A re-evaluation.

I have spent the last few days re-evaluating what I would like from friendship.  I am essentially a loner, a very private person, but I do enjoy stimulating conversation, a good laugh and that warm and fuzzy feeling friendship should bring.  I have an egg cup full of friends I feel safe with, who I trust to share my concerns with.  I tend to be wary of people in general so these people are precious gems in my life.  I have found that more and more people are in it to win it, to stomp all over the sensitivities of others to gain attention for themselves.  I wrote a blog about how people use carefully placed words to bully others, but recently I was shocked to find that their actions too are a cleverly crafted game of like me, like me, like me.  I noticed this because human behaviour is of great interest to me.  I ponder over why something doesn't feel right.  I try and work out what the desired effect from an action may be. What I will no longer tolerate is "friends" who only need you when they are needy, who abuse your trust by gossipping or sharing your vulnerabilities, who, after being given chance after chance, still repeat the same behaviour, who infiltrate your circle of friends and micro-manage them in a way that puts you at a disadvantage, who demean, criticise or otherwise make you feel inferior, sad or bad.  There is a saying "What you allow, will continue."   Don't allow anyone to feed off your good energy.  If it doesn't feel right, there is something wrong.  Trust your instinct.  Sometimes, even though it is hard to say goodbye, it will be the best thing you ever did.

Why no outrage?

This is not new news or a pretty subject.  This is a situation that needed addressing a long time ago.  There are areas in South Africa that are under siege by heavily armed gangsters, racked by unemployment and it's resulting poverty, debilitated by street drugs and alcohol which encourages crime for quick fixes as a way to forget.  These areas were mostly formed under the apartheid regime when people of colour were displaced from their original homes.  The majority of the people living in these areas are just normal human beings desperately trying to live their best lives.  Their days are spent hoping that there will be no gunfire, no deaths, no rapes, no abductions, no murders.  All they want is a peaceful existence. This is not the norm.  People in these areas live under constant threat of violence.  Murder is an almost daily occurrence. To make things worse, the promise of help from emergency services is virtually non-existent.  Ambulances are hi-jacked and medics robbed, police are shot dead, fire engines stoned, water pipes cut and personnel threatened.  Red zones have recently been implemented which means that the area is too dangerous to enter without police escort.  In many cases, when the police are not available, patients have to be carried some distance to reach an ambulance outside the Red zone.  When time is of the essence, this usually ends with a declaration of death instead of help.  Basic human rights are being infringed upon.  No human being should have to live like this.  I cannot even begin to imagine the stress that people live with constantly and how many are suffering from post traumatic stress disorders.  Instead of wondering what to make for supper, a wife may be thinking "Why is my 3 year old daughter missing, (Courtney was found buried after having been raped and murdered by a lodger.  She was the 19th victim of child murder in the Western Cape this year), will my husband be killed in the crossfire of warring gangsters, will my neighbour be raped on her way home, will I see another day?"  Too often children witness uncovered shot or stabbed bodies in the street.  Everyone knows at least one person who has died violently.  Stress causes illness and the incidents of heart attacks and strokes, cancers and asthma in these areas is very high.  As is the suicide rate.  I should think that the people are beyond angry, they feel invisible, afraid and uncared for by the government.  Calls for peace and prayer vigils for those innocents who have died in vain are all too common.  The people are doing what they can to remain dignified in an ugly situation, but the gangsters continue to ceaselessly de-stabilise everything.  Calls have repeatedly been made for the government to bring in the army to weed out the criminal element and help make areas safer, but our president turned that suggestion down.  Yet he called in the army to protect him.  Millions are spent on frivolous political party rallies, salaries for the ministers, their houses and their cars. Yet, people continue to live in, frankly, inhumane conditions.  When will government step up and admit they have failed miserably by allowing this torment to fester into pure hell for the people on the ground?  I felt compelled to write this because on the 1st of May 2017, in Elsie's River, Western Cape, gangsters opened fire. 13 people were shot, 4 of whom died.  (May Their Dear Souls Rest In Peace.)  This massacre did not even make the news headlines.  To my mind this is a blatant disregard for the loss of human life.  A cruel unsaid message to the people saying "Your lives don't matter enough to make the news." If this happened anywhere else in the world, it would be all over social media, television, the papers. There would be outrage.  Why is there no outrage here?  All that is heard over and over is empty promises to root out gangsterism.  I fear that the gangs have become too entrenched to be dealt with.  I fear for the people and their futures.  I hope that by putting this out there some good emerges.  I pray for a miracle.

