Author: Gadija

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The Finer Things about Travel

I needed to get my passport stamped this year. There was no question of whether I’d be traveling or not in 2018, but rather when, and where.

People who had their first experience abroad, where giving me advice about travel – ME! Bloody hell, I’ve been to seven countries in less than five years, and they’re giving me advice. Well I just had to reassert myself as the seasoned traveler amongst the plebs.

And thus it was decided that I, along with my sister and cousin, would embark on the great journey to Morocco and Spain. Why these countries? They required my passport being stamped, and the travel agent’s package was within our price range.

The preparations were made, the savings set aside, we were going to do it. No matter that we’d be experiencing these countries in the dead of winter, it had to be done.

I even bought a suitcase. But that involved weeks of consultation over hard-shell or soft shell, four wheels or two, and Cellini or American Traveler. The necessary window shopping ultimately got the choice whittled down to just picking the colour. (I chose blue)

The deposits were made, the vacation time booked at work. But then there was the leg-work needed to ensure that this trip to Islamic Spain and Morocco did indeed happen for the Davids sisters plus cousin.

You see, in the haze of seeking out a destination that suited our pockets, we neglected to investigate the additional costs of a trip abroad; especially a trip to Spain.

The application for the Schengen visa put me off a bit. It felt like these guys didn’t want anyone visiting Spain. The BLS visa application centre is in Blackriver Parkway in Observatory. They’re not open on a weekend. So that required time off from work to make the application in the week. They require:

  • passport pictures
  • a detailed application form filled in
  • three months’ bank statements
  • three months’ pay slips
  • proof of employment
  • your passport
  • a copy of your passport
  • travel insurance
  • your itinerary
  • the application fee ( R 1 240) non-refundable
  • blood samples
  • your paternal grandmother’s toenail clippings

*the last two were a joke, but I would only have been mildly surprised if those were requested. (The details for the first 10 are available on their website)

We soon realized that while there is the fine print, there are also the hidden costs that come with a holiday abroad.

If you’re anything like me, a good travel package includes flights, transfers, accommodation and tours. And if these fall within a decent price range, I’m sold.

But then there’s the cost of visas, visa applications, couriers, travel insurance, the exchange rate, extra flight costs, booking said flights, and shoe tax. The list is endless.

Advice to the lazy traveler, especially if you couldn’t be bothered to actually do the research into the hidden costs: factor in an extra R 4 000 to the package price allocation to avoid any budgetary shocks. And ask questions. Nag if you have to, sound like an idiot, just as long as you don’t make a mistake and jeopardize your journey. The travel agent can only do so much.

If you don’t, the annoyance of having to fork out more money than the package entailed may dampen your traveling experience. So best to go in knowing that you’re covered, and take in the sights, smells and ambience of a different culture and climate. Decide at least a year in advance on where and when you’ll be traveling abroad; that means more time to plan, and more time to correct any mistakes made with your bookings.

If you’re traveling on a budget, maybe put off any European tours, at least until Venus is in its third moon, and the Powers that Be decide on a pocket-friendly Euro exchange rate. What’s the point of going somewhere new, and you can’t afford to eat the food?

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Nail to Fame

Comedian and professional awkward person, Simon Amstell does a bit where he speaks about how his mother normalises famous people.

The line goes something like: you see that celebrity? Well shit comes out of them.

Good observation mamma Amstell. Shit comes out of most everyone; except for those unfortunate souls with medical conditions preventing the satisfying process of expelling shit.

So when you encounter people who get starstruck or, obsess about how perfect a celebrity is, you must wonder if they’ve considered that shit comes out of their preferred celeb.

Benedict Cumberbatch fans are strange. Some of them even refer to themselves as Cumberbitches. Some of them can’t contain themselves when he wears tight shirts. But the more odd amongst the Cumbercollective, are the fans who marvel (pun intended) at his hands.

Why though? They’re just hands. Granted, they’re attached to one of the most obsessed about British actors, but they’re just hands.

I wonder about those people who source those pictures of his hands, those who scour the internet for just the right angle of his 10 digits. Do the aesthetics of his hands have any impact on their day? If put to a challenge, would they be able to discern Benedict’s hands from other decoys?

You may even ask why I’m even dedicating this blog post to his hands. The answer: they keep coming up on my damned Facebook news feed.

Gosh. I’d probably be able to tell them apart from other hands if challenged. Though I wouldn’t stake my life on it.

I looked at those neatly trimmed fingernails and it occurred to me that even Benedict Cumberbatch must think ‘I need to trim these bad boys’.

And then there’s the whole process that he may one day realise that his clippers are blunt, and have to run out and get a new pair. There can’t be many things more work-a-day than having to buy nail clippers.

So nevermind the shit, consider the less graphic, humanising nail clipper.

*You may argue that Benedict goes for manicures, and my answer to that very plausible thought is: shhhh

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Practice Makes Habit Makes Perfect – the declutter continues

“It’s messy, not dirty. That’s an important distinction: It’s dust, not dirt.” – Louis to Joe (Angels in America, 1985)

That’s a fairly accurate description of my approach to my room; it’s not dirty, my clothes just need to be packed away.  At least that was my attitude towards the organized chaos that was my room.

