Yesterday morning, I got a phone call asking me to write about the Jagger Library. I wasn’t sure I could find the words to express what I thought, felt. I completed the piece in the evening but wanted to sleep on it before sending it off for publication.
Sleep has been erratic during the last few nights.
In order to begin writing, I consulted my travel diary from 2004. The significance of the fact does not escape me.
Layer upon layer of grief, scars, unfathomable sadness.
I got up early this morning to complete the revisions, send off the article, and returned to bed with more coffee to finish the – interrupted by the Sunday fire – proofreading of A Hibiscus Coast by Nick Mulgrew.
The firefighting continued throughout the day; helicopters in the air.
I briefly spoke to Nick on Skype about the final corrections of his beautiful – beautiful! – debut novel in the late afternoon. Then I rushed off to EB Cavendish to the (live!!!) launch of Illuminated Darkness, the debut poetry collection by Jacques Coetzee, published by Nick at uHlanga Press. Jacques was being interviewed by Dawn Garisch, the author of many amazing books, Breaking Milk and Disturbance among them – both published by Karavan Press.
Layer upon layer of creativity, growth, unfathomable togetherness.
Somehow, nearly every day, numb with pain, we manage to get up, hearts on fire, and we forge literary heritage into being. Against all bloody odds.
Even – especially? – when the world is burning all around. Illuminated darkness indeed.
Be kind. Wear a mask. Support local.
“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”
On the radio this afternoon, I heard two people who live in my neighbourhood describe how a spark from yesterday’s fires made its way to a palm tree next to Huis Lückhoff, a home for the aged located in Rosebank, and set the tree on fire. Residents and neighbours managed to extinguish the flames and this morning the entire tree was removed from the property.
Huis Lückhoff is a hundred metres away from my home.
I have an old, unruly palm tree in my garden.
Needless to say, the stories on the radio freaked me out.
I walk around the house, look at all the books – outside, my palm tree stands tall, a stark reminder of the randomness of cosmic kindness.
Be kind. Wear a mask. Support local.
“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”
In the air, in the bones, the heaviness. An intuition. When I saw the Mountain burning around Rhodes Memorial after returning from the shops in the morning, I immediately felt fear. I thought of the Restaurant up there, the vegetation, the early heat of the day, and checked for wind. It was relatively calm still. The helicopters were in the air. There was hope the fire would be contained. I took the photographs standing in the street outside my home. The symbolism of the Memorial burning in the context of the last few years did not escape me.
Soon after, the smoke covered the entire Mountain on our side and I could smell it – like incense – in my garden.
I finished packing, glancing out my windows with apprehension every few minutes. We were leaving for Elgin, to have lunch at the Railway Market, an afternoon at Kiku, one of the Cheverells Farm Cottages, where we were also supposed to stay the night, and an evening of poetry at Liberty Books with John performing Finuala Dowling’s script “Ice Cream, Thank You”.
I have been in love with the Elgin Valley for quite a few years now and returning there always makes me happy, but yesterday’s visit was overshadowed with anxiety. Yet: the hospitality at the Railway Market was delightful as ever and it was great to see Lester’s sister, Monique, at the wine shop and to hear that she was also coming to the poetry event with her daughter. We had sushi and G&Ts, listened to the live music, browsed, bought some Elgin wine, and continued monitoring the news from Cape Town, my fears deepening.
I found myself, i.e. The Fifth Mrs Brink, in great company selling at the Book Bus. It is impossible to estimate how many people read each individual copy of a book sold, especially if it ends up in libraries, but I do wonder how many readers have paged through this particular one, now on sale second-hand in this wonderful bookshop …
We spent the rest of the afternoon in this beautiful place, but my heart and mind were not present. By then, UCT students were being evacuated and the fire was burning history. Mostert’s Mill, built in 1796, the oldest surviving windmill in South Africa, was up in flames, a few hundred metres away from my neighbourhood. And then the Reading Room of the Jagger Library at UCT was on fire … This is the space where, like thousands and thousands of others, I spent many hours researching the Special Collections held there. Part of that research went into my PhD. My books have been included in the Library’s collection – the last time I visited, they were actually on display in a glass case and it thrilled me no end to see them there.
