Capetonians are remarkably resilient. When we had the Eskom power outages the kids took to playing "blackout-blackout". I wonder whether, in 3 years time, they'll be playing "bucket-bucket"?
It's a thought. We've all known it was coming and that, rather like a freight train, the tracks are there, there's a whistle in the distance and a faint rumbling. The problem with playing chicken with a train is that it actually does move rather fast, and much faster than you think when it's right in front of you. I hope we can jump out of the way in time.
Yesterday was a classic case of leaping off the lines. I thought I'd test the waters (so as to say) and grab a 5l bottle or two for Justin. You know, Just-in Case? Eek. Splutter. Pick n Pay received several pallets at 10 am yesterday. Sold out by 10.30. WW got their shipment in at 10.30 and it was gone by 11.30. Water purchases are suddenly limited to a few bottles per customer. The WW website went down at lunch time. A visit to the local plastics warehouse saw thousands of 25l drums sold in just 3 days. The next shipment of 1000 (and people are waiting anxiously) is due this morning at 9 and I can guesstimate it will be gone in seconds. After all, I need to get four - one for us, one for mom-in-law and two for some friends. A faint tinge of "don't panic" is starting to hue my outlook on Day Zero.
And then there are the schools. Bish... I won't name them... is said to have imposed a R1000 per kid levy to take the school off the water grid. Not sure if that's per month, but it's an extra levy for the next three years. They had to cancel swimming because pools are not that refillable after too much competitive splashing. Our gala is next Tuesday, and then our school pool might close too.
S school in Newlands has requested each kid bring a 5l water, wet wipes and hand sanitiser to school. Our school hasn't done that, but they have plumbed one bathroom into ground water and only one tap works in each bathroom. Our school provided hand sanitiser (thank you Mr P) so I don't have to hunt it down today. Really, thank you! It's getting quite hard to find. And our kids are encouraged to bring their own water bottles to school to drink from so there's less wastage from taps.
So what can I derive from all the water chasing, the panic and the hoarding?
One, it's quite hard not to judge your friends when they tell you they have worked hard to reduce their water to just 7,000l a month and you are (self-righteously) using approximately 1,500l for the same size family. Ouch.
Carrying buckets, not flushing and washing clothes just once a week - how many wears can you get out of those school socks? - builds muscle and a bit of frustration. Especially when you are hunting for clean undies before work and can't find any.
A flush brings guilt, especially from the one toilet still connected to the mains.
Our pool (what a luxury to have a pool) has become a personal water source for washing and flushing if Day Zero happens and taps are finally turned off. In the meantime we toss the kids in for evening swims to save on showers. They come out mostly clean.
You can plumb a lot of downpipes to catch rain water. However, you need rain to catch.
Our low flow showerheads were a good investment. We can still shower at high speed, unlike many. Though we might be switching to buckets/wipes soon. I'm thinking of installing a beeping timer in the bathrooms for shower time as our gym has done. It might make banging on the bathroom door to cries of "Turn it off!" less painful on the hands and more soothing on the vocal cords.
Most importantly, as Mr P pointed out, the water crisis will not have been in vain when, after the rains have come, we view water as the precious resource it really is and continue to live differently.
My first-third world city. So resourced and actually so very vulnerable. All our save-ourself strategies show me that we cannot save ourselves. Together with millions of people, I stopped at 1pm yesterday and prayed fervently for rain, again.
Together. Stopped. Prayed. Fervently. Again.
Five keys to life. Five doors to hope. Why do we do this last? #PrayForRain #Revival
Thursday, 25 January 2018
Thursday, 11 January 2018
Queues for character
Home Affairs. In South Africa, those two words send shivers of apprehension rippling through your heart. You never quite know if a visit to Home Affairs will be painless and quick, or drawn out and agonisingly slow. Tales abound of horrific queues, system crashes, minutes ticking by like hours and of hours that plod with roughshod feet across your once vibrant, now-chair-confined life. Ah!
