OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.

— @HaggardHawks

In my late teens, someone suggested that I could become a successful diplomat. I thought about it seriously for a moment, but thankfully never pursued that path. I think I would have been good at it, but not for long. Personal and professional politics broke me in my late thirties. The politics of diplomacy would have probably managed it a decade earlier. By choosing the path of the writer, I gained about a decade of wholeness. That’s not a bad life deal, me thinks.

This morning, I was asked to be a peace negotiator while being myself the contested territory. And all I wanted was a slice of cheesecake for breakfast …

A story in seven pictures.

Glinka and I settle in bed, have the cheesecake ready and are about to dig in when Salieri arrives wanting a piece of her human. I grab the nearest book and like a tangerine troll erect a wall between the puffing Glinka and the hissing Salieri. The wait for them to settle down begins.

After a while, I gradually remove the book wall (I am not a tangerine troll!), repeating like I always do: ‘Everyone here is welcome and there is enough love for everyone.’ (I am never believed.)

And then, just as I am about to relax, Salieri starts cleaning her nails, and her movement upsets Glinka so much that she runs off, hissing and puffing all the way to the other end of the bed. Salieri gets all of me; I get the cheesecake.

But! Glinka does not give up easily. She knows her rights and she knows that a piece of me is her territory and hers only.

A few minutes after the cheesecake disappeared, she appeared again and wanted to know all about the book I was reading. So I told her.

I finished Lynn M. Thomas’s Beneath the Surface: A Transnational History of Skin Lighteners today. It is a fascinating study of these products, but also of our relationship with skin – surface, appearance – and beauty in general. For most of my life, I have had a difficult relationship with my skin for all kind of purely biological, inherited reasons. In the last four years, my relationship to my skin has changed drastically because of an a medical condition I struggle to deal with as it has completely redefined the way I feel about my body. And in the last few days, I have been feeling quite unwell again because of it. Stress-related, I assume. So reading this book was strangely healing – comprehending the complexities of a difficult and uncomfortable topic usually does that to one.

In the conclusion of her excellent book, Thomas writes: “Understanding practices that have been shaped by histories of subjection requires humility and empathy. It requires apprehending the world in ways that are more generous and more nuanced.” Beneath the Surface offers this kind of space for discussion and teaches us all about the shocking truth of how much illusion, power and greed can be found in a beautifully scented jar of toxic lotion.

Culinary highlight of the day: Kyoto Garden Japanese Restaurant deliver their fantastic food to one’s door.

And there was a walk, Skype meeting with Mom and Krystian over lunch, some live rugby and live British Premier League, a manuscript, a full moon.

I didn’t think of lighting a fire before I suddenly found myself in front of the fireplace tonight, full of longing. Not so much for the warmth as for the light, the soothing sound. The perfect writing companion. And the perfect bedtime storyteller. Glinka is already sleeping on her blanket in the armchair in front of the fire; Salieri is purring softly on the bed. We might all have an early night. But first: a drink with Harry.

If you were expecting to read something truly profound for Day One Hundred, I am sorry to disappoint. My pandemic brain is in weekend mode despite all attempts at trying to force it to act otherwise.

Yesterday, there was a death in my extended South African family. I heard the news this morning. Not Covid-19-related, but because of the lockdown, family members abroad not only have to deal with their loss, but with the logistics of possibly not being able to be back in the country in this time of mourning when one so desperately needs loved ones around one to cope.

A hundred days of lockdown. No end in sight.

We gaze at the moon. We listen to fires. All this longing, and fear.

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home.

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD

OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.

— @HaggardHawks

Can you believe it? Ninety-nine. When I started the Oysterhood diary, the lockdown had no levels, no advanced versions, and it was supposed to last twenty-one days … Well!

I have been thinking that maybe it is time to stop. No one, but really no one will understand my greatest conundrum about continuing. I have this thing about numbers. And then there is this thing about words, and about numbers becoming words. (And for me personally, it has nothing to do with style manuals – I respect those when I work with them professionally.) It is a matter of personal stylistic OCD, I suppose.