                                                    Warning.  Graphic and sad.

Thoughts about a rain dance.

Cape Town needs rain desperately.  We have eighty-nine days of water left in our dams.  How does one solve this problem?  Well the only thing to do, as far as I am concerned, is what our ancestors would have done, organise a rain dance.  People were talking about it on Facebook and wondering whether someone could organise it.  Seeing as a rain dance is viewed as a bit of an alternative, hippy, wierdo way of summoning rain and in some circles frowned upon as evil, I initially thought to decline the challenge.  I was afraid, I suppose, of being ridiculed.  As time marched on and no significant rain fell, I thought well, why not.  I put an advert onto our Kommetjie Kommunity (yes, correct spelling) page and I was pleasantly surprised at the responses I received.  The rain dance was scheduled for this evening.  A beautiful, calm sea, a golden sunset and three people sat in the circle bashfully tapping on the drums we had brought.  Time passed and passed and one other person arrived, then another and one or two more.  I am so grateful to those who bothered.  I am grateful to the little girls who dressed up especially and danced around the circle to make the rain come (and I am pretty sure they are convinced it will.)  The point of this blog is not so much to describe the event, it is to point out how far people have gravitated from the natural rhythms of life.  Very few believe in the power of doing, instead expecting instant gratification by pressing a button.  Most will agree, saying "Yes, I will definitely be there what a good idea."  Then the usual apathy kicks in.  Having the expectation of a well attended rain dance (of all things) is a tall order I suppose, but it made me think twice about stepping out of my comfort zone again.  I will, I am sure, but it makes me think twice.  I am the kind of person who does what I say I am going to do and I do whatever it is to the best of my ability.  I wonder what will happen when the rain comes.  I wonder what will happen if it doesn't.  Well whatever the outcome, at least we tried with the best of intentions.

A very dry February.

Virtually the whole of South Africa is experiencing rain and in some places, flooding. All except for the Western Cape.  We are in the grip of the worst drought in thirty years.  The dams have only two months worth of water left and as a consequence, water usage has been severly reduced and reduced again.  Fines for water usage outside of the stipulations are harsh.  Personally I think the implementation of restrictions was too little, too late.  Our household has always been aware that water is precious and recycled where possible.  Now most people are recycling water from every available source.  We are showering in tubs, collecting the warm-up water from showers and washing up, washing machines are watering our thirsty gardens, the rain tank manufacturers are doing great business, but the tanks are standing empty, downpipes have plastic bags attached to them in the hope of catching any scant rainfall.  The soil is dry, the grass is brown, plants have wilted and the birds are thirsty.  I fill a small container in the garden for them with the clean warm-up water which they dip into often.  It angers me when I see people who have no excuse to be ignorant of the crisis, openly watering their lawns.  When there is no water at all, I would like to see what good a green lawn will do?  On another dry note, I decided to make February an alcohol-free month.  Lime and soda being the tipple of choice. People were somewhat taken aback when I refused an alcoholic drink.  South Africa tends to be a nation of drinkers and socialising invariably includes alcohol.  The first week was quite hard because I had been in the habit of pouring a well-iced glass of white wine in the evenings to accompany the sunset watch.  Once week two was over, that need out of habit had dwindled.  Week three I found that I was feeling more energetic and a little holier than thou. . .  I knew I was going to ace the challenge I had set myself.  Now with two days left to go, I am contemplating a life with minimal alcohol, if any at all.  So all in all a very dry February.

A waddle, a colony and a gulp.

