On a much happier note, things are going really well for me out here at the moment. The relationship I have with Harriet and Bill is no longer one of Host/Guest but more one of friend and dare I say family. They have just been so good to me and I’m incredibly fond of them both. I spend so much time with Harriet obviously as I work with her too but we never have a cross word and often come back from work, have dinner together and talk for a couple of hours after. Bill is one of the warmest, funniest men I’ve ever met and we share a glass of red together of an evening and chew the cud. I find his use of the English language enthralling he can take any story he wishes to tell and have you on the edge of your seat. I shall miss them both very much when I come home. They have really let me do my own thing out here too which is great- they are fine with me going out with mates , hitting the sauce and staying out for the night and stuff. Before I leave I want to take them out to this top restaurant in the city which revolves round and overlooks the whole of Durban as a thankyou for this amazing opportunity.
So anyway, what have I been up to exactly? Well, it’s been a pretty busy week to be honest. The weather here has been poo which is a shame so I haven’t really been down to the beach much. Apparently it’s pretty unprecedented to be this mild and wet at this time of year, but I’m told to lap it up as when the heat comes it will be unbearable. Still feel like a pasty tourist though so haven’t been lapping of late. Some of the thunder we’ve had at night has been the loudest I’ve ever known find it oddly therapeutic to sleep to though.
We’ve had a few dates of celebration out here recently and there’s been fireworks going off every night for about 2 weeks. First up was an Indian Festival called Diwally-which is ‘the festival of light’. Then we had Halloween which they’ve really cottoned on to our here-probably because it’s an opportunity for the blacks to make a few Rand trick or treating. You’d be mad to open your gate to them however as if you don’t give a ‘treat’, people have been known to receive knife/gunshot wounds as a ‘trick’-hardly in the spirit of things. Then of course we had firework night on November 5th. We tied that in with a lesson on Guy Fawkes at school and the kids drew some pretty pictures and glued some glittery ‘fireworks’ onto the page.
I mentioned in the last journal that I had an interview at a local school-Northlands. Well I went along on Monday and met up with vice principle Barry Wallace. The man is ridiculous. He’s about 4 foot tall, no neck, high pitched voice, extremely round and yet through all these ailments, somehow still takes himself seriously. I got off to a howling start when I called him Barry and was quickly corrected to Mr. Wallace. The interview comprised of a half hour lecture on how not to conduct oneself around kids. It would seem that the way things are in England has reared its ugly head out here too. Under no circumstances could I have any physical contact with the kids-even if they injure themselves and require assistance. Mr Wally was also kind enough to give me a demonstration of what to do if God forbid a kid came to me for a cuddle. He got up from his desk, adopted a firm stance with his back leaning slightly forward (looking a total berk in the process) and held out a long straight arm to what would be the child’s chest to indicate they should back off. I found it really sad to be honest, this certainly isn’t the way of things at Masifundisane. Anyway, he told me to come in on Wednesdays and Thursdays as these were the two days where the music teacher was in-Mrs de Wet (pronounced Vet). Unfortunately I hadn’t come to South Africa with any form of formal clothing and the nearest I had to sensible was a pair of ripped jeans and a Mr. Grumpy t-shirt. Bill had some cream trousers of the correct waist size but sadly his pins are somewhat shorter than mine and my socks were well on display. I went into Gateway and landed myself a decent shirt and tie but all the smart trousers were really expensive so I decided to go with Bills for banter. All I had left to get was smart shoes, however it seemed that nowhere in the entire shopping centre sold shoes big enough to encase my kippers. They generally went up to size 11 but failed to acknowledge a real mans shoe size. I got back from the mall and called Hazel to see if her son Bradley had shoes big enough-not so, I was told that he was only a dainty size 8. Hazel then proceeded to call everyone she knew who might have feet to challenge the might of mine but to no avail-all of this was much to the hilarity of Harriet who was ear-wigging my end of the conversation, in stitches. I decided I’d have to ring the school in the morning and tell them I couldn’t make it till the next day as I knew Wally-brain wouldn’t stand for unsuitable footwear. Hazel did however give me directions to a shop she thought would cater for people with my predicament and when I went there the next day, I found a rogue pair of size 12’s gathering dust up on the top shelf which I was prepared to snap up regardless of their street cred. Luckily I opened the box to find not only were they fairly stylish but that the price had been slashed a dozen times as nobody else in South Africa requires footwear on that scale.
South Africa
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