's going to be the bike...

I'm not the type of person to shirk a personal phobia so after lunch with Emily I head to the nearest bar ... where fortunately I see Scot ... He hears my pain and buys me a tequila ... I respond in kind and then Inge arrives ... also on her way to the game ... and she responds by buying a round of tequila ... and I respond in kind ... then Charles arrives and we decide it's probably a good idea to have a tequila ... I wash all the tequila down with a cleansing beer ...

Then we set out for Soweto. I try to count flags as we go ... and get to 135 at Soccer City, the new World Cup stadium outside Soweto where some big soccer match is going down. Too many flags ... In fact the final between Wits University and Mamelodi Sundowns in the Nedbank Cup.

My previous boss ... yes the one who fired me ... once remarked: "What will they have next ... a Paper Cup?"

Once at Orlando Stadium we drive straight to the bottom of the steps ... with a ticket checker running after us ... I swear I did not hear him trying to call us back ... and apologises profusely to him when he catches up with us ... He accepts the apology and all is well.

We head for the beer garden surrounded by thousands of Blue Bulls ... with blue faces and
hard-hats with bull horns sticking from them... I sigh ... these are my people ...

I check for people ... darkies I mean ... not many in attendance ... I would say a 1000 or 2000 out of the 45000 spectators.

Three of them are sitting just behind me and I ask them why they are there ... They're not Bulls supporters ... The response is good ... They are there for the country ... as am I.

Meanwhile my sister Emily reports that outside the stadium the Bulls and the darkies were bonding big time ... She did not have a ticket and was just there to report on the 'gees' or vibe. When she went into shebeen (bar, tavern) for a beer it was packed with Bulls ... and there was not a drop left to drink ... she was referred to the funeral parlour next door ... which was packed by Bulls and there was still a beer on sale ... you got to love this country!

Well done Soweto ... and well done Pretoria. The Boerewors Curtain lifted and it was a magnificent thing ... and it was good to be there.

I can tell you much more ... but I'm tired now ... there were so many things worth writing about.

An historic event ... and I'm going to be there!

You would have noticed that I seldom ... if ever ... use exclamation marks anywhere in my text ... and to use it in a headline means it means something ... but I must confess to a bad addiction to ellipses ... Okay I admitted ... acknowledging the problem is the first step to recovery .. (you see .)

It can only be in South Africa where a rugby match between two provincial sides can take on the 'historical' tag. Normally I would dismiss such talk as 'hysterical' but for once I am in full agreement.

No lesser person than former archbishop Desmond Tutu hailed the event as historical and who am I to disagree.

When SA signed itself over to Fifa ... the Blue Bulls from Pretoria also had to give up their bastion in Pretoria, Loftus Versveld. Now the Bulls could come from no other place in South Africa. They are almost more Pretorian than Pretoria itself ... almost brutal in their their insular smugness ... but they remain one of the best rugby teams in South Africa and well respected for that by friend and foe alike.

At the same time ... It may only be a perception but I always suspect Pretoria to be a bit more racist than most other big towns in South Africa ... perhaps with the exception of Bloemfontein... but that's a different story.

Now imagine my surprise when they, having relinquished their stadium to Fifa, chose Orlando Stadium in Soweto for their Super 14 semifinal clash against the Canterbury Crusaders from New Zealand.

When I first heard that news I thought it was some joke but when I realised that it was true I thought it was a good move ... but was a bit sceptical about what the response from the Bulls fans would be ... well I'm happy to report that for once Pretoria surprised me positively. The tickets for the match sold out almost immediately and Pretoria is going to Soweto tomorrow.

This was not the only surprise ... I also learnt that the Bulls are one of the teams in the country with the most black support ... Pliny the Elder had it right: "Ex Africa semper aliquid novi."

Bishop Tutu likened the historical value of the event to South Africa's 1995 rugby World Cup victory ... and he is only exaggerating slightly.

It is true that there is nothing that can unify South Africans across the board like a great sporting victory and the 1995 event did much to unite the country at the time ... Remember Nelson Mandela wearing the Springbok jersey ... just thinking about it again gives me goose-bumps ... I was in France for that event but the feeling lived on well into 1996 when I came back ...

