| For over a month, Indian Premier League has been the rage in South Africa - at least in Johannesburg, Pretoria, Durban, Cape Town and even in the smaller towns of Bloemfontein and Kimberly. Nearly 50 T20 cricket matches later, the tournament comes to a close in a couple of days. Hordes of people have filled up each stadium. Each match is an event, a family one. It isn't so much about cricket. In fact, in the one match I saw, I hardly got to see any cricket. There are no close ups (of course), no replays (the first time someone misfielded, I instinctively waited for a 'replay'!) and, from a distance, most of the players are anonymous. How was that I did not recognise Brett Lee, one of my heroes, even as he stalked the boundary line?   The noise, the din, the songs (Indian pop music belted out with gay abandon), the lights, the fireworks, the 'Mexican waves', the hooter that was designed to invite a roar from the crowd, the dancing cheerleaders, the waving of flags, the placards that demanded another four or a six, the signs that tried to be witty enough to catch camera's eye, the announcements made by the DJ and the easy availability of beer and braii and coffee - all made it a party. I cannot think of many things that would have helped India leave a bigger imprint in South Africa.   |
Saturday, May 23, 2009
A New Indian Imprint
Thursday, May 21, 2009
A Museum For Apartheid
No reconciliation can truly begin till the truth has been stared down.
The Apartheid Museum at Johannesburg is an uplifting example of a nation coming to terms with the truth of its own past. There are not many countries – including the one of my birth – which possesses the maturity or courage to build a reminder as stark as this of all that was ugly in the very recent past.
As visitors silently file past photographs and memorabilia and films and explanatory sign posts, there is no rancor, just the hush of awe and reverence. School children and grown ups look similarly affected.
Nelson Mandela is everywhere, of course. The greatest man alive (in my book), he was at the heart of the movement that restored dignity to all, irrespective of the colour of the skin. He is a miracle. What else explains the complete absence of bitterness after 30 years of incarceration? Who would expect that a man cheated out of much of his life would aggressively push for reconciliation among all?
Watching his triumphant return on film is a moving experience. The glory and the adulation of the stupendous welcome he received in 1990, his inauguration as the President, his appearance at the Rugby World Cup wearing South African captain’s jersey (South Africa snatched victory from the fancied New Zealand team in the dying moments) and his meetings with leaders and celebrities are just – if small – rewards for this colossus.
South Africa is far from ‘cured’. But it is hard to imagine that this nation freed itself from such a burden only 15 years ago. I am certain that the idea that apartheid has gone forever has taken root – but I am not sure if everyone is orientated to the new reality. Human mind, after all, takes time to reconcile. Walking through the Apartheid Museum is one exercise that can help.
The Apartheid Museum at Johannesburg is an uplifting example of a nation coming to terms with the truth of its own past. There are not many countries – including the one of my birth – which possesses the maturity or courage to build a reminder as stark as this of all that was ugly in the very recent past.
As visitors silently file past photographs and memorabilia and films and explanatory sign posts, there is no rancor, just the hush of awe and reverence. School children and grown ups look similarly affected.
Nelson Mandela is everywhere, of course. The greatest man alive (in my book), he was at the heart of the movement that restored dignity to all, irrespective of the colour of the skin. He is a miracle. What else explains the complete absence of bitterness after 30 years of incarceration? Who would expect that a man cheated out of much of his life would aggressively push for reconciliation among all?
Watching his triumphant return on film is a moving experience. The glory and the adulation of the stupendous welcome he received in 1990, his inauguration as the President, his appearance at the Rugby World Cup wearing South African captain’s jersey (South Africa snatched victory from the fancied New Zealand team in the dying moments) and his meetings with leaders and celebrities are just – if small – rewards for this colossus.
South Africa is far from ‘cured’. But it is hard to imagine that this nation freed itself from such a burden only 15 years ago. I am certain that the idea that apartheid has gone forever has taken root – but I am not sure if everyone is orientated to the new reality. Human mind, after all, takes time to reconcile. Walking through the Apartheid Museum is one exercise that can help.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Conversations With Corporal Mohtlane - 1
HIV/AIDS is an unfortunate tag with this beautiful country. Statistics vary (one estimate puts the prevalence at 23 percent), but the bottom line is that the disease is rampant. The challenge is being met on several fronts; one cannot but notice this in the offices of every government agency and NGO. But the battle still looks unequal.
