Tuck shop tucker

At boarding school, there was really very little reason to go to the tuck shop.  We used to get sandwiches at break (for my US blogpals – mid-morning recess).  They were always brown bread and usually the freshest of soft fresh.  My favourites were egg.  I still love egg sandwiches.  When I make them, I still grate my eggs they way they were grated for those sandwiches.  Peanut butter or peanut butter and jam (jelly), I could take or leave, and mostly left.  The midday meal was a quick gobble before the final two lessons ahead of the end of the school day just after 2pm.

Clarendon Girls’ High School where I spent five years, and from which I matriculated 40 years ago this year.  I took this photograph ten years ago when I went back for my first school reunion.

Reason besides, I did frequent the tuck shop.  There were certain stand out products that were popular among my peers.  They, and two in particular, became part of my Friday, end-of-the-week ritual.

Pocket money

Each term, our parents put money into our “pockets” which was doled out on request.  These were the days before computers, let alone PCs. Parent communication was either snail mail or a weekly telephone call to or from the ticky box (pay phone).  Back to pocket money – a girl needs cash, right?  The matron had a huge, leather-bound ledger and a cash box.  Each one of us (and there were about 70 of us), had a page on which she kept a running tally of our personal allocation and what we drew.  We had to go to her office, and queue after breakfast to draw money or to get a “sick” note if we needed to “escape” phys ed.  I queued. Frequently.

Tucker

The pupils’ mums ran the tuckshop and the fare, some of which would be frowned upon today, included salad rolls (egg or cheese) on fresh, white hot dog rolls;  vetkoek (deep-fried dough) with curried mince.  And buttery, flaky cheese pies.

The latter two often featured in my Friday ritual necessitated by the ubiquotous fried fish, soggy chips and coleslaw:  after school, I’d head to the tuckshop and order either a cheese pie or a curried vetkoek and a yoghurt.  When I have the opportunity to eat a traditional kerrie vetkoek, those vetkoek remain the standard.

Anyway, not so long ago, there was the inevitable discussion about tuck shop favourites on the “alumni” Facebook page.  I discovered that there is a recipe book from that era which includes a recipe for the curried mince.  The discussion turned to cheese pies and I mentioned that, occasionally, I make them.  There’s no recipe.  They must have been bought in from the local bakery – along with the sausage rolls.

I should not have said anything because, of course, I don’t have a recipe.  Anyhow, I promised that the next time I made them, I’d write down what I do. That meant paying proper attention to weights and measures. And things.

The “girl” who asked for this recipe is in this photograph of the residents of Connaught House, taken in 1976. She and I were in the same dormitory at least once that year, if I remember correctly.  She is at the end, on the right, of the second row from the back.  I am on the grass to the left of the matron’s left knee.

So, Judy, this is for you:  taste memories of forty five years ago.

Old School Clarendon Cheese Pies

The first time I made  these cheese pies was because I had some puff pastry left – from something else I had made.  Until I tasted them, I didn’t think about “our” cheese pies.  One bite and I was transported back to the years between 1976 and 1980, and high school. I admit that I make them with ready-made pastry.  I have made puff pastry:  it’s a mission.  And expensive.  A good quality store-bought pastry is a never-fail, at a far lesser price.  There’s a time when discretion is the better part of valour.  So, this really is a very easy “two ingredient” recipe:

A roll of pastry makes between 4 and 6 pies – depending on how thin one rolls the pastry, how good one is at spacing the rounds and how large you make the pies.  I use a small, plastic side plate as a template (about 16cm) and each pie contains about 100g of grated cheddar.  I seal the edges with milk which I also use to brush the pie and glaze it.  I’m a bit Scottish about using an egg wash: if I’m only making two pies, most of the egg will go to waste.  Bake in a hot oven (210°C) for 15 to 20 minutes until puffed up and golden brown.

Make sure that the pastry is sealed and that no cheese escapes – if you don’t, you’ll have pastry shells.

Pimped cheese pies and canapés

Although there is only one way to eat these cheese pies: hot, out of the oven with an entire bottle lashings of tomato sauce (ketchup), one can shrink and pimp them:

Shrink them for canapés and cut the pastry using an 8 to 10 cm cookie cutter and to pimp the filling, if you use cheddar, mix it with fresh herbs (like oreganum or thyme) and/or thin slices of raw or caremelised onion.  Inspired by a friend in the village and a pastry I ate at her Country Kitchen even before we moved here, occasionally and decadently, I substitute the cheese with a mixture of finely shredded raw spinach, caremelised onion and blue cheese.

If you’d like a printable version of the recipe, you can download it here.  When you do, buy me a ko-fi?

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

 

Post Script

In yet another aspect of my life, I offer

English writing and online tutoring services

every day conversation and formal presentations
writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers
formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
more information here

And then there’s more:

  • If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:
    • re-vamping old recipes.  As I do this, I plan to add them in a file format that you can download and print.  If you download recipes, buy me a ko-fi?
    • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts because of this.
  • If you’re interested in a soft entry into the world of crypto currency and monetising WordPress blog, use the fantastic Steempress plugin to post directly to the Hive blockchain.  Click on the image below to sign up
  • I also share the occasional post on Medium.

The Mercurial Freddie

Foreword

I wrote this almost exactly a year ago, and it went the way of all my posts for that period.  That said, this week saw the announcement that the Royal Mail would be launching a series of stamps to mark the 50th anniversary of Queen.  It seemed fitting that this is the post I should “reconstitute” and tidy up as part of that ongoing process of revising and “logging” them here.

I am an unashamed fan.  Their music is intertwined in the soundtrack of my life, going back to 1976 when I began to be enamoured with pop.  Their music is fascinating on a range of levels, from the music iteslf, to the lyrics.  Bohemian Rhapsody is open to so much interpretation and in the days when lyrics were included with the record (yes, we had the record), one could learn the the correct ones off by heart.  I remember looking up “Bismillah”, “Scaramouche” and “Beelzebub”.  I hear that song, and others, and the words just come out of my mouth.  Involuntarily.

One of very few regrets

Freddie Mercury always seemed a larger than life character and that he was.  In October 1984, the year I turned 21, Queen came to South Africa to play at Sun City and I didn’t go.  I regret little in my life, but not having made more of an effort to take the trip, is one of them.  That said, perhaps it wasn’t a bad thing – Freddie had issues with his voice and a couple of concerts were cancelled; with my luck, that would have been “my” night.  It was the most controversial part of that world tour because the Equity ban precluded British artists from performing in South Africa.  Because of Apartheid.  However, Sun City was located in the then “independent” state of Bophutatswana and which was “Apartheid-free”.

When I heard about Bohemian Rhapsody, the Freddie Mercury biopic, I was nervous about seeing it.  Who could be Freddie?  Nobody, I thought.  Then the reviews emerged – mixed.  And then Rami Malek, contrary to critics’ expectations, won the Oscar.  My interest was piqued and after hearing from contemporaries that they loved it, I wanted to see it.  Living where we do, and not getting to the big city the cinema very often, I was delighted when our local thespian laid his hands on a newly released copy of the Blu Ray and showed it at his theatre.

With reservations and with great anticipation, I went to see the film.  It is not the best film ever made – by a long shot.  Malek is wooden and tries too hard to be Freddie.  The actors playing Roger Taylor (and I loved his solo album, The Pros and Cons of Hitchhiking) and John Deacon were similarly wooden.  “Brian May” was probably the most comfortable in his character.  Despite all this –

I loved every minute.

I said so in a Facebook post which unleashed denigrating comments from two university contempories which, I think, reflects the extent to which Freddie Mercury was misunderstood.  This is the comment that most got me, and on which I have been reflecting ever since:

[the film]…made out that Freddy was a (sic) AIDS sufferer supporter…which is complete bullshit. If you read the auto biography Freddy was promiscuous almost beyond belief…he literally had a queue of young men outside his hotel room door who came in one-by-one to provide Freddy with an ‘all night service’. And then when he got Aids, (how surprising), he hid it as long as he possibly could and did nothing to remove its stigma or do anything for other sufferers. Freddy was a million miles away from being the saint they paint him as in the movie.

My response then:

It was honest without being as brutal as it could have been. Call me old and soft, but I appreciated that.

I went to see the film a second time and enjoyed it as much.  It also made me reflect even more on the extent to which Freddie has been villified in some quarters.  Largely unfairly, I believe:

Some context:

Growing up in South Africa meant that I grew up in a very conservative environment, in a country governed by Calvanistic Christian government:  Apartheid meant that races could not mix.  People of different races could not live next door to each other;  mixed marriages (sex across the “colour bar”) were (was) prohibited.  By law.  There was a peice of legislation:  The Prohibition of Mixed Marriages Act.  Similarly, sexual relations between people of the same sex was illegal.  Doors were broken down, people hauled out of beds and imprisoned.  Members of the armed forces suspected of being gay, were subjected to “corrective treatment”.  That is the society in which I grew up, as did the person who made that comment.  Homosexuality was also illegal in the UK when Freddie was a young adult; only in 1967 was it decriminalised for males over the age of 21.

Stigma

This means that we, like Freddie and his contemporaries, grew up in a homophobic world before AIDS and HIV:  it reared its head as a public health issue (and with terror tactics) in what would have been our last year or two of university.  It was highly stigmatised:  it was a gay disease;  it was also a disease of promiscuity.  It was, and for some still is, the equivalent of Biblical leprosy.  Notwithstanding the fact that there is now enough reliable information in the public domain which gives a lie to all of that.

Agony

During 1989, and when it was gay men who were most concerned about becoming infected, I had the mixed blessing of having a gay friend who discovered that his new partner, with whom he had hoped to have a permanent relationship, was HIV positive.  The partner had not disclosed and they’d been having unprotected sex.  My friend  and I went to see the film Longtime Companion, a classic about a community of friends confronting the ravages of AIDS. My friend had broken up with his earstwhile partner but was waiting for the outcome of the first of several tests necessary to find out his status.  It was still in the window period and then there would be the wait for a further six months.  The results are not important.  What is important is that my friend is one of the least promiscuous people I have ever known.  He knew, and would talk about Fire Island and the gay lifestyle;  he had lived in, and returned to Florida.  I have forgotten none of his agony, anger nor relief.

That agony can only be second to the agony of someone grappling with coming out and which includes having to acknowledge to themselves and to a still hostile society, their sexual preference and its implications.  I have had the privilege of walking alongside two dear friends as they have taken this step.  It’s neither a choice, and nor does coming out make life easier.  It just makes life different and choices different.  Nor, in 2020, does it mean that the world is accepting and not homophobic.

Farrokh Bubara

Freddie Mercury, I believe, was very much a product, and a victim of, his time.  Although he died at 45, we should remember that this year, he’d have turned 74.  He was nearly 20 years my senior.  Effectively a different generation.  That bears thinking about, as does his early and young life.

You’re ugly and your mother dresses you funny

Although he was born in Zanzibar, his father was employed by the British Colonial Service (as, incidentally, was mine) which sent him there from his native India (the family were Parsis from the Gujarati region, and were Zoarastrians).  The young Freddie was sent back to India to an English “public school-like” boarding establishment.  What parent, today, relishes sending their children to boarding school?  Less so now that the conduct of certain school masters and initiation practices  are increasingly being publicly acknowledged as “established” phenomena.  A few years later, in 1964 and when Freddie was just 18, the Zanzibar revolution, led by Muslims, forced the family to flee.  Nowhere else to go, they ended up in London where he clearly didn’t fit in. To add insult to injury, it was assumed he was from Pakistan, a country run by Muslims, the very people that hounded the family from Zanzibar – with nothing. Source

This would have been tough for any adolescent, especially for someone sensitive, with enormous talent and unconventional looks; I can only imagine how he felt about himself.  I have an inkling:  I had my own journey having to have my teeth “fixed”.  My mother constantly told me that I couldn’t have the most fashionable hair-do of the moment because of “your ears and your teeth.  Then there were all the other “you’re-ugly-and-your-mother-dresses-you-funny” experiences of my childhood and adolescence in boarding school,

About his being gay, one of Freddie’s biographers says:

The world has changed so much. He was a arecording artist in the ’70s and ’80s, two decades when the level of homophobia is difficult for anyone born after 1980 to fully comprehend. In particular, Britain and the USA were scary places for gay people, and the onset of AIDS gave license to the religious fulminators and right-wing zealots.

Living up to his rock star status

Hiding his HIV status and developing a larger than life persona that sheltered the deeper, sensitive, private human being must have been Freddie’s survival strategy.  The debauchery, which was touched upon in the film was a combination of what was expected of a rock star, the machinations of another lost soul who had found his meal ticket (or so he thought), as well as Freddie’s own proclivities and insecurities.

Freddie was no saint, that much is clear.  Perhaps his feet of clay did not feature in the film as much as his detractors might have liked.

With hindsight, two songs strike me as particularly poignant.  Was this, for most of his life, Freddie’s quest?

This one, hated by an old boyfriend of mine, is as relevant today as it was in 1984.

Lastly, this happens to be one of my absolute favourite Queen songs, not often played, which is my only reason for including it.

Post Script:

June is Pride month…
Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

 

Post Script

In yet another aspect of my life, I offer

English writing and online tutoring services

every day conversation and formal presentations
writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers
formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
more information here

And then there’s more:

  • If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:
    • re-vamping old recipes.  As I do this, I plan to add them in a file format that you can download and print.  If you download recipes, buy me a ko-fi?
    • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts because of this.
  • If you’re interested in a soft entry into the world of crypto currency and monetising WordPress blog, use the fantastic Steempress plugin to post directly to the Hive blockchain.  Click on the image below to sign up
  • I also share the occasional post on Medium.

All wrapped up

The Husband and I both enjoy Mexican food.  I have developed, over the years, a greater tolerance of hot and a little more spicy.  Mexican allows for our both respective heat proclivities and penchants for things animal or vegetable. Just down the road and around the corner from our first home was a Mexican spot.

Our first “together” home

We ate there often – we literally stepped out of the front door and went around the corner.  We missed it when we moved.

The mandatory digression

When we got married a few months later, and after we moved, we decided in our wisdom, to host a supper, at home, for about 13 people – the evening before the nuptials.  The most sane part was ordering most of the food from our favourite Mexican spot. The owner (who also owns our favourite Cape Town pizza spot – and still does – even though it’s moved) kindly allowed us to order in most of what we needed.  From the chicken wings and guacamole, to the best pickled and roasted vegetables with, of course, tortillas.   It all arrived and with instructions for flash-frying the wings.

I admit to remembering little of that evening, except that it was fun – even with no Tequila…  (A lot of that period was a bit of a blur with special moments, never to be forgotten, standing out). It was the days before cell phone cameras, so there are no photographs.

Outside our home the day after the nuptials.

Over the years we’ve continued having the odd Mexican meal – using commercial tortillas. More to the point, though, tortillas are versatile and have almost become ubiquitous.  I think my last airline snack was a soggy tortilla.  Also known as a wrap.  Happily I have not had occasion to fly.  For a while.  Not that it’s a sane thing to do at the moment.

Consequences of Covid

Having been locked down for as long as we have (day 88, if you’re counting), I’ve tried making things I’ve been wanting to try for ages.  One of these has been tortilla.  I had a feeling that they’d be cheaper to make than shop bought.  As a reminder, the village has no major grocery shop.  The little convenience stores stock the essentials but very little fancy stuff – tortilla count as “fancy”.  Also, at the beginning of lockdown, going anywhere was frowned upon.

So, inspired by a WhatsApp chat with Pixie to celebrate Cinco de Mayo on May the 5th, I knew had the makings of fajitas, but nothing to wrap them in.  I had a potential problem.

Not really.  It just meant I had to do what I’d long thought about:  find a recipe for, and make, tortilla.

Corn tortilla?

As happens when one consults professor Google, there is a range of options that emerges and one learns how ignorant one is that flour tortillas and corn tortillas are quite different.  Even though we have corn (mielie) meal in this country, the corn meal for making tortilla is not the same as the meal one uses for grits.  I had no choice.  They would have to be flour.

Next challenge

All the recipes that I found, courtesy of professor Google, included lard.  Not only did I not have lard, but I have bad memories of lard.  I prefer, if I can, to steer clear of it.  It also occurred to me that if I could make tortilla successfully, I might be able to add another product to my repertoire.  When.  One. Day.  I can again sell my wares at the market and/or host Sunday Suppers.

Wrapping up a promise

I did find a recipe for tortilla that uses wheat flour and vegetable oil.  So I gave it a whirl.  So happy was I, that I shared my success on social media.  Of course.

Only to be asked for the recipe – some said that they’d had tried, unsuccessfully, to make tortillas.  They’d not found a recipe that worked.  They were surprised when I said that they’re easy to make.  They really are.  The recipe worked:  first time.  I’ve made them subsequently, and I shall, again.  They are also quick and easy.  Best of all, they are much less expensive to make than the store-bought ones.  A lot less.

Flour Tortilla – wrapping it up

Not only is this recipe vegan, but it consists of ingredients that anyone has in the kitchen:  just four – all purpose flour, salt, water and vegetable oil.  While they’re wheat, they contain no yeast.  Resting time is minimal. Probably the longest part of the entire job is rolling them out (a good way to deal with the frustrations of a bad day), but once that’s done, they keep if you won’t eat them all. 

It’s easy – just a couple of steps: mix together two cups of all-purpose flour and ½ a teaspoon of salt.  Then add ¾ of a cup of water and 3 dessert (UK) or table (USA) spoons of vegetable oil (olive oil, canola or sunflower).  Mix this to a smooth, firm dough, adding flour or water if you need.  Before rolling the tortillas, allow the dough to rest for at least 10 minutes.

The original recipe directs the making of eight, 18 cm (7 inch) diameter tortilla.  This is not really big enough for a burrito, but works well for wannabe qesadillas, enchiladas and fajitas, and for more than one per person – if one is spoilt for choice with filling combos.  The second time I made tortilla, I divided the dough into 6 and the finished size was more like that of the commercial ones (about 30cm / 12 inches).  Oh, and if you want to be sure that the tortillas are equal sizes, weigh the dough and then do the math(s), dividing the total weight by the number of tortilla you want. The printable recipe is here. If you do download it, please buy me a coffee?

Cook the tortilla and assemble into your favourite fajita, quasadilla or whatever, in the usual way.

In keeping this promise, I’m also delighted to be reciprocating with a recipe to someone who’s generously shared many recipes with me, including one for flatbreads.  So, Mary, this recipe is for you!

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa


Photo: Selma

 

Post Script

 

In yet another aspect of my life, I offer

English writing and online tutoring services

every day conversation and formal presentations
writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers
formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
more information here

And then there’s more:

  • If this post seems familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:
    • re-vamping old recipes.  As I do this, I plan to add them in a file format that you can download and print.  If you download recipes, buy me a ko-fi?
    • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts because of this.
  • If you’re interested in a soft entry into the world of crypto currency and monetising your WordPress blog, use the fantastic Steempress plugin to post directly to the Hive blockchain.  Click on the image below to sign up
  • I also share the occasional post on Medium.

 

Games: to play or not to play

I gather that thanks to the international and enforced stay-at-home, there’s been a whole lot more game-playing going on.  Of one sort or another.  Or is there?  I have, before, nailed my colours to the mast about board games. The same applies to video games.  I don’t get them.  Well that’s not strictly true.  I do.  Thereby hangs a tale.  Of course.

Once upon a time…

A gazillion years ago, and in a past life, I lived with a computer geek.  He taught IT at the local school.  At the time, South Africa was still subject to severe economic sanctions.  No Apple products.  No graphic user interfaces (GUIs).  The mouse was a very recent addition to the then limited computer peripherals.

Even further back in time

Let me digress

When I was studying for my teachers’ diploma, some nine years earlier, Rhodes University was (probably still is), a world leader in computer science and was instrumental in bringing the internet to South Africa.

Part of my late mother’s job at the university involved the purchase of computers – from the hardware for mainframes to early Apples – in the 1970’s.  Then, in the 1980’s sanctions happened and every Apple-branded piece of hardware became obsolete:  overnight.

The university’s main building. My mother’s office was behind one of the ground floor windows – bottom right. I took this photo on a visit there, in 2010.

While all this serious stuff was going on, Pacman arrived.  As far as I know, there was only one “arcade” in Grahamstown where one could play the game:  at the entrance to Kaif (i.e. the café) where we would congregate for coffee, a natter and just generally hang out.

Source

 

Pacman was rarely quiet.  I only ever recall men directing his gobbling.  Including after I started work in Johannesburg.  A colleague and I used to catch the same bus after work and each day we’d frequent the same corner shop.  I’d be getting something that needed a fridge (which I didn’t have – another story for another time);  he would buy the paper.  Not to read, but rather for change to feed Pacman.  A not negotiable task before heading home to his partner and infant daughter.

Back at Rhodes

My education course included an introduction to computers and their role in education.  And, while I’m digressing, those were the early days of the debate about the role of information technology in schools and learning, generally.  Most feared that computers would usurp human teachers.  That was thirty-five years ago.  Those fears – in some quarters – remain.  Unfounded, in my opinion.  Nothing about the move to online education has detracted from the fact that the most successful education and learning remain mediated by humans.

Dad, Mum and I at my 1985 graduation.

Anyhow, one of our assignments included designing a computer-based activity or lesson:  using Apple Pilot.  I struggled.  My really sophisticated lesson was a pathetic attempt at computerising the word game, Hangman.

The computer geek with whom I later lived, developed a Geography lesson that illustrated adiabatic lapse rates.  An arts major (male) friend developed a murder mystery in a ghost house with – for the time, and for a novice – the most amazing, ghostly green and black graphics.

Back to the Future (as it were)

Fast forward nine or so years to when I was the proud owner of an ICL Elf, and the height of economic sanctions.  Although Nelson Mandela had been released, the country had not been released of sanctions.  One day, the computer geek came home with a pirate copy of a very early PC, DOS version of SimCity.  He loaded it on to his PC, and introduced the game and I.  One game and the urban geographer in me was hooked.  It had to be loaded on to the Elf.  The game was as fascinating as it was addictive.

Source

Alas, or fortunately, the game went the way of the Elf, and probably a good thing, too.  That said, in doing my homework for this post, I discover that one can still download it.  I desisted.

So, the closest I get to video games, now, is one or other game of Solitaire that comes, free, with Windows.

Oh, and for those not part of the same venerable generation as I, the reason that Bill Gates included solitaire in the first version of Windows (the first “non” Apple GUI), was to “introduce” the mouse.

As simple as apple pie – not

That mouse reminds me:  about a year before I moved in with the computer geek, I worked for an organisation that had strong ties with the US – notwithstanding sanctions.  A dedicated Apple PC had been donated to the development office.  Complete with a database and system for managing donor relations.

But:

No user manual.  No help desk.  No support.

It was my first introduction to a mouse and my first serious interaction with a PC in a few years, with my previous Apple “pie” having been less than memorable.  It was only when I upgraded from the Elf and to a PC with a mouse, that I discovered why I’d never mastered the development office Apple:  I had been using the mouse on its head!!!

Back to games:  I have long thought that they are a guy thing.  I’ve said so before, that I have an unscientific theory about games and boys:

I have often been struck by the time that the male of the species will spend either on playing a game, or creating (a) game(s) and striving for perfection.  Frankly, I have too much to do – in the kitchen, around the house and just getting on with life.  It was one of my pet peeves that my ex-husband could would live in a pig sty and eat swill and spend all his spare time on a game.  I just didn’t get it.

So, my theory is that women actually have a whole lot less free time than men.  Whether we like it or not, managing the home and caring for children is still primarily women’s work – over and above what we might do to earn a living.  Time on their hands, and what do men who don’t have a hobby, play sport and who no longer hunt for food, or go to war, do?

Create and play games.

What, on earth, is she on about?

All that to say , again, that I don’t do games?  Well blame it all on the bunch on Hive that run the monthly Top 3 contest.  This month’s theme:  top three favourite video games.  Clearly, I have none.

As I keep on saying, I don’t participate to compete, but because it’s fun.  More than a year later, my participation continues with much egging on by the good folk that run it.  Because the topics get the “Fiona treatment”…

So, without further ado, this is not an entry, but I shall allocate the proportion of earnings from this post that would normally have been my  entry fee for the contest, to the @yourtop3 account.

I trust that this month’s “Fiona treatment” passes muster!

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

 

Post Script

In yet another aspect of my life, I offer

online English tutoring services

every day conversation and formal presentations
writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers
formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
more information here

And then there’s more:

  • If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:
    • re-vamping old recipes.  As I do this, I plan to add them in a file format that you can download and print.  If you download recipes, buy me a ko-fi?
    • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts because of this.
  • If you’re interested in a soft entry into the world of crypto currency and monetising WordPress blog, use the fantastic Steempress plugin to post directly to the Hive blockchain.  Click on the image below to sign up
  • I’m still blogging on Steem with the occasional post on Medium.

 

Common sense: Not so common

On 1 June 2020, South Africa moved to level 3 of the measures in terms of the National State of Disaster to curtail the spread of Covid-19.  There are a few people suggesting that it’s the end of lockdown.  When the President made the announcement, he advised that the details would be made clearer in “the coming days”.  At the end of the 45 minute address, there were two – no three – takeaways. For me, anyway:

  • the primary purpose of the lockdown had been achieved:  a sufficient slowing of the spread of the Corona virus that causes Covid-19 to enable significant preparation for the inevitable and ongoing increase in acute cases.
    Every citizen must now take personal responsibility for not catching the virus by following the social distancing and hygiene protocols to stop the spread.
  • everyone would go back to work (working from home if it is possible to do so).  It will be business as usual: except for leisture tourism and hospitality
  • schools will re-open, beginning with the two exit years at year 7 (into high school) and year 12 (into the world of work or post school education and training)

Oh, but wait, there was one more:

I can cook with wine.  Again.  My smokin’ friends, however, still cannot light up and have a puff.

Alcohol will be on sale on specified days, in specified hours.  I’ll come back to this.

A quick look at the numbers

As has always been predicted, the numbers of Covid cases in South Africa is growing exponentially.  When I last did a numbers update, the world had 3,2m cases.  Now there are nearly 6,5 million.  In South Africa, we have gone from a mere five thousand odd five weeks ago, to nearly thirty six thousand.

Covid-19 figures as at 30 May 2020: The world and South Africa

In Cape Town alone, just a two and a half hour drive from where I live, there are nearly 1,000 cases in hospital and more than 194 people in ICU (Source).

Cause for pause

Prior to lockdown and the preparation for the onslaught, there were a mere 150 ICU beds in Cape Town’s public hospitals.

That metropolitan area, along with another rural municipality in the province, are the identified “hotspots”.  In our municipality, the number of cases has gone from 4 to 35 of which 27 are active (i.e. 8 recoveries, source).  To date, there is still no case in the village.  We know, though, it will come.  It’s inevitable.

It was initially predicted that South Africa’s Coved-19 outbreak would reach its peak around September.  Cape Town, however, is now expected to reach its peak at the and of this month or the beginning of July.  The concern about sufficient number of beds remains.

In case you’re wondering why I’ve not included the number of tests conducted world wide:  there are conflicting figures and a well-documented shortage of test kits.  In South Africa there’s a ten-day backlog and they’re using a triage system to identify who should be tested.  So, what’s the point?

In the “coming” days

In the days following the President’s statement, but prior to the briefing from the various ministers, the President again addressed the nation.  This time, he said it was to call for a national day of prayer.  In reality, it was to inform the population that in the interests of their spiritual health, from 1 June, they would be free to attend their places of worship. Gatherings may not exceed 50.  There must be attendance registers and temperature screening.  These registers will collect not just names and addresses but details of next of kin.  This information will, of course, be used for contact tracing.  That is logical and sensible.

What else?

I am, though, left asking myself:  where else will this data go and for what else will it be used?  When the pandemic is over.

In a country that has a “command council” coordinating efforts to curtail the pandemic, and where abuse of power is all too common:  under level 1 lockdown and which I mentioned in a previous post, and continuing under level 2 and when a a parent stepped on to the beach to fetch a child..

I alluded to some of the questions about personal data in this post, and when I linked to this inteview with Edward SnowdenIf you didn’t follow the link then, do it this time, and listen to the interview.  It’s even more relevant, two to three months later, than it was then.

More burning questions

Places of worship are internationally acknowledged as major contributors to the spread of the virus.  If these can function, with congregations of to 50, why not open restaurants and coffee shops?

With the same provisos:  social distancing and fewer than 50 patrons?   South Africa may have a religious people, but we are a secular state.

What about personal care businesses and tattoo parlours?

All these establishments have, in terms of their training, good business and good sense, to apply good hygiene and sanitary practices. Ergo less risk of spread.

Oh, and on the issue of collecting names and addresses of “attendees”, names and addresses are not collected when one visits the supermarket, hardware store or the bank.  Not that I’m suggesting they should be.

Then there was more

When the ministers responsible for the various sectors of the economy eventually briefed the country, a few things remain as clear as mud:

One can exercise at any time of the day.  Non-contact sport is playable.  But the golf and tennis clubs cannot be open.  Inter provincial movement is prohibited, but you can go and visit a game park – as long as you drive yourself.  It’s still not clear whether one may visit family or have a few friends (who are family) over for lunch.  One minister says “Aye” another says “Nay”.

Then, restaurants, previously only allowed to sell alcohol when it was consumed on the premises, may now sell sealed bottles of their patrons’ favourite tipple to take home.  During the same days and times that any other off-consumption outlet may sell alcohol, viz., Monday to Thursday between 09h00 and 17h00.

Really?

It precipitated an outburst from me on my personal Facebook page:

Restaurants & pubs selling alcohol for home consumption – these things spring to mind:

They have to charge restuarant prices to make it worth their while. What patron will pay those prices when it’s possible pay much less from bottle stores and from grocery shops?

As they also have to sell alcohol, for delivery and collection, during the specified times, so other than lunch orders, no wine pairings…

And little [village] pubs: do they have the buying power to buy alcohol at discounted rates? More to the point, do they still have the reserves to buy in stock? I am sure there are other things I can’t think of right now…

I have long thought that those in government have less than no idea how business really works, especially small businesses and where people are self-employed and/or freelance.

People who get monthly salaries from our taxes have no clue what it takes to actually make money, i.e. generate a product or service that customers buy and which pays not just the business’s bills, but people’s wages and salaries. Money doesn’t appear in our bank accounts by magic each month.

Emphasis added

The rant precipitated a response from longtime friend and former partner in one of the big (and credible) international accounting firms:

 I ran a corporate finance boutique in the late 90s and early 2000s. I learnt then that the guys in government have no clue what cash flow for a business means. This is (sic) becomes quite acute when you have a contract with them. Scope variations, late payments, and other horrors were the order of the day.

Every month-end, however, the same government officials were happy to receive their salaries with compliments from the tax payer.

The guys making decisions over the citizenry have no clue as to how reality is on the ground.

Pop Motsisi

From my old day job:  this scenario that was a reality with virtually every contract awarded to either my business or to associates’.

Economic ruin

We all get that the world economy is getting sicker, and in this country, the situation is dire.  Since I started writing, there has been a High Court judgement declaring the regulations pertaining to levels 3 and 4, unconstitutional.  While the country’s top constitutional expert believes the judgement is flawed, the principle remains:  this whole “thing” hasn’t been thought through.  There seems to be a profound inability to make connections, think laterally, let alone rationally.  Especially in a country where the unemployment rate sits at nearly 30% and of that number, nearly 60% are unemployed youth (Source).

Forty odd years ago, when I started taking Geography seriously, I learned that primary industries, and specifically, mining and agriculture were the greatest contributors to the country’s economy.  Now, those two, are second only to services which contribute just on 24% of the country’s GDP (Source).  The lockdown has seen the mines closed and now slowly reopening with all the challenges of this rampant disease.  Other than “essential” retail, the only services that continued were financial banking services.

Effectively, the economy was shut down for two months.

What constituted essential retail was the source of endless discussion:  under level 1, we could only buy food.  It was a fight to “release” sanitary items other than toilet paper on to the shelves.  Only after significant pressure was one able to buy baby clothing and infant supplies.  Then only for newborns and to a particular age.  It seems that the powers that be understand that babies’ arrival won’t wait for lockdown to be lifted, but that children will just stop growing and start again when the lockdown is lifted.  Under level 2, only certain specified (I kid you not) items of clothing could be bought.

Covid relief – is it?

Oh, the banks have given us a bond holiday.  But they’re not going to lose:  the debt will just be re-scheduled and re-calibrated and it’ll cost us the same…. Their only loss:  less interest because the central bank reduced the interest rate.  Banks have not dropped their lending rates, have they?

The government has similarly made relief packages available for small businesses with turnover below ZAR 300 million. Ahem…  However, of those that qualify, and which have applied, nearly 70% have been unsuccessful.  Entities that do not qualify are sole proprietorships.  Given high barriers to entry, and the cost of maintaining a business entity, the sole proprietorship is the simplist and cheapest entity to establish.  Within my own circle, I know of individuals and entities, alike, that have simply not tried to seek relief:  we know from past experience, the bureaucracy and hoops through which they must jump just to apply.  Here’s a specific example:  a friend established a pre-school nine years ago.  She has put her heart and soul into it, and until Covid-19, it was very successful.  She was planning a celebration of ten years early in 2021.  Because of the lockdown, she’s considering closing it.  Then, last week, there was a glimmer of hope for some compensation for work done – in line with the requirements of the relevant  government department.

Hopes dashed

But no, all hopes were dashed because the type of entity in terms of which she operates, is not deemed appropriate.  Early childhood centres may still not operate.  Yet parents must return to work. Where’s the sensibility in that?

Sensibility

Speaking of sensibility, there is at least one political party, claiming to be economic freedom fighters that wants the hard lockdown to continue.  I am not making this up.

Back to my Facebook rant and the subsequent comment which corroborated what I was trying to say:  that, by and large, politicians and government have no real concept of the mechanics of running a business.  Did they really think through the implications of permitting restaurants and takeaways selling booze for home consumption?  Do they really think that this will rescue micro businesses that have not had any turnover (let alone income or, heaven above, made a profit), for two months?

Lockdown or lock up?

So, while for some people, things are returning to normal:  they go to work every day, and come home to an evening tipple.  However, for some in the hospitality and tourism sectors, the lockdown has ended.  I wonder how many face the prospect, like my friend, of locking up shop, for good?

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

 

Post Script

In yet another aspect of my life, I offer

online English tutoring services

every day conversation and formal presentations
writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers
formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
more information here

And then there’s more:

  • If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:
    • re-vamping old recipes.  As I do this, I plan to add them in a file format that you can download and print.  If you download recipes, buy me a ko-fi?
    • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts because of this.
  • If you’re interested in a soft entry into the world of crypto currency and monetising WordPress blog, use the fantastic Steempress plugin to post directly to the Hive blockchain.  Click on the image below to sign up
  • I’m still blogging on Steem with the occasional post on Medium.

 

Comfort food in a time of Covid-19 – I

I started revising this 2014 post as we entered month two of lockdown in South Africa.  Although we moved from level 5 to level 4 on the first of May, for many, there was no material change to our lives.  Speaking for myself:  the novelty has worn off.  Reserves – of all types – are wearing thin.  We now approach the end of month two and the promise of level 3 in eight days’ time.  There’s a lot about it we don’t know.  Some we do:  social and physical distancing will continue.

So

Not knowing when we’ll be able to break bread with friends, let alone give up virtual hugs, is beginning to tell.  Not to mention not being able to trot down the road to extend physical birthday wishes with real hugs and kisses.  I’m feeling it.  For the birthday girl whose birthday it is, as I write, and who lives alone.  I cannot imagine.

For her:

A bunch of brightness and that went with a brief over-the-gate conversation

Autumn is glorious.  I always say it’s my favourite season.  It is. This year, it’s passing us by we must ignore it. It’s the colours.

It’s the odd rain shower that washes everything clean and leaves the last of the summer brightness covered in sparkles.

I am sure that in the Northern Hemisphere, there are folk feeling the same way about spring.  The kitchen, unlike in other households, is getting less.  Although I cook every day, as usual, I’ve not been cooking as much or spending quite so much time in the kitchen.  Also, given the funk, there’s been a lot of comfort food.  I’ve already shared one of my favourites.  Cottage pie is another.

Tatties and neeps

I grew up with tatties and mince.  It was not my favourite meal because it was  always accompanied by heaps of grey, watery, mashed neeps.  Occasionally, they included the odd carrot.  And mashed potatoes.  I’m not fond of them either – on their own.  Actually, I’m not that fond of mash.  Period.  In combination with mince (ground beef for my American readers), tatties and neeps made for a meal of slop.  Only good for invalids.  In my then childish, and now, adult, opinion.

Tatties and neeps – is probably one of the few combinations in my Scottish heritage, that I don’t get.  Neeps (turnips, for the uninitiated….)  Turnips are one of the very few vegetables I dislike.  Also, if you’re wondering, I have eaten, and do, like haggis.  I keep on threatening to make it. We shall see.

Turnips, under the influence of my accidental vegan blogpal, Katie (@plantstoplanks), I’m planning to give another try.  In a guise other than mashed or in copious quantities in soup. Watch this space.

I digress.

So, now I’ve had a mini melt-down, let me get back to cottage pie. (No, I”m not going to entertain the discussion about the difference between this and Shepherd’s pie….)

Tatties and neeps – for grown-ups

I prepare my mince with braised onions and herbs – either rosemary or thyme – not both, and the choice depends on the mood.  If neither is available, a half to a teaspoon of McGregor Herbes de Provence does just as well.  Some would say, better.

 

Don’t forget to add the essential crushed clove of garlic.  I always include grated carrot and courgette if I have a lot of them – a great way to con those with a vegetable aversion…), and let this mixture simmer for quite a long time.  Depending on how quickly the liquid reduces, add a bit of water and towards the end of the cook, a good glug of red wine.  This last gives your meat a lovely rich flavour.

Topping it off

The topping is not just mashed potato:  I often use cauliflower – with mashed with a generous quantity of salty butter and pepper.

Oh, and that cauliflower is from our garden…before the drought. This year’s crop is planted….

Occasionally, I’ll do a combination of cauliflower and butternut.  This depends on the size of the cauliflower.  Rarely is it just potato which I also usually combine with butternut and ooccasionally add a good dollop of yoghurt.

For mashing, depending on your preference and how creamy, rustic or chunky you like your topping, the toppings can be hand mashed, puréed or creamed.  My choices vary and are often dictated by the day’s mood.

Finally, layer the mince in the bottom of an oven proof dish and then pile the mashed vegetables on top. Spread this over the meat to the edges of the dish. Dot with knobs of butter. Bake in a moderate oven until the top is brown.

Dot this with knobs of butter and cook in the oven until it’s golden brown and beginning to crisp on top.

Covid-19 comfort food served with homemade chutney.

Last but not least, if you want a “proper” recipe, you are welcome to download a printable file here.  If you do, consider buying me a coffee?

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

 

Post Script

In yet another aspect of my life, I offer

online English tutoring services

every day conversation and formal presentations
writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers
formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
more information here

And then there’s more:

  • If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:
    • re-vamping old recipes.  As I do this, I plan to add them in a file format that you can download and print.  If you download recipes, buy me a ko-fi?
    • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts because of this.
  • If you’re interested in a soft entry into the world of crypto currency and monetising WordPress blog, use the fantastic Steempress plugin to post directly to the Hive blockchain.  Click on the image below to sign up
  • I’m still blogging on Steem with the occasional post on Medium.

I’m tired….

I’m tired.

I’m tired of being in lockdown.

I’m tired of people supporting the lockdown.

I’m tired of people not supporting the lockdown.

I’m tired of people railing about “the situation” before they’ve read all the facts.

I’m tired of the mixed messages from our leaders – local and international.

I’m tired of listening to learned people telling us that they’re learning that they don’t know what they don’t know. Every day.

I’m tired of hearing the numbers. Every day. They are awful.

I’m tired of people dying. All over the world. All day. Every day. So far, none of my near (or far) dear people have died. But I’m hearing of people whose dear ones are ill and might die.

I’m tired of this virus. It has developed a vibrant life of its own that has taken over mine. I’m not ill, but it’s making me sick. It’s the last thing I think about as I go to sleep. It’s the first thing I think about when I wake up.

I’m tired of spending every day – and I mean every day – and a signficant portion of it – in front of the laptop. I’m trawling the interweb for work, bearing my soul listing my skills for all and sundry. Because my business has gone down the tubes. Just when things were looking up. Every gig has come to an end.

I’m tired of having to reinvent myself. Again.

I’m tired of stretching each penny as far as it possibly can.

I’m tired.

One in 58 million

I’m only one in 58 million in this country.

There are many in that 58 million for whom I feel and, today, one in particular. Last evening, following a week of clamouring, the President addressed the nation.

Did he impress me?

No. Not this time.

I did learn, though, that the level of preparedness has improved.

I appreciate the acknowledgement and apology that the government has potentially overreached and contradicted itself.

I hear that things are under review and that the country could be moved to level 3 at the end of May.

It’s not enough. I’ve said I don’t agree with everything he’s done. Yes, I think he’s missed a few things and is lead astray often overruled by pedants.

Think about this: we’ve been locked down for 49 days. It’s 70 since the first case was diagnosed. That’s more than two months. He and that team, responsible for 58 million souls, have probably had no days off.

And they’re dealing with a moving morphing target.

Would I like the job?

When I watched the president last night, I saw something else: I saw a man who is exhausted. He’s worried. He stumbled over the numbers. I would have. He stumbled over that big word, death. I would have. Palbable sighs punctuated parts of his speech.

I also saw another side of the man: when he mentioned masks, he involuntarily smiled. Really smiled. With his eyes. Remembering the last time he addressed the nation and donned the now mandatory mask. You have to admire that.

So, no, I’d not like his job.

Today, we should cut him some slack. At 8.30 pm, last night, he should have had his feet up catching up with his wife, or having Facetime with his grand children.

I’m tired

I’m tired of being in lockdown.

Today is day 49. Theoretically We’re in level 4. That means nothing if one has no work or that the work one did prior to lockdown was in and/or associated with hospitality and tourism. Or domestic construction. Or cleaning someone’s home or tending a garden.

I’m tired being one of the missing middle unable to apply for government support.

Who knows when we’ll get to level 2, let alone level zero when we can associate with as many people as we please, and travel freely. Locally and internationally.

I’m tired of the new normal.

Not the 9 o’clock news

I’ve stopped listening to the news. Except mornings and evenings with the odd article from reliable sources during the day. I do need to stay informed and up to date.

I have to stop this “Corona crud” from making me sick. I do worry how it will all end up: for the people and our democracy.

I have to get on with things and do what I can. Reinvention of Fiona: version 500.

I’m tired, but I have to take these lemons, sour as they may be, and turn them into lemonade, marmalade, lemon curd, pickle and pie.

I just have to.

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

Post Script

In yet another aspect of my life, I offer

online English tutoring services

every day conversation and formal presentations
writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers
formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
more information here

And then there’s more:

  • If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:
    • re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I plan to add them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a ko-fi?
    • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts because of this.
  • If you’re interested in a soft entry into the world of crypto currency and monetising WordPress blog, use the fantastic Steempress plugin to post directly to the Hive blockchain. Click on the image below to sign up
  • I’m still blogging on Steem with the occasional post on Medium.

If I were to choose…

I participate, from time to time, in the odd blog challenge.  Just because.  There’s a particular one to which I’m quite partial.  Not because I’ve ever won, but because it gets me thinking.  About things.  All sorts of things.  It’s run by an international bunch of guys and gals hailing from the UK, US and Canada.  When I read the entries, one of the things that strikes me is how often there are things that unite the world.  More often than there are things that divide us.

The monthly Your Top 3 has shown, for example, that no matter who you are, or where you live, food is the epitome of comfort.  Often defined by our own experiences and cultures, food is sustenance for the soul.  Now, though, the world is in a very peculiar place and we’re all united in one major concern:  Covid-19.  Many of us have been confined to our homes and estranged from family and loved ones.  Birthdays have passed with virtual celebrations.  I speak for myself when I say, that as we approach being locked in for 50 days, it’s beginning to tell.  The news is never good;  the more the scientists know, the less they know and, frankly, the less I want to know.

A welcome diversion

So, to have something entirely different to contemplate is a welcome diversion.   Not that I participate every month.  I don’t.  This month’s contest made me think, though.

It’s no secret that I’m a great lover of books.  I love books and have a hard time parting with them. Frankly, and I’ve also often said so, I’d rather read the book than see the movie.  This month’s contest is about DVD/TV box sets.  A foreign concept in our house.  Partly because we don’t spend a lot of time in front of the box screen other than in the evenings around/after supper.

But

If I were to choose three must-have sets, what would they be, and why?

My first two choices are based on my penchant for thrillers and crime.  As well as cooking.  Of course.

Thrilling crime

On thinking about which of these to choose, I was hard pressed between three:

NCIS – the original one.  I still have a school girl crush on Mark Harmon.  A hangover from the days when he was in 240 Robert.

Source

On a similar, but different vein is CSI.  I also prefer the first in the franchise.  I enjoyed not only that each episode stood alone, but that the characters and the relationships developed as the series progressed.  As they do in NCIs.  However, when I really thought about it, there really was only one choice.

The Blacklist

The  Blacklist ticks every box:  complex characters, good acting, even more complex plots filled with intrigue and thrilling suspense.  Reddington is so awful as to be likeable at times.  Liz Keen’s character has developed and become complex and contradictory over the seasons.  She, too, invokes mixed emotions.  Then there’s Ressler’s insanity countered by the good, solid Dembe whose touchstone role, in my opinion, is underrated.

Oh, and there are two other reasons that The Blacklist really does do it for me:  firstly, there is often a hint of international and political intrigue.  Secondly, the plot hovers  – only just – on the bounds of reality.

Or does it?

Getting down and dirty in the kitchen

I quite like watching cooking programmes.  I have to admit that I’ve not seen many lately that have really piqued my interest.  Thinking about it, and looking at my bookshelf, I should be choosing Ed Baines.

I have watched him on TV and follow him on Instagram. I actually met him at the Cape Town Food and Wine show where he also cooked with some of “our” products.  But sorry, loyalty and having clapped eyes on the man, are just not quite enough.

I guess if I were also basing my choice on what’s in my bookshelf, and chefs I’ve met, I should be choosing Jenny Morris.  I have two of her books – I draw on them often.  Especially for Sunday Suppers and when I entertain.  And in the days that email newsletters were a “thing”, I had a subscription to hers.  She (or her son) would send out the recipes she’d discuss on a local radio show.  Jenny Morris lives up to her Giggling Gourmet moniker.  She’s warm and lovely, and when I mentioned that I had two of her books, she impulsively planted a kiss on my cheek!

However, my choice must go to the first ever cooking show that I really watched.

The Naked Chef

It wasn’t so much about Jamie Oliver.  It couldn’t have been because nobody knew who he was.  Then.  I don’t know how I fell over him because the show was on a Sunday afternoon and, in those days, I was often up to my elbows in the garden.  Then, as now, we rarely had the TV on during the day, so it really is a mystery.

‘E was still a young fing just frowing things t’gever in the kitchen.

I liked that.  The food was simple, as was the approach.  He cooked food to share.  I like that, too.  Oh, and I particularly like that he knows the members of Jamiroquai.

This was one of my songs at the time….’twas the year The Husband and I married…

 

 

 

My go-to roast chicken recipe is based on one of these episodes – nearly 20 years ago. On Sunday afternoons, I’d drop the spade or trowel and plonk on the sofa – note book and pen in hand and … The notes, not always legible have made their way into dishes that have become regulars on our menu.  And on my blog.  My summer watermelon salad, about which folk rave, is one of these recipes.

I guess the series could be quite dated now.  Still, though, I’d make a point of watching The Naked Chef again and again.

And finally

If you thought I was taking rather far you down memory lane, I’m not stopping at 2002.

I used to be an unashamed SciFi series fan.  I loved Star Trek.  And when I was at home, would watch it with my dad.  From Kirk to Picard, and everything in between.  I now realise that my father must have been a fan from the days when we still lived in England.  My mother loathed the programme, so he and I would watch it.  She’d retreat to the kitchen.  I admit, though, that I’m not a fan of modern SciFi.  It seems to be a mishmash of modern fantasy, and I can’t really get beyond Dune.

When I thought about a series I’d binge-watched (not that it was a thing, then), the series that came to mind was V: Mankind’s Last StandThe original 1983 series.

It would have been 1987, and I was sharing a house.  In those days one could hire a video player – not just videos – for a weekend.  How we ended up hiring this series, I’m damned if I can remember.  I do remember, though, that it’s the only time I’ve ever spent an entire weekend just watching videos and just one series.  That’s all we did.  Other than go to the video shop for the next tape.

With hindsight, and thinking about the themes of repression, oppression and restriction, it’s not surprising it resonated for me.  The mid-to late eighties were the height of the struggle years in South Africa.  These themes simply reflect the times we lived in, and some of the things we encountered every day.  It was never on television.  It does occur to me that had the South African censors understood symbolism and/or allegory, this series would never have reached the video shops in South Africa.

As an aside (but not really):

Prior to 1994, laws restricting freedom of speech and association were so zealously enforced that films that included mixed race and same sex relationships were banned. Unsurprisingly, the epic film  Cry Freedom about Steve Biko was banned.  As were Hair and The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

I admit that I didn’t watch the more recent remake of the series.  I would, however, watch the original V – for all the reasons I’ve mentioned – as well as for the then rather delicious Marc Singer.  In closing, I also wonder if choosing this series is not, to some extent, influenced by the potential ramifications of the restrictions imposed to stop the spread of Covid-19.

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

 

Post Script

In yet another aspect of my life, I offer

online English tutoring services

every day conversation and formal presentations
writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers
formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
more information here

And then there’s more:

  • If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:
    • re-vamping old recipes.  As I do this, I plan to add them in a file format that you can download and print.  If you download recipes, buy me a ko-fi?
    • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts because of this.
  • If you’re interested in a soft entry into the world of crypto currency and monetising WordPress blog, use the fantastic Steempress plugin to post directly to the Hive blockchain.  Click on the image below to sign up
  • I’m still blogging on Steem and more recently share my burbling on Uptrennd and with the occasional post on Medium.

 

Balancing Act or Slippery Slope?

I’ve had a hiatus from blogging.  Some of it because I’ve moved to a new host – a story for another time.  Most of it, though, because I’ve been through a bit of a low patch.  I can’t say that I’m out of the funk. I’m not.  Things still look and feel bleak.  I am, however, getting angry.  I am confused.

When I last wrote about the Covid-19 pandemic, I shared facts and little opinion.  I said I’d save my thoughts for another time. That time has come.  Be warned:  it’s a long read.

Before I do, a factual update:

The stats

Covid-19 figures as at 30 April 2020: The world and South Africa

The centre of the South African epidemic is now Cape Town.  In the 38 days since the first case was reported, an average of 148 new cases has been reported per day.  However, in the last three days, the number of confirmed new cases has averaged more than 300.

The South African curve is still rising.  Potentially exponentially.  Unlike originally hoped.  The peak is still expected in August or September.  So the numbers will go up, as will the need for hospital beds.

In our minicipal district, Langeberg, in the 14 days since I last wrote about Covid-19, we’ve gone from 1 active case to 4.

Effective today, 1 May 2020, South Africa moves out of a total lockdown and into stage 4.  A summary of what we may and may not do, is here.

What the President said

Last Thursday, and in anticipation of the end of the extended lockdown, President Cyril Ramaphosa addressed the nation.  For the majority of people in my circle, there were three things that were top of mind: excercise, booze and smokes.  Not necessarily in that order.

The president was unequivocal.

The people 

  • will be able to buy smokes.  Again.
  • won’t be able to buy beer.
  • will be able to exercise
    but umm…well…my people, will get back to you on that.

Let’s talk about alcohol

The logic behind the ban on the sale of alcohol can be deduced and, to a degree, understood.  Yes, overindulgence does impair one’s judgement and one thing can lead to another.  Yes, South Africa does have a problem with alcohol abuse and binge drinking.  It’s common knowledge that alcohol contributes to domestic and gender based violence as well as motor vehicle accidents.  South Africa has more than her fair share of these.

Following the lockdown, there was a more than 60% reduction in trauma cases – stabbings, gunshot wounds and motor vehicle accidents.  Reports attribute this to the ban on the sale of alcohol. Nobody mentions that traffic levels over the Easter weekend were also much reduced because people had to stay at home.  The corollary, and in the same report: there was no “major shift” in the number of reported incidents of domestic violence.

The devil and the details

On Wednesday, on the eve of the eve of the lifting of the ultimate lockdown,  the relevant ministers briefed the nation.  We all waited with baited breath.  Smokers, enjoying the last of the eked out stash of ciggies, waiting to learn what “exercising” would mean.

School, universities and work

Certain people are back to work; certain mines, factories and enterprises are operating again;  restaurants may deliver food between certain hours.  Schools may open on 1 June.  The colleges and universities will not return to campus-based classes this year.  Except for final year clinical medical students.  They’re needed on the “front line”.

The rest of us, especially the “elderly” must stay at home.

An exercise gap

Individuals may walk, jog or cycle between 6 and 9 am.  We’re going into winter and South Africa has one time zone.  At 6am, it’s pitch dark on this (west) side of the country.  In the towns and cities, this is exactly the time when those who may, are going to work.

Why just this two-hour window, is a question that is vexing everyone.

  • It’s easier to police. Especially in the townships and informal settlements.
  • Because we won’t be tempted to have a catch up on the corner like we would between 4 and 6 pm.

It was our local police captain’s partner who posited these reasons on the community Facebook page.  Some villagers were placated.  Others incensed.  Having ventured out during the alotted time this morning, here was much acatching-up-on-the-corner….  The social media is awash with misty morning photographs of joggers on the Seapoint Promenade in Cape Town practising social distancing.

I am concerned about –

  • solitary women cycling, walking or running in the dark
  • homes, desserted by exercise fanatics people exercising their right to exercise, that are vulnerable to the criminal element that thrives on routine

Oh, and for pet owners:  their dogs can walk them.  They can’t walk their dogs.

De ja vu

It gets better.  I said that the rest of us, especially the elderly, must stay at home. We may only leave home for essentials, excercise and for medical appointments.  If stopped by the police (or army), we may be asked to prove why we’ve ventured out.

Workers are on a tight leash:  they may only leave home at 5am and must be back at home not later than 8pm.  Or else.  You must have a permit.  Or else. Oh, and a permit to move between provinces. Or else. If you must. Or else.

I hear bells ringing.  South Africa has a national curfew.  Again.

The dompas is back. Again.

That’s not all.

The about turn

On Wednesday, as the minister was rambling on, I wasn’t paying attention because I was faffing in the kitchen.  The Husband was watching the ticker at the bottom of the TV screen and suddenly said, “No cigarettes!”

What?

I checked Twitter.  Sure enough.

I sat down to watch. What the Minister of Co-operative Governance, went on to say was, at best, laughable. Nkosazana Dlamini-Zuma is a medical doctor, former Minister of Health and an rabid anti-smoking campaigner:  she advised that more than 2,000 submissions opposed the sale of cigarettes, tobacco and vaping products.  The health rationale is a given.  Partly.  I’ll come back to this. Then she said –

the way tobacco is shared does not allow for social distancing…When people zol, they put saliva on the paper, and then they share that zol

Source

zol is a hand-rolled cigarette which often includes marijhana.  It’s not having a joint that’s the problem;  we may grow our own ganja.  We just can’t sell it (which has nothing to do with Covid-19 or the lockdown…).  In the time of Covid-19, according to the South African Command Council, it’s sharing a cigarette that spreads the disease.

I’ll come back to this.

Who is old and at risk?

Up to this point I have, by and large, been enormously proud of the way the South African government has managed the Covid-19 pandemic.  I have endorsed the lockdown, in principle.  I said so. I spoke about the significant proportion of the population at risk because of HIV and TB.  What I didn’t delve into was overall life expectancy and the incidence of deaths from non-communicable diseases – just over 26% of all deaths.

The table below suggests that if one is over 60, one is old.  Women live, on average, three years longer than their male counterparts.

Source

I am approaching 60;  The Husband is over 70.  It’s quite a thing to be told one is old because the demographics say so.  Especially if one is healthy.  In this village, we are surrounded by sassy over 60’s who could put many 40 and 50 year-olds to shame.  We won’t talk about the 70- and 80-year olds who have the stamina to boogy the night away and bang a ball around a tennis court two to three times a week.

Old people must stay at home

Does this include our Minister of Health who, himself, along with many in cabinet, are well over 60?  Oh, and speaking of Mkhize, he’s asthmatic….

Although these data are from 2016, they do paint a useful picture of the population’s characteristics.  Other than being old, which one can’t help, it’s the chronic conditions that make people particularly vulnerable to Covid-19.  At a briefing on Tuesday,  the Minister of Health said that most of the deaths in South Africa were among people with comorbidities.  He specifically mentioned hypertension and diabetes but added a third:  obesity.  This adds another risk factor when one considers the proportion of South Africans who are overweight:

Source

This is a significant proportion of South Africans;  obesity is a burgeoning problem.  What these figures do not show, is how many of those who are overweight are also diabetic.  It’s common knowledge, though, that the two often go hand in hand.

Back to tobacco

The logic behind the ban on the sale of tobacco and vaping products is perplexing.  To say the least.  I am not a smoker; never have been.  However, I grew up with smokers and I’m surrounded by people who do.  I, and they, are all aware of the health risks associated with the habit.  Like many addicts, they don’t care. Even if it does put them at higher risk of disease.  Including Covid-19.  At least one smoker in my friendship circle has said so.

The experts do say that there is an almost immediate benefit to the lungs when someone stops smoking.  However, I also know, from having lived with people who have quit, that in the six to twelve months after, they seem particularly vulnerable to colds and flu.

With all that in mind, let’s have another look at the actual proportion of the nearly 58 million South Africans who smoke.

Source

Those figures mean that there are fewer people in the country who smoke than there are people who are overweight.  Yet, as some wag on social media suggested, there’s been no ban on sugary drinks, chocolates, sweets, confectionary….

The ban on the sale of cigarette and tobacco products defies logic.

It’s a one-size-fits-all approach that seems to pander to the members of the local temperance society.  Or does it?

Prohibition

South Africa’s history is full of prohibitions.  That’s what Apartheid was about.  Prohibiting certain groups of people from doing, accessing, and generally being human beings.  It criminalised normal human behaviour.  Including the home-based manufacture of alcohol.  Virtually every South African community has stories of making one form of moonshine or another, from mampoer to umqombothi.  Not all good.  Especially when it came to the heavy hand of the law.

Prohibiting the sale of alcohol and cigarettes has, on one hand, robbed the government of desperately needed cash.  On the other, it’s contributed to an existing black market – with all the nasty things that go with it.  Violence and extortion.  As with all black market commodities, it’s a case of who one knows and price.  Said a friend who lives in a suburb of Cape Town:

I can give you the names …. and who they allow the selling of alcohol through or even which shop and which items to ask for in order to get your stock. Everyone and everything has a price.

It’s the old story of supply and demand.  Those who don’t have access to those channels resorted to mobbing and looting.  The existing gang leaders probably don’t need lessons from Al Capone and Lucky Luciano.

Oh, and since then, it would seem that she who made those pronouncements, has an association with that ilk.

Cigarettes: a symbol of oppression?

As more and more people, far more learned or erudite than I, question the rationality of this decision, questions are also being asked about the deeper significance of aspects of the restrictions associated with the lockdown.

When the lockdown was just being mooted and the fear and paranoia of this invisible enemy began to seep into our conversations, there were laughing suggestions that the gates of the village should be closed.  The fear of the unknown, and unseen is how it begins. We get caught up in the headlines and soundbites and don’t delve into the mire beneath.  We should.  It’s as scary as it is enlightening.

Yes, the numbers are scary.  Yes, this disease is ugly, horrible and has no cure. No, I don’t want to get it.  No, I don’t want anyone I love to get it.  Yes, they might. That frightens me.

It’s these emotions that are fed by the numbers that are spewed out and not interrogated.  We need to remember that the mortality rate is between 1 and 5% depending on the population.  That means that many, many more people survive the virus than succumb.

Tools for Control

It’s this perspective that neither governments nor the news media foreground.  Instead, they frighten us so that we want to set ourselves apart from people who might be contaminated.  That is how stigma begins.

Fear is one of the tools that governments use to control their subjects.

Another is the big data that they collect: the information we readily (and not so readily) give away in our internet searches, social media activities and with out mobile phones.  The ubiquitous mobile phone has become a critical mechanism for the tracking and tracing of potential Covid-19 cases.  You don’t have watch CSI or Criminal Minds to catch my drift.

Yes, they need to find potential super-spreaders. They need to find, treat and heal people who are ill.

After Covid-19

When all this is over, what will they do with the data they’ve collected?  Our data.

Edward Snowden is concerned.  He says we should be, too.

Will we be able to legally buy and enjoy a glass of wine and a fag?  Where and with whom we please?

Will we be able to do more than break virtual bread and have virtual birthday parties?

These are vexing questions, not just for South Africans, but for other countries, too, where civil liberties have been severely curtailed.  In the interests of public health.

Bastardising another cliché, there may be short term gains, but one does have to wonder about the longer term implications once this disease, as the Spanish flu did, peters out.

Is it a fine balancing act, or a slippery slope?

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

 

Post Script

In yet another aspect of my life, I offer

online English tutoring services

every day conversation and formal presentations
writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers
formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
more information here

And then there’s more:

  • If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:
    • re-vamping old recipes.  As I do this, I plan to add them in a file format that you can download and print.  If you download recipes, buy me a ko-fi?
    • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts because of this.
  • If you’re interested in a soft entry into the world of crypto currency and monetising WordPress blog, use the fantastic Steempress plugin to post directly to the Hive blockchain.  Click on the image below to sign up
  • I’m still blogging on Steem and more recently share my burbling on Uptrennd and with the occasional post on Medium.

 

Ducks, Drakes and Croc Socks

Today is the fourth Saturday of our enforced lockdown.  We should have been “free” yesterday.  Instead, last Thursday, they added another fourteen days to our enforced stay at home.  If one reads between the lines, as I have said, there’s no guarantee that 1 May 2020 will see emancipation.

I admit that yesterday was a difficult one.  The ick on village social media (again) highlighted the mean, dark side of humanity.  It insidiously wears one down.  Crises don’t always bring out the best in people.  Then I remembered my Irish blog pal’s challenge to find or create some humour to make each other smile.

That’s kinda hard when one’s feeling down.  Then I remind myself that others have it much harder than I.

Making friends in solitary confinement

A friend is literally in solitary confinement.

Unhappily, about the only humans she’s seen have been Messrs Plod.  That’s a story for another time, perhaps.  She has, though, created am army of pals.  Not imaginary ones.  Real ones that hang around the house and garden with her.

Asked for her favourites, she was hardpressed to choose between Shamus and Tut:

Shamus, the swiming pool sea monster.  Apparently, he’s very sweet.  Once you get to know him.

To Tut, I cannot do justice, I have to use her own words:

He used be a Pharaoh, like real important like. Now he’s a zombie mummy. He’s a very happy little guy with a wicked sense of humour.

Check out more of Pixie’s pals, pretty kitties and fabulous food on Instagram.  You might just spot the brass animals she snapped when she went on her garden safari.

Duck!

Me, I’m just trying to keep my ducks in row.

I’ve not entirely succeeded.  Mr Drake and Ms Duck, are too busy playing boomps-a-daisy.  Duckling? Well, does what ducklings, do….

Practise what I preach?  Hell, yes no!

I have tried to practise my own freely offered advice, but not entirely succeeded.  I’m trying to cook with out wine cooking with less wine.  Hoping that the stash will outlast the enforced stay at home.

I did not cut my hair in anger.  I had to do a major repair job.

Three days into lockdown. Lopsided, bad hairday angry haircut (L). Running repairs a couple of days later (R).

Good thing, too, because suddenly I had a video conference.  I had to be respectable (at least from the waist up).  Beltrack pants that don’t stay up because they’re so comfortable that …

Cold toes + laziness = Crocs and socks. Never before seen outside The Sandbag House.

Now, that’s a confession. As is the fact that in the last three weeks, I have taken and shared more selfies than the entire time I’ve been on social media. Including this one of me dolled up for the video conference.

Me, above the Crocs and socks.

I suspect my friend and hairdresser will be politely disapproving of the hatchet job when she is actually freed to fix my head.

Oh, and guess what?  The video conference ended up being a webinar where the screen was never shared.  There I sat, lipstick and all.  For whom?  The Husband and the cats.

Ha!

Anyhow, that selfie has become my profile picture for an online platform where I will be teaching English.

Speaking of our feline family:  Princess Pearli was off being the strumpet she is.  Stay at home doesn’t apply to her. Of course.

Gandalf?  Well, he is dealing with this whole lock down thing as only he can:

Until next time, keep your ducks in a row (or try) and be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

Post Script

  • Corona Virus feature image: CDC on Unsplash
  • I’m participating in blogpal @tracyork’s April challenge of sharing a post every day during April – on the Hive blockchain. I succeeded last year – on Steemit from which the new blockchain “hived off”…
  • It seems a good way to constructively use the time during a compulsory lock down, right? For more about this initiative, please check out Traci’s post.

  • If you’d also like to both join the challenge and post from the WordPress platform to the Hive blockchain, sign up here.
  • I’m still blogging on Steem and more recently share my burbling on Uptrennd