I have a passion for wildlife.  I have been interested in all things wild since I was a youngster.  I wanted to be a vet, but my lack of aptitude for maths negated that so I became a paramedic.  I have always had the notion that one day I would put my medical skills to use with wild creatures exclusively.  After the tragic murder of Kommetjie's Eco-Warrior, Wally Petersen, I felt compelled, in my small way, to contribute to his legacy.  It was suggested that the Southern African Foundation for the Conservation of Coastal Birds would be a good place to begin.  I phoned the organisation and found that they offered a free two day course learning how to respond to, handle and stabilise sick and injured seabirds.  I live on the coast so I decided that this course could provide me with valuable information.  This week I made the two hour trip to SANCCOB's head office in Tableview to become a first responder for seabirds.  SANCCOB, (the N is just for fun) founded in 1968, is known for their programme that saves oiled penguins, but it is far, far more involved than that.  I arrived to a warm welcome from Dylan who was to be my teacher and was sent to don oilskins, clear safety glasses for eye protection, wellies, a glove on my left hand and neoprene arm protectors.  Next I met a pen of around thirty deceptively cute African penguins.  Plus minus thirty centimetres of wiggly peckiness.  I was taught how to catch them and hand them to the volunteers who were medicating them.  Then they either went for a swim or were put into another pen.  They were all African (previously known as Jackass) penguins in different stages of maturity.  Even the youngsters, otherwise known as Blues, are incredibly strong.  The African penguin is endangered and is a very stressy bird so minimal handling, calmness and quiet around them is a must.  I found myself chatting to them, in hushed tones of course.  After being pooped on and nipped, it was time to have a tour of the premises. This included a peek into the chick rearing unit complete with incubators (through the window) the ICU and an induction video.  A lovely man named Alex took us through those paces.  Volunteers from all over the world come to SANCCOB to complete their internships on penguin and seabird care.  Everyone I met was busy either scrubbing out pens, feeding, spraying down mats, medicating, preparing fish smoothies, defrosting and sorting fish, washing the mountains of towels that are used, disinfecting used syringes and tubes, catching birds for vet checks and so the list goes on and on.  The whole operation is an extremely well oiled machine, it has to be to care for the one hundred or so penguins and other birds needing attention. More penguin handling, then onto the flying species like the large kelp gulls, comorants, ostercatchers and tiny Hartlaub's seagulls.  All have a slightly different method of handling.  Birds tend to go for shiny things like eyes, so safety glasses are an absolute non-negotiable.  At lunch time we met Steve, who is actually a girl.  Steve is an ambassador penguin.  This means that she is one of a handful of tame penguins who go out with the SANCCOB employees to interact with the public and raise awareness for the plight of seabirds in general.  The ambassadors all have names. The rest only have numbers and people working with them are encouraged to have as little interaction with them as possible to preserve their wildness.  The tame penguins all have stories and cannot be rehabilitated because of their tameness. Taming a penguin is to sign it's death warrant away from an environment like SANCCOB.  Apparently a lot of visitors ask whether the penguins dance. . .  thanks to the movie Happy Feet.  Day one over and I slept like a contented log.  Day two began with feeding penguins.  It looks easy when the experienced handlers do it, but it isn't. Penguins are averse to being held so they thrash about with ferociousness, pecking at every opportunity.  I did not think I would ever manage to push a fish down a gullet, but eventually I got the hang of it.  Penguin faces must be wiped to stop fish oil from contaminating their plumage.  Oil on plumage sets the rehabilitation process back about two weeks because it removes the penguin's waterproofing.  We had to identify and catch specific numbers who needed medication for various ailments like Bumblefoot (which is a staphylococcus aureous infection that sets in in pressure sores on the feet of birds in a captive environment) and injuries to flippers and feet. In the ICU I saw birds with amputated and broken feet, seal and caracal bites and injuries from plastics that had become tourniquets around their bodies to name a few.  Certain penguins are nebulised to help with a fungal infection that attacks their respiratory system.  There is nothing that will not be done to save the birds if at all possible.  I met Ebony, a hand-reared rare Bank comorant who loved everyone very vocally.  There was a Rockhopper penguin with black and yellow tasselly tufts, a ganet, a pair of terns, various penguins in a state of arrested moulting (which means they will have to remain in captivity because without their adult coat they will most certainly die in the wild.)  Dylan showed me how to catch, hold and tube feed a kelp gull and a comorant.  Very stressful because of the risk of feed going into the airway. Dylan was so encouraging and this gave me the confidence to get it right.  Great teacher!  I observed Dylan and the vet as they did the health checks on a batch of soon-to-be-released penguins.  He continued his lesson teaching me to tube feed the adult penguins later in the afternoon.  Hmmm.  I did that too, but not without being pecked repeatedly.  Even through two layers of neoprene my arm looks as if it got caught in a wringer!  Adult penguins have super strength and are grumpy sods when things are not going their way.  All good though, they got the nutrients they need to survive and in about three months time, when their blood smears are clear, their weight is good, their crucial feather jackets are healthy and their injuries have healed, they will be released back into nature where they belong.  I applaud the dedication of the volunteers and staff at SANCCOB.  I feel privileged to have been taught by a knowledgeful and passionate young professional and hope that in future I can make a difference, one seabird at a time.

                                        Penguin bites.

                                        Bumblefoot.

                                        Vet check.

                                        Beak cast.

                                        Tube feeding some fish smoothie.

                                                  Below, an example of arrested moulting.