I have always been good at maths. I love working with numbers when they are among themselves. But I really don’t like numbers interfering with words – unless … they become words among words. That is why I always spell them out. It could never be “Day 99” in my diary. But what I am considering is: do I want “Day One Hundred and Twenty-Eight”? I just can’t have “Day 128”. Nope. Not even when my favourite number features in it … But maybe it is time to stop counting all together? Yes, it is all very strange, and no one will understand. But, if for some weird reason you do, welcome to my world!

And in my world last night, there was a hot, long bath with arnica oil, pink wine and the recording of a discussion between Howard Phillips and Finuala Dowling that was facilitated by the UCT Summer School. Phillips is the author of In a Time of Plague: Memories of the ‘Spanish’ Flu Epidemic of 1918 in South Africa. That book left a deep impression on me, and the conversation I watched on YouTube was additionally illuminating.

The key insight that struck me was how our mobility contributed to the devastating consequences of the flu back then. You look at a map of the worst hit regions and compare it with a map of the railroads of the time and the two are nearly identical. Scarily so. That thing about hotspots and intra- and inter-provincial travel – we need to really think about it before we move as much as a kilometre away from home. The slogan we have been hearing – you move, the virus moves – is not an empty threat. And looking at the maps of 1918 and remembering all the stories of contemporary travel I keep hearing about all the time, despite restrictions and lockdown, I wonder how safe it is to move. I also feel guilty about going to the wine farm a while back, even if it wasn’t that far away from home and the safety protocols on the farm were well thought-through. Now that it is (most likely) allowed, I can roughly imagine travelling intra-provincially, even for leisure, but under strict conditions that I don’t know entirely how to specify and execute for myself yet. But I know that a lot of consideration and care would have to go into any such decision. If only testing was easily and widely available … I would really like to know that, if I move, the virus is not moving with me. Without efficient, accessible testing, travelling feels like gambling. (And yes, I did see that video of the queue in front of our nearest casino on the day of its reopening – insane! Simply insane.)

There is also the question of need versus want. And all the things that one simply cannot predict or plan for.

Having said all of that, I can also report that I went to Noordhoek today in the afternoon. It was mainly for a professional reason to pick up the hardcopy of a manuscript I will be working on, but in the process I did manage to have an outdoor wave and masked chat with a dear friend, and on the way back stopped near the official Silvermine entrance and took a few photographs (also of Topolino finally in the ‘wild’). It was a gorgeous day and it was good to get out of my space after my first Zoom meeting this morning that I left with a gigantic headache, despite the discussion producing wonderful literary results which will be announced soon(ish) and will delight many writers in this country.

I also had to go to the post office again and my usual pet shop had an incredible promotion that allowed me to stock up on cat food and flea repellent and save a lot of money. And because the shop is located just opposite Exclusive Books Cavendish, I dashed in and got myself a copy of Becoming Men, one of the promising titles on the Homebru list. How wonderful to see Theatre Road on display as part of the EB Homebru promotion!

One of the reasons Thembi and Sindiwe wanted to have the book published last year was so that Thembi’s parents could still be around to witness it. Sadly, Thembi’s father passed away last week. But he did live to see his multi-talented, inspiring daughter’s biography being published, and there is a certain kind of calm attached to this tiny thought among the storm of emotions that follow a death.

At EB, it was nice to be able to wave at one of the vets The Cats visit (the one whom Glinka mistreated so badly a few years ago that she got herself a prominent warning on her computer file – it flashes red whenever the file is opened … and she is soooo small!). He is an avid reader and we always talk books when I see him. It is his week off and he was at EB stocking up on books to read. Good man, our vet!

All in all, I was out a lot today and I feel drained. But I hope that I won’t have to go anywhere apart from walks and walk drives in the next long while. A full bag of delicious homemade food from my dear friend accompanied the manuscript I had to get from her. My fridge is now smiling. And the Foodbarn Deli in Noordhoek had only one other customer in it today when I popped in, but their freezer was full of their usual delicious food. I brought a few items home. Their Thai chicken curry is divine. I had it for dinner.

And there is now a cheesecake in my kitchen (at least the remaining few slices) and I can hopefully just stay put for a while again. Negotiating the world outside my home is difficult and mentally exhausting, but it all went well and felt as safe as it could possibly feel.