But since my last entry on ‘decluttering’ inspired by attn: and Jessica Alba, I’ve started organizing the other elements in my messy cocoon.

The chairdrobe has been clear for nearly two weeks thanks to the declutter mantra, and an even bigger deal, is that I’ve made my bed every morning (even on the weekends) since the wardrobe clean up.

For as long as I’ve been old enough to make my bed, I’ve found reasons not to. I used the obvious excuses:

  1. What’s the point, I’m just going to sleep in it again
  2. I’ve gotten the pillows at just the right indentation to suit my head
  3. Who’s going to see or care that I haven’t made the bed?

All valid and true for many people, but then you find the neat freaks who quote U.S. Navy Admiral William H. McCraven who said, “If you want to change the world, start off by making your bed.”

I remember thinking, “what a load…” with rolling eyes for added effect. How self-righteous, what utter bilge.

Yet here I am, telling anyone who would listen, that I have reached a milestone in my life.

I am now a bed maker.

Why did I start?

  1. I needed a clear space to put the mountain of clothes during the cupboard declutter of 2018, and I did not need a bumpy duvet making the mountain bigger.
  2. It was a nice feeling to get into a neat bed at the end of the arduous task of purging some of my clothes.
  3. I made my bed the next morning, which made my room look a lot less like a messy nest, and more like a spacious haven.
  4. The last perk, which I’m just beginning to appreciate, is that I’m more likely to read while lounging on a made bed, than on an unmade one. Strange, but there it is. I enjoy propping my pillows up against the wall, and treating my made bed as a make-shift reading nook.
    1. It’s nice to nap on a made bed; there’s just something about the crispness of the cotton duvet

So have I begun my Pinky and the Brain scheme of taking over the world?

via GIPHY

Not yet.

But I do have a sense of accomplishment at the start of my day. I still have the small battle with myself in the mornings; the lazy me warning that I would be late for work if I took on this two minute task.  And yet I haven’t been, and the waves of procrastination that used to weigh me down daily are slowly becoming less.

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Resistance Starts at 4am

Today is Ahed Tamimi’s 17th birthday. She spent it in an Israeli prison.

She is Palestinian.

And she has been kept in Israeli prison since mid-December. She’s in jail because she slapped an armed Israeli soldier who had trespassed onto her family property. Her mother Nariman is also due in court on Tuesday for filming the incident.

Ahed alleges that the occupation soldier had shot her cousin in the head with a rubber bullet about an hour before the altercation at her home in Nabi Saleh. She says she felt compelled to retaliate due to the constant harassment and violence perpetrated by the Israeli regime on her family and people. The Tamimi resilience to the Israeli occupation is awe-inspiring. For many, they have galvanized the Palestinian youth resistance.

Ahed and her mother are due in court on February 6, 2018 (my birthday). Ahed is 17. She is half my age. When I was 17, my biggest problems involved homework.

Tamimi Family at Radio 786 studios (Cape Town)

I met Ahed and her family last year when they visited South Africa as part of the Shamsaan (Two Suns) Project. You’d be forgiven for describing her as a sullen teenager, but the manner in which she took my phone for a selfie proved that while she recognized her duty to her people and her land, she was still a teenager who wants to be a soccer player and wear fashionable clothes.

But the Israeli occupation has taken away her dream of one day representing Palestine’s women’s soccer team in the World Cup. Instead, she has to contend with haphazard checkpoints instead of goalposts.

The Israeli skill of corralling, and restricting people’s movement is remarkable. Where else would you see the scale of checkpoints and military personnel, than in Israeli Occupied Palestine?

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attn: I’m a High-Functioning Hoarder

Ever scroll through your Instagram or Facebook feed, and come across an interesting two minute video that actually taught you something? It’s rare, I know. But then there’s attn: they’re a small big company creating daily content that – to paraphrase their by-line – tells us stories worth our attention.

And it’s not just do-gooder stories, they give you life-hacks, teach you about the food you consume, and tell you that in Switzerland, it’s illegal to have just one guinea pig or parrot because they get lonely. And now they have the added feather in their already full cap, of celebrities teaching you how to be better.

Better at relationships, better at understanding politics, better at sorting out the clutter-filled disaster that is your life.

This video of Jessica Alba teaching us how to declutter our lives popped up on my Facebook and Instagram feeds, and after the third time watching, I took up the challenge, and decluttered my closet.

Now I’m not your stereotypical woman, with 20 pairs of shoes, or the same t-shirt in different shades of amber, but I thought I’d give it a go, and see what needed to go.

With my declutter music giving me extra motivation (I suggest some Rolling Stones, the Beatles, and Queen), I tossed out the entire contents of my cupboard, and began the next step to improving my life.

via GIPHY

Turns out I have the same t-shirt in a rainbow of colours, way too many striped tops, and more than enough hoodies. So why do I keep buying more? And with that question, Jessica Alba was proven right; having too much makes us buy more, because all the clutter clouds our mental registry of our possessions.

Light bulb moment, right?

Well… kinda.

I’m donating most of those t-shirts and several other items to charity, but my cupboard is still full.

