South Africa P.I.G.: THE BATTLE FOR SOUTH AFRICA

THIS IS SO SAD...!

The real tragedy of South Africa is that the rest of the world has never been content to leave it alone. In common with every other country, in every other corner of the world, it has had its internal problems from time to time, but whenever it did, it was not long before the powers-that-be somewhere else, would see fit to intervene -- that is, if they weren’t actually bent on taking it over altogether! -- only to make matters worse! Finally such interference has contributed to reducing to utter chaos what was once a sublime place in which to live. A country respected by the rest of the world, a place where the world’s first heart transplant was carried out, has been damaged, wrecked, soiled to the extent that we read in an Australian newspaper, under the title of Wounded Nation that, ‘after bathing in the warm, fuzzy glow of the Mandela years, South Africans today are deeply demoralized people!’... That, in a country that provided some of the best Battle of Britain pilots; a country, one of whose Prime Ministers – Jan Christiaan Smuts - was among the architects of the ‘League Of Nations’, an association of countries established in 1919 by the Treaty of Versailles to promote international cooperation and achieve international peace and security! When it was replaced by the United Nations in 1945, it was Smuts who drafted the Covenant of the United Nations, which is considered to have been his major achievement; but it should also not be forgotten that as a Field Marshal of the Allied Forces during WW2, he enjoyed the respect and friendship of both General Eisenhower and the King of England.

I am indebted to, and wish I could find the name of the author of that Australian article, who goes on to report: “The lights are going out, in homes, mines, factories and shopping malls as the national power authority, Eskom - suffering from mismanagement, lack of foresight, a failure to maintain power stations and a flight of skilled engineers to other countries - implements rolling power cuts that plunge towns and cities into daily chaos.” He, or she laments that South Africa has become a country where crime is rampant and the national police chief faces trial for corruption and “defeating the ends of justice, as a result of his alleged deals with a local mafia kingpin and dealer in hard drugs.”

Oh, what agony it is to think back to the days when many of us, including my husband and I, were regarded as the skunks of the universe! When people, recognizing our accent, scrambled out of the elevator at the Regent Palace hotel in London; when Arabs left the bus in which we were all going to Heathrow Airport, at Hounslow, rather than travel with white South Africans. It was all supposed to get better, and the country was supposed to emerge from the darkness after 1994, but the newly-lit candle of hope very soon flickered and burned out.

It is possible that, around the world, many supporters of the of ANC (and they are legion) are unaware of the fact that Jacob Zuma, the recently elected African National Congress (ANC) leader – and thus the State President-in-waiting - narrowly escaped being jailed for raping an HIV-positive woman last year, and faces trial on many other charges, among them soliciting and accepting bribes. This last offence is in connection with the country’s alleged deal with weapons manufacturers in Britain, Germany and France.

I understand only too well what that writer means when he goes on to say that in 2008 the big shots of the ANC 'still speak in the spiritually dead jargon they learned in exile in pre-1989 Moscow, East Berlin and Sofia’ while promiscuously embracing capitalist icons.’ – But does the ‘rest of the world’? And does that ‘rest of the world’ feel pleased with itself?

Nothing I can say can compare with what Anne Paton (widow of Alan Paton, author of ‘Cry the beloved country’, has written in a letter to the Editor of the London Sunday Times. She speaks for many when she confesses: “I love this country with a passion, but I cannot live here any more. I can no longer live slung about with panic buttons and gear locks.” She is tired, she says, of driving with her car windows closed and the doors locked. Tired of “being afraid of stopping at red lights.” She is tired of 'being constantly on the alert, having that sudden frisson of fear at the sight of a shadow by the gate, of a group of youths approaching - although nine times out of 10 they are innocent of harmful intent. Such is the suspicion that dogs us all.'

I can't bear to think of my Dutch pioneer ancestors who came to found a new country in 1652; my Huguenot forebears who fled from religious persecution in France, and their descendants who have fought and died for South Africa (in the Boer War, on the side of Britain in the two world wars, alongside the United Nation Forces in Korea, and, at the behest of the Americans, in the seemingly interminable Angolan conflict.)

Maybe that's why I write novels about the way it used to be. I want my readers to know the good stuff, but have I not perhaps been hiding the truth of how it is now?

ALMIGHTY GOD TO WHOM ALL HEARTS BE OPEN...

"Almighty God, unto whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid: cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of Thy Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love Thee and worthily magnify Thy holy name, through Christ our Lord. Amen."

Each new day began with this prayer at Windsor House Academy, the private school I founded in the early seventies, in Kempton Park, South Africa. The Lord's prayer then followed; said alternately, on succeeding days, in English and Afrikaans, because it was a bi-lingual (not 'dual-medium') school.

We used the Book of Common Prayer version for the opening prayer - retaining the words 'Hid', 'Thee', 'Thy', and so on, but, to this day, although the prayer has been updated - and those teenagers have grown into men and women, many with children of their own - I see those young faces before me, and, as I recite it in church, I send up prayers for them, and bless them in my heart.

I feel very sure that they can all do with prayer - especially those left behind in the country of my birth, which is in such turmoil - but I am assuredly the one most in need of having the 'thoughts of my heart' cleansed by the inspiration of His Holy Spirit!

I think that is was for this reason that I was led to start this blog. No matter how hard I try to shake them off, I allow far too many things to 'get' to me, and I guess it serves as a form of catharsis to let off steam in a blog. - Is that why so many people become bloggers?

ET TU BRUTE, MANDELA?

BREYTENBACH’S 180-DEGREE TURNAROUND.
Who would ever have thought …?

Well it seems that Mrs. Paton isn’t the only disillusioned one as far as the country itself is concerned - many, many others have expressed the same sentiments - but that Breyten Breytenbach, the passionate former activist who spent seven years in South African prisons for his anti-apartheid activities prior to 1994, should find fault with his hero, Nelson Mandela, even going as far as to allude to him as 'Moneydeala,' is almost beyond belief! Can it be that his own ‘emperor’, like Aesop’s, was actually not ‘wearing any clothes’? Whatever the case, he supports this reference by accusing Mandela - in an article that appeared recently in Harper’s Magazine, and cited in the Boston Globe - of surrounding himself with ‘greedy, always needy sycophants, and enjoying the ‘idolatry’ (which the famed poet describes as ‘obscene’) as though he, Mandela were an ‘exotic teddy bear to slobber over’.

1994 – THE YEAR OF 'THE NEW SOUTH AFRICA!'
Since then, if one may rely on some of the Internet statics - 3025 South African farmers have been murdered. The daily violence and the shocking crime rate are no secret to people around the world, and when Breytenbach, was asked about whether he would advise people to stay and stick it out, his response, according to the Harper’s Magazine story was, “My bitter advice to young South Africans, would be to go.” - Since his own nephew was stabbed in a parking lot, it is perhaps not surprising that his reasons correspond with those offered by the thousands who have already left: ‘Ghastly, violent crime!’

More discouraging observations
Hassan Masiky, an author who resides in Kenitra, Morocco, supplies details of a posting on the Morocco American Community Board to the effect that South Africa's stint at the UN Security Council (UNSC) was “disastrous; and bitterly disappointing to the aspirations of the African continent." This observation ends with a blunt: "Good riddance!!”

“The African National Congress (ANC), a treasured political organization that embodies the struggle of Africa against oppression and colonialism," he goes on to state in a blog, “was torn apart due to Mbeki's intransigence and self-serving interests. Mbeki's refusal to accept his dismissal from the ANC has plunged the country into a turmoil that would undoubtedly further the suffering of poverty stricken South Africans.”

UPDATE December 28, 2008
Wouldn't you know it? I have just received, via a Google Alert, the following headline from a publication called Plus News:

SOUTH AFRICA: Global Fund money gets stuck with health department.
The reference is to the fact that South Africa's Department of Health has failed to channel the US$3.9 million in donor money - a grant delivered to the health department in mid-November - to 13 HIV/AIDS organizations. The delay, which has left these organizations underfunded, is attributed by the Global Fund spokesperson, Jon Lidén, to the department's 'slow and inefficient system for dispersing funds.'
Their explanation:
"The department has been slow to appoint full-time staff to deal with the allocation of this money."

