Proud big sister pep talk duty - Jacqueline's Ride to Conquer Cancer

This weekend my little sister will ride 200km in an effort to raise money for cancer (CLICK ON THIS TO SPONSOR HER) I couldn't be more proud of her. As I sit here and think of her and what I would say to her as words of wisdom and encouragement it forced me to also reflect on my own journey and some of the experiences I have had leading to now. I went back to my notes about the tour for kids, and ironman. We do these things, I did these things and in the moment and at the time the experience and the journey through them was many things most of all growth and learning in my own personal being. As these events pass we/I tend to let it do just that, sit in the past. But it mustn't. We/I must remember those experiences, those accomplishments, the tears the pain and the joy, the personal growth and learning that came with it. The friends and the support of them and family. I realized that all those experiences have somehow led me to where I am today. To right here, to right now. They gave me the strength and confidence to do the next thing, and the next thing gave me the experience and the strength and the confidence to bring on the next big challenge. We/I mustn't forget the journey.

The last time I saw my father was at Ironman, and reading my post race account was emotional, remembering him cheering me on, and as I mentioned in his own tough fashion by shouting "hurry up and get those shoes on... RUN!". And it made me smile. My father and Donna at the finnish line, standing smiling and proud couldn't be a better last memory.

Ironically my good friend Karen sent a note yesterday reminding me of my fathers words of wisdom that I had once shared with her. That it's not about the race to the finish line. It's about the journey. And to live true journey. And she gave me (and my father) the biggest compliment. The passing on of my fathers wisdom to Karen and she told me she has never forgoten it. My father was able to touch others through me. And now I hope to pass this on to Jacqueline. My little sister (sorry Jacks I know you hate it when I call you that)

Jacqueline, I look forward to reading your account of this journey and life experience because as you know I believe in documenting life. And remember that what we believe we bring into being; by focusing on abundance rather than lack, what we need and want rather than life deficiencies. I believe there is an incredible power in the moment we call now. So now little one put down that tequila and ride on!!!!!!!! (unless of course this helps you then put some in your water bottles.)

Dear Jacqueline;

I can imagine how you might be feeling today. Excited, nervous, anxious, praying that the weather holds, to the tire gods for no flats. I know how you are feeling. What you are about to accomplish is amazing. A selfless adventure. Pushing your mental and physical limits to help others. You have sacrificed time with friends and family, time with Jason, precious sleep and your own precious time. The best advice I can give you was given to me by my father before ironman.

When you are out there, with the sun on your back and your adrenaline rushing with anticipation, nervousness and excitement. When your legs hurt and your mind is arguing with you to stop, or keep going. Remember the journey. Remember all you did to get to where you are. Remember how far you have come. Remind yourself that you are about to accomplish a personal best in the quest to help others. Remember the friends, the laughter and even the tears you've had along the way. Remember the first time you got on that bike and had to learn how to ride with clip pedals. Remember the fall you took and getting back on the bike. Remember the journey as you have lived it. It does not matter how or when or if you cross the finish line. All that matters is you live and lived true journey that is what you will remember. Remember that you are doing this because you can.

I will also pass on a note that my good friend Madelyn sent to me when I was feeling run down with training. I have kept his with me since then.

Anchor the following attitude deep within your heart: "I can achieve anything I set my mind to, no matter how much hard work it takes,no matter how difficult it is, no matter how long it takes. I can and will achieve it" Realize that difficulties are opportunities from which you can learn new insights that will strengthen your resolve and increase your knowledge.

I am so proud of you little one. You were there for me at the end of the tour for kids when I was in tears of joy and pain, you were there with hugs and pictures and kind words. I am sorry I can't be there for you. But know that as you sit in that saddle on my bike, the same bike that carried me that distance and carried my own sweat and tears that I am there with you in spirit, that I will be thinking about you all weekend and knowing that you will be awesome!

May the wind be at your back and the sun shine on your face.

I miss you much little one.....

Penny

PS HELP HER REACH HER GOAL! CLICK ON THE LINK TO THE RIGHT or HERE AND SPONSOR MY SISTER IN HER RIDE TO CONQUER CANCER!

Remembering

This post is inspired by Donna. I got an email from her suggesting that I write a book. She thinks I might have all the right elements that Canadian publishers would want. Canadian perspective, horrific loss, a path to finding balance in a foreign land, great adventures, wild animals, beautiful pictures and amazing insights.