The peak might not be the peak, just a very long flat mountain, but the views it offers right now are only cause for severe vertigo: over nine thousand new infections today, over one hundred deaths.

I had a bad night last night and, when I couldn’t get back to sleep, I eventually put on the light and read and looked up ‘stuff’ on social media. The first thing I saw was a tweet by a woman I don’t know, but we follow each other on Twitter and I know that she reads a lot and writes engagingly about books on her blog. Her husband died in a motorcycle accident yesterday, she tweeted. Devastating. You can never prepare for something like this. I feel for her and her family. Nearly three thousand families lost their loved ones to Covid-19 in South Africa alone. It might be easier to imagine the devastation of one accidental death than hundreds and thousands of deaths caused by a pandemic worldwide, but each one of these individuals had someone waiting for them to come home, and they didn’t.

All of us are shrouded by layers of grief that we are going to have to learn to live with – somehow.

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home.

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD

OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.

— @HaggardHawks

George Hallett, the remarkable South African photographer, passed away yesterday after a long illness – his family shared the news on social media. I met him a few times at exhibitions and literary events. I remember his warm smile. His photographs have been telling stories for decades. I treasure the book I have of his: Portraits of African Writers. He was an excellent observer; his portraits capture people’s souls.

I made two Furrytjies deeply unhappy when I got up to have my coffee this morning. It was a day for staying in bed. I did leave the house for a refreshing walk, but in general it was a dull-grey day that has felt heavy from the start.

It was straight back to bed the moment I could leave my desktop computer and continue my work on the laptop.

I finished work earlier than usual; eventually my head just wasn’t in it.

Saw today that these two books have been published and I had no idea they were coming. Ordered both immediately from The Book Lounge.

Can’t wait to get my literary fingers on these two, although I suspect Brodie’s will be a very rough read.

All kinds of confusing news today. The peak is not the peak after all. Our mortality rate in the Western Cape is worryingly high. It is possible that we are not registering all the Covid-19-related deaths. The new infection numbers are scarier with every passing day. Over eight thousand countrywide yesterday. Theoretically, the number of undetected, asymptomatic infections could be up to ten times higher than registered … for our area it could mean up to 600 000 infected people. And there are still covidiots out there NOT wearing masks and believing that all of this is just a hoax. Sigh.

What to do when one is feeling low: sushi and pink wine, me thinks. FYN Restaurant delivers the former. Yay! I might eat it in bed…

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home.

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD

OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.

— @HaggardHawks

I posted this picture on Karavan Press’s Instagram account last year while reading the manuscript of Karen Jennings’s An Island. I have been a fan of Karen’s versatile work for years. She is one of those writers who can shift flawlessly between poetry and prose, fiction and non-fiction, short and long forms, historical and contemporary. Her writing is always exquisite. I was already jumping up and down with joy when she asked me to read An Island, but after a few jaw-droppingly beautiful pages, I knew that it would be an absolute dream to co-publish this novel with her UK publisher, Holland House Books. And once I got to the end of the book, I was simply in awe. Karen, her publisher and I had been corresponding and talking about the project for several months before the pandemic, then the pandemic hit and delayed everything, but we are again on the right path and I cannot wait to share this book with readers. And what a pleasure to cooperate on such a project with a publisher who is kind and only has their author’s best interest at heart.

My dear friend, artist and designer Debbie Minné, has been working on the artwork for the cover and she came up with a few stunning images. Everything is coming together – slowly (as we knew it would from the moment the state of disaster was announced), but surely.

Another good sleep and a satisfying morning of reading with cats. And apart from a wonderful walk, the day was all about work. Every day, I read two chapters in Around the World in 80 Words and delight in the linguistic armchair travel. Paul Anthony Jones has a new book, The Cabinet of Calm. One of the words that features in it is HOWF: “a popular meeting place, or a regular haunt—so if you’re HOWFFY, then you’re snug and comfortable in a place you know well.”

The bed is our lockdown howf. Our morning was much calmer today, all howffy, no fighting. In the afternoon, while I was at my laptop, Salieri made up for the earlier peace and quiet and taught the blanket a lesson.

