A career in contrariness

Schooldays are, for me, not something I remember with any great pleasure. What I do remember with glee though, is the number of schools my mother was asked to remove me from. Now that is something I am rather proud of!

It started in pre-school (aged five) when I latched onto the security gate on entering the place, grabbing onto the bars with something like a death-grip and yelled blue murder.

The teacher, talking over my head as if I wasn’t there and couldn’t understand (adults often do this) assured my mother that I’d get tired of it and let go, so I didn’t. I stayed there and howled at anyone who tried to detach me.

After a few days of this, my mother was so traumatized by my routine, that she was quite relieved when the teacher suggested that I ‘wasn’t ready’ for pre-school.

The following year I entered grade one, ready-equipped with a reading ability that extended to taking in the newspaper and doing basic maths (my mother had taught me from the cradle). I was promoted to second grade as a result, but it was awfully boring.

It was then that I discovered that I needn’t have a single schoolbook. I was kept in after class, lectured and remonstrated with, but it made no difference at all. Besides, it was fun baffling the grown-ups. I never argued with them, just did (or didn’t do) as I pleased. So mum was asked to remove me from that school by the time I reached grade 4.

I was in such trouble about that, that I toed the line for a while, but Grade eight saw me at a school that required me to wear a beret, name-badge and house badge.

It wasn’t deliberate, but I succeeded in being without at least one of the three at any given time and my mother was informed that I ‘refused to obey the school rules’. This, together with my academic habits (which rapidly re-surfaced), saw my mother once again being asked to take me out of the school. She did, which brings me to grade 9.

At that school, I was taken to a school psychologist for reasons similar to those mentioned above. I was declared depressingly ‘normal’ by a bored looking psychologist. Thus I was not only recalcitrant but uninteresting. My mother was once again required to move me.

It was then that she lit on the idea of placing me in a school that would offer maximum freedom. There were no uniforms, or silly rules, or compulsory activities and passing or failing were entirely up to you. I thrived. I did really, really well for the first time in my entire school career and was allowed to do grades 11 and 12 in one year.

It was private school which accepted children no other school would touch: children with multiple expulsions behind their backs, pregnant school girls, children with police-records. I couldn’t possibly be as ‘bad’ as the other children there, so I marked my individuality by being the very best student.

Its fun being contrary, don’t you think?

Todays pic: a cat - the model of contrariness!

Computer games make me evil!

No, really, they do – and I’m not even talking fancy stuff like ‘Grand theft Auto’.

I recently downloaded a free game called ‘Chicken Invaders’ – much like the old ‘Space Invaders’, except that the aliens are cartoon chickens. When you shoot them, they squawk very satisfyingly, and when you ‘kill’ them, they drop drumsticks. If you pick those up, your space ship makes a lovely, disgusting burping noise and you get extra points.

It’s amazing how addictive it can be, and I caught myself thinking how cute they are when they die – an extra loud squawk – some feathers and a drumstick. I am overwhelmed by a hitherto unprecedented urge to kill chickens – me! One of those people that goes out of their way to rescue moths and whose first thought on finding a field mouse sharing my bed is that it shouldn’t be hurt.

Suddenly nothing will do for me but to spend a large chunk of my weekend (which was mostly cold and wet) committing mass chicken murder – crowing when I get better guns and relishing each death-squawk with indecent glee. I wasn’t like this before – promise!

Today’s pic: a rather bad watercolour of the view from my house – my first attempt since a bit of daubing over a year ago and done with a cheap box of water colours and a shedding paint brush on the wrong sort of paper. It was fun, though.

More names - I hate Linnaeus, I love Linnaeus

Linnaeus was an eighteenth century academic and adventurer who is often regarded as the ‘Father of Botany’ as we know it today.