It was the horrific loss part that stopped me. When I saw this is was like some kind of reminder to the depths of the pain I am dealing with. I think one tends to downplay their pain. To be tough. To not burden others. In the process of doing this I think one could easily bury those raw emotions and not properly deal with them. It’s something I am very guilty of. I can compare it to the many sport injuries I have had over the years. I would run through pain as if it wasn’t there. I have a high threshold for pain. I always have. Both physically and emotionally. Suck it up buttercup attitude. Take it, deal with it and move on. Pick yourself back up and keep on playing the game. And play to win. When I saw the words horrific loss, I thought yes I have suffered a horrific loss. And I now know what profound loss feels like. I forget this because I try to be tough. Ironically I have my father to blame for that. He once came to a soccer game and when I rolled my ankle and went down in pain, it was he who shouted from the sidelines “suck it up, get up girl, get back in the game!”

But this skill that I have carried into real life has probably left some if not many injuries not properly healed. And I am here in a foreign land, in one of the most pristine and beautiful places on earth to heal. And part of that will be remembering what I have lost and how that felt and how it feels. Like your soul gently being jolted from your body. And for me part of that healing is writing and sharing and not just about the sunsets and animals, I did have a friend tell me to write more about how I am feeling. And those who read this, my dearest family and friends know that though I am known as “hard to get to know” when I write it is usually in the rawest form. These are the people I feel this unspoken connection to, even though there's not even a word for it. These are the people who I've known forever, who know me in this way that other people can't, because they've seen me change...they've let me change.

There are times when I look up and thank whomever for the time I had and the relationship I had with my father, which most girls could only dream of, this I realize and am grateful. I could tell my father absolutely anything. And I did. And there are times when I look up to whomever one choses to label the great systems of balance and order and I ask, bare none, I beg, for just one more day with him.

In this process of trying to find balance and heal, in this environment where I feel the wind, rain and sunshine as if it were the first time everyday. As if it is my father touching me. After all doesn’t life and death walk hand in hand?

To not think of death daily is like not thinking about life daily which most of us are to busy to do. I know more than ever now that this journey called life is short. Whether a life is 83 years or less, compared to recorded history or eternity it is short. Life must be lived with purpose or it is wasted. It is often said that the dead get put on a pedestal. That in the immense loss, you then tend to idolize them. I try not to do this. My father had his warts and a traditional father he was not, this I am aware of. But he did the best he could with me and not once did I ever doubt his love for me, and really in the end that is all that matters. He touched my life in both positive and negative ways. His soul still touches me with these memories because I trust that memories are soul. I have come to really understand and believe that what we take from this world is based on what we leave in it.

I feel lonely and sad when I think of my father leaving me. The entire process of healing is a learning in itself. People feel strange asking you about it, as if it holds a mirror to where they must face their own mortality and so what I’ve found is most don’t ask. I also feel guilty sometimes. Donna lost a husband and best friend, my brother also lost his father, my grandparents lost a son, my aunt and uncle a brother. Many lost a friend. We are all feeling loss and we all lost someone close. But what I have to remember is that this way of dealing is mine. This is my loss and it is such an individual and personal thing. Each with their own way

In hindsight there were many things that leads me to think my father was completely aware of his own mortality. There were things said to me that he had never said before, and Marissa and I often joked about our fathers getting “mushy” in their old age. He organized things weeks before that he had never organized before. In a recent conversation with him I had mentioned maybe moving to Collingwood, to be closer to him. His response was, that would be lovely one day, but not before you send me pictures from the depths of Africa. Yes he said that. I called him and left him a message the day he died, likely around the same moment. The day he was found,I was completely out of sorts that morning. Had left things at home, and had to go back. Twice. I think we know. Those close, know.

When Kath was here in Moremi last may she had done a photo journal that she had sent out. I had forwarded it to my father in awe and admiration of such a beautiful place and experience. He said, “this is too cool! why don’t you get her to get you in touch with this guy (Graham) and go spend some time there too, this is how you want to experience Africa!” yes he said that I kid you not. Even again a couple of times later when I spoke of potential vacation options. He knew I didn’t want to go to Africa on a typical safari vacation, he knew I wanted to really experience it. I kid you not, he remembered that photo journal, and Moremi several times after that. So when Katherine called me with this opportunity, when I hung up the phone I cried. I cried hard and for a long time. I looked up (as I often do now)and asked my father if this was him. It must be him. This is him telling me that everything is going to be ok. And if there was one thing my father would have done for me, it would have been to help me fulfill my dream of Africa. And who else but one of my best friends to deliver the opportunity. And if that wasn’t enough, once arrived I learnt that Graham too had lost his father, as did Andy. And ironically Andy on the same day of the month as my father. I am in empathetic company.

