Where shall we put our hope?

In plenty and in poverty

There is no doubt that we love Cape Town, but we visit a city of stark contrasts. The opportunities and privileges we have brings into a Cape Town of luxury, of access, of comfort and a relative sense of safety and security.

Yet, around the hotel where we are staying, we cannot miss or ignore another face of Cape Town, not so much that of the poor, but one of the destitute. I differentiate between the poor and the destitute from a personal viewpoint of the poor having shelter and sustenance, those who have basic needs met, but are stretched to consider wants.

In the case of the destitute, they have no shelter or live in makeshift settings prone to changes in nature and the abuse of authority figures, they cannot determine when or where their next meal will come from. Some are in threadbare clothes and probably have no access to basic cleaning facilities.

Great policy minds required

The other day, I walked into a convenience store and I was accosted by two people, not for money, but things, I acquiesced and by the time I was paying, there was milk formula, baby diapers, soft drinks and basic foodstuffs at the checkout. One of the men, knelt in thanks, I was quite embarrassed as I asked him to get up.

It was an opportunity for them, and for me, there was both the means and opportunity to affect a situation, though, it was nowhere near the solution. There are no easy answers to the poverty and destitution issue in South Africa. You can’t even begin to think of jobs before you have installed a kind of welfare system to make these people suitable for any work environment and this is if they have the skills required to do the jobs.

Either way, there would have to be some poor laws and institutions for the poor to give them a sense of human dignity to raise them to some kind of opportunity. It would take some creative and inspired policy-making to address the destitution problem and this would should be different from policies to address basic poverty, accommodation, access to services and the broader unemployment issues with the matter of giving the majority the skills to exploit opportunities that arise.

Is there hope for the many?

Another cohort is the pre-teen street kids, in any progressive society, these kids should be in school and cared for by responsible adults in some setting. I fear residential institutions because of histories of physical and sexual abuse. However, society does owe these unfortunate young members the possibility of a bright future. This requires selfless humanitarian work for which the government should be a major sponsor and supporter.

There is much that ails South Africa, not everyone has a voice or one that must be heard and acted upon. This especially for the poor and destitute for whom the wasted Jacob Zuma years and the preoccupation with the state capture machinations have left them further behind than humanity should countenance for much longer.

We who come to appreciate the beauty of South Africa do contribute to the growth of the economy, but we are not the answer to the question that many South Africans have been asking since 1994. Where shall we put our hope?

Courtesy of the William Kentridge exhibition at Zeitz MOCAA, Cape Town.

Essential Snobbery 101: The majestic art of conversation with a fork and knife

The distraction of gadgetry

There are times I tend to check my old-fashioned view of things just to determine if I have been left behind by the times, or I am being too judgemental. Yet, there are some things that should never become old-fashioned, like respect, courtesy, consideration, the art of conversation and basic table manners.

On our trip to Cape Town, there was a family sitting in the front row, the young man, about 10 years old, was wearing his mega headphones connected to some device on which he was playing dexterity games that had him hooked on the stroboscopic effects of the lights and colours as if hypnotised as he pressed buttons incessantly without being able to get to the next level. I saw that much.

In that time, getting his attention was literally impossible, for each announcement, the air steward had to come round to have his mother prod him to take off his headphones. The same for when the food and drinks trolley came down the aisle, he was completely disengaged from our reality. He had left the responsibility for everything, his comfort, his safety and maybe his welfare to others.

No human skill gained

It would be easy to blame this on technology, but we have been doing technology since before it became commonplace; the benefit in human interaction cannot be underestimated. It is the responsibility of guardians to ensure that this aspect of growth, education and development is nurtured and fostered because it would always matter above the version of the game being played.

From my perspective of grandparenthood, I could see no particular development beyond gaining the skills to be a forklift operator, maybe even by providence the operator of an unmanned combat aerial vehicle (UCAV), also known as combat drones, I just fear for the victims of decisions made without human or humane insight, which cannot be gained by just playing games, for life and lives are not a game.

Fork and knife 101

In another setting, we were in a restaurant where another family on a night out were tucking into cuisine that called for the basics in table manners. The use of cutlery, for which the abuse I witnessed began to look like entertainment. Now, how people choose to eat their food is up to them; you can have your soup through a straw for all I care, though, that is why a spoon is provided.

I have occasional issues with chopsticks; they are quite different in Chinese restaurants, where they are wooden, roundish and long, suited for eating from shared dishes, compared to Japanese restaurants, where they are short, as the communal sharing of food is not traditional, and for the Koreans, they are metal, as a test for whether the food offered to royals was poisoned. If my handling fails me, I switch to the customary cutlery.

I would guess the spoon, knife and fork are the somewhat universal standard of cutlery, and any education should include the basic use of the knife and fork. Yet, from what I observed, my tendency to disgust quickly became one of sympathy, as I could not have been the only one to have watched the swordplay and farmhand’s use of a garden fork without the urging of a heel, all on a plate of pasta or a pizza.

Opening doors with skill

If anything, just as it is important to give our kids swimming lessons, it is critical to impart the appropriate use of a fork and knife, whether at home or as part of a primary school curriculum. I hate to say, these rather fundamental skills have decided whether one has access or not to certain circles. How conversation, social skills, and emotional intelligence have been the determining factors in fitting in or being an outcast. We can’t all be anarchists in the service of some obscure counterculture raging against the establishment. It is not a bad idea to ensure this is done early; adults devoid of this skill are not a sight to behold if one were to suggest it is a situation to be pitied.

On another table, everyone was on their phones, preferring the virtual to the company of those you are attending dinner with. I can only wonder what to say. It is bad manners at first, and where do you cultivate the art of conversation if you cannot do it at the dinner table? Except for emergencies, the phone can wait, respect the company you have or decline the invitation for your virtual world. We can be better behaved; we only have to put some effort into it.

On my 54th birthday, I give thanks

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Even for this

Unexpected as I was, I became the first child and son of a young couple on a cold winter morning in the UK. I have however learnt to be thankful and full of gratitude for the life that I have been blessed with.

The many trials and tribulations that have set me up for opportunities I could never have seen from the downturns that could have suffocated me but for the spirit of hope, expectation and good fortune that has guided me to a solid and firm height out of the doldrums.

There is much

I am grateful for the privileges and the accidents, the stories I have been given to tell. I found love and happiness with some who has fixed smiles on my face, my heart and my soul, Brian is a soulmate like I have never ever known before, I hope to share the rest of my life with him.

Here I am giving thanks, a decade after a cancer that could have ended it all, situations and circumstances have become signposts of history, friendships have grown, and achievement has surpassed achievement towards new recognition and prospects.

To be thankful

My heart overflows with thanks and tribute to my parents, my siblings, my friends, colleagues generous with time, space, commendation, and reference, I have been loved, helped and supported much more than I deserve.

I mark my 54^th birthday in the company of my boyfriend, thank you for making every moment count for ones to cherish. I give thanks, thanks, thanks again, I cannot shirk in counting my blessings and having a grateful heart, for life, for health, for love, for hope, for opportunity, for laughter, for joy, for the future and for more things to be thankful for.

To God mostly

I have music in my heart and most of all, I give thanks to God, I cannot have planned this life and many of the ways it has turned out feels like I have been a living miracle. From the day a boy no bigger than a hamster was born at just six and a half months to the day that the Lord as made.

Winter will end at 11 AM

In preparation

Travel is an expectation and excitement rolled into a flurry of emotions that you cannot fully express apart from just being the experience being lived.

I had ample time for plan for my journey to South Africa, once I had passed my TOGAF certification last week Tuesday in London and returned home to Manchester on Wednesday, I had 6 days to get things sorted. My first plan was to get the laundry service to pick up my laundry on Wednesday evening to be returned 24 hours later.

Daily, I had begun to gather the things I needed for my journey, trying to ensure nothing was forgotten, and this without making lists even as a small still voice was advising me to consider a list. I would think I have everything I want and also something for Brian and I to wear, as for weeks I had been looking for matching jackets, Brian being two sizes smaller, but with the same length of arms.

Hefty baggage

I did most of my packing the day before, using compactors for my shirts and trousers with my underwear, then shoes, hats, and other essentials. My portable scales put the suitcases at 19kg and 16kg, I think there was another few kilograms added by the time I got out of the door. I hailed a Uber cab to the airport when 5 minutes into the trip, I realised I had left a wallet at home.

This happened my last trip too, fortunately, it did not contain the essential cards. I got the driver to turn back whilst I retrieved my wallet and we took a more scenic route to the airport. After checking in and being ushered unto the Fast Track lane which was anything but, you begin to realise why you should have more than enough time to clear security.

Security dexterity

Without a doubt, those with toddlers need to research how to traverse security at ease and at speed, I had 4 families ahead of me and everyone looked like first time travellers, babies implacable, mother extending like an octopus granted a few more limbs to unpack bags, hold the baby, keep the other child from running around and attempting the contortions of a double-jointed gymnast. A sight to behold and a good 30 minutes of my life frittered away before the wand wielder checks my watch, cufflinks and affinity bangle, then waves me through.

I proceed to cool off in the lounge, the need for travel to be stress-free cannot be exaggerated, there are two stops before Cape Town tomorrow afternoon. We are coasting at 4⁰C, the thought of leaving winter behind warms my breast.

Hiding the winter props

In Paris, angels were on assignment, that is all I can say. Having walked through the literally inscrutable Charles De Gaulle airport, it is a beast of an airport as friendly as a hyena is to its prey, if it were avoidable, but why simplify the complicated, when you can make it a harrowing experience.

The boarding gates for my next destination of Johannesburg were in the same terminal and I still had to lug my things through security, the obligatory striptease without music has become a dramatic art worthy of an Academy nomination. Thankfully, but thankfully, there were no families with toddlers, pushchairs and kids on fizzy drinks running around like they were buzzing on drugs.

The disarray at the security check is not worth reckoning with, we survived it and I made for the lounge. There, I should have shown my paper boarding pass, but I resorted to my mobile phone boarding pass. With that in hand, I made for a seat with the aim of charging my phone and putting my overcoat into my suit carrier.

Angels working overtime

That was a struggle as I put my phone down and knelt on the suit carrier to get the zipper done up. I only had time for a drink when I noticed my flight to Johannesburg was boarding. I picked up my bags and it was close to a 10-minute walk to the boarding gate and on getting through, I found my seat, put up my hand baggage and was about to sit down when an air stewardess presented me with a mobile phone.

I was completely oblivious of the fact that I had left my phone in the lounge, I cannot account for how the phone made it from the lounge to my seat. The gravity of realising how it could have been a disaster to lose my phone only began to dawn on me hours after. I got me some angels watching over me.

Winter did end at 11:00 AM

As we arrived in Johannesburg, it was 11:13 AM, two minutes ahead of schedule, I was hit with the heat of summer, my winter was over as I was informed I would need to collect my baggage and recheck-in with the local airline that would get me to Cape Town, this after I was told that my baggage had been checked through to Cape Town, I guess that was figuratively rather that literally. I collected my baggage and no additional labels are attached to them.

My seat was pre-allocated, and I could not change it because it was with another airline, Brian had a seat 3 rows from mine as we had arranged to be on the same flight from Johannesburg to Cape Town. We met up in the lounge and I was expecting him to use his charm offensive to get us to sit together. As luck would have it, whilst I was given an aisle seat, the window seat was free, it meant Brian could come to sit beside me for the flight.

We arrived in Cape Town without much fuss, the captain’s parting message beyond the Christmas wishes was the hope that South African Airways would still be a thriving company that provides the wonderful service we have enjoyed over the decades. How Jacob Zuma and his clique almost ruined that bastion of South Africa expression with incompetent and unqualified people.

I was soon in my shorts and amongst the teeming crowds of the Victoria & Alfred Waterfront.

Courtesy of the William Kentridge exhibition at Zeitz MOCAA, Cape Town.

There Will Be No Epiphany

My Anglican Communion

I like the community and the camaraderie of the church I attend. Having been to many temples of varying Christian interpretations of worship and liturgy, I have found a welcoming in my Church of England - Anglican roots.

The Manchester Cathedral or by its proper name, the Cathedral and Collegiate Church of St Mary, St Denys and Saint George became a cathedral in 1847, it was granted collegiate status in 1421, but it is believed a church has existed in this location for over a millennium.

It mixes the traditional with the modern, and I am thrown by the Latin pieces of music for which there are English translations that are sung interminably that if the words were put to the three lines of verse, you might find it stretching to over 21 lines.

Consideration of others

Occasionally, there is incense, but every Sunday morning at 10:30 AM is the Sung Eucharist which is a service that culminates in holy communion. The community starts with the call-response between the president and the congregation when we offer each other the sign of peace with handshakes and after the service, we gather for a drink of tea or coffee with biscuits. There, we get to start conversations with strangers who would become acquaintances and then friends.

The sermon today broached on the subject of wickedness, not so much on being evil but on attitudes and behaviours to others in terms of indifference, disrespect, lack of consideration, selfishness and so on.

It made me reflect on an encounter earlier in the day where one that could be called a friend had taken liberties in the display of a complete lack of consideration for the other that a gentle entreaty quickly escalated into an unnecessary but essential outburst of rage. Yet, in spite of and despite the sometimes incomprehensive and usually reprehensible machinations of this friend, in the heart, there is a liking that prevents the termination of the friendship. It is a trying work of patience.

A pillar of the community

We are given a pamphlet as we enter the church, it is the order of service with the hymns, the readings and notices. One of the notices was for Friday the 20^th of December at 10:00 AM which had been moved back 30 minutes, the memorial service for Michael Oglesby CBE DL, it goes to reflect how I appear to live in Manchester and hardly know what is going on in my city.

Michael Oglesby owns 20% of the commercial office space in Manchester city centre and owns more than 120 buildings in Greater Manchester, Cheshire, Liverpool, Leeds and Birmingham through his Bruntwood property group. [MEN]

Tributes to him followed from the University of Manchester where The Oglesby Cancer ResearchBuilding is named for him. There was a good spread in the Financial Times that talked of his reviving Manchester and Liverpool along with his philanthropic activities. This was no doubt a great pillar of our community whose life will be celebrated on Friday. [UoM][Financial Times]

A revelation of difference

My sense of belonging is getting stronger too, The Dean of the Cathedral is from South Africa and he is known at St George’s Cathedral in Cape Town, which I attend when out there. Now, the Sung Eucharist in Cape Town is even more traditional, always incense, singing canticles and a lot of Latin too. The church used to be the archbishopric of Archbishop Desmond Tutu.

As we weave between conversation, coincidence and communion, there will be no epiphany even as we close on that feast, for the communication of our faith becomes effectual by the acknowledging of every good thing which is in us in Christ Jesus. Our Anglican community brings good things out of us. [BibleGateway]

Courtesy of the William Kentridge exhibition at Zeitz MOCAA, Cape Town.

#GeneralElection2019 Resist The Third Martini

Principle for the people

Mr Jeremy Corbyn is a man of principle, it took a second failed general election attempt to prove conclusively that he is not a man of the people.

As I read on Twitter yesterday when the exit polls suggested Boris Johnson had successfully gambled and won the general election as the Labour Party was about to be handed its most catastrophic defeat in a century, I could not help but agree that “The problem with the government of the people, by the people, for the people, is the people.”

Yet, to blame the electorate for an electoral loss is to entirely miss the point of elections. Democracy and winning elections are the mastery of the art of persuasion. We have to admit, in spite of and despite the prevailing circumstances, Jeremy Corbyn has been unable to persuade the people of your agenda, no matter how noble, you have not successfully won their hearts, their minds and their votes to your side.

He didn’t help himself either

Now, I do understand that there is a perspective that the whole establishment and the mainstream media had demonised Jeremy Corbyn complete, and he for himself probably with his history and associations did not help matters that much. I for one have voted for the Labour Party since 1992 in all general elections including this, whilst I have given my vote recently to the Liberal Democrats in the local and European elections for the simple fact that the Labour Party had departed from the ground where general elections can be won.

Tony Blair won three general elections comfortably, the last he won even after the taint of the Iraq War had taken hold. Whether Tony Blair is liked or not, you cannot ignore his electoral successes and anyone who wants to win elections with the Labour Party will at the very least study the strategy and methods by which he was able to appeal and win the confidence of the people to govern.

Opposition or government

At this juncture, the Labour Party needs to decide if it wants to be a party of government, 9 years in opposition is a long time and if Boris Johnson runs his full term, the Labour Party will languish in opposition for 14 years.

You cannot do policy from the opposition and it is sad that the Labour Party hierarchy ignored the prescient warning of Tony Blair when for the first time, the opposition parties could control the agenda in parliament having had Boris Johnson on the ropes. They ignored him and now, the Labour Party has become a rump of itself with Jo Swinson being sent on her way.

I voted Labour in the election, not for the sake of Jeremy Corbyn but by recognising my constituency MP, Lucy Powell does a good enough job and that she should not be punished for the unfortunate situation of her party leader. All politics is local, at least that is what I see.

No sweet scent of Jeremy

Yet, I cannot deny that there were so many insurmountable misgivings about Jeremy Corbyn with many of my immediate interactions on social media and the reported issues on the doorstep. People just could not see Jeremy Corbyn being Prime Minister. That I was able to hold my nose and see more of the man, that was not how many others felt, odium and opprobrium seemed to dog him to the point that it overwhelmed the ability to assess him objectively.