There are times when I hate botanists. Example: the Cocos Palm Tree. First, it was called Cocos plumosa. Simple. Easy to remember, but Botanists don’t do ‘simple’ and they certainly don’t do ‘easy to remember’ either so it became:

Arecastrum romansoffianum. Right, so I remembered that, but then it became…

Syagrus romansoffiana. Sigh. So I remembered that too. I suppose botanists need to earn a living, even though everyone else is still calling the blessed thing Cocos plumosa . I gave up on that one and I’m not sure what its latest name might be.

But of course, there is more than one botanist on this planet, so while that lot was going on, some of them got hold of the genus Cassine and divided it into no less than five new Genera: Lauridia, Mystroxylon, Elaeadendron , Maytenus and I-forget-what, with the result that I never can remember which of the saffronwoods are which these days. I could go on, but I’m sure you get the idea.

The plants remain unchanged, but the names keep changing. Why? There already were perfectly acceptable, internationally recognized names. Of course, botanists can tell you why the old names aren’t perfectly acceptable and why new ones are absolutely necessary (their lives depend on it), but you’ll go to sleep just as you’re doing now. Bloody Linnaeus.

Be that as it may, I’m quite fond of Linnaeus, even though there is evidence that he was a pretentious git (he even gave himself a Latin name). He invented the concept of botanical gardens (nice places that they are) and popularized the ‘power nap’ - probably as a result of thinking up Latin names for plants and then changing them until he was exhausted.

Yawn. I’m off to have a nap under an Afrocarpus falcatus (which used to be Podocarpus falcatus, but still remains a Yellow wood tree) in the garden. Fifteen minutes will do.

Names, names, names

Names are proving to be a fruitful topic, so today I’m off at another tangent and thinking about people’s names. The Xhosa people here have some interesting naming traditions, and unlike us, who have to look up Latin and other origins, the meaning is very clear.

I understand calling your daughter ‘Thandiswa’ or ‘Noluthando’ (meaning ‘loved one’), but it’s a great shame to call some poor little girl ‘Daniswa’. It’s a pretty name, but it means ‘disappointment’ and is generally given to a girl whose parents had actually wanted a boy.

Mind you, some English names shriek ‘We wanted a boy’ too, although I’ll absolve my mother of that even though she called me ‘Andrea’ which means ‘manly’ and ‘Patricia’ which means ‘noble’. (forget this rapidly, please: my name is MM!)

When a Xhosa woman marries, her new family gives her a new first name which, though it doesn’t appear on her official identity document, she uses from then onward. This will usually be representative of some domestic virtue such as ‘Nokaya’ (lady of the house) or ‘Nomathemba’ (peaceful one). In a way, it’s a pretty tradition, and the ladies I’ve worked with seem to like it very well.

The men don’t escape the naming game. One unfortunate old gent in my employ was called ‘Malayiko’ (no money) – and unlike the ladies, he had no hope of changing it at marriage! I never had the heart to call him that, I just called him ‘Uncle’ which is perfectly polite to do in this country.

‘Siyabonga’ (we are grateful) is a charming name, and quite common in this part of the world. ‘Ncinikaya’ (protector of the house – the ‘c’ represents a click that sounds like ‘tch’) was a particularly interesting name to come across, especially since its bearer chose the profession of security guard!

By the way, did you know that there are a disproportionate amount of people with the surname ‘Fish’ who choose Marine Biology as a field of study?

It makes me remember a few other appropriate surnames such as Major Tricky who used to run the police anti-fraud unit, and Vincent Bath who used to manage Rand Water Board (they supply Johannesberg’s water). We also used to have a chief justice Paijola (payola?) – I don’t want to think too hard about that one! One of the most highly regarded dentists in town is ‘Dr Payne’ and so it goes…

So I challenge you: add to my collection of interesting names or surnames! Bet you know a couple…. Gimme!

Today's pic: a woman named 'Beauty'.

Lost in Africa

With liberation in South Africa, as is often the case when liberation happens, people decided to change some place names. That’s all very well, but it does mean that one can get terribly lost.