I am here to heal as well and I must remember this. It is not just on the 18th of every month when I feel deeply sad, this is a daily journey, through Africa, and through the depths of my soul and the soul of my father as I live it. It is the most incredible experience of my life during the most difficult time. So as I look through the lens of my fathers camera and see the beauty before me, I remember things about my father that make me laugh. And how he would sing monty pythons “always look on the bright side of life” as we sailed (albeit poorly) on wednesday nights regatta's in toronto. And I know he would be proud. Probably too proud, to the point of telling all his friends I was a photographer for National Geographic and living just on bread in the bush.... largely exaggerated as he often was, he is proud.

The guts of the glory

The outdoor "organic" lifestyle. With it's glories comes it's challenges.

I was a girl fed up with big city life and a deep desire of living an outdoor rugged life. Better a dream of going to Africa. A girl who went from a temperature of -30 C to +30 C in 30 hours and arrived in the deep african bush, ready for the guts and glory of it all. I arrived in the rainy season if you remember, I was fresh, excited, ready to take it all in. I don't think nor do I remember it fazing me at all. Any discomfort I may have felt was obviously overshadowed by my ambitious determination to embrace all that the bush was. And it was warm then. It was a lovely and beautiful warm african rain. Sigh. As I understood it the rainy season was short. And come winter it never rained. Perhaps this also helped alleviate any of the discomfort I may have felt. It would be over soon and then it wouldn't rain again for another year. Glorious.

It's June. It's raining. It's not supposed to rain here in june. I've been told this is "highly unusual". And so I go with it. Waking this morning saying "how odd is this weather" as if I would know, but I go with what I am told. It's raining hard and has been for two days. Straight. It's no longer a warm wonderful African rain. It's cold and wet and everything is damp. I don't remember the rainy season feeling this way. The guts of the glory now rearing it's ugly head. With this wonderful outdoor natural life I am "embracing" comes some challenges. With this torrential down pour (I exaggerate not) come some rather obscure challenges. While yes, simply stay inside, in your tent or in your office. But with this "outdoor" life comes an outdoor bathroom. And the rain is outdoors.I try to wait for the rain to subside a bit before I make my attempt. But the rain is relentless and my bladder seems to get smaller and smaller as I listen to the water running over the top of the office roof. I have no choice but to make a go of it.

The only way to do this is to attempt to go to the loo,with my loo roll and umbrella in hand. I can't put the loo roll down, it will get wet. I need to hold it, and the umbrella and perch myself on the throne. I can't help but laugh at myself and how hilarious this must look. The view still magnificent. I wonder what blooms this rain will bring to any lost seeds that still lay in the previously dry ground and take comfort in the forecast of sunshine from tomorrow onwards.

The great flood

This post is a little out of order. It’s a long one to explain so I’ve had to take more time to write it. On our second day back from leave we took a boat cruise up one of the major channels in the Delta (the Muanachira {mona-chira}) to see what the flood and water levels were doing. (Any of my old work mates reading this will laugh and know how I feel about boat cruises, and the idea of me being confined to a small space with nowhere to go but jump overboard. And here it wouldn’t be the pollution that would kill me, it would be the crocodiles) Anyway, one of the main topics of conversation (besides cars) among the locals when we are in Maun is the water. How’s the water in Moremi? What is the flood doing? Huge flood coming.. There are charts showing the flood levels posted in most locations, behind bars etc. These are referenced when the conversation about the water is raised.



I am sure you are all wondering what water is doing in the Kalahari desert? My thoughts as well before I arrived and thus learnt about the water in the Okavango Delta, in fact the delta is a complex web of waterways and islands that form one of the most beautiful and pristine wildlife areas left in Africa and lies within one of the largest continuous stretches of sand in the world, the Kalahari desert basin. The water of the Okavango literally floats on a saturated sea of sand.

Disclaimer: Graham helped me write this.

The Okavango is the largest inland delta on Earth. It is nestled in the center of the Kalahari sand basin and is a vast oasis in this arid semi-desert.

There are a network of permanent rivers winding through the Okavango delta throughout the year but the overall water level of the region depends on the flood waters that descend from thousands of kilometers to the North-west in the Angolan highlands and the rainfall that falls in the delta it’s self.

North of Botswana, the river is a traditional African river but as soon as it hits the Kalahari sand at Mohembo, in Northern Botswana, the water is no longer confined by rocky banks and it begins to spread out. Here the swamp is confined to a 10km corridor by two parallel fault lines known as the panhandle. The river winds and meanders through floating papyrus and reed banks. This area is only navigable by boat and traditional dugout canoes called mekoro.

At Seronga, the base of the panhandle and start of the delta proper, the water breaks the bounds of the faults and splays across the sands. Rivers, channels, flood-plains and lagoons form around islands ranging in size from a few meters in diameter to several kilometers. When viewed from satellite images, the delta resembles a hand, The fan (or delta as it is more commonly called), resembles the shape of a hand. The palm is a permanent delta of constant water, and the fingertips are seasonally flooded swamps and lush floodplains.

The flood gradually makes it’s way down from the North in two main thrusts, spreading out over the land in different directions every year; much like water spilt on a flat table. The delta changes from year to year depending on flood levels and rains and the flood constantly forges new channels which prevents the delta becoming silted up. This dynamic nature leads to great diversity of water depth, soils, vegetation and animal distribution and thus change is the essence of the Okavango Delta. In January the start of the main flood begins, spreading down the top of the panhandle and into the main part of the Delta itself at around April each year. It is from this point on that high flood reaches the lodges and water activities become the primary activity in most camps and the hot topic of conversation among the locals; high flood reaches the bottom of the Delta near Maun in June.

Maun is a safari town on the southern edge of the delta and lies on the Thamalakane river which is the main out flow of the delta. The floodwater trickles slowly down the length of the delta and eventually reaches Maun several months later. In over 250 kilometers from the base of the panhandle to Maun there is only a 40 meter drop in altitude.

The highest point of the flood throughout the majority of the delta varies but over the last five years it has consistently been at around May each year. The water level then stays high for a couple of months and then gradually recedes, drying out the flood-plains as the water evaporates; most of the Delta dries by around late October and November each year.


And so this my friends and family is why and how there is water in the Kalahari.

Being one who loves the water and loves to swim, and one who is so used to being able to dive right into any fresh water I see on any hot day, here it’s a tease. On these and those hot summer afternoons as we meander past Jesse’s pools and all I want to do is dive in to cool off, I can’t. If the hippos don’t get me the crocodiles will. So I look on longingly at the beautiful water, and wish I were one of the lilly pads floating lazily in the cool crisp water.

Maun

I have been promising photos of Maun for some time. I finally had a chance this weekend to take some of more of the real local life. As well of the buffalo fence I've spoken of in past's posts. I've also included a photo of one of the many hair cut shops available to me. This is why my hair is growing so......

Lions munch on lechwe while vultures wait

This morning not far from where we witnessed the stunning moonset and sunrise the lions were munching on a lechew they had managed to catch in the early morning hours. When this happens the vultures are never far away waiting for their chance to scavenge what they can. The cubs like to chase them away.

Sunrise and Strawberry moonset

In transposition the morning sky in perfect reflection left me equally in awe this morning. I think for the first time I witnessed not only the moonset, but in sync with the sunrise. Again a beautiful morning where the photos say it all.

Strawberry moon at sunset

Just back in camp after a quick afternoon/evening joll with our furry Moremi friends.

It was an incredibly beautiful evening. The flat landscape made for the most magnificent view of both the sunrise and the full moon in sync. To add to the absolute beauty of it all a herd of giraffe decided to meander between the two. I felt like I was watching the french open. My head turning back and forth between the two trying to capture the image of both.

Full Moon names date back to to the Natives (my Metis ancestors). The tribes kept track of the seasons by giving distinctive names to each recurring full Moon. Their names were applied to the entire month in which each occurred. There was some variation in the Moon names, but in general, the same ones were current throughout the Algonquin tribes. European settlers followed that custom and created some of their own names. Since the lunar month is only 29 days long on the average, the full Moon dates shift from year to year.

The Full Strawberry Moon - June This name was universal to every Algonquin tribe. However, in Europe they called it the Rose Moon. Also because the relatively short season for harvesting strawberries comes each year during the month of June . . . so the full Moon that occurs during that month was christened for the strawberry!

Words can't say it as well as the photos can.

Lions in Camp last night

Had a very interesting and eventful night last night.

Sleepless in Moremi
(A Canadian’s unembellished perspective on lions in camp)

Last night some lions paid a visit to my tent. As I write this and try to narrate my version of the story my heart rate is increasing.

Before we all meandered off to bed we had heard some impala barking very close to camp warning of predators. Specifically behind Jason’s tent. Shortly thereafter lions calling. Everyone in camp seemed quite chilled about it all, even finding it exciting. We had not left the lions all that far away yesterday, and they were heading in this direction so it wasn’t really a surprise that they had indeed arrived. On our way back to camp I had asked Graham if he thought they would come through camp. He informed me that they have a usual path that may bring them just behind camp, likely where we had the magnificent performance of their roaring previously. And it was magnificent; though close it was at a comfortable distance and I was looking forward to the opera.

Last night, as I lay in bed slowing dozing off to the universal sound of the night insects I was startled alert by the distinct sound of a male lions heavy feet crunching the dry grass right beside my tent. Trying not to move I peered out the corner of my eye to see it’s pronounced silhouette through the screen brushing up against the tent as he walked past. All the while a pounding in my chest that I have absolutely no doubt in my mind could be heard by the lions. I lay motionless, stiff as a board with my neck slightly raised causing a painful kink that was easily overshadowed by my fear. I could hear the lions all around the tent. Could literally hear them breathing and rustling in the grass. Increased muscle tension, sweaty palms, an increased heart rate and with the force of each beat I am thinking this must be the fight or flight reaction. My entire body responding to my fear I am sure I was shaking, and yes I was also certain that the lions could feel the vibrations in the ground and come sniff with curiosity. A million thoughts raced through my head. “This is fine, the tent is a barrier, people have been camping in the bush in tents on safari for years and no one gets killed. If it is your time, it is your time. The tent is a barrier. The tent is a barrier....the tent is a barrier” I find myself repeating this in my head and decide this will be my new mantra.

Suddenly I hear the exclusive roar of a male lion. It actually sounded a comfortable distance away and I felt my body relax and much to my relief my neck sink into the pillow in a more relaxed state. I decided I could now enjoy this magnificent sound. Even hoped the rest of the pride would join in. But the roaring got louder, and louder still. The ground actually vibrated beneath me, as did my entire existence. He was right outside my tent. Body stiff, my heart was now about to shot out of my chest, of this I was certain.

The roar eventually faded back to a comfortable distance. He was on the move.

Lying motionless and awake for hours, I must have eventually fallen asleep. I am sure it was only one hour later that the alarm went off. I looked around to make sure I wasn’t in another form of being. I was alive.

You will read from Andy’s and Grahams post that parts of the camp unfortunately didn’t have the same fortune. And that they, being seasoned in the bush, found it quite exhilarating.

Beautiful bull - Grahams version

I must step in here after reading Penny’s version of this particular evening. It is my duty to set the record straight. Here is the real version.

Making our way back to camp one evening we came across this big old bull elephant. These bulls are generally very relaxed so I pulled ahead of him and got down on the ground to take some low angle shots as he walked past. He stood above me, peering down at me briefly before continuing past the front of the vehicle.

From behind me, all I could hear was Penny’s constant stream sotto whispered curses. ^%$@ SAKES Graham why do you have to do this?! It’s not funny anymore! Get back in the truck! ^*%*^*!!! etc etc etc. I’ve learnt to tune this out most of the time as she thinks that I actively try to terrify her with wild life encounters as my only source of amusement. She does not trust me one iota.

The ele moving on, I slipped back into the truck, Penny’s ashen face glaring at me. The ele moved on past Penny’s side and, probably smelling the orange peels on the dash turned to investigate.

Penny thinks that if she doesn’t look at the animals, they can’t see her. It’s very amusing. I grabbed my wide angle lens and started snapping some shots. (The wide angle lens makes him look a lot further away than he was. He was very close to her I will admit, within a couple of meters)


Penny stared resolutely ahead. “Smile Penny.” Deaths head grimace. “Smile, enjoy it.” Something vaguely more photogenic but no more genuine. “OK just watch the ele.”

Beautiful bull

On our way back to camp one evening we came across a huge old bull elephant. The old bulls are often found wandering on their own. Once they reach adolescence they move out of the breeding herds and form bachelor herds. However these are quite loosely structured they will stick together, move off and as this one is on their own. The older bulls tend to form a sort of mentorship with the younger ones and as their senses fade will use the younger bulls to navigate and pick up on signs of danger.

Anyway, we stopped to take some pictures with the sunset as a beautiful backdrop Having left some orange peels on the dash of the truck this big old bull seemed to pick up the scent and moved closer and yet still closer to the vehicle making it’s way to my side of the car where the orange peels were, directly in front of me. It is hard to tell in this picture but he was close. I could have reached out and touched his trunk when he lifted it up to sniff almost inside the vehicle. My heart raced as he did so, but the thrill was exhilarating. To be so close to an elephant was unreal. And I have never felt quite so small in my life. I imagine what a cat must feel like next to a large dog...a mouse next to a cat...and so on. Being back in the bush is wonderful. This kind of heart pounding rush in the city would only come from a close call at an intersection......

Happy Birthday Jacqueline

Back in the bush

I never thought I would say this but I was happy to be in Maun. It’s laid back casual character was quickly embraced. Even when it took forever to get our bags off the plane it only made me smile. I like Botswana as a country. It’s well run. One of the best run countries in Africa.

As I mentioned, I don’t think I was ready to be back in a city. It was loud, the sounds rang unpleasantly in my now sensitive ears... I couldn’t wait to get back to the bush. Indeed I wasn’t ready to leave it when I did. In fact I would probably be happy to stay in it forever. The city is no longer for me, and likely never was, part of the reason why I never quite felt settled in myself I suppose. Living an out door life is glorious. While in the “cities” we spent a lot of time inside. I missed the fresh air and consequently felt quite tired and restless while there, not to mention my nightly lullaby of insects and hippo’s wasn’t there to rock me to sleep.

We spent a night in Maun, did the camp shop and made our way “home”. As soon as we crossed the buffalo fence, my shoulders dropped, I took a deep breath in and let out a sigh and quietly slid back into the serenity of my surroundings. The very surroundings that has had such a profound effect on me alleviating some of the pain and helping me deal with the death of my father. Its vastness allowing me the time and freedom to do so, to remember, reflect and accept. In retrospect I can’t imagine having had to do so any other way.

As I sit here and write this I am sitting in the vehicle next to a Jesses pond, we are waiting and hoping a herd of elephant pass through. The wind is gently blowing, the only sound is the rustle of the trees as the breeze passes across their tops and makes its way through the dry grass to travel across my skin. (ok the other sound is Graham snoring on top of the car) I pause only to stop the sound of my fingers on the keyboard and listen. The near silence leaves my ears tingling. I feel my father in the breeze that gently touches my skin and I am comforted by the feeling of him here with me in the wind that blows and the sun that shines. I am certain he is here with me.

While we were away the 6 month mark passed. The time “since” is one thing I am having the hardest time dealing with. I don’t want the time “since” to lengthen. It seems the longer it’s been the fear of the memory being further in the distance rattles me.

I digress, once again en-route to camp we see impala, giraffe and elephants. All so gratifying. The bush has changed quite a bit since we’ve been gone. The landscape has thinned out, giving a more transparent view of the horizon. The grass has changed color to a beautiful array of burgundy, light green and brown. Because everything is so dry now, when the wind blows the grass it makes a rustling sound that wasn’t there before. Though this rustling can easily be mistaken for an animal in the bush precipitating me to look twice a couple of times.

Winter is also setting in and the sun isn’t as hot. There is a chill that rolls in around 5pm that wasn’t there before we left. The late nights and early mornings are quite cool. To everyone in camp it is “freezing”. To this Canadian, it is cool, maybe cold. But freezing it is not. Our first day out on monday we were in coats and hats to keep warm. The open vehicle adds a wind chill to the air.