Pity that Bafana Bafana is so poor ... them making just the second round of the World Cup would have the same nation-building effect as the Springbok victory ... one lives in hope.

So it is historical and there is a buzz about it ... even in Joburg where we tend to be allergic to all things emanating from Pretoria. I woke up to the historical value too late and have no tickets ... Charles Moore tried ... and failed ... to get some. We then thought we would just go and watch the match in a bar in Soweto ... to be 'part' of the event but then I remembered that it is George's damn birthday. So I'll watch it from Jan's place where the party is going to be held.

So I'll say it only once ... but I'll say it loudly: "GO BULLS!!!!"
.... AND WELL DONE PRETORIA!

Ex Africa semper .... Charles Moore got us tickets to the match!! ...

We'll be going on his bike ... this will not surprise you ... fills me with dread but I shall be brave ... he pointed out to me that the traffic is going to be bad to Soweto ... and I had to agree ... we need to go on the bike ... because it's George's damn birthday!! Not really even ... It turns out that his damn birthday is only next week ...

Welcome to Adolf, Barry, Susan, Anne, Madelein and whoever else is new here.

South African language ... that you should know ...

A sort of a friend mine (I shall not divulge ... so don't ask) compiled a glossary of common South African English words that can be found on http://www.mediaclubsouthafrica.com/ ... go there for more 'good news' stories about this 'blighted' place ...

I wanted to post the direct link but I AM USING @#$%^& WINDOWS @#$%^&* VISTA ... so it's not possible.

Language in SA is an interesting topic ... if you are interested in language ... I am ... so here goes ...

We have 11 official languages and I'll try and list them ... remember I said 'try' and hopefully in 'spoken by most people' (even as alternative language) sequence ... forgive me if I get it wrong ... I'm in no mood for internet research ... check the dateline. So here goes:

1. English


2. isiZulu


3. Afrikaans


4. isiXhosa


5. seSotho


6. sePedi


7. seTswana ... these three are very close and as a language group probably much bigger than most of the above


8. siSwati


9. tshiVenda


10. isiNdebele


11. xiTsonga

I studied ... if you can call my endeavours at school studying ... seSotho or sePedi ... until I left school and I even had some vocabulary ... but then I began with French at university and since then ... I lost everything but a basic greeting.

Most whiteys profess that they regret not having learnt to speak a darkie language but very few of them ever do. Most darkies speak several languages so ... a Sotho would probably also sepak Zulu and Xhosa and all the other Pedi languages ... as well as Afrikaans and/or English depending on where he or she grew up.

On the mines everybody speaks Fanagalo ... a type of 'universal' language that was created to facilitate communication between the various nations that would put the creators of Esperanto to shame ... because this one actually works.

According to the linguistic legend Noam Chomsky, languages living together in the same space will inevitably 'contaminate' each other and nowhere is that seen quite like in South Africa ... I think in 50 years or so ... we will all be speaking Fanagalo.

For the moment one would only need a basic English in South Africa to get around. It is the lingua franca of the country after all.

So when my maid Zita reiterates her plan to become a magosha (the 'g' is pronounced with a guttural ggggg sound not 'gh' or 'gee') I know she wants to become a prostitute. Yes Zita is still adamant that she will sell her body during the World Cup ... for R500 a pop. I point out to her that it is slightly above the current market average and she retorts: "Aikona ... I will throw in a massage and and a blowjob as well ... all adding up to hard work. I just roll my eyes.

Words that you will definitively encounter in SA:

aikona - no
braai - barbeque
biltong - dried meat delicacy
boerewors - farmer's sausage
eish - an expression of pain
lekker - cool, good, fun,

and many more ... look up the glossary and come to South Africa ... you'll have a lekker time.

FLAG UPDATE: The results for this week are disappointing to say the least. I did not catch a lift with them but Charles Moore and Kieran kept on counting ... 67 on Wednesday and today ... only 60 ... that just means I have to redouble my efforts to get some 'gees' going.

'Gees' with the 'g' pronounced the same way as in magosha is the South African word for the spirit of something or a group. When things are 'lekker' everybody has gees.