Death in Venice
The beautifully made Visconti film starring Dirk Bogarde left an indelible impression on my young mind when I first saw it. Based on the Thomas Mann novel (‘Der Todd in Venedig’ 1912) and supported by the other-worldly music score of Gustav Mahler’ Adagietto, 4th movement of Mahler’s 5th symphony, haunting my memory all these years.
It is unforgettable for three reasons: 1. everyone wants to go to Venice sooner or later in their lives. 2. Death is a certainty everyone has to face. 3. The irony of dying in such an exquisite place which we all know but hate to admit is busy ‘dying’ by sinking deeper and deeper into the water.
Gustav von Aschenbach is a writer who has received nobility bestowed upon him because of his artistic achievements. But he has developed writer’s block and has no inspiration left. He decides to go on holiday. He spots an old man who has his hair dyed red and his face painted who tries to be jolly with a few young people hanging around him. Aschenbach is disgusted.
He arrives in Venice and books into a hotel in where he notices an aristocratic Polish family at a table in the dining hall. The youth, Tadzio, in a sailor suit, is a perfect picture of health and youth, like a Greek god. Somehow the image of youth inspires, uplifts and eventually obsesses him.
As he wanders through the streets of Venice he sees municipal workers putting up notices about an outbreak of cholera and warning people to avoid eating shell fish. But he is caught in his obsession of his muse and decides to face the danger by staying on in Venice.
When Aschenbach realises how his appearance has changed he goes to the barbershop where he is advised to have his hair coloured and his face painted to look better. He allows it and looks worse – just like the old man he noticed on the boat.
Although he never speaks to the youth he does follow him around to the disturbance of the Tadzio’s family.
One day the Polish prepares to leave. Aschenbach walks out to the beach to sit on a deck chair. Tadzio and another young boy have an argument and Tadzio gets beaten, easily.
When Aschenbach wants to get up to comfort the youth, he falls of the chair and dies of Cholera. His body is discovered a few minutes later.
Aschenbach means ash brook, ashes strewn in a river…Venice is a city built on rivers and canals. What an ironic place to die…
It is a simple story. There is beauty and heart break, joy and sadness, bitterness and sweet, glorious and gory all mixed in one recipe that produces a masterpiece.
There are a lot of allusions to Greek mythology and Freudian philosophy and you can read all sorts of other influences and references into it, but the simple beauty and the stark reality of an artist spending his last few days in a place of beauty, finding the beauty of youth to admire again and then submitting to the encroaching disease, almost by will. It is like he said; this is where I hope to end it all. What a beautiful place to die, Venice. In the Greek sense of literature it is a kind of tragedy: a hero chooses the path that leads to his demise even though the audience knows he could decide to avoid it.
It is not the kind of movie you want to see again and again, but once you have seen it you see it again – inside. It is unavoidable. All of us want to see Venice. All of us will die. And all of us know Venice too is dying…
Monday 14 November 2011
Monday 5 September 2011
Seeking Approval
Seeking approval is something that drives most of our personal achievements.
When Hilton was three years old he got his first short armed wet suit, a yellow one, and his first body board. We treasure a picture where he is in the surf on his board. At the age of five I helped him to catch waves on an old surf board. In no time he was able to stand. We used to play together in the surf for hours. We even played dodgem cars with the boards! We would both take the same wave and then bash against each other. I felt like a little boy again.
I
Nola and I also spent many hours on the beach watching him surf. When he took an exciting wave and made it all the way he would turn to us and throw his hands up in the air to receive our applause or approval. We would give thumbs up and clap our hands to show him we enjoyed it as much as he did. Hilton could swim before he could walk! He loves the cold Atlantic ocean.
But the day came that Hilton no longer looked back for our approval. He just concentrated on surfing. It felt strange, kind of lonely on the beach, still anticipating his longing for approval, but staying empty handed as it were. I no longer participated in the joy of catching a good wave. He had friends in the water who celebrated a 360 or a sharp cut back or bottom turn or arial above the crest of the wave.
Eventually he surfed so long that we no longer waited for him. We would drop him off at the chosen surf spot and go home. Then we would fetch him later either at the beach or at a friends place. And then he started flying to competitions and going with the provincial team to compete.
