The Mousetrap: A Small Town Twilight Zone

I’ve spent most of my summer vacation in a small mining town named Fochville. It’s a nice town, but I always have this feeling something is wrong. This, is the new twilight zone.

You may be thinking that I'm a sensationalist, or that I'm insane. But after years of coming here I know that its different. If I can start by discussing the weather I will explain how.

Fochville, to its residents, is famous for crazy weather. The one day it would almost be a hurricane, then sweltering heat the next.Not the strange part yet, but here it is. If you wake up in Fochville it could be raining something awful. So you dress appropriately for the weather. And as soon as you pass the halfway mark to any of the surrounding towns, there will be sunny skies. Grumbling a little (or a lot) you shed the many layers you had on. But sure enough when you head back to Fochville you shiver in cold from the rain, and where does the rain start? Right over the halfway mark back to Fochville.

There is also the problem with time. Time does not exist here. I see days go by, but I don’t know where they go. Clocks are liars, showing that while you thought it was 10:00, its 18:30. The only way to see the passing of time is to stick your nose out your front door and see if its dark or not.

The people. They aren't as they appear.Seeing them, they are farmers, miners, wives, who all live in a tight knit little community. What you don’t see runs much deeper. How many of the men could be wife beaters, rapists or paedophiles? How many women are manic depressive, suicidal or murderers? I'm not saying everyone is, there are some really nice people. But then there are these dark souls, actors who wear masks of smiling faces. And everyone knows everything about each other. The people here, aren't necessarily people.

People who move to this town, or have children here become entrapped. They don’t leave this community, and neither do their children. The little ones grow up to do their parents jobs, thus, it’s a never ending cycle.

Nothing is as it seems here.

Welcome to the new twilight zone.

Signs of South Africa... Chickens and Rocks??

Today, on a dusty back road to Pretoria, a sign beckoned to us. It rang out:”CHICKENS&ROCKS FOR SALE” My uncle looked at me in puzzlement, and we both burst out laughing. That was typical South Africa. But strangely enough its also what makes us amazing.

In the smaller farm towns the misspelling of signs, or strange signs are ten a plenty. Who  can forget the CHINEESE store in Fochville? Or the EGOLI CATTLE SHEEP CHICKEN GOAT? And of course, right in front of the mosque, “N.G kerk Moedergemeente” (a very traditional Methodist church).

These signs make us laugh, they make us sigh and even cringe. But these quirky little signs also give us a facet of uniqueness as a country. And even more important, they make us smile.

For that, owner of  “CHICKENS&ROCKS FOR SALE”, thank you sir.

One question though.

Why rocks?

Christmas

According to the calendar it is officially time. Time for fruitcake, time for eggnog and time for presents. Yes, its time for Christmas.

Which, somehow, with a ninja like stealth sneaked up on us this year.

Christmas, no matter your shape size or religion, is about family. Now for some of us this unfortunately means batty grandmothers or drunken aunts who will be yelling orders or cracking rude jokes around the tree. It took me a very long time to realise that even though they make you cringe, its these people that make Christmas amazing. Try as I might, I couldn’t imagine this holiday without them.

By this time of the year, everyone is exhausted. You don’t feel like  making an effort, and the idea of cooking a six course feast makes you want to carve someone other than the chicken. But then... You sit at the Christmas tree and see a cousin or another family member open their present . And they are so happy, ecstatic even to receive this one  little thing. Its at that moment that all the money, blood, sweat and effort was worth it.

So go out and make the six course feast, even if it kills you. Buy that extra impulsive present. Invite the batty grandmother or drunken aunt.

Why?

Because its Christmas. So what the hell? Go mad, you have nothing to lose!

So to you all I say Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. (It’ll be over before you know it!)

Timewarp: Would it be better to live in a different time?

Have you ever watched movies set in different times, and thought nothing would be cooler than to live in that time? I have. In fact every time I watch Chicago, A Knight’s Tale or even Hairspray I imagine the clothes and all the awesome stuff I could do. Sadly, this isn't the case at all.

Medieval times? Knights and damsels is distress? Not likely. Mid fourteenth century you were more likely to see 25 to 50% of the population in Europe die from the black plague. If you reached your thirties, you were an old person. So much for forty is the new twenty right? Doctors, if you could even call them that, were pretty useless and many took the chop it off approach. Also, woman didn’t have any rights and that doesn’t work for me. Not to mention the terrible clothes they squeezed or girdled you into. No wonder those women fainted all the time.