Some years ago, I was heading for the town that most people still call ‘Bloemfontein’ and nearly missed the turning, because I’d forgotten that it was now called ‘Manguang’. This incident motivated me to learn all the new place names and to remember that maybe the old ones are offensive.

About two years ago, I went to Sweden on a training course. There was another course running at the same time, and at one point the organizers decided that the delegates should meet. Of course, I made a beeline for the South Africans and we did the ‘Well I never! Fancy meeting you here!’ routines that countrymen do when they encounter each other abroad.

One of the ladies (a black one, as most South Africans are) told me that she came from a research institute that I knew was in Pretoria. No… not Pretoria… new name… so I said:

‘Oh! You’re from the town I grew up in, Tshwane!’ and she said

‘Yes, I’m from Pretoria’

So much for being politically aware and sensitive to people’s feelings! I must say that Microsoft has a bit of a problem there since spell check recognizes ‘Pretoria’, but not ‘Tshwane’.

I bet Bill Gates gets lost on the way to Manguang!

What's in a name?

My friend spent some time visiting friends on a ‘Guest Farm’, so I’ve learned something new: this is where guests come from, is it? I wonder if she went to help with the harvesting, and how that’s done. Hope its not too messy.

My thoughts drift from there to the rows and rows of B&B’s, guest houses, guest lodges and the like (not sure what the distinction is, but I suppose there must be one) that stand, almost cheek-by-jowl in all the prettiest spots around here.

A house built in the seventies will sport a name like ‘Wilderness Manor’ – it just doesn’t seem right. It certainly isn’t a ‘manor house’ in any sense that I understand the word. What manner of manor could it be?

Then there’s ‘Tuscany Guest House’ a fake-Tuscan monstrosity situated on Wilderness beach. Nuts. If you want Tuscany, go to Tuscany. This is Wilderness with miles of unspoiled coast – haven’t they heard of ‘sense of place’?

There is a ‘Long Island – style’ development on an island in Knysna Lagoon – you couldn’t think of a location more perfect – at least until they piled row on row of little boxes on it, tight as sardines, painted them blue-grey and sold them for millions each.

Was the ‘Long Island Style’ supposed to encourage one to swallow the size, proximity to neighbors and the price? I don’t get it. Why bring Long Island to Knysna? Not having been to Long Island, I can’t say if they got the effect right. To me, it just looks like one of those huge townhouse complexes.

Oh, and thinking about complexes connects immediately to the word ‘exclusive’ often used in the marketing of such places. It’s a beastly word. It stinks of snobbery and it surely adds a few hundred thousand to the price of what is quite likely a jerry-built, characterless unit among many others just like it. What’s ‘exclusive’ about that?

Heavens! That reminds me! There’s one of those things in George itself – ever so expensive, a fantasy (nightmare?) of clipped lawns and face-brick, walled in against the real world and called… wait for it… ‘Earl’s Court’! How’s that for pretentious? Definitely a complex for people with a complex

I suppose names aren’t really important and I should be more tolerant of people building fantasies with words: being ‘Earls’ and living in ‘Manors’ in ‘Long Island’ or ‘Tuscany’ and suchlike. It seems odd that people should need such fantasies in this beautiful place, but then again its human nature not to be satisfied.

I feel rather proud of the fact that I am.

Today's picture: sometimes reality is difficult to improve upon!

People pictures

I spent a little time looking through my picture folders this weekend. Its going to be a massive task mucking that lot out! Herculean, really, because as in the stables of legend, fresh material is deposited on a regular basis. Its also going to be quite difficult deciding which ones will get the chop.

Although most of my pictures are of plants and landscapes, I’ve got masses of people pictures. They’re not really my strong point, but I love it when personality shines through.

There are happy-go-lucky people and pensive people

Laughing ones and lugubrious ones

Large people and small people

Old ones and young ones

People with something to say

People who are, for one reason or another

really, really cool.