So, I can summarise our visit to the centre in the middle of the Mother City as follows:
0 credit card facilities (no one at the machine today)
1 cash desk working
2 unimpressed kids
3 loo visits to the second floor
4 visits to the first floor
5 people at the passport desks (2 at the photo booths, 3 doing id/passport applications)
6 hours (in total from arrival at 6.20am to exit at 12.20pm)
7 different docs (2 unabridged birth certificates, 2 new id cards and 3 passports)
There was a moment when it all actually happened. All four of our numbers came up at once. So it was a run to the photo booths for biometrics and photos, then back to the chairs, then a comedy of who is who between counters 11 and 16 to submit all the required info. Picture kids running with id books up and down from me at counter 11 to Adam at counter 16. And a rather bemused waiting room as we tag teamed 5 different docs between 2 adults and 2 kids. I got the giggles. The lady serving me looked even more bemused. Perhaps they don't hear much laughter?
Oh. And ticket 173 was lost. Does that mean that someone, somewhere, will one day find a person clutching ticket 173 in a dusty corner of the grey edifice? Perhaps a skeleton? Scary thought.
Jessica liked the pigeon nesting on a ledge outside the ladies bathroom window. It had a newly hatched chick. I liked the guy selling black pens after I discovered the pen I brought had blue ink. Note to self, NEVER check the colour of your pen at 10pm the night before in the kitchen; rather check under a very bright lamp. Adam liked his book. Luke liked getting out of there.
I learned something important today. There are many amazing people who are remarkably patient, polite and respectful in my city. They endured the queues and frustration without complaining, sighing or looking at their watches. It's my hope that my kids also learnt something from the six hours we used up today (standing, sitting and leaning) in queues.
And when we got home, I asked them if they wanted to tell me again how bored they are to be stuck at home. Because if I hear "I'm bored" again, I will bung them back into the car and we can go stand in that queue again (evil mommy grin!).
So, I can summarise our visit to the centre in the middle of the Mother City as follows:
0 credit card facilities (no one at the machine today)
1 cash desk working
2 unimpressed kids
3 loo visits to the second floor
4 visits to the first floor
5 people at the passport desks (2 at the photo booths, 3 doing id/passport applications)
6 hours (in total from arrival at 6.20am to exit at 12.20pm)
7 different docs (2 unabridged birth certificates, 2 new id cards and 3 passports)
There was a moment when it all actually happened. All four of our numbers came up at once. So it was a run to the photo booths for biometrics and photos, then back to the chairs, then a comedy of who is who between counters 11 and 16 to submit all the required info. Picture kids running with id books up and down from me at counter 11 to Adam at counter 16. And a rather bemused waiting room as we tag teamed 5 different docs between 2 adults and 2 kids. I got the giggles. The lady serving me looked even more bemused. Perhaps they don't hear much laughter?
Oh. And ticket 173 was lost. Does that mean that someone, somewhere, will one day find a person clutching ticket 173 in a dusty corner of the grey edifice? Perhaps a skeleton? Scary thought.
Jessica liked the pigeon nesting on a ledge outside the ladies bathroom window. It had a newly hatched chick. I liked the guy selling black pens after I discovered the pen I brought had blue ink. Note to self, NEVER check the colour of your pen at 10pm the night before in the kitchen; rather check under a very bright lamp. Adam liked his book. Luke liked getting out of there.
I learned something important today. There are many amazing people who are remarkably patient, polite and respectful in my city. They endured the queues and frustration without complaining, sighing or looking at their watches. It's my hope that my kids also learnt something from the six hours we used up today (standing, sitting and leaning) in queues.
And when we got home, I asked them if they wanted to tell me again how bored they are to be stuck at home. Because if I hear "I'm bored" again, I will bung them back into the car and we can go stand in that queue again (evil mommy grin!).
Friday, 5 January 2018
Mourning the passing of a mountain-sky-sea man
A lament (with hope) for an adventurer, climber, hiker, sailor and lover of the special places of this world - Ian Slatem - who tragically died climbing Arrow Final on Table Mountain while guiding clients at the start of 2018. I did not know you personally Ian, although I did meet you. You are sorely missed by your friends.
A man who sailed the sunrise where rolling sea meets the sky
And trod the mountains of ice which reach so high;
Explored the depths of rock with all the treasures of the earth
Paused beside the tumbling waters where Cape disas are given birth.
And in the sanctity of wilderness, sky and ever-charging seas
Can be found a greater gift which a restless heart can seize
Creation’s many faces all beam a hidden glory
Ian has crossed to walk and sail a new and brighter story
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