Having lost two general elections, there is no doubt in my mind that Jeremy Corbyn is first responsible for the losses along with his team and the cult of Momentum which I would hope falls into the black hole of ignominy and history as Mr Corbyn departs the centre stage. There must be a collective responsibility of the shadow cabinet for this disaster.

You need to win elections to initiate and implement policy, else, your ideas remain on paper and are mere words of no import. The idealism that has driven the Corbyn agenda will not win elections, we need more pragmatism that broadens the church of the Labour Party to include the full spectrum of people and ideas that must embrace the Blairites and the Corbynites in common purpose for the United Kingdom.

The five stages of defeat processing

I appreciate that many of the ardent supporters of Jeremy Corbyn are loss in the first stage of the Kübler-Ross model of the Five Stages of Grief (Defeat), they are in Denial of the truth that Jeremy Corbyn bears the principal responsibility for the loss of the 2019 General Election. Some are expressing Anger at the media and even the electorate, that is misguided.

I doubt there is anything to Bargain for, the time for that passed when between the Labour Party and the Liberal Democrats, they could have a coalesced to keep the Tories out. It is the great regret of missed opportunities for which I hold both Jeremy Corbyn and Jo Swinson responsible.

Then, I hope they will not spend too much time in Depression before they reach the point of Acceptance that Jeremy Corbyn is a failure and he has to go sooner rather than later, that the Labour Party needs a new direction with the fundamental principle that they must prepare for government with a leader to whom the people can relate and a message that can persuade the people of the Labour Party is the better choice.

Missing the prize

As for where we are, the prize is with Boris Johnson and I fear with the infighting, the cult of Momentum, the anti-Semitic charge, and the exodus of Labour Party moderates and centrists, the party of the working people took their eyes off the prize and gave victory to Boris Johnson. What could have been, but we are where we are now.

The world will not end, maybe Brexit will really happen, but Mr Johnson has enough room to manoeuvre without being held hostage by a faction of his party. Heck! We have had three years of Donald Trump and not a world war for each year he has been in office. I fear, that Donald Trump might well win a second term if the Democrats do not refine their socialist tendencies.

Resist the third martini

I do not have a palate for strong alcohol, a Martini will probably kill me, if I attempted a shot and dared a second, but by all means, I must resist the third Martini, just as Jeremy Corbyn should not have a third shot at leadership or the general election and the Labour Party as it now will fail at a third visit to the people, if it does not radically reform and return to winning ways.

We’ll be fine, everything has a shelf life and the era of Boris Johnson will pass. Lastly, I congratulate Boris Johnson on his victory, and I hope he sees the great calling of office to lead and be a successful Prime Minister. Our prayers follow with great expectations. Our hope remains strong for a bright future.

Courtesy of the William Kentridge exhibition at Zeitz MOCAA, Cape Town.

Old Gods Have Retired

Care for the words ye speak

We can be rather emotional beings and so prone to outbursts and communication that in the spur of the moment can damage relationships.

Nowhere is such able to affect you as much as to hear that some rather unpalatable, reprehensible or downright atrocious thing has been said about you and your person in a fit of uncontrolled and animated displeasure.

Gratifyingly, these things are rarely said where one witnesses the vituperation, they are relayed conversations that come to light sometimes long after the event. Amid idle banter, effusive gossip, or the need to convey a veneer of candour, the perpetrator encapsulates quite reductively the character, status or person of someone else into a pithy phrase or word, the hearer unable to escape the impact of what was said.

Absence is not presence

The party to whom opprobrium was intended whilst in their absence then gains knowledge either by a whispering campaign or in unrelated conversation that wends its way to the unintended revelation of a major slight.

You cannot ever mistake the import, it has consequences and it will hurt quite deeply. However, you have to begin to rationalise and hope you misheard. Maybe the issue cannot be corroborated and before one settles into pitiful paranoia, as long as the matter is not addressed directly to one, it might well be best to ignore it altogether, but that takes time.

A bastard of the gods

At least, that is the frame of mind I have, for if one were to act one side of the story regardless of the trust that one has in the source, the old gods of allegiance, filiality, relationship, respect, consideration, honour and duty will be retired never to hear supplications or receive sacrifices of adherents who have justly gone apostate.

Even for a bastard, we are made of sterner stuff than to be rash in judgment and intemperate when provoked. The fight is unnecessary for the conscience to heal from the unkindest deployment of verbiage. We live for a higher cause.

Courtesy of the William Kentridge exhibition at Zeitz MOCAA, Cape Town.