I could not hold back the tears.
I know people and property were/are in danger. The loss is unimaginable, numbing. But people can be evacuated, buildings rebuilt and renovated – there is hope for a time beyond the loss. However, there are paper (and other: art, film, music, etc.) treasures that, once damaged or lost, cannot be replaced. The events of yesterday make one understand the meaning of ‘forever’. In the coming days, the cataloguing of loss will begin.
Fire is unpredictable. We always think, it won’t happen to me, and even though I understood that it was highly unlikely that my home would be threatened, I thought of my Furry Family and of my own precious library and felt the need to be home. I realised how completely unprepared I was. How does one find out about an evacuation order? How does one prepare? In my head, I started going through the rooms of my home and collecting the objects I would hope to save, if given the time. There was also a need to be close to the loss in progress, almost like going to a funeral to be in the same place as others to be part of the collective mourning, to find words and gestures to share the horror of the communal experience with others. Not to be alone. Not to be far away, helpless.
“Ice Cream, Thank You” is a compilation of poetry which confronts death, but instead of being depressing, it is strangely comforting and uplifting. Christy Weyer, the owner of Liberty Books, wrote after the event:
“A mesmerising performance by John Maytham at Peregrine last night! Finuala Dowling’s superb script entertains & inspires and John’s delivery was perfection, delighting the ear as it stimulated the brain cells. Thank you to Finuala Dowling and John for bringing this collaboration out to Elgin, to Peregrine Farmstall, Elgin Ridge Wines and Cheverells Farm for their generous support and to our amazing & attentive audience: we managed to raise around R2000 for Siphila Sonke Kids Club.”
Despite everything, for an hour we were transported into another world, a world were poetry offers beauty and solace. We were all conscious of what was happening in Cape Town and in a way the reading was preparing us for the losses ahead. One of the women in the audience donated her late husband’s art collection to the UCT Libraries after his death. He was a renowned cartoonist. It is only a small part of the heritage held and taken care of at the institution. May it survive, may it be safe.
We drove home in near silence. By the time we returned, the entire Devil’s Peak was on fire – flames like fireflies all over the mountain. The wind was up. I checked on the Cats, gave them food, sat down on my bed and continued following the news, also replying to messages from around the world, family and friends concerned about my safety. I eventually fell asleep like that, waking up sometime after one a.m. to brush my teeth and get into PJs for the night.
My heart is sore. All of this is nearly impossible to process.
Be kind. Wear a mask. Support local.
“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”
Someone sent me a parcel, but by the time the post office slip reached my postbox, the parcel had been sent back to the sender and I have no idea what was in it or who sent it in the first place. Ah ja. In order to investigate, I have to fill in a form that looks so intimidating that I am not sure my curiosity is strong enough to initiate the process.
After the disappointing stop at the post office, the day did get better. I visited a woman who has been an inspiration for many, many years. Seeing her always makes me want to do better, keep on pursuing my dreams. She made nice strong coffee for us and served delicious muffins with butter with it and we spoke about the madness of the past year and about birds and books. I hope to see her again soon.
LIFE IS BETTER IN SLIPPERS (it says on the soles)
On my way home, I stopped at Cavendish and got myself new slippers for the colder season. I now have very happy feet.
The afternoon was supposed to be more work than tennis, but I did not get the balance entirely right.
My love cooked a delicious dinner for us and we watched soccer in the evening. The team we were cheering for won.
Driving home, I listened to music on the radio and was flooded by memories. It is amazing how music can do that, transport you in time and space within a split second. When the memories are good, it’s wonderful to travel like that. But when they are not, thank goodness you can get off the bus by switching to another station.