There is a lesson in here somewhere.
We all look for approval in every area of life. But there should come a time when we no longer look for approval. We have an inner confidence that we are doing it right and we can only improve what we are doing now.
Now all that matters is how the judges at surfing competitions approve of his surfing. Our approval is no longer required. He has transcended Mommy and Daddy's approval. And yet we try to be there for him at all times, encouraging and helping him to think with the right humility and inner confidence about his chosen career. (He is a Junior Pro now!)
Paul wrote to Timothy: study to show yourself approved unto God being a workman who rightly divides the word of truth, not having to be ashamed.
When God approves of what we do we don't look back anymore - only forward and keep improving what we are doing. We no longer live for approval, we live to do what we know we can do and what we are called to do.
We no longer seek the approval of men, but we have found a higher honor: the approval of God. When we have God's favor on our lives it changes everything!
When Hilton was three years old he got his first short armed wet suit, a yellow one, and his first body board. We treasure a picture where he is in the surf on his board. At the age of five I helped him to catch waves on an old surf board. In no time he was able to stand. We used to play together in the surf for hours. We even played dodgem cars with the boards! We would both take the same wave and then bash against each other. I felt like a little boy again.
I
Nola and I also spent many hours on the beach watching him surf. When he took an exciting wave and made it all the way he would turn to us and throw his hands up in the air to receive our applause or approval. We would give thumbs up and clap our hands to show him we enjoyed it as much as he did. Hilton could swim before he could walk! He loves the cold Atlantic ocean.
But the day came that Hilton no longer looked back for our approval. He just concentrated on surfing. It felt strange, kind of lonely on the beach, still anticipating his longing for approval, but staying empty handed as it were. I no longer participated in the joy of catching a good wave. He had friends in the water who celebrated a 360 or a sharp cut back or bottom turn or arial above the crest of the wave.
Eventually he surfed so long that we no longer waited for him. We would drop him off at the chosen surf spot and go home. Then we would fetch him later either at the beach or at a friends place. And then he started flying to competitions and going with the provincial team to compete.
There is a lesson in here somewhere.
We all look for approval in every area of life. But there should come a time when we no longer look for approval. We have an inner confidence that we are doing it right and we can only improve what we are doing now.
Now all that matters is how the judges at surfing competitions approve of his surfing. Our approval is no longer required. He has transcended Mommy and Daddy's approval. And yet we try to be there for him at all times, encouraging and helping him to think with the right humility and inner confidence about his chosen career. (He is a Junior Pro now!)
Paul wrote to Timothy: study to show yourself approved unto God being a workman who rightly divides the word of truth, not having to be ashamed.
When God approves of what we do we don't look back anymore - only forward and keep improving what we are doing. We no longer live for approval, we live to do what we know we can do and what we are called to do.
We no longer seek the approval of men, but we have found a higher honor: the approval of God. When we have God's favor on our lives it changes everything!
Saturday 27 August 2011
Dim-Sum Please!
Dimsum Please!
Just before I left on my 4th mission to Uganda, Yve, my daughter promised to get us some Dim-Sum for a family meal. She described it being dipped into Soya sauce and my mouth watered.
After a while in Ugande I ate enough Tilapia fish, Kasava, Matoke, Pocho, sweat potato and red beans. My taste buds were longing for something else. Kasava is a white root plant turned into a porridge. Matoke is plantain mash, is a banana like plant that has a wild taste. Posho is actually maize meal that is ground and cooked.
I needed to eat something I can recognize.
The first advertisement I noticed was a Chinese restaurant on one of the seven hills of Kampala, called Fang Fang. It conjured up images of ‘Tiger, Tiger shining in the night’.
But it was a simple outside restaurant – the night air in Kampala is so refreshing and cool, even after a long, hot day. There were colourful bulbs hanging on strings. A wedding reception was being held so there was lots of human traffic between the reception area and the bathrooms on the other side of the open grass square.
The light above my table was so dim, that I could hardly read the small print menu.
