I realised after the whole car-through-the-fence situation had sorted itself out, that possibly the most amusing aspect of the whole thing was my reaction to events. First I ascertained that everything was safe, then I called the emergency services, then I checked that the driver was OK, and then I went and got him a cup of tea. I mean how spectacularly English is that? “Guy’s just crashed into our house: Oh, I know, a nice cup of tea will make him feel better….â€
Category: Observations
Very English
I realised after the whole car-through-the-fence situation had sorted itself out, that possibly the most amusing aspect of the whole thing was my reaction to events. First I ascertained that everything was safe, then I called the emergency services, then I checked that the driver was OK, and then I went and got him a cup of tea. I mean how spectacularly English is that? “Guy’s just crashed into our house: Oh, I know, a nice cup of tea will make him feel better….”
Wake up call
This morning at about 4:45am Simone and I were woken by an almighty smash and tinkle outside our house. Upon emerging to investigate we found that a car had lost control and come crashing through our fence and crashed into the side of the building.
The car had a fair bit of damage, but our place got away with very minor damage indeed.
Makes for a good story. 🙂
Underestimated
It has been many years since I last saw my old high school friend Rebekah, and while I had always appreciated that she was smart, given that she was on the school’s top debating team with me, and was better at it than me (as was the other girl on the team, which frequently left me with the paranoid suspicion that perhaps I was only there as the token male), she had always managed to be smart in a quiet and unassuming way.
Then she went off to uni, got her law degree, and got a job, and I didn’t see her for a number of years.
Today I ran into her in the lead up too James’ wedding, and in the evening watched her do a crossword as part of a group. Now almost the entirety of the group had university degrees, but Rebekah was leading the pack, and you could almost see the cogs of her mind flying around, and I was left with the inescapable impression of being in the presence of something of an intellectual giant.
Underestimated
It has been many years since I last saw my old high school friend Rebekah, and while I had always appreciated that she was smart, given that she was on the school’s top debating team with me, and was better at it than me (as was the other girl on the team, which frequently left me with the paranoid suspicion that perhaps I was only there as the token male), she had always managed to be smart in a quiet and unassuming way. Then she went off to uni, got her law degree, and got a job, and I didn’t see her for a number of years.
Today I ran into her in the lead up too James’ wedding, and in the evening watched her do a crossword as part of a group. Now almost the entirety of the group had university degrees, but Rebekah was leading the pack, and you could almost see the cogs of her mind flying around, and I was left with the inescapable impression of being in the presence of something of an intellectual giant.
Blasé flying
I have spent so much time on planes recently that I am beginning to get a bit sick of it.
I still remember the days (not all that long ago in the grand scheme of things really) that flying on a plane was a significant thing, which you only did for important trips or when you were feeling extravagant. These days you seem to get on a plane for everything more than going across town to aunty Maureen’s for tea and scones.
I now almost go “oh no, not another trip on a plane” whenever I have to fly, because it means another cramped trip with too-dry air and limited entertainment options.
I always rely on the kindness of strangers
Today I made a major error of judgment and relied on the Public transport as part of my getting to the airport plans. Having arrived back at the hospital in time I wandered across to the train station in the rain, to find that there was a blockage on the line which had stopped all trains going into the city.
After a bit of cursing I managed to find another person who needed to get into the city and we agreed to share a taxi. Of course everyone else must have had the same idea, and we couldn’t get through to the taxis on the phone.
At this point I was starting to get a little anxious.
Then out of almost nowhere one of the other passengers waiting on the station asked if we were trying to get into the city, and offered us a ride, seeing as she was now going to have to drive in to the city so that she could get to work.
So I ended up getting a ride with a uni student in her early 20’s from west Australia in a souped up little Mitsubishi.
What can I say. I love the kindness of strangers. It absolutely saved the day…
Ghost Stories
One of the unfortunate features about the international student crowd here in Joburg is that, almost invariably, whenever we get together the conversation eventually drifts onto everyone comparing tales of all the things they were told be various sources (often of disputable reputability) about the dangers of South Africa and the strategies for remaining safe.
Now after two weeks here I have gotten relatively used to the swing of things and am comfortable in my percieved level of personal risk (I’m not doing anything stupid, and to use that stupid australian government anti-terrorism phrase I’m “Alert but not alarmed”), but the conversations kind of feed off the collective pool of fear and misinformation, and I always leave the conversations in a state of quite unreasonably intense anxiety.
In the post-match analysis it seems depressing that as kids we were generally afraid of stereotypical things like monsters and boogey men under the bed*, whose motivations seemed perfectly reasonable (ie. they were monsters, so of course they wanted to eat little kids, because that was just what monsters did…) whereas as adults we worry about the unpredictable and morally grayer threats posed by the actions of other humans. As an adult the stories we tell to scare each other no longer involve ghosts, but rather normal flesh-and-bones humans.
*For a particularly amusing take on the bogey man idea, read Reaper Man by Terry Pratchett
Poor Whites
One of the interesting things I have noticed is that post-apartheid South Africa participates in equal opportunity poverty. Whereas the government used to pretty much guarantee a job for every white (apparently those who could do nothing else would be employed in the railways or in the post office…), now they don’t, and so while you don’t see as many whites within the poor and ultra-poor, you do see them, in the hopsital and begging on street corners and at traffic lights. It’s sad that anyone should be in that situation, but here I find it even more confronting because most of my previous experience has been that the poor tend to be non-white minority populations (and so somehow detached from my personal situation (I have rather startlingly realised since arriving here how easy it is to let your western upbringing and conditioning bring out some quite startling passively racists views in you)), and of course this is the first country I’ve spent time in where the resident minority population are whites.
Rubbish Bag Man
To illustrate the depth of the poverty and associated social problems here in Johnannesburg I just saw a guy walking along the side of the motorway wearing (literally) plastic rubblish bags and hessian sacks.