Extreme nuance

Dutch soccer legend and aspiring linguistic philosopher Johan Cruijff once noted: "every advantage has its disadvantage". The logic is as compelling as it is redundant, pointing out genius in the obvious. An abundance of sunlight turns skin a nasty bright red usually reserved for cooked seafood and a happy night of drinking is rewarded with a head heavy like a millstone and a stomach obnoxious as an unfed lioness. If you become aware of your success you risk getting smug about it, and if you know your strength you might underestimate that of your opponent's.

But like every proverb with a little complexity, the opposite is also true. Every unfavorable situation has a silver lining. Every setback opens possibilities that had priorly been ruled out.

It is important, however to keep this balancing mechanism in mind when meeting both extremes of the axis. For it is usually only with hindsight that the value of the matter is understood, as moments of bliss and terror don't naturally cater for a nuanced reflectivity.

The words of the master flash through my head as I run up the endless sets of stairs that make up the UCT campus. It is the last week of my semester, and still one of my courses doesn't appear on my study record. No one I speak to seems to be able to explain why this is the case, and nobody takes responsibility either, pointing at faculty, student records, student administration and the department. Stoicism is beautiful idea in theory, and these experiences might lead to something good, but right now I feel like severely beating someone up.

The experience at campus has changed, the lingering masses of students waiting for classes have made way for bursts of people pouring in and out of exam venues, timid and stressed at first and frantically relieved after, hurrying to make their way to a more fitting location for the temperature of 28 degrees we've been blessed with the last few days. And once again I can't stay on the middle road as a smile in sheer enjoyment at the sight of the green leafs gently shaking in the warm wind. This day might have a down side too, but I will need Johan Cruijff to point it out to me before it will bring down my mood of immediate and utter contentment.

An Odd Bunch in an Empty Space

My introduction to the Karoo wasn't entirely without turmoil, as the desert revealed its particularities to me in a rather unorthodox fashion. The five days spent cradled in its majestic presence have favorably changed my outlook on life. My expectations were high, yet Afrika Burns easily surpassed each one of them.

Based on the Burning Man festival, thousands of artsy hippies gathered a 100 kilometer of dirt roads away from the closest village for a festival of participation and non-commercialism. Every bit of equipment, artwork, food, drink and drugs had to be brought along, as there was solely a gift economy in place and not even basic amenities like water or sanitation. Encouraged by the open atmosphere, all visitor had prepared in some way to add to the festivals experience. Propped up in costumes and with heightened consciousness, people handed out oranges, lent out bicycles, photographed portraits, prepared food, read aura's, provided misty water in the midday heat or ran their soundsystem, provided huge art installations and, naturally, burned things down.

I left my worries and everyday's woes behind when the tarmac stopped and my cell phone consequently told me 'no network'. Dusty upon arrival, the camp had the quality of an outpost from a Star Wars movie, with the weirdest creatures and creations wandering around the tents and installations. Though home to a few thousand souls, the vast emptiness of the inner circle, with a 1 km diameter, around which habitation was put up, installed a continuing sense of distance upon the whole scene. Around the flimsy layer of tents and people, the empty space continued relentlessly.

Beating heat during the day gave way to a mean cold at night. Arrangements to counter both heat and cold had been made, like the 'triple bi-pass', a heater made out of three 4 meter high ovens meeting in the middle, creating an open air space in which the midday heat was echoed during the night.

The theme of this year's edition was 'time', aptly reflected in the burning of two major installations. With a round shape, 'the wish' would have profited from some wind that would have blown the fire sideways, spreading it instead of having it to climb up sloping sides. It took 4 hours for the big ball to properly collapse, the pumped crowd fervently dancing around it. Ample gale force wind the next day did what the absence of wind did the day before: it made the burning incredibly slow. The sideways energy of the blaze burned the bottom bit by bit, making it appear as if the huge six-legged man sank into the ground. Only at 5 in the morning had the giant collapsed, the major crowd that started watching already well dispersed into the sound-system's tents or their beds.

On top of the landrover I watched the incredibly densely speckled sky, comfortably enjoying my makeshift double-bed. As the techno music kept on droning thru the night, my eyes closed on another day of desert drifting. As sleep came upon me, I felt my mind wandering into another vast empty space. The definition of a peaceful sleep, just like the brochure tells you, paradoxically right there in the middle of a campment in the middle of nowhere. Now that's Afrika Burns for you.