They shouldn’t be, but my cheeks are sore.
Be kind. Wear a mask. Support local.
“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”
… but we did not drink the lovely pink wine as one of us (a doctor – medical, not literary) had to do serious work in the afternoon. The gorgeous bottle will have to wait for another occasion.
It felt so good to cook for my friends again and to talk about family and art and hope and life and the craziness of the times we are living in. The Ladies arrived in stunning dresses and wearing make-up, bringing their outer and inner loveliness into my garden and making me feel better about the world. It is impossible to despair with such amazing people in one’s life. My cup overflows with gratitude.
And in the evening I had leftovers with my love who opened a beautiful bottle of red for us and brought delicious chocolate cake and watched a little bit of tennis with me. It was a tough day for Rafa fans, but his opponent played excellent tennis and the better player won the match today.
As I often say: One can’t have everything. I did have a beautiful day no matter what.
To save the Rosebank Glasspecker from his own madness I had to cover one of my windows with newspapers and now I basically have a darkroom in the house. But the relentless pecking and kamikaze encounters with the pane had ceased with immediate effect. He had been at it for three weeks …
I am continuing with my work, my Big Rest very much still the light at the end of the professional tunnel. Or maybe it is the opposite of light. Maybe I need someone to block out the window I have been pecking at like a madwoman for much too long.
A writer came to visit and brought books and chocolate. We drank pink wine and exchanged literary dreams on my stoep.
I slept properly last night, but struggled to wake/get up in the morning. Lots of coffee had been had. And my love brought pain au chocolat when he visited in the morning before work.
This evening, I was alone and decided to have a braai for myself and then watched TV and completed my ironing.
Rafa is in the QF of my favourite clay tournament apart from RG. And a certain other tennis player had been eliminated to my great delight.
My medical aid scheme wrote to me today to inform me that one will soon be able to register for a Covid-19 vaccination. Apparently, there will be two registration processes, one national and one additional – tailored by the medical scheme – but about the first one they say the following:
“Registration on the EVDS is required by all South African citizens and will provide you with a vaccination code that you will present on the day of your scheduled vaccination.”
What about permanent residents?
Young, no apparent comorbidities, not a citizen – I am probably the last in line for a vaccine. All I can hope for is that I will remain healthy protecting myself as I have done so far until – one day – it is – finally – my turn. I am okay with that. Can’t say that any of the safety regulations have been fun, but I have managed to keep safe so far; I will simply continue with following the non-pharmaceutical protection measures.
Be kind. Wear a mask. Support local.
“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”
Not exactly the best of nights, and the day wasn’t easy either. But luckily, I could mostly stay in bed and work quietly (when not interrupted by catssitants) and actually managed to do a full day’s work. I walked to get fresh milk from a shop nearby in the morning and spend an hour on a blanket in the garden with The Cats in the late afternoon. During lunch, I met Mom and Krystian on Skype to chat about our dream of actually seeing one another in reality. Otherwise, it was proofreading, admin, preparing a manuscript for typesetting and exploring cover ideas for the next Karavan Press book.
I started reading Patrik Svensson’s The Gospel of the Eels. Fascinating is not the word. I have been reading a lot about the natural world lately and thinking about a philosophical concept I have been intrigued by for years. There is an idea brewing in my tired pandemic brain, but I don’t know whether it has any merit. Yet. I need to write it all down and run it past an expert to see if this line of inquiry is worth pursuing. I have always imagined that if I studied again, it would be philosophy … Who knows, maybe I already have a worthy topic for my thesis?
‘Dream big!’ they say.
Tonight, I just want some decent sleep.
Be kind. Wear a mask. Support local.
“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”
Isn’t she a beauty? The first of the flowers are open and I am awed.