She and Glinka are all settled in the howf for the night (someone is snoring …), but it will be a while before I can join them. Still finishing a job tonight and I want to watch something on TV again. Dinner will also have to be magicked into being … but we do have lovely leftovers.

Sweet dreams, literary and otherwise, dear readers.

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home.

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD

OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.

— @HaggardHawks

Touch wood: I have been sleeping exceptionally well lately. I can’t say that I have been feeling well during the days when I am awake, because I am often overwhelmed by the direness (my word) of the world, but at least I am getting some rest. It makes getting through the long work days easier.

Cat blanket.

Most days still begin with leisure reading, despite heavy workloads, and today Glinka was first on the scene to catssist when I settled back in bed with my coffee. But then Salieri arrived and was not amused that she had to share not only the bed but her human. A hissing and staring down contest ensued – if looks could kill, we would all be mausetot (German: mouse-dead).

I lay there mausestill (German: mouse still) and tried to read my books.

Eventually, duty called and work had to be done. Professional highlights of the day: Skype meeting with an author that I look forward to working with on a beautiful project. And: signing of a publishing agreement (long time in the making) to be officially announced shortly. The Karavan is trudging along. No one knows what the future will bring, but that is nothing new in publishing.

At lunchtime, I briefly spoke with Mom and Krystian.

I took a short break in the afternoon sun with Glinka and Mozart sunbathing next to me in the garden. With batteries recharged, we returned to work. I saw someone mention on Twitter today that one should also allow oneself holidays in these strange times. Yes, I suppose so, but for now, it is a relief to have work and the energy to do it. I have decided not to push it like toward the end of 2019 when I ended up so tired and ill after the last project of the year that it took a few weeks to recover fully, but I am glad to be able to work again at nearly full capacity despite the recurring moments of paralysis and bone-chilling fear.

I love the way the light moves around the house with the seasons. In winter, it visits my bedroom in the afternoons. This is where I work now if I don’t have to be at my desktop computer in my study. A few days ago, I rearranged the bedroom, so that I could look up from my laptop and enjoy the afternoon sun falling on the bed in front of me. And there is usually at least one cat dreaming in the light. The view always makes me smile.

I cooked a stew for dinner, opened a bottle of the beautiful wine that my neighbours gave me after the booze ban was lifted. I will do some more work, watch some TV, hopefully have another sleepfull night. Tomorrow should be another good day. Please. At least in this small bubble I call home.

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home.

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD

OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.

— @HaggardHawks

A miserable day.

I had to go out briefly to pick up signed documents and had them scanned and sent to the relevant party. I couldn’t wait to get back home. The rest of the day was devoted to work.

Highlight of the day: afternoon tea leftovers for dessert after lunch.

It is still cold and wet and miserable outside, but now we have a fire and a glass of red wine to keep us warm. Simple but hearty pasta for dinner, eaten in front of the fire. An evening of reading and TV watching ahead.

I have been thinking about ordinary ‘engagement’ protocols during the pandemic, apart from shops and businesses. It is easy to discuss how to interact with people one knows well. For example: because it will require a lengthy conversation, a Cape Town-based author and I decided via lengthy emails that, even though we could possibly meet in an open space and safely discuss our project while walking or physical distancing in nature, we are going to opt for a meeting on Skype after all.

But what happens when you are supposed to engage in a certain, previously discussed, way during a supposedly short encounter, but then the other party suddenly asks you to act differently, in ways that make you feel uncomfortable. But you don’t know them well, and want to be respectful, and don’t know how to tell them: NO!

It is like my friend Helen said: the same way we need to practice safe, consensual sex, we need to practice safe, consensual meetings, personal and professional – when encountering people we know and love or when engaging with strangers.

I felt uncomfortable during a brief meeting with a near-stranger today, but did not know how to voice my misgivings. Afterwards, I promised myself to speak up for my safety and comfort next time, but I know that situations like these are never easy to negotiate.

No wonder my oysterhood drive was quite overwhelming today.

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home. Remember the broom can be used as a social distancing tool – in the air and on the ground.

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD