I wish I was in Mogadishu (in 1970) For the love of old things; don’t let (all) bygones be bygones. I just relish the feeling of Nostalgia in the morning. Sampling what we can from the past, but let’s not get existential and delve into history here, I’m simply talking about pockets, pockets of time. Are you a little lost? Allow me a moment to explicate. I like mystery. I’m a tad sentimental, a little traditional, and more than somewhat adventurous – but only as adventurous as an introvert allows himself to be. I tend to explore in pockets, in times of inspiration to feed my soul. But, what I’m nudging towards here is: treasures. We cannot take anything with us from this life (thought I wasn’t getting existential), but we can always treasure those notes that award life more depth. I was chatting to a friend and colleague about the internet and how people don’t want to read anymore –technology has made us lazy and a little idiotic and stupid, or perhaps just numb. Truth is, most people are okay with speedy temporary mediocrity, or they just allow it to be okay. I like to read. Sounds simple, because it is, but as has been bemoaned in the recent past, it also feels like its dying in this society. I’m currently reading an espionage thriller fantasy – sounds unreal (well it is a work of fiction), but its set somewhere in the 50’s/60’s, and it’s made up of gloriously vivid characters and stark locations. This of course was a period when there was much more mystery in the world. The world wasn’t as conscious of itself as it is now – so in a way it too is a character in the novel. This was a time of deadly aristocrats, master thieves, underworld assassins and smugglers with trench coats – each with their own individual quirks and signatures – and those would be the good guys. This feels like an era long gone, because it is. Like another story I read some time ago that began (if memory serves) with an already old-world English traveller in Mogadishu, in the days before an attempted coup d’état in the late 70’s, as he lamented the changing of times as the dark political shadows grew longer over the city – this as he sipped a cool beverage with (as per the delightful description) an Iman lookalike. I’m certain there are characters like these living today, but they’ve been absorbed by the corporate world, the technology, a blanket of commercialism, social media and globalization. This, here, now, around us, is a diluted society. It’s something you’ll find as a theme in some of the stories I’ve written; from a father telling his son a bedtime story encompassing his former dangerous and high-speed life, to a girl imploring her mother to take her down the path to find her estranged father a half a world away. I like holding history in my fingers. From books, to my father’s old broken watch… So what if they say I’m grasping at phantoms – whispers of the past that can never be again, trying to, in some small way relive a moment, or colour in a distant memory, I’ve always been like this, from trying to break into my Dad’s safe when I was seven, or trying to get into either of my grandfather’s backyard sheds – there was mystery there yes, but also objects that were decades older than me, and in a young mind, anything can be a treasure, the trick is to keep a hold of a morsel of that youth, to add whimsy to something that strikes a chord in the vein of the illusive things alluded to here.. They don’t make anything like they used to. The trick is in finding gems with no pretense. Moral here is; don’t stop reading. Books on a shelf are like latent worlds waiting to be discovered and explored – although some are more vivid than others… There is a bit of mystery left in the world yet, it’s just about being willing to look, to find something from a certain time, or maybe just something timeless, that isn’t in plain sight. Maybe you’ll find a secret garden, or just a secret that once was lost, but now is yours. It's about discovery, and that endless pursuit, of grandeur... even in the small things. Ahh, tis but a practiced talent indeed, to master the art, of savouring. "Any man's life, told truly, is a novel." [Image credits: pinterest, tumblr, imgur.com, darnour.com, grantstonerrawlings.blogspot.com, i3.minus.com, lonelygentlemangloves.com, mogadishuimages.com, eurocrime.blogspot.com] Related Posts: Why do we love the red convertible? Ugly Beautiful The Inside Watch Abandoned Ruins of Speed
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In the thorns and the cross-hairs: Liberation movements – strange thing about them – labelled outlaws, terrorists, revolutionaries, enemies of the state…. Ideals change, men change, so do politics and thence, perhaps most of all, people… people are the most fickle. “I choose God before man” – Rev. Beyers Naude People are complex, forever in a struggle to find out who we are, what we’re here for. And so now, in the modern quest for globalization – although it has been an idea for quite some time now, since the inception of colonialism – making the world one country, seeking integration, unity, solidarity, love and all that good stuff, in a world getting ever ‘smaller’ – are we not discarding ourselves? We constantly (without reward) seem to be seeking answers in each other. I made an earlier post about heritage, and remembering where we all came from; to not discard our past and to preserve our culture, yet this means to oppose the concept on globalization on some level. Of course a part of the concept of the global village is to accept each and all equally, flaws and imperfections included, and unite under the banner of humanity. However, as is very easy to surmise and gather when looking at the world today; things are becoming ever more superficial, run by capitalistic ideas and motives. Thankfully, certainly from my perspective, the larger portion of society is waking up to see that ideals are not as black and white as they assumed it was – there was never the simple ‘good guy bad guy’ complex in world politics – we were just led to side with certain nations over others, when in fact guilt can be laid equally on all sides. Propaganda. Humanity. Opinion. Belief. Strange hey? Although it is our differences that make us unique – through all the beauty – it is those same differences that has been the cause for so much conflict. Many would support the idea of maintaining traditions – the good ones at least – to retain some notes of cultures from all corners of the globe, for it is that which weaves such a colorful and diverse tapestry. As we move headlong and with gaining momentum into an uncertain future, we should always reflect, remember, pause and breathe new and perhaps better life into one of the few certainties of this life – our past. To briefly shed the complexities and distractions of today. I had such a moment a few weeks back while visiting Freedom Park in Pretoria. The center piece of the park is the wall of names (S'khumbuto - meaning, among other things "place of remembrance") with all those who died in the eight major conflicts that shaped the nation, with particular emphasis on honoring those who died in the name of peace, human rights and the freedom and liberation of South Africa. Those conflicts are:
In total, up until 1994, the nation of South Africa had been at war for over 500 years. However, it’s not just about recognizing those souls, but also laying them to rest. Something which should be mimicked in every country, in some way, is the concept of Isivivane (derived from the word “viva” – in this instance carrying the meaning of “commitment to solidarity”, “unity of purpose” and “coming together”) – the place of healing and rest. This is the symbolic burial ground for all those who died. Isivivane is crucial to Freedom park, built to enhance awareness and inspire commemoration. Arriving at the site, one is required to remove your shoes as a sign of respect. This was also the site where a host of religious leaders held ceremonies and rituals to lay to rest those fallen heroes. No matter your belief, it is hard not to be moved by this experience which is concluded (after receiving an in depth explanation as to the relevance and meaning of the surrounds) by washing your hands and face in a rock pool of fresh water. Everything here holds some meaning; even the type of trees planted, and the method for entering and exiting (through separate pathways). The actual burial ground – some would liken it to the tombstone of the site – is the ring of boulders. In addition to the two boulders denoting National government and the International community, there are 9 other boulders from the 9 provinces in South Africa, all with Historical significance. For example, the boulder from the Limpopo province is from a site once ruled by one of the earliest kingdoms on the sub-continent who traded gold with India and Egypt. The boulder from the Western Cape is from the Table Mountain range – one of the oldest mountains in the world. The biggest rock is from Mpumalanga province, a piece of green Verdite from the recorded 3.5 million year old Barberton Green-stone belt (yes, one side of the rock really does have a green hue to it). If you ever get the chance, I recommend visiting this rich place, to get away from our usual everyday ebb and flow. For those unable to visit the park, feel free to visit the website at Freedom Park.
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[Banner illustration by Joel Kanar]
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