Archive for month: May, 2013

the sea-fairy house

03 May
May 3, 2013

My dear friend Clinton and I used to live in the fairy house, a magical space in the forests outside of Pietermaritzburg. There we created a home that was filled with giggles and dancing, warm fires and long talks, and an immense amount of love. It was indeed a magical fairy house in the forest and some of my fondest memories will forever be housed within those trees.

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not-so-handy-man

03 May
May 3, 2013

There’s a big difference between buying a house and owning a house. When you’re buying a house, all the things that aren’t quite right are whitewashed in this glamorous idea of how you could fix them up. When you own a house, all those things suddenly become a reality, and not only do you have to decide what you want, but you have to know how to do it. I am good at many things, but fixing things is not one of them. I’m the kind of person that when a light bulb goes out, I will very happily use a candle for the next two months until some kind person happens to be there with a light bulb and changes it. These things just aren’t within my frame of reference. I can organise an international youth conference, but I really have no idea where the milk aisle is. Read more →

buying a house

03 May
May 3, 2013

Some time towards the end of 2012 I decided it would be a good idea to move to Cape Town. I wanted to buy a house and live in an interesting place, surrounded by dynamic people doing motivating things. I wanted to make roots somewhere, to have a place to come home to after travelling. Over the next couple months this feeling became stronger, and by December I started looking for a house to buy. Read more →

solwara mangi

03 May
May 3, 2013

IMG_1879I met Robert Oeka in 2011. He was a driver on the Project I work on in Papua New Guinea, and was driving me through the busy streets of Port Moresby one afternoon. I was in a musical at the local theatre at the time and, terrified of my upcoming solos, was singing along to a CD in the car. Robert asked me if I liked to sing. I told him that I loved performing and while I didn’t think I was a particularly good singer, if it got me onto a stage it was certainly something I would do. Robert went on to tell me that he was a famous Papua New Guinean musician and asked if I wanted to record a song with him. I didn’t really believe him, but I gave him my number anyway, thinking what an experience it would be if it actually worked out. Later, I asked all my Papua New Guinean friends if they knew of him, and everyone replied yes, that he was indeed a well-loved singer throughout the country. Several weeks later, Robert phoned me up and said he had written a song for me to sing, and wondered if I would come to Tokorara – a ‘no-go zone’ settlement in the city – to record it. With security guards in tow, off I went one Saturday afternoon and met with him and his producers. Read more →

market wash day

03 May
May 3, 2013

august 2010

Once a month there is a craft market at the Moresby Arts Theatre. It is a beautiful collection of carvings, culture, colour and diversity where people share their stories and their wares. Most people will go for the morning, after the traders have set up and long before they leave. I doubt that many people think about who these traders are, what their lives are like or where they come from. They are just simply there, as much a part of the landscape as the wide drooping trees and the dusty stones on the path. Read more →

humbling moments

03 May
May 3, 2013

Today I went to buy chocolate, a regular occurrence in my life. While waiting to pay, a young boy of about 7 years joined the line. I smiled and motioned he stand in front of me; all he had was a small packet of juice mix. He glanced at me and took his place. He was filthy. His feet were covered in the grime of what could only be his home, or the street he lived on. His yellow shirt so dirty it was brown. His shorts ripped, his hair dusty and matted. But what struck me were his eyes, these wide eyes that held in them a certain knowing, an expression of having seen and been through too much. He looked at me with trepidation and suspicion, and a small bit of wonderment. I was overcome with guilt when he saw the two chocolate bars in my hands. Read more →