By 10am the layers are off and it’s a hot wonderful sunny day. Tank tops and shorts. The contrast in temperature in such a short amount of time I suppose makes the “cold” feel colder than it is. I quite like it. Sleeping is comfortable. I get to feel my cheeks cold and rosy as I might on a winter day at home and every day I get summer. A Canadians dream! It is with this that I realize it is June and at home everyone is excited for summer, I am sure there is that buzz in the air that comes with “patio” season. I realize I am missing the first patio drinks with the girls. That first warm night of the season when you get that email at work that says “perfect night to sit on a patio and have a glass of wine” and you sneak out of the office early to do so. It is what we Canadians wait all winter for. At home I probably didn’t realize just the impact “patio season” had on me, the refection on it reminds me that it is a HUGE deal. Cottages are being opened, boats put back in the water. Cherry beach is alive with people and dogs. Concert listings published. My grandfather has probably already been fishing, and I know Granny and Grandpa and Dan have been golfing already. With this musing I am missing you all very much and wish everyone a happy and safe summer. As one would say on the last day of school!


On our first day out I took in the beautiful sunrise that I missed so much. Watching the sun peep it’s smile over the horizon every morning and I have fulfilled one of my goals. To see more sunrises. With winter here, the mornings have an added sense of mystic charm and a light mist settles in over the pans waiting for the sun to burn it off. As in the sunset the dust stirred during the days leaves a coating on the tips of the grass and all over us.


While we were away “our” lions did very little. I am starting to come to the conclusion that lions are not the smartest kings. At least ours aren’t. Evidently they spent a lot of time following buffalo, coming within meters of them (smart) killing none (not so smart) and getting quite thin and hungry (boarding stupid). However I was excited to see them. We found them quickly that day, and also spent time with a herd of Elephants. For the first time in my life I couldn’t wait to be back to “work” and instead of the post vacation blues I was more than happy to be back.

Beautiful Ugly

First I will apologize for the lack of writing as of late. I realize it’s been forever since I have written.

As some of you are aware I went on leave to South Africa for 14 days. Every 5 weeks Earth-Touch will fly us out. To keep us sane I suppose. Anyway, I wasn’t in South Africa for more than a day when our rental car was broken into and my computer bag stolen. In it, my lap top, personal hand written journal, and reading glasses. Needless to say I was devastated, every picture I had taken since my arrival in Africa was on that computer as well as the last pics I had of my father and some poems I had finally sat down to write having not done so in more than 10 years (though because of this time lapse I am sure they weren’t that good ;-) On my list of things to do in South Africa was to buy a hard drive to back up my photo’s and all the rest..... as murphy would have it I suppose. Since then I have had very little motivation to write. My personal journal was the real kick in the ass bought in Florence Italy in 2001, it was 7 years of hand writing, leading up to and including every raw thought, feeling and emotion I had about my father and dealing with his death.

As it turns out this is common. Every single person I spoke to has been impacted by the crime in South Africa in some way or another. It was so unusual to see and hear such complacency, shoulders shrugged as it is just a way of life here, “it’s Africa”. And frankly having a lap top stolen out of a vehicle was nothing compared to the severity and brutalness of most of the crimes committed. Evidently I was lucky.

It wasn’t until I got an email from my Aunt Sharon, my fathers sister, and encouragement from my Aunt Risa and Uncle Dan and Donna, to keep writing. They reminded me of the reason why I have chosen to come here on this adventure. The new found “simple life” and to “let it go” and to move on past it and continue to live my wonderful experiences here in beautiful Africa and live in the now, to quote Aunt Sharon “While the past is always with us and shapes our responses to the now, it should be a quiet comfort, with today's encounters in the forefront”. They all reminded me that our memories live on forever in our minds and our hearts.

I also want to thank Mandi for her offer to send her old Mac, so sweet! and Donna and my Uncle Dan for offering to send lap tops that they were not using to me! I unleashed the well known “Penny pit bull” on the establishment where we were parked in security parking less than 100 meters from the door and the guards where they claim to have the safest parking. This would be Gateway mall in Durban. They are putting it through their insurance and we hope to have it all covered soon. Fingers crossed.

Where the title of my entry “beautiful ugly” comes from is this: There is so much positivity and hope in South Africa's people, such beauty and kindness in all the people I met, success and prosperity seemed everywhere, so much to smile about in it’s esthetic beauty. It’s a land so culturally diverse, with such histories and for the last one and a half decades with the energy of re-birth and discovering a new identity. With that there seems to be this attitude that yes crime is out of control, but it is something that people can adapt to, by protecting themselves in gated communities. Everything has a wall and an electric fence, houses, shops, everything. We were at Graham’s friends house in Johannesburg, he had stepped out to run an errand. Shortly after he left I thought it would be nice to go for a walk, stood up took two steps and realized I couldn’t get out. I needed the remote to open the gate, which I didn’t have and the entire house was surrounded by a high security wall. And come to think of it even if I did want to go for a walk it probably wouldn’t be safe to do so. This sort of living for me feels claustrophobic, for the south africans this is just a way of life. You simply do what you can to protect yourself.