So you want to be an instant 'somebody'? Become an activist? Build houses? Raise money for worthy causes?

If so, does it bother you that you don't actually know where South Africa is, or precisely what you'll be doing, when you get there? - Are you part of a knowledgeable team of people who have all the answers - even if you don't - or did you get the idea from watching Oprah? Are you sure that you are not just looking for adventure or relishing how good it feels to be counted among those who have a 'a heart' for the place?

Perhaps, in common with the school principal whose ignorance about the country (well before the Sarah Palin spoof) temporarily robbed me of speech, you may think that it is a continent, like South America; or could you, like certain prominent broadcasters, be under the impression that Namibia (stomping ground of Brad and Angelina) and South Africa are one and the same?

I've heard it all! I literally gnashed my teeth after having been approached by a bank manager - charged with the responsibility of planning the itinerary for a prize-winning young debutante (you've guessed it!) with a heart for South Africa - to ask if I could put her in touch with a few South Africans while on tour

Although it is 30 years since I left there to live in Canada, I still have friends and family in the country, and, wanting to oblige, I naturally needed some idea of where the young ambassadress planned to be spending her time. ... My mouth literally hung open when the airy response came, quite readily - TANZANIA!

Jacaranda photo: Courtesy of Alta Alberts
All other photos of South Africa are by courtesy of Clay Otto.

WELL, LET''S GIVE YOU THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT!

Let us assume



that

you

are
a true philanthropist. You care sincerely - in which case I salute you. Thank you for wanting to improve the lot of my former compatriots - but don't expect me to go with you! It would simply hurt too much!

There was a time when my husband and I went back three times a year, bought a flat from where we could carry on the work of creating awareness of Hemochromatosis - the world's most common genetic disorder - connecting with relatives and and revisiting our favourite haunts; but now I can only present what it would be like to see well-loved friends, aged and drastically changed, as an analogy for my most recent visit to South Africa. It was not sad - as might have been the case after so many years had passed. It was a shock! Sheer agony! - That's the only way I can even begin to describe how it was for me when I returned two years ago in order to do research for my book, The Yardstick, which is set in the Kalahari.

The time spent in the Province of North Cape, in Upington and the Kalahari*, was magical, as was a visit to the South Western Cape (where my novel, 'Storm Water' is set) - but the closer I got to what is now known as Gauteng - where I used to live - the more depressed I became ... I have been sick at heart ever since! More that that - I have been physically ill!

As our our children grow older, we age along with them and the change is gradual; so imperceptible that we are hardly aware of the passage of time. So it has been for some of my dear ones left behind in South Africa. But only some! Those are the ones who have learned (or steeled themselves) to adapt, and now, although they are also occasionally heard to complain, they seem to have become inured to the violence and destruction of so much that once was beautiful. That is the projected, almost defensive attitude - but I could not bear to witness it.

I have learnt to love Canada and I now live in one of the most beautiful places on earth, with the ocean on three sides of me. I’m happy and grateful for the peace, security, and the opportunities my new country has offered my family and me — but for many years it only took a picture of Table Mountain to make the tears flow. And while working on a family album recently, seeing the images of so many loved ones, and reflecting on their contribution to South Africa, was at times nothing short of excruciating! Yet, in spite of this, the vehemence with which a XHOSA woman from the Transkei expressed her feelings, came as a surprise.

She shared my table at breakfast one morning, at the B&B at which I was staying, exhibiting great interest in a 'Canadian's' impressions, which I was careful to tone down, and I mentally censored my remarks each time before I answered any of her questions. I said nothing provocative and was thus completely unprepared when, suddenly, out of nowhere, she burst out passionately with, "I wish it could all just be the way it was long ago! I wish we could just go back to a time before 1994!"

I turned my face away to stare through the window, at a loss for words, and wondering if any of my Canadian friends would ever believe me if I were to tell them.