‘Bring me some light, please!’ I asked
After a long wait the waiter brought a lamp which hardly made any difference at all. So I closed the menu and decided to go with my memory.
‘I would like some Dim-Sum, please.’
The African waiter was confounded. He kept asking me to repeat my order.
Then he called a chinese waitress. Now, I thought, we are getting somewhere.
I repeated my order. She smiled politely and said they don’t have it.
‘What’s the matter with this restaurant?’ I demanded to know.
‘This is Chinese restaurant,’ she reminded me.
How inconsiderate of me.
‘We have dumplings: chicken, beef or pork.’ She explained.
I felt somewhat embarrassed and ordered the dumplings which were too large to eat with the elegant chopsticks. The Chinese tea washed the food away.
But I left not really satisfied that I got what I was looking for. On the other hand I was no longer sure if Di-Sum was a Chinese or a Japanese speciality.
How often do we have wrong expectations in life that lead to disappointment. How often do restaurant waiters not know what is on the menu?
When Yve was a little girl she ordered a Tucan milkshake that they couldn’t make. It upset her.
‘I want a tucan milkshake!’ She insisted. But what she meant was ‘pecan nut flavour.’ A tucan is a colourful tropical bird with a long beak!
When I returned from Uganda, Nola surprised me. When I fetched Hilton at Melkbos after a surf, she had warmed up the Dim-Sum that Yve bought in a proper Japanese bamboo container and the Soya Sauce was waiting next to it. Dim-Sum is small enough to gather with the chopsticks which is part of the playful enjoyment of eating eastern dishes.
I didn’t tell them about my Chinese Restaurant experience. They would laugh at me and I did not feel like being laughed at after just returning home. But a few days later we had a good laugh about it.
When you can laught about something, you are over it!
Just before I left on my 4th mission to Uganda, Yve, my daughter promised to get us some Dim-Sum for a family meal. She described it being dipped into Soya sauce and my mouth watered.
After a while in Ugande I ate enough Tilapia fish, Kasava, Matoke, Pocho, sweat potato and red beans. My taste buds were longing for something else. Kasava is a white root plant turned into a porridge. Matoke is plantain mash, is a banana like plant that has a wild taste. Posho is actually maize meal that is ground and cooked.
I needed to eat something I can recognize.
The first advertisement I noticed was a Chinese restaurant on one of the seven hills of Kampala, called Fang Fang. It conjured up images of ‘Tiger, Tiger shining in the night’.
But it was a simple outside restaurant – the night air in Kampala is so refreshing and cool, even after a long, hot day. There were colourful bulbs hanging on strings. A wedding reception was being held so there was lots of human traffic between the reception area and the bathrooms on the other side of the open grass square.
The light above my table was so dim, that I could hardly read the small print menu.
‘Bring me some light, please!’ I asked
After a long wait the waiter brought a lamp which hardly made any difference at all. So I closed the menu and decided to go with my memory.
‘I would like some Dim-Sum, please.’
The African waiter was confounded. He kept asking me to repeat my order.
Then he called a chinese waitress. Now, I thought, we are getting somewhere.
I repeated my order. She smiled politely and said they don’t have it.
‘What’s the matter with this restaurant?’ I demanded to know.
‘This is Chinese restaurant,’ she reminded me.
How inconsiderate of me.
‘We have dumplings: chicken, beef or pork.’ She explained.
I felt somewhat embarrassed and ordered the dumplings which were too large to eat with the elegant chopsticks. The Chinese tea washed the food away.
But I left not really satisfied that I got what I was looking for. On the other hand I was no longer sure if Di-Sum was a Chinese or a Japanese speciality.
How often do we have wrong expectations in life that lead to disappointment. How often do restaurant waiters not know what is on the menu?
When Yve was a little girl she ordered a Tucan milkshake that they couldn’t make. It upset her.
‘I want a tucan milkshake!’ She insisted. But what she meant was ‘pecan nut flavour.’ A tucan is a colourful tropical bird with a long beak!
When I returned from Uganda, Nola surprised me. When I fetched Hilton at Melkbos after a surf, she had warmed up the Dim-Sum that Yve bought in a proper Japanese bamboo container and the Soya Sauce was waiting next to it. Dim-Sum is small enough to gather with the chopsticks which is part of the playful enjoyment of eating eastern dishes.
