Car guards aren't that bad after all

When it comes to parking, my local mall has always offered two options: paid undercover parking and free parking on the rooftop, where car guards are on duty to look after the vehicles. Of course there are the few that are nowhere to be seen when you’re looking for a parking bay, but suddenly appear as you’re about to leave, gesturing vaguely and repeating “come, come.” But the majority are great, especially after a long day of shopping when you need help packing things into the car.

At a recent trip to the mall, I was dismayed when we were greeted at the entrance of the rooftop parking by boom gates and a machine indicating that even this parking now required payment. My first thought was not the fee, but the fact that this meant a great number of car guards were now without jobs as the new security features made their job defunct.

Since these changes were enforced, I decided that if my parents were going to drive me around (alas I can’t drive) then I would at least cover the parking fees. It usually costs around R12 so it's no problem for someone on a student budget.

This time as we walked to the car I stopped at the parking payment machine as I always did and watched my ticket get swallowed in with a whoosh! I rummaged through my bag and wallet for odd coins as the machine processed how much I owed and then I heard the beep indicating it was done. I looked up at the screen. Wait.... What?! I looked again. Yes, I read right: R40. Sjoe. There went my money for the next issue of Cosmopolitan (don’t judge, I know you read it in secret).

While walking toward the car to leave, I found myself being accompanied by a man who had previously been lurking in the corner and was now running in the same direction as us. A man in a neon orange and yellow mesh vest over his beige uniform, with the words ‘Car Guard’ on it. Again. Stop. Wait. What?

Why is there a car guard to guard the car, when I’ve already paid R40 so that it can be parked in a secure space where only the person with the ticket that corresponds to my car can leave?

I realised then that on any other circumstances where there is just a car guard, I would never dream of giving him the same amount. But why not? I’m all for someone who is standing there actually making an effort to do something in exchange for cash, as opposed to standing at a traffic light simply asking for money. 

Maybe I have a soft spot for car guards because my mom intensely dislikes them and never gives them any money. Or maybe it’s because Desmond and the Tutus (a really cool South African band) have a song called Car Guard Tan, I dunno. All I know is that I would rather give my money to someone doing an honest day’s job rather than a machine where for all I know the money is going to someone high up in a security company that doesn’t really need that extra R5.

I’ve now made a point of being extra nice to car guards, because for all their help and friendliness and willingness to make a living out of a job that many others would sneer down on, they really are another reason to smile. The fact that they don’t expect R40 is just an added bonus. 

Time of the Writer: on winning and losing

Due to not actually living in Durban anymore, I could only attend one night of the Time of the Writer Festival in Durban this year. Nevertheless, that one night quite possibly may have been the best! Usually the night time events are discussions between two authors, facilitated by another prominent figure in the writing world. On the night that I went, the usual discussion was preceded by the announcement of the winners of a short story competition for school learners. The competition invites learners to submit short stories in English and Zulu, and the best are recognised on the penultimate night of the festival.

The second prize of the English category was won by a student at my old high school, Durban Girls High School, so I clapped rather loudly (very much like an embarrassing parent). I also saw my high school History teacher at the event. Durban might be a big city but there always seems to be a familiar face around whenever I’m home.

There was also entertainment from local music group, Nje (which is a Zulu expression meaning ‘just’). I think they’re really cool, but I haven’t been able to find much info on them (bad journalism skills I know).

The actual discussion wasn’t a discussion after all as one of the authors could not attend at the last minute. The show must go on, and so the remaining author, BD Khawula, spoke about his writing experience and gave a reading from his debut novel about a young boy who gets involved in a world of drugs and crime. I was extremely humbled, as Khawula is not a writer by profession, but instead works at the Huletts sugar factory and only writes in his spare time. His first novel, Yihlathi Leli, was not only accepted by publishers, but also won a silver prize in the Sanlam Youth Literature Awards in 2012.

Speaking with some difficulty to the audience, as English is not his first language; Khawula explained “It is not easy to be a winner. It is very easy to be a loser.” While Khawula was referring to his prize, one gets the feeling that this statement echoes his sentiments over the battle to win in life, as exemplified by his first novel; one which he hopes will soon be a set book in schools across the country.

Time of the Writer 2013

Living in Grahamstown and studying at Rhodes is great, I won't lie but it does mean missing the Time of the Writer festival in Durban. For the past two years that I have been at Rhodes, the festival has taken place during my term time. This year, it only finishes two days after I arrive in Durban for the vac, meaning I can squeeze in the last few book launches and discussions. I am ridiculously excited! I will post more once I've been and hopefully I will see some interesting faces.

Marshmallows over the fire

There’s something I have to say and it’s not something I’m very proud of. Here goes... I’ve never been camping. Ever. Really. I’ve never properly slept in a tent, cooked meals over a fire, done whatever people who go camping do when they need the loo, all that jazz.

Don’t get me wrong, I have tried. My very first attempt was when my little sister and I hung bed sheets over the tables and chairs in our lounge to make a tent. Everything was going well until it was time to switch the lights off and go to sleep. Let’s just say that suddenly the dark became VERY dark and very scary and we eventually retreated back to our room.

Attempt number two was when my primary school hosted a fundraising camp. It was my first time in a proper tent. It wasn't so bad, until it began to rain and the rather flimsy tent collapsed on me. I woke up soaking wet, wearing a tent. Needless to say, I was not impressed and didn't stay the whole camp.