THE RAVAGES OF TIME

Flag of the 'New South Africa - the 'Rainbow Nation.'

Without employing numerous melodramatic adverbs it would be difficult to put into words the sorrow I felt upon seeing the destruction of so much that had once been a source of pride to the people, or how devastated I was when I was driven past what used to be the magnificent Joubert Park*, once the jewel of Johannesburg. There, in days gone by, executives from nearby places of business were wont to bring a book through which to browse in the shade of lofty trees, while lesser employees enjoyed many a lunch break among the well-kept flowerbeds, ablaze with a riot of flowers. Students from the Art School had found the park to be an oasis in the city, where they could gather to eat their sandwiches on manicured lawns, and hear the cooing of turtledoves above the constant hum of traffic from the surrounding areas.

Now, finding the trees and the flowers gone, the doves silent, and nothing but litter everywhere, I was overwhelmed ... Gone, too,I was told, are the days when a nurse, walking through a dangerous area was safe, as long as her uniform distinguished her; or a doctor would be protected by a white coat and the stethoscope around his neck. On the very steps of Johannesburg General Hospital, a young female physician on sabbatical from Britain had been stabbed — on three, different occasions!

There seemed to be no end to the horror. My thoughts keep returning to how heartbroken I was when, after a service, I emerged from the beautiful church of Saint Boniface, in Germiston, to be confronted with what was left of the once highly-rated hotel across the street, and of what used to be regarded as a prestigious apartment building, opposite it. I was shocked to learn that the formerly excellent Carnegie Library was now only another fine building reduced to ‘slum’ status.

I might have taken this sort of thing in my stride in several other parts of the world, but evidence of such unjustifiable destruction, here — in this city that held so many memories - stunned me! I can still remember a time when the first metal detectors were installed at the entrances to public buildings and shopping malls on the Witwatersrand, which is now a part of ‘Gauteng' ... A time when ladies had their purses checked, the banks first installed the plate-glass ‘cages’ which still exist, and through which only one client at a time can leave or enter; when small businesses began to keep their doors locked, and customers had to identify themselves before the doors would be opened to them. But, not since I returned to South Africa in 1988, and, driving down a Kempton Park street, saw gaping holes instead of store fronts, and bombed-out buildings without glass, had I been as shattered as I was on this last visit, when I saw, in another town, what had become, not only of the building in which on one of my favourite tearooms had been housed, but of the entire street!

This was not due to bomb damage, however. After the owners (who had been robbed twice at knife point) had moved out, the building had simply, systematically and wantonly, been vandalized. Broken bricks were strewn across the sidewalk, garbage littered the curb, and all around me I noticed similar signs of neglect and dereliction.

[*Joubert Park
Named for General Piet Joubert, my mother's uncle, about whom Joseph Rudyard Kipling (the English author and poet, best known for The Jungle Book, Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, Gunga Din and The Man Who Would Be King etc.] - wrote:
With those that bred, with those that loosed the strife,
He had no part whose hands were clear of gain;
But subtle, strong, and stubborn, gave his life
To a lost cause, and knew the gift was vain.

POSTSCRIPT - midnight December 31, 08. Full circle...

The flag under which our troops, men and women of different ethnic backgrounds, fought side by side, and gained glory for SA in WW2

Written at midnight, December 31,2008
So here I am, crying my eyes out after listening to the song 'STAND BY ME' on YouTube and hearing black people in South Africa sing in harmony as no other people can - because it's their special, God-given gift. I think of my Dutch ancestors who came with Jan van Riebeeck to found a new country in 1652, my French forebears who, fleeing from religious persecution in France, arrived in Table Bay on the 4th of August, 1688, on the Berg China; my great-grandfather (the 'Frank hero' or 'Frans Held' of Bronkhorstspruit); my great-grandmother who died in a concentration camp during the Boer War; my awesome father for whom flags flew at half mast and all places of business were closed on the day of his funeral ... and I ask myself, "How did we South Africans, white and black, manage to make such a mess of things?"