Johannesburg is a strange conurbation of opulent suburbs, corporate headquarters, six lane highways and large shopping malls set alongside some of the countries starkest urban poverty. Perhaps the perennial crime problem is the inevitable consequence of it’s palpable polarities. Stat: South Africa has the highest murder rate in all of the world. Johannesburg was another city. I took no pictures and left only footprints.

I feel I must mention the new president of South Africa Mr. Jacob Zuma. And again the link between esthetics (beauty) and political ethics (Ugly). Where majority rules in a democratic society, in this case it is not necessarily a good thing nor does it mean that it will empower the right person. I can’t pretend to know a lot about south african politics nor will I claim that our system is any better, I mean didn’t our government get shut down because we all couldn’t play nice at one point? and I won’t even mention Bush. But this man, Mr. Zuma who has a 4th grade education, was accused of raping a friends daughter who knowingly has Aids. When asked by the people if he was afraid of getting Aids, his answer was “no I had a shower afterwards” implying showering will wash the Aids away. This is the message he is sending to a country ridden with the disease and a simple cure at his fingertips to educate his people on the disease and how to prevent it. Showering isn’t it. He was also accused of corruption in all sorts of other ways, foremost being with the “scorpions” south africans version of the FBI so to speak. The guys who are supposed to be fighting all this hellacious crime. Even though all evidence pointed brightly to his guilt, somehow, someway it all got thrown out and he will never be tried in court for these crimes. The majority voted him president and the majority ruled.

The experience of my stolen goods having somewhat set the tone for the rest of my time in South Africa, as much as I tried not to let it, it made for a different trip than I had expected. In hindsight, I might say that I wasn’t yet ready to leave the bush. I hadn’t been here that long and out of the rush of town/city life long enough to really appreciate being back in the so called comforts of urban living.

Anyway, I rant. In my time in South Africa I did experience the beauty, just as I now know the grim of it’s land.




First stop was to the Earth-Touch office, which having left the office environment for the great outdoor life it felt odd to be back in a blouse and heels to sit in a boardroom. The office is in Durban, a beautiful coastal town. Going from the dryness in the delta to the humidity in Durban was a shocking contrast as my skin soaked up the moisture in the air. It seemed like a lovely town, but we were only there for a day for the meeting at the office. I plan to go back.

Second stop: Kenton. Graham and I went to his cousins wedding in a town called Kenton, along the eastern coast. The wedding took place along the Kariega river, which I immediately felt at home standing next to. Aside from the salt water, this location strongly resembled Muskoka. It was a beautiful day for a wedding and we danced the night away. Alcohol induced style of course.

Third stop: Grahamstown. Grahams mother lives here so we stopped in to visit for a few days. A beautiful historical town. The Eastern Cape is simply beautiful, and very similar to Ireland. Not what I expected at all. The drive from Kenton to Grahamstown was breathtakingly beautiful. Rolling hills of green. Again, having little motivation to write I as well had little motivation to take pics. Rather I wanted to take it all in with memory.

Forth Stop: Cape Town. A beautiful coastal town. Very similar to Vancouver, better yet, Vancouver Island. Though the weather while we were there was more like Vancouver, rainy and windy and cold surrounded by stunning mountains, table mountain in the backdrop. Because of this I didn’t see much of the coast. We did a drive out to Simons town to see the Jackass penguins, called so because they make a sound like a donkey, though I didn’t get to witness this said sound and being as cute as they are I think a rather unfair name. The storm that rolled in while we were there was quite huge, and the paper described it as “gail force winds” making for some massive waves. I always like being next to the ocean, or water specifically. Regardless of the weather I find it calming. I would love to come back in the summer and see the sun on the sand and me in the ocean.



We walked the streets and the local market, saw some art galleries and really just chilled out. A couple of nights with Grahams friends and family on the town. It was a relaxing trip.

On my next leave I plan on seeing more of the “Africa”. Victoria Falls perhaps or more of Botswana. At the end of July I hope to take a 4 day weekend and head to Makgadikgadi (ma-kudi-kudi) salt pans. South east of Moremi, about a 4 hour drive.