Corporal Mohatlane (Moh-et-la-nay) is my driver. But he is more than that. He is my Jeeves (hopefully I am not his Bertie Wooster). I often turn to him for views and even advice.
I asked him about the social impact of HIV/AIDS on individuals. The conversation began when I quizzed him about someone we both know and who has the disease. Our common 'friend' looks weak, but from the hard physical work he puts in I can see that there is strength inside that frail frame.
“It is still a stigma. People are secretive about it. They are encouraged to open up but most choose to hide it. They feel they will be isolated, which, in fact, is what does happen. People are mostly aware of how this disease comes about. There is a great deal of information that is available; even workshops are conducted. Parents, however, still don’t talk to their children about sex and the dangers of promiscuity. It is a cultural thing. In fact, I do not even watch television programs that have sexual content when my children are present.”
Is there an element of denial at work? Perhaps not. But, as my professor at Hawaii Robert Wirsing used to say, "Culture matters!" For people and societies to leap across cultural divides and start acting in ways alien to them is never easy. The shift has to be incremental and graduated.
Corporal Mohatlane (Moh-et-la-nay) is my driver. But he is more than that. He is my Jeeves (hopefully I am not his Bertie Wooster). I often turn to him for views and even advice.
I asked him about the social impact of HIV/AIDS on individuals. The conversation began when I quizzed him about someone we both know and who has the disease. Our common 'friend' looks weak, but from the hard physical work he puts in I can see that there is strength inside that frail frame.
“It is still a stigma. People are secretive about it. They are encouraged to open up but most choose to hide it. They feel they will be isolated, which, in fact, is what does happen. People are mostly aware of how this disease comes about. There is a great deal of information that is available; even workshops are conducted. Parents, however, still don’t talk to their children about sex and the dangers of promiscuity. It is a cultural thing. In fact, I do not even watch television programs that have sexual content when my children are present.”
Is there an element of denial at work? Perhaps not. But, as my professor at Hawaii Robert Wirsing used to say, "Culture matters!" For people and societies to leap across cultural divides and start acting in ways alien to them is never easy. The shift has to be incremental and graduated.
Under New Skies
Four months ago, on a pleasant day, I walked out of the tiny plane and walked the tarmac of Maseru's King Moshoeshoe Airport. I looked up. Brilliant blue skies with sunlight pouring down and filling up the vast open spaces. A few huge blobs of white resting against the blue, like elephants in impassive siesta. But, ah that sunlight! It was undeterred!
The skies over Africa continue to fascinate me. In my travels to Johannesburg and Pretoria and Kruger and Clarens (not to mention the aborted visit to Durban, given up at the railway crossing near Winterton after a car rammed mine from the rear!)
To revert to the blue skies and my first day. The picture here is not taken that day; I clicked it a few days later I visited Ladybrand, a quaint little town in South Africa. As we sat awaiting delicious pizzas in Little Italy, the skies caught my attention.
As they do every day.
I am leading a new life under these blue African skies, a life that is riding a rhythm different from any I had so far in 51 years of my life. I seem to have got off the roller-coaster and am getting a view. I am looking at Time with new eyes.
This blog is about the slice of my life at Lesotho.
The skies over Africa continue to fascinate me. In my travels to Johannesburg and Pretoria and Kruger and Clarens (not to mention the aborted visit to Durban, given up at the railway crossing near Winterton after a car rammed mine from the rear!)
To revert to the blue skies and my first day. The picture here is not taken that day; I clicked it a few days later I visited Ladybrand, a quaint little town in South Africa. As we sat awaiting delicious pizzas in Little Italy, the skies caught my attention.
As they do every day.
I am leading a new life under these blue African skies, a life that is riding a rhythm different from any I had so far in 51 years of my life. I seem to have got off the roller-coaster and am getting a view. I am looking at Time with new eyes.
This blog is about the slice of my life at Lesotho.
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