I didn’t tell them about my Chinese Restaurant experience. They would laugh at me and I did not feel like being laughed at after just returning home. But a few days later we had a good laugh about it.
When you can laught about something, you are over it!
Tuesday 7 June 2011
'Talkin' to the Angels'
Boxing is probably one of the most brutal sports ever invented, yet it remains fascinating to watch as two men dish out severe punishment to win a crown, a medal, a belt, and obviously some money!
There are some fights that stand out in one's memory, but the rest of them fade away. Ray Leonard once had several fights against a Mexican, Roberto Duran, that were rivetting rivalry from start to finish.
The Rocky Marciano tapes still tell a story and then of course there is Cassius Clay that turned to Mohammed Ali in the ring and mesmerized not only his opponents for a few decades but also entrigued millions of fans and boxing critics with his predictions and big-mouthed psychology: 'I am the greatest!'
He actually changed the style of boxing by leaning back on the ropes and allowing his opponent to give the best shot he had. Once he weathered the barrage of blows he would unleash his twisted short right jab which he maintained, 'would knock anyone of you out!'It would happen so fast that the normal camera speed would miss it!
'Dance like a butterfly; sting like a bee!' he would chant.
After winning the world title back against Frazier in the Thriller in Manila as the bout was advertised, he said it was the closest he came to death. They fought in 120 degree heat under a low tin roof. Frazier's eyes were so badly cut and damaged that he could not see anymore but kept on fighting.
At the age of 35 Ali fought Ernie Shavers and Sylvester Stallone was at the ringside. Although Ali prophesied: 'this will be no contest', Shavers hit him so hard that Ali went down. But he got up so fast, faster than most boxers would and carried on with the fight.
'He went on automatic pilot,' Stallone explains, 'he went beyond the borders of pain into another dimension. It is something divine. It's hard to explain.'
After the fight Ali told Stallone, 'I was talkin' to the Angels tonight!'
The next fighter beat him. It was Leon Sphynx. But Ali fought him again and regained his title as The Heavyweigth Champion of the World'. He regained his title for a record 3 times winning 36 fights in his career.
Amazing record.
But it is that line that Stallone quoted in 'Ali's Best 12 Rounds' that stayed with me for days: 'I was talkin' to the Angels tonight.'
There is something naive and childlike and yet something so profound in that statement that it lingers longer than any other statement Ali ever made.
There are some fights that stand out in one's memory, but the rest of them fade away. Ray Leonard once had several fights against a Mexican, Roberto Duran, that were rivetting rivalry from start to finish.
The Rocky Marciano tapes still tell a story and then of course there is Cassius Clay that turned to Mohammed Ali in the ring and mesmerized not only his opponents for a few decades but also entrigued millions of fans and boxing critics with his predictions and big-mouthed psychology: 'I am the greatest!'
He actually changed the style of boxing by leaning back on the ropes and allowing his opponent to give the best shot he had. Once he weathered the barrage of blows he would unleash his twisted short right jab which he maintained, 'would knock anyone of you out!'It would happen so fast that the normal camera speed would miss it!
'Dance like a butterfly; sting like a bee!' he would chant.
After winning the world title back against Frazier in the Thriller in Manila as the bout was advertised, he said it was the closest he came to death. They fought in 120 degree heat under a low tin roof. Frazier's eyes were so badly cut and damaged that he could not see anymore but kept on fighting.
At the age of 35 Ali fought Ernie Shavers and Sylvester Stallone was at the ringside. Although Ali prophesied: 'this will be no contest', Shavers hit him so hard that Ali went down. But he got up so fast, faster than most boxers would and carried on with the fight.
'He went on automatic pilot,' Stallone explains, 'he went beyond the borders of pain into another dimension. It is something divine. It's hard to explain.'
After the fight Ali told Stallone, 'I was talkin' to the Angels tonight!'
The next fighter beat him. It was Leon Sphynx. But Ali fought him again and regained his title as The Heavyweigth Champion of the World'. He regained his title for a record 3 times winning 36 fights in his career.