I also had a closer look at my mad Olive Thrush, whom I have renamed my ‘Rosebank Glasspecker’. He is still at it, relentlessly fighting off his reflection rival in one of my windows. I cleared most of the branches in front of the window, put up post-it notes all over the glass to break the reflection, but he does not give up. I am not certain he can still see the ‘other’ bird, but he is really worked up by the idea of the rival – imaginary or not. And there he still was this afternoon, huffing and puffing, throwing himself against the glass and pecking away at it as if his life depended on it. If I did not know better, I would say he was trying to get inside …
A busy working day, but without tensions. In the morning, I briefly visited the Book Lounge and that made me feel better about the world. Bookshops do that.
I had every intention to swim today, but the day ran away with me. I did prepare a simple braai for my love after work – and the fire and the company also made me feel better about the world.
I lit a candle. There was nice wine. Right now, I will take any little joy that comes my way.
I did not know Phumlani Pikoli, but many of the people I know were his friends and they are in pain. It is a time of unbearable loss, impossible to comprehend.
Yesterday: no water. Tonight: no power. (At the worst possible time!) Deep sigh.
Be kind. Wear a mask. Support local.
“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”
By tomorrow, I will know the colour of one of my rescue orchids which is going to bloom for the first time in my care.
In the early morning, I met a friend at Kirstenbosch for a walk, but we ended up sitting on the grass near a stream and catching up while her son was fishing for tadpoles. We haven’t seen each other for over a year because of diverse lockdown circumstances. And in a while, we won’t be able to see each other at all, or very seldom: she and her family have decided to emigrate. I know way too many SA families who have either already emigrated in the last year or are about to. I look at my Austrian passport and I hear the word ‘Sauerkraut’ on TV and can’t help asking myself, who am I to think that I know where I belong?
It was wonderful to see her. And deeply distressing to think about the reasons they are leaving. Because I agree with all of them.
The mountains of loss are accumulating. There is no way to process any of this.
Otherwise, a day of manuscript/book proofs pick ups/deliveries and discussions. And a day of having to communicate on a different front: ‘thus far, and no further’. Sometimes I feel that I am too kind, too understanding, too patient and I get punished for it by people taking advantage of my time and expertise. A young writer thinks that he has the right to dump all his frustrations on my doorstep, offend me, and then tell me what is wrong with my dreams. Another writer asks me for assistance on a project and then completely misrepresents everything I have tried to explain and gets me into serious trouble with other people I have professional relationships with. A creative person working on a project I am involved in ignores all communication begging him to deliver his part of the job for months and has no decency to explain or apologise for the impossible delays. But he does send an invoice.
The last twenty-four hours have made me think of something I once heard: “I am like a landmine. I lie there, patiently, sometimes for years … It’s fine, I can take it … But don’t step on me.”
Eventually, pink wine was had in the late afternoon just to take off the edge of the tension and to celebrate the lovely achievement of the day: the first proofs of the beautiful photo sections of a book we will be publishing soon. The book is stunning. One of the pure joy projects of the last year.
I cooked supper at my love’s place, because I have had no water (again) since mid-afternoon. Old municipal pipes, no new solutions. The cooking did not go entirely as planned either, but luckily there was enough salad and cheese to forget about the disastrous main dish. There was also wine.
The part of dinner that was not a disaster.
The latest episode of Last Week Tonight has become available. I am off to watch it. I might have a sponge bath in the five litres of drinking water I got at my love’s place, or wait for a swim in the pool tomorrow morning to ‘clean up’ … Good night.
Be kind. Wear a mask. Support local.
“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”
My love served me coffee in bed this morning, friends cooked the most delicious Greek meal for lunch for us, our team won against a tricky opponent, there was pool cleaning (the/a Frog Prince is still hanging around – he seems somehow bigger, so I am not sure he is the same one), some gardening, ironing and skyping with my family, and there will be reading before bed. A real Sunday.
Tomorrow, the Rolex Monte-Carlo Masters begins and Rafa is playing. I might not always be available during the week …
Be kind. Wear a mask. Support local.
“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”
Karina Magdalena 