Chicago is set in the 1920’s. The time of flappers and, according to the movie, glitz and glam and showbiz. Realistically, after some research, I wouldn’t want to live in that time if you paid me. LEGAL SALES OF ALCOHOL STOPPED? When did they ever think it was a good idea? Illegal sales must have gone through the roof! Further, inflation was so high many people couldn’t afford every day groceries. Farms went bankrupt, presidency was poor and of course the stock market known as Wall street crashed leading to the Great Depression. Suddenly all the images of Catherine- Zeta Jones and the ladies of the Cell block Tango disappear and John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men seems more appropriate.

Even the frivolous Hairspray is deceptive. Sure everything looks bright and perky, but it actually wasn’t all song and dance. Segregation and oppression was the norm and John F Kennedy was assassinated. The Ku Klux Klan, a racist faction, attacked people of colour and struck terror into the hearts of the citizens. My parents were born (kidding). The pointless war in Vietnam. Martin Luther King Jr is assassinated for having a dream. Does this in anyway sound like the happy chappy musical? Not quite.

We all may wish to live in a different time every once in a while. But maybe that’s how they should remain. Wishes.

Hollywood's Less Than Graceful Decline

Lately I've noticed something very sad. Every time I see a movie I feel a sense of déjà vu. Some way, some how I already know what will happen, what lines will be used, what techniques. And it isn't just me. Many regular movie goers have voiced their disappointment in the new materials.

Hollywood isn't necessarily dead, but it is mortally wounded.

Firstly, this is due to the actors whose ability is slowly deteriorating. The glory days of Anthony Hopkins, Meryl Streep, Al Pacino and Jack Nicholson are passing. Now the circuit is full of Selena Gomez, Taylor Lautner and Kristin Stewart for whom looking down and sweeping her hair behind her ear is now an award winning gesture.

Think about it for a second. Can you compare these generations? No because they aren't even on the same wave length. These new so-called “stars” do not know the secret. Here it is: it may be called acting, but it shouldn’t look like it. You should totally become the character, changing for every role. These young ones are being payed to be themselves, not act!

Secondly, original story lines just don’t exist any more. When was the last time a movie came out where there weren't vampires, explosions, robberies or scandals? Hard to think of one right? Instead of breaking out of the norms and current following of the public, Hollywood is just repeating the idea, making it tedious.

I think they should start making films of unusual, but well written novels. Like they did with Cirque Du Freak which is about vampires, but in such a different way. Things like Jenny Nimmo’s Children of the Red King, or Meg Cabot’s Heather Wells series. There are many other examples, these are just a start.

Start learning from your public Hollywood. Bring back the splendour of old Hollywood.

The success may just surprise you.

Helicopter Moms and the Horror of the Hover

There’s always been something I couldn’t understand. The concept of the Helicopter Mom. They are called that, because like the helicopter that hovers over its target, this mother hovers over her child. They’d hang around at primary schools, worked at every event and would stand in for every sick teacher. At my primary school the one mom was so bad they gave her an office and a job. They made the working mothers lives a misery.

Now my mom was a working mother. She couldn’t be at every event or help out everywhere which is really ok, if not better. She didn’t personally know my teachers or hang out around the school.

And the helicopter moms all turned up their noses at her.

She didn’t form part of the clique and I will always thank her for that. Because she realised something those competitive perfect mommies didn’t: Kids need their space. At primary school you start to wean yourself from your mother, learn to make friends and start to cope on your own. If your mother who you see all the time at home starts hanging around school you never learn how to be independent and cling to her instead. And when you reach high-school where there are parties and sleep overs and events a plenty these kids can’t cope. They panic and eventually stay home which is bad for their social development, or they rebel and end up doing drugs or whatever.

There is nothing wrong with having a good bond with your mother, but like someone once told me that bond is like hair band. It starts small, and tight. Then the more you use it it stretches and becomes more flexible, but the band is still there. That is what a parents bond with their child should be.

So to all parents out there: Think of the children, beware of the hover.

367 sheep, 368 sheep... Beating Insomnia

My parents have held a longtime grudge against me since birth. Which is unfair since I was never the one at fault. I am a victim of genetic Insomnia. So mom? Start pointing fingers at dad, thank you very much.

It is an old complaint that my parents would put me to bed, and one hour later I would be wide awake and wanting to play. One of them would then have to drag themselves out of bed to entertain me in the early hours of the morning. And things didn’t change. Right through my childhood I have memories of being awake at night. This is what my mom has been trying to cure ever since.

She has tried everything. When I was little  she was hesitant to put me on medication, fearing I would become dependant on it for sleep. Cue the interesting alternatives.

First I remember warm milk. Which I usually accompanied with Oreos as my personal touch to the idea. This may or may not have worked for a few days. Next was Horlicks, the taste of which I can’t stand to this day. That in effect did less than nothing, apart from putting me off Horlicks for the rest of my life. Thirdly, we tried magnesium. I took it religiously for weeks until a family member told me that magnesium doesn’t affect the members of our family. That idea flew out the window.

Finally giving in she put me on sleep medication, some of which worked and some of which I was immune to. The dark circles I had under my eyes were now as familiar as the sleepless nights, and it seemed I would never find the balance.

The problem was solved by accident.

My friend and I headed to the mall. We browsed, and came across a little stall selling crystals. Interested, I started looking at the pieces and saw one that I liked. It was a glittery brown stress crystal and I bought it, for fun. This became my salvation. I was stressed one night and started playing with the crystal. BOOM! Five seconds later I was asleep. Amazingly, this worked every night!

So if you suffer from the same problem, I’ll say this: don’t take the easiest route, because its not healthy. Try lots of different things, until you find the best solution for you. It might just change your life!

One Direction Infection!

I am honest when I say I’m not a boyband loving girl. I don’t do Westlife, or anything like that. I love AC/DC and Nirvana. But then a day came where everything would change.... I got One Direction Infection.

I’m sad to say I never saw them on X factor. Being in South Africa, the show didn’t catch on that fast and we never watched it. I found them in a different way; through the power of radio. Studying for an exam, I was sitting on the floor with my papers sprawled around me when a song started playing:” You’re insecure, don’t know what for, you’re turning heads when you walk through the door.” I listened to the entire song and ended up googling One Direction. Before I knew it I was looking for their pictures, joining facebook fan pages and watching youtube clips of them. In another inspired moment I phoned my best friend Leizelle and she became a Directioner too.

Suddenly we were like love struck little girls instead of the independent women we prided ourselves in being. And we LIKED it!

I’m not saying it was all easy. Our new found hobby picked up scorn from every angle, with people saying they were just a glorified Jonas Brothers. Little do they know that the Jonas Brothers would sell their souls to be as awesome (and gorgeous) as those five boys!

And just like 1,000,000 other people out there, I started adoring Harry Styles. What’s not to like? He’s cute, with those curls and his brilliant sense of humor... Definitely someone to keep an eye on!But what about these five guys makes girls world wide swoon? I think I have the answer.

They care.

To them, their fans aren’t just people who form a crowd. To them, we are as important as oxygen, and that makes the difference. Who could forget in that memorable interview when the journalist called us obsessive and Louis said no, we were dedicated? Always taking time to say hi or take pictures with fans, these boys always light up our lives.

Which is another reason I don’t understand all the hatred. Yes, they are famous, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have feelings. They are just a bunch of young guys who sing, for our benefit. The question I always want to ask all these haters is:” Would you be able to go out there and do what they do?” No, so stop judging. It takes some serious guts to perform.

One Direction is fast becoming a house-hold name. I am eager to see what they will achieve in their very bright future!

Step by Step..... Surviving Christmas

Remember when you were young and you saw Cinderella? Back then your worst nightmare was the evil Stepmother and stepsisters. Now, for those of us who actually have step family the nightmare is quite different. It involves Christmas.

After my parents divorce, my mom remarried and several years later so did my dad. I will admit things didn’t go smoothly between my stepfather and I, but they weren’t terrible either. So, in effect I have two different families. And four stepsisters and a stepbrother to join the conundrum.

This is useful, cause they are good friends. Unfortunately, round Christmas it becomes hell. Ever had to buy nine decent Christmas presents on a very limited budget? Oh, and not to mention my aunt and uncle are like second parents so add five more presents and then there are MORE cousins adding three more! That’s SEVENTEEN presents!

Understand why I’m not particularly fond of this holiday? What do you buy all these people?

Bath products are out because several are allergic to soap. Same with perfume. Food is even worse because its impossible to remember allergies, diets, preferences and so forth. Not knowing sizes cuts out clothes and books have usually been read before. Toys have been owned and broken and so have gadgets and doodads.

The solution? Easier than you would expect. Make something yourself.

Considering that most of us are home for December it’s the perfect time to start a new hobby. Candle-making, beading, painting and even writing can all be used to your advantage. Since Christmas is actually about caring and family being together the idea that you made all the presents yourself will be special, and admired a great deal. This could even be a family project! Rope in sisters, cousins and all arty family members and have a crafting day.

Last year as a gift I wrote a poem about how I thought our family works. Was it cheesy? Yes. Was it a hit anyway? Yes. Never underestimate the people you love. A present is still a present no matter if its bought or made.

Twenty-three days to go. Craft store here I come!

Practical Approach to Horror Movies in South Africa

Even as you are reading this you picture the scene. Terrified group of people, chased by some entity/killer/psycho through an abandoned house/town/factory and are picked off one by one, generally with guts and blood a plenty. You slowly realise that this is the plot of just about every horror you have ever seen. But if any of these movies had been made to the specifics of South Africa, things would be quite different.

For starters, every South African is raised with a certain paranoia typical of a country with a relevant crime rate. From birth we are taught if a stranger approaches you it sure as hell isn’t to say hello. We also don’t randomly go to abandoned places, because obviously ladies and gents THERE IS A REASON ITS ABANDONED IN THE FIRST PLACE!!

But if that doesn’t work and we find ourselves in a strange place we don’t look for trouble either. Something is rattling in the basement? Bru, let it rattle its not bothering anyone. Think you saw something? The entire group will pull out some sort of self-defense weapon.

Another thing. Know how women and  black people are killed first? Ai kona not in SA. Here women have martial arts training, tazers, knives and whether you are isiZulu, isiXhosa or Sesotho the attacker has no chance of getting by. We are nothing if not a violent country. The killer would just try a move and the South Africans will engage him in a heated argument, another thing we are deadly at.

Oh, and none of this running to useless places. The roof, the basement the abandoned barns... How are any of these useful? Answer: they aren’t. Which is why we would just walk out the door or climb out a window.

I don’t know. So far the South African horror sounds more like a comedy. Firstly we won’t stray into the trap, then when we don’t follow the rattles or strange noises and when the poor killer finally loses his temper and attacks us we beat him senseless and then casually stroll out the front door.

I would watch that movie!

Forgotten-2008

The beach was empty, abandoned, and

The only sound was that of the waves.

The small figure seemed to appear from nowhere.

She stood on the dock, carefully swaying in the wind.

Her delicate skin was white against the horizon,

Her dress billowing around her.

Tears, pouring down her gentle face, dropped into the sea.

The clouds drifted in front of the sun.

Though the tears came from her eyes, they were not her own.

They were the tears of those she would lose,

They were the tears of those she wouldn't meet

And they were the tears of those she had already lost.

She reflected upon her life, small, unimportant.

She reflected upon the world and its people.

The growing world, which she would never see,

The changing people she would never meet.

Finally, she looked up and smiled,

as if to say:" I am ready now."

She turned her back on the waves, tilted back her head. .  .

And she was gone.

Her life was small, unimportant.

She would never see the world,

Or meet its people.

Her name swallowed by never ending waves.

The White Mask Of Murder

rA teahouse filled with men and geisha. A shamisen starts playing. The light shows a figure, her patterned kimono shimmering under the lantern. Her dark hair is decorated with jade ornaments. Her face is white, startlingly so, with the bloodred gash of demon lips centering it.

She is the entertainer.

With fans in her hands, she starts to dance. In the dim light she dances the memories of her life. The pluck of a string. Being taken from her village.  Losing her family. The clash of cymbals. Repaying debt. Geisha school. The beat of a drum. Selling her mizuage. Forbidden love. She glances at the okiya mistress, who has brought so much pain. But make-up shows no feelings.

And she is the entertainer.

She sees the other geisha pouring sake, smiling as she feels the empty vial in her obi. She twirls expertly, fanning the lust and envy in the room.

Building higher and higher with the crescendo of the music, her audience cheers encouragement, which suddenly turns to ragged gasps and chokes.

“What fools these mortals be.” Her whisper sounds like a shout in the dead dead room.

The entertainer smiles, and prepares for her next audience.