Amazing record.
But it is that line that Stallone quoted in 'Ali's Best 12 Rounds' that stayed with me for days: 'I was talkin' to the Angels tonight.'
There is something naive and childlike and yet something so profound in that statement that it lingers longer than any other statement Ali ever made.
Tuesday 19 April 2011
Buzz Lightyear
Buzz Lightyear is named after Buzz Aldrin, a member of the first astronaut team to set foot on the moon. I met him when I was a young man. He came to Johannesburg to speak at a few conferences and open air meetings. Mali Kelly asked me to accompany her on the piano as she sang at one of his open air meetings. I happened to sit next to him and his wife. They had their daughter with them.
I saw his special built up shoes and asked him about it.
'men were not made to walk on the moon,' he told me. All three astronauts were affected physically in some way or another. The trip into space affected his instep on both feet and the sunken instep has to be supported by special built up shoes.
He told me what the trip did to his faith. He said the beauty of the blue planet earth convinced him that there has to be a creator. Only the fool in his heart says there is no God. (Psalm 14:1)
Buzz Lightyear in the Toy Story cartoon always says, 'to infinity and beyond!' to acclaim the possibility of reaching the impossible. It is inspiring.
Meeting Buzz Aldrin was inspiring. I will never forget that day.
But inspired me the most was not his trip to the moon, but his strong, simple faith in an Invisible God, whom he worshipped and served. Science and Technology had to bow before the Creator in the end.
I feel so sorry for the great intellects in the world who deny the existence of deity. They harm not only themselves but also millions who follow in their wake.
To believe that there is a God takes faith. Faith is the substance of the things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. By faith we believe the worlds were created. By faith we receive a good report. We are called to walk by faith and not by sight. Seeing is not believing. We believe first so that the eyes of our understanding may be enlightened.
We cannot all go to the moon before we believe there is a God. We can simply believe it right there where we are. Nature proves it! But most of all the Gospel of Jesus Christ is the key to believing in God: for God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. (John 3:16)
May my chance meeting of Buzz Aldrin inspire others to believe in the existence of a Living God. Those who come to Him must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him, for without faith it is impossible to please God. (Hebrews 11:6)
Monday 18 April 2011
Flamingo's at the beach
Flamingo's are normally found in marshes or large lakes. Flamingo Vlei is named after the flocks of birds that frequent our fresh water lake near Tableview, Cape Town. But the other day, my wife, Nola, went for a walk on Sunset Beach, where our home is, and saw flamingo's on the beach! She rushed home to fetch the camera to capture this unusual sight.
Like ballerinas they moved effortlessly in the shallow water, above their own rosy reflections, and seemed undisturbed by the clicking camera, till she came to close and then they scooped up and flew away into the baby blue sky. What a sight. We have it on our desktop as a picture now.
Can you imagine the beauty? It is serene, pastel coloured and unique.
Were they fishing? Or were they catching snails or mussels? But there they were, in all their glory, parading on the beach - just of us!
These moments of awe are the spice of life. These unexpected moments of beauty created just for those who are fortunate enough to be at the right place at the right time.
I have a little picture which I treasure. I used to keep in on my desk for several years during extreme hardship in the ministry as a missionary.
It is a picture of Hilton and a little girl when both were about 3 years old. We took them to the Oceanarium at the Waterfront. At the entrance we stopped at a huge cylindrical glass container that stretched all the way up to the ceiling. The glass container was filled with colourful fish swimming in clear water.
The container had a ledge all around it and because the kids were small we picked them up and allowed them to stand on the ledge. Both of them threw their little heads backwards, and stretched their necks to look at all the exquisite fish. They stood like that for a long time. We snapped a photo for keepsake.
Life is full of awe. As a child one discovers the awe that life presents.
I kept that picture on my desk to remind me never to loose the awe of life. Life's troubles and complications can tie one's mind up with the intricacies of life, and it is easy to loose the 'awe' of life.
But the soul of man needs to experience awesome moments from time to time to revive the weary soul. Without it life is a grind and it grinds one to the bone.