Keep it Cape

Despite all good intentions and a stack of self-written rules about blending in and finding a foothold in a new town, I've managed to still keep that feeling of sudden elevation, lifting me from my feet every now and again and tossing me backward into a deep pool of sudden emotion.

Only yesterday have I moved into my permanent room. My sole possession, beyond the necessary clothes and the like, is my king size mattress. Driven here stuffed all the way up to the passenger seat, I feel like I have achieved something meaningful. It looks a little overpowered as it tries to fill the vast empty space, simply thrown down in the middle of the floor. A marble mantelpiece cradles a fireplace. The high walls are still painted in a distasteful yellow, and I realize from experience that I have another week to paint it, or I will never have myself doing it.
This morning I finished writing a 7500 word essay just half an hour before the deadline, which isn't that bad, really. But the anticlimax followed soon: as the week of work had steadily drained all my energy, the lack of a push left me hanging right where I clicked the ' send' button. I washed some clothes and wanted to cook but felt a little uncomfortable after the maid had just cleaned the whole kitchen, so I poured myself a bowl of cereal and started scanning the huge book shelves my studied housemates have filled up over the years. I picked up Nigerian classic "The Palm Wine Drinkard", yet realised I was tired of words altogether, whether academic, typed by me, or read in a piece of world literature. I carried on contemplating the ceiling.

Cape Town holds me in it's grip, since my arrival i haven't left it's immediate surroundings. Mind you, there is a whole lot to experience, and university takes up it's time too, but like the guide books warn: Cape Town is an easy place to get stuck in.

Africa Revisited

Devil's Peak rises behind the surprisingly sunny winter campus. The old buildings covered in bald vines own the grandeur of an established east-coast university, yet are snugly draped on the mountain side, overlooking the Cape flats that stretch out till the silhouetted Stellenbosch mountain range. This area of South Africa contains both the most expensive property of the country as well as its poorest inhabitants.

Ive beheld this view before, almost five years ago. A time that seems so easily bridged, almost casually. Two weeks ago I was back on the hill in Swaziland at Waterford Kamhlaba. It was a late afternoon as I entered the grounds. The mid-term holidays had magically erased the students and staff, leaving the buildings as the set for my recollections. My thoughts effortlessly flowed back in time and brought me life like depictions of experienced situations. My long hours in the theater hall, basketball practice on the outside court with the low standing sun, games of pool in the IB-residence.

From the huge windows in Ad and Ans' house, very little in the view is altered. The highway from Oshoek is finalized, and a new house has sprung from the valley below. Unnervingly silent, in contrast, is the absence of my beloved aunt. Every spot in the house echo's some of her chatter and laughs, expecting her to appear again. With the house, that is sold to the Vice PM, I find it in me to say goodbye to a warm woman I've come to love as a 19-year old. At the farm, the greenhouse skeletons still hint at a more flourishing past, with most of the farmland now unused. Ans lays buried next to her son Mark, his glass memorial plate broken. The trees surrounding the grave side have grown big. The mango trees I helped planting now bear fruits.

Ward smiles when I enter the office. His hair is long and he put on some kilo's, exactly advancing him into the posture that would have always suited him. Neither of us can believe in this moment of reunion that five years have come and gone since. He tells me he's got two girls at home, and a third kid coming :"The doctor said that Robyn couldn't have anymore kids after the first... I guess it must be me!" As Im about to pull out of Malandela's I run into the brothers Maguire and Phumi, who are waitng for the bazbus to pick up some backpackers for their newly opened hostel. After reminiscing a booze fueled trip to Kruger, we get down to Anthony's favorite story about his working visit to a car dealer in Sloterdijk. "(Spoken in remarkably well executed thick Dutch accent) This is the coffee machine, its the most important part of the building. And this is the second most important part of the building: the toilet. First you take a coffee and then you take a toilet!" I praise his choice of profession, as he will find a new and eager audience every night to retell his story to.

The line crawls slowly across the third corner. Two checkpoints on my way to registration have been successfully met. More forms have been filled and signatures required in 4 days than in one year at UVA. My legs are getting used to the numerous staircases, that invite an internal and eternal repeat of the rocky theme song. But the silver lining lies in the absence of clouds altogether. This is the kind of winter I've been praying for all my life.