So thanks to attn: and Jessica Alba, I’ve learned that I am a high functioning hoarder (that tends to exaggerate). And now I know what to do about it.

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A Woman for All Seasons

Remember that comic strip, Cathy? She was the pre-Bridget Jones, pre-Spice Girls feminist.

And she said ‘Ack!’ a lot.

Cathy was a regular feature in the 90s Sunday papers.  I looked forward to Dennis the Menace’s antics, the marital spats of the Lockhorns, and then there was Cathy.

I was too young to fully appreciate her wit and neuroses. I was baffled by her relationship with food and shopping, and yet, because it was a ‘comic’, I read it, thinking that it must be for children.

But it really wasn’t.

Cathy was dealing with relationship, work, food, and weight-related stress. She was a caricature of the 80s/90s woman. She was dealing with low self-esteem, at a time when women had to prove their worth and capability in the sphere of womanhood. Yet, as her mania invariably surfaced by the second frame, Cathy was an independent woman, who struggled with her independence.

I realise this now, as I look back on those comic strips. Just think of all that shopping she had to do, which then became another revelation that she was ‘over-weight’ by society’s (and her mother’s) standards.  Cathy was dependent on material things, and societal norms. Yet she had a good job, good friends, a stable relationship, and her parents were still in her life.

She may have been relatable for women of her age, but to an awkward preteen dealing with weird hair and oversized spectacles, Cathy was a strange creature.

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Noteworthy Penmanship

My pen ran out of ink this morning.

No more will its happy clicking trigger my thought processes at work. No more will its translucent yellow body’s inability to balance out its dainty nib inspire daily irritation.

Yet, those last faint lines it left on my notepad were met with dread.

NOW?! You’re running dry, NOW?!

It’s not that I was about to pen the most brilliant idea ever penned in history, but I knew with lightning clarity that this delay would derail the rest of my day.

Who knows, I could have written a note that would eventually be sold for millions of dollars years after my death.

Nobel Laureate Albert Einstein’s note to his delivery man in Japan has now been sold for $1.56 million. How in the heck does a hand-written note to a delivery man get sold for that much?

“A calm and humble life will bring more happiness than the pursuit of success and the constant restlessness that comes with it.”

And,

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

Perhaps it’s the wisdom of his noteworthy tip. Maybe it’s because its Einstein’s particular wisdom that justifies the note’s worth.

You may argue that it has more to do with Einstein, and his contributions to physics that justifies the price.

I suppose it depends on your worldview, and whether you place more importance on improving the self, than improving the science.

How’s that for relativity?

 

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Liliesleaf Farm – cultivating resistance

Lesedi, our Uber driver, wants to name his son, ‘Gadija’. I explain to him that it’s a girl’s name.  I also explain that I don’t know what it means, only that Khadija (let’s not get into the spelling discrepancies) was the wife of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH), and that’s what gives the name its significance.

He’s nonplussed; because ‘Lesedi’ is also a girl’s name. And he likes the rhythm of  ‘Ga-dee-jah’. I decide not to argue.

Lesedi is taking us to the Liliesleaf Farm in Rivonia, Johannesburg. Its importance in the struggle against Apartheid is lost on me. I just know that it was a farm where many of the Anti-Apartheid guys used to meet. I know it has links to Nelson Mandela.

Nelson Mandela

Now before you get at me for the gaping holes in my knowledge of South African history, I must clarify that the history textbooks at school focused on World Wars, and kings and queens. Nothing of the exciting, movie-like scenarios that played out in South Africa, as civilian men and women were forced to take up arms to fight against a racist and oppressive regime.

But a visit to Liliesleaf Farm Museum soon filled some of those gaps.

Entrance to Liliesleaf Farm Museum

Walking through the entrance of the compound, there’s a tranquility that only a weekday visit to a museum can provide. A gently bubbling stream snakes around the many buildings that serve as portholes to the events that lead to the Rivonia Trial; while flowers, willowy trees, and quotes from notable freedom fighters ease visitors into their journey down South Africa’s liberation history.

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The Zeitz MOCAA – A Meeting of Perspectives

Spinning top-like seats greet you as you wait in line to enter the colossal Zeitz Museum of Contemporary Art Africa (Zeitz MOCAA) as it opened its doors to the public this weekend. One patron noted that the spinning seats shake your mind up to new ideas. Perhaps she’s right. These novel ‘chairs’ are just a taste of the kind of interactive and new take on norms that pervade our experience of the world. And that is just what the Zeitz MOCAA, situated in Silo District of the V&A Waterfront, achieves with the various exhibits on display.

Zeitz MOCAA (exterior)

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Nothing like the Present

Smartphones have turned almost anyone into a photographer. We’re all happily snapping along, getting the best shot, and angle, with the added joy of having the option of deleting a bad picture. It’s just so easy. And don’t forget the filters, and picture enhancing features that add to our pseudo photography skills. Now those really make you look artsy.

I wonder what those die-hard photographers think about the smartphone happy snappers.

We will never know the slog of carrying the heavy bags containing the lenses that cost more than the camera, or the time it takes to develop the film.  But it’s not our fault, everything is digital these days.

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