That is one of the many reasons why we live at Sunset Beach: every day we see the most awesome sunset! Sometimes we simply stop what we are doing and go to the beach below to watch the setting sun, dipping into the watery horizon and shooting its last rays up into the sky behind the drifting clouds with a promise that it will be there again tomorrow, and the day after, and the next day...
Nola is fond of such moments. We often enjoy them together. We taught our children to enjoy them. God gave it to us for free. It costs you nothing.
May this computerized cell-phone mad generation never loose the awe of life, the beauty of nature, the simple joys that God has given to all mankind, to enjoy and to relish in the absolute genius of creation.
What a joy it is to be alive!
What a peace it brings to see the flamingo's on the beach.
What a moment. What a treasure.
It makes one rich. May the image remain indelibly imprinted on our memories.
May there be many more such awesome moments of beauty.
Let us remind each other how awesom life is - in spite of what we have to endure.
The glory always outweighs the suffering.
Never loose the awe of life. Remain childlike in enjoying this life. We only have one.
Like ballerinas they moved effortlessly in the shallow water, above their own rosy reflections, and seemed undisturbed by the clicking camera, till she came to close and then they scooped up and flew away into the baby blue sky. What a sight. We have it on our desktop as a picture now.
Can you imagine the beauty? It is serene, pastel coloured and unique.
Were they fishing? Or were they catching snails or mussels? But there they were, in all their glory, parading on the beach - just of us!
These moments of awe are the spice of life. These unexpected moments of beauty created just for those who are fortunate enough to be at the right place at the right time.
I have a little picture which I treasure. I used to keep in on my desk for several years during extreme hardship in the ministry as a missionary.
It is a picture of Hilton and a little girl when both were about 3 years old. We took them to the Oceanarium at the Waterfront. At the entrance we stopped at a huge cylindrical glass container that stretched all the way up to the ceiling. The glass container was filled with colourful fish swimming in clear water.
The container had a ledge all around it and because the kids were small we picked them up and allowed them to stand on the ledge. Both of them threw their little heads backwards, and stretched their necks to look at all the exquisite fish. They stood like that for a long time. We snapped a photo for keepsake.
Life is full of awe. As a child one discovers the awe that life presents.
I kept that picture on my desk to remind me never to loose the awe of life. Life's troubles and complications can tie one's mind up with the intricacies of life, and it is easy to loose the 'awe' of life.
But the soul of man needs to experience awesome moments from time to time to revive the weary soul. Without it life is a grind and it grinds one to the bone.
That is one of the many reasons why we live at Sunset Beach: every day we see the most awesome sunset! Sometimes we simply stop what we are doing and go to the beach below to watch the setting sun, dipping into the watery horizon and shooting its last rays up into the sky behind the drifting clouds with a promise that it will be there again tomorrow, and the day after, and the next day...
Nola is fond of such moments. We often enjoy them together. We taught our children to enjoy them. God gave it to us for free. It costs you nothing.
May this computerized cell-phone mad generation never loose the awe of life, the beauty of nature, the simple joys that God has given to all mankind, to enjoy and to relish in the absolute genius of creation.
What a joy it is to be alive!
What a peace it brings to see the flamingo's on the beach.
What a moment. What a treasure.
It makes one rich. May the image remain indelibly imprinted on our memories.
May there be many more such awesome moments of beauty.
Let us remind each other how awesom life is - in spite of what we have to endure.
The glory always outweighs the suffering.
Never loose the awe of life. Remain childlike in enjoying this life. We only have one.
Monday 21 February 2011
Departure Lounge in Lome
Departure Lounge in Lome
Sitting in a hot and humid departure lounge in Lome, Togo, waiting for several hours before embarking on Ethiopian Airlines flight to Douala, Cameroon, I wipe away sweat from my forehead with the palm of my hand and rub it onto my chino jeans ala African style.
A cloth is useless and a tissue just gets shredded by my three and a half day stubble. The hand method is the best. The cloth gets drenched with two or three wipes and then it wets your trouser pocket. The hand is designed not to absorb moisture and therefore ideal for conveying sweat from the head to the jeans. Normal trousers can’t do the trick because it cannot absorb moisture. Jeans, either chino or blue jeans, are the working man’s trousers – they are made to sweat in!
There are two stand up air conditioners in the lounge where you can find temporary relief from the sweltering conditions. You need to plant yourself selfishly in front of the air con for a minute or two to get the maximum benefit.
The transit hall was full of people and so is the departure lounge. All flights use the same halls.
Gnassangbe Eyadema International Airport is unusually busy today because some flights have been delayed.
An Indian lady takes out a wad of money to pay for a drink.
I go to the toilet. The floor is messy. Can’t they aim?
Back in the lounge I drop down on the hard metal seats where you sit till your bum is numb.
Some passengers are called to board another flight. But as soon as they leave more people pour into the lounge. The distant drone of an propeller driven air craft sweeps into the open door at Gate 2.
The constant bell ringing before announcements makes me think of the Parisians police sirens that wakes one up at night.
I am the only person sporting a T-shirt. Most men have the American or English style collared button-down shirt.
Sweat is running off everyone’s faces now. The lounge could soon turn into a sauna!
No one enters the Sale Koromsa Ist Class lounge – and no one exits either.
I desperately need to cool down, but there are four people ahead of me at the air con. Their conversations seem to be important enough to keep them standing in front of the air con for several minutes. This leaves me gasping for breath like a Koi fish out of the water.
As I look out of the window I see the jet planes standing silently with open doors and bellies awaiting the next belly full of humans.
Ah, the air con is available! My kingdom for an air con! While I am cooling down others are already lining up. The next one is a nun with white head gear and white robe. When it is her turn she turns her back on the pleasure the air con provides and faces the crowd, the sweating crowd. Her look is stern; she does not want to betray the fact that she is enjoying the cool air.
A lady is pushed in the door on a wheel chair. Her legs reveal the terrible disease called elephantiasis. It is a crippling and painful disease, rampant in Africa. But no one pays any attention to her at all. They are used to it.
The announcer drops a bomb-shell: the flight from Adis Abiba to Abidjan is delayed due to operation crisis. It will now only arrive in Togo 2 hours later. ‘The company apologizes for this inconvenience.’
But no one responds to the announcement at all. There is no surprise, no anger, and no disappointment. If this was a departure lounge in the UK, USA, Australia or South Africa there would have been gasps of emotional responses and even rude remarks about the incompetence of the airlines. But not in Africa: Africa can wait; Africa can wait a long time because they have learned patience, like the patient earth waits for the rain in the right season.
A baby finally gives up all hope of ever reaching its home and lets rip with a high sounding shrill yell that pierces the drone of voices in the lounge. Nothing the mother can do can pacify the babe. The passengers in the lounge pay no attention to the baby crisis. It is normal for a baby to cry in Africa.
A bald shaven East European businessman enters the hall and looks around for a seat. There is none. He is so overdressed in his three piece suit, rimless spectacles, black leather attaché case and computer bag that he literally sticks out like a sore thumb. This is Africa, man!
Due to my concentration to scribble my observances into my little note book I had completely forgotten about the man sitting next to me. When I turn to him he is fast asleep, mouth wide open. Then I suddenly notice how many people are asleep in the lounge! No wonder no one responded to the announcement!
A very large businessman steps out of the first class lounge with his baggage.
Kids run up and down the aisles to entertain themselves. No one reprimands them.
There’s Douala’s call to board now! We converge on the ground staff desk to have our tickets ripped. I spot a white haired priest hunchbacked from too many devotions. He looks lifeless. Where there’s a nun, there’s a priest! Priestly rituals have a way of gnawing away at the soul until it slowly dies and gives up the struggle to try to enjoy life. Life becomes a dull routine. Man’s traditions make void the power of God, the Bible tells us.
A hooked nose Frenchman, smartly dressed in a white full length shirt revealing a pansy flowered coloured pattern on the inside of the collar, sleeves rolled back to reveal a blue leather strapped expensive name brand watch and stepping out in charcoal suede long pointed shoes pushes in front of me. I let him.
‘Merci,’ he says embarrassingly.
When we have to alight from the bus on the tarmac in front of the plane, I happened to be in front of old Frenchie. He lets me go ahead of him. I smile. He smiles and wants to talk but I just don’t have the energy to practice my French after sitting in the hot lounge for several hours.
All I really want to do is get on that plane and fly into the blue sky.
Sitting in a hot and humid departure lounge in Lome, Togo, waiting for several hours before embarking on Ethiopian Airlines flight to Douala, Cameroon, I wipe away sweat from my forehead with the palm of my hand and rub it onto my chino jeans ala African style.
A cloth is useless and a tissue just gets shredded by my three and a half day stubble. The hand method is the best. The cloth gets drenched with two or three wipes and then it wets your trouser pocket. The hand is designed not to absorb moisture and therefore ideal for conveying sweat from the head to the jeans. Normal trousers can’t do the trick because it cannot absorb moisture. Jeans, either chino or blue jeans, are the working man’s trousers – they are made to sweat in!
There are two stand up air conditioners in the lounge where you can find temporary relief from the sweltering conditions. You need to plant yourself selfishly in front of the air con for a minute or two to get the maximum benefit.
The transit hall was full of people and so is the departure lounge. All flights use the same halls.
Gnassangbe Eyadema International Airport is unusually busy today because some flights have been delayed.
An Indian lady takes out a wad of money to pay for a drink.
I go to the toilet. The floor is messy. Can’t they aim?
Back in the lounge I drop down on the hard metal seats where you sit till your bum is numb.
Some passengers are called to board another flight. But as soon as they leave more people pour into the lounge. The distant drone of an propeller driven air craft sweeps into the open door at Gate 2.
The constant bell ringing before announcements makes me think of the Parisians police sirens that wakes one up at night.
I am the only person sporting a T-shirt. Most men have the American or English style collared button-down shirt.
Sweat is running off everyone’s faces now. The lounge could soon turn into a sauna!
No one enters the Sale Koromsa Ist Class lounge – and no one exits either.
I desperately need to cool down, but there are four people ahead of me at the air con. Their conversations seem to be important enough to keep them standing in front of the air con for several minutes. This leaves me gasping for breath like a Koi fish out of the water.
As I look out of the window I see the jet planes standing silently with open doors and bellies awaiting the next belly full of humans.
Ah, the air con is available! My kingdom for an air con! While I am cooling down others are already lining up. The next one is a nun with white head gear and white robe. When it is her turn she turns her back on the pleasure the air con provides and faces the crowd, the sweating crowd. Her look is stern; she does not want to betray the fact that she is enjoying the cool air.
A lady is pushed in the door on a wheel chair. Her legs reveal the terrible disease called elephantiasis. It is a crippling and painful disease, rampant in Africa. But no one pays any attention to her at all. They are used to it.
The announcer drops a bomb-shell: the flight from Adis Abiba to Abidjan is delayed due to operation crisis. It will now only arrive in Togo 2 hours later. ‘The company apologizes for this inconvenience.’
But no one responds to the announcement at all. There is no surprise, no anger, and no disappointment. If this was a departure lounge in the UK, USA, Australia or South Africa there would have been gasps of emotional responses and even rude remarks about the incompetence of the airlines. But not in Africa: Africa can wait; Africa can wait a long time because they have learned patience, like the patient earth waits for the rain in the right season.
A baby finally gives up all hope of ever reaching its home and lets rip with a high sounding shrill yell that pierces the drone of voices in the lounge. Nothing the mother can do can pacify the babe. The passengers in the lounge pay no attention to the baby crisis. It is normal for a baby to cry in Africa.
A bald shaven East European businessman enters the hall and looks around for a seat. There is none. He is so overdressed in his three piece suit, rimless spectacles, black leather attaché case and computer bag that he literally sticks out like a sore thumb. This is Africa, man!
Due to my concentration to scribble my observances into my little note book I had completely forgotten about the man sitting next to me. When I turn to him he is fast asleep, mouth wide open. Then I suddenly notice how many people are asleep in the lounge! No wonder no one responded to the announcement!
A very large businessman steps out of the first class lounge with his baggage.
Kids run up and down the aisles to entertain themselves. No one reprimands them.
There’s