Third time lucky is what I thought when some friends and I decided to spend the Easter weekend of our first year of university at a backpackers in Jeffreys Bay. I won’t lie, this was possibly one of the best holidays of my life and yes, it did involve a tent. But alas, this doesn't count because we spent more time drunk on Black Label, talking shit and sleeping on a deck overlooking the beach. When I did crawl into the tent in an attempt to actually sleep in it, I got fined. That was one shot for trying to sleep in a tent when camping. How silly of me. I mean who actually does that?

Since then, I have not made another attempt at camping. Sure, I've been on many weekends away with friends but those were in comfy dorms or cottages that did not provide the ‘real’ camping experience. One of my goals for this year is to go camping. I want to braai marshmallows over a fire and sing silly songs with people I like. I want to go hiking and get 10 shades darker. I want to spend time in the outdoors admiring the beauty around me. And more than anything, I want to properly sleep inside a (sturdy) tent, preferably with a guy to snuggle up against when it gets cold and dark (if that’s not asking for too much).

Last week I went to Assegaai Trails in the Eastern Cape for the weekend. Not quite the camping experience as I stayed in a dorm, had proper showers and electricity, but I did braai marshmallows over the fire until the marshmallows were burnt and we smelled like smoke. The venue is usually used for weddings so it was all pretty and shit (note to self. stop saying "and shit" so much) so we just chilled and absorbed the prettiness. There was even a quaint chapel on the premises as well as an outdoor church on a deck overlooking a valley. Be-you-tee-ful! Most importantly, I was surrounded by some pretty amazing people - some of them were old friends and some I had just met. It was great!. Here are some photos of that weekend...

The Perks of being a Wallflower

I only watched The Perks of being a Wallflower recently. Yes, it was something else and worth the hype, so worth it. And I learnt this simple truth. So from now on, here's to not accepting anything less than the best :)

Some lyrics, probably cliched

How I wish you could see the potential,
the potential of you and me.
It's like a book elegantly bound but,
in a language that you can't read.

I Will Possess Your Heart - Death Cab For Cutie

Sugar packet wisdom

Sometimes you find what you need in the oddest places.

A while ago a friend told me that I'm the kind of person who, when everyone is going left, I'll be going right and taking my own random route. Since then, I've been thinking about this, wondering whether I really do the opposite of everyone else (I didn't even realise) and whether I should try to be more normal, whatever that is. 

At the end of last year, I applied for a job to be a sub-warden in my residence at Rhodes and I was worried that I had to be more responsible, more serious, more stern, make less dodgy jokes, wear smart pants to the interview, and most importantly, be less ditzy and blonde (not sure how that's even possible). This was just one out of MANY times when I felt like to be "right" and succeed I had to be something I'm not.

And then, while taking a 15 hour bus trip from Durban to Grahamstown, I got a complimentary cup of coffee with some life changing sugar. This is what the packaging said.

I took that as a sign (from the bus driver? Huletts? God?) and decided to just be my not very serious self, say whatever is on my mind and embrace the fact that I will always be a little bit of a silly girl. I even wore a short skirt to the interview because let's face it, I look strange in formal black pants and a shirt and all that jazz. 

The result? I got the job. 

The moral? Be you. Be different. Be strange. Be a success. 

6 things I'm grateful to hipsters for

I won't lie, living at Rhodes Uni means I am constantly surrounded by skinny jean wearing, latte sipping, English Literature studying, deeply ironic people who say they are not hipsters but actually are (at least, according to the stereotype). And while we may joke about hipsters everywhere, I have many things to thank them for. These are just a few.  

1. Instagram! Taken a shit photo? No worries, add a filter and it’s art. In fact, I used a filter for all the photos below

2. High waisted shorts means being able to eat another doughnut without your tummy showing as well as looking like you have ridiculously long legs.

      3. Dreamcatcher necklaces – I dig these. They also double up as a wall hanging. I'm in the process of making one, so will post photos soon.

4. Tea is now cool. I like all kinds of tea but used to worry that only my granny shared this obsession. And then came hipsters.

5. Thrift stores . I'm Indian ok, if I can’t get it for free then I at least want a bargain. Also that dress/cellphone/sunglasses is not outdated, it's retro.

6. Owls everywhere! Macaroons! Pandas! Hipsters seem to like them and so do I!

PS. I know most lists are usually in multiples of 5 but that’s so mainstream.

I won't give this one a title

Something happened yesterday that gave me a reason to NOT smile. In fact I cried a little, but that’s too much info so I won’t go there. I found out that my mom was in hospital and had been there since Tuesday (today is Sunday). 800km away, I had no idea and was not told because no-one wanted me to be stressed and distracted from work (seriously?).

It made me think about how people see me. Am I too focused on things that in the long run might not matter, like the exact colour of the title of this blog? Maybe my family felt this way. Maybe my friends think this too (I promise I love you guys though). So from now ‘til I kick the bucket, I pledge to always remember what brings real smiles: people.

PS. Thankfully, Mommabear is now fine and resting. We had a long chat over the phone and she told me if I had a cup of tea, everything would feel ok. So that’s the plan. Also here is a nice image with a nice quote about tea.

PPS. My grade 5 English teacher hated the word nice. We were banned from using it and forced to find something more descriptive. But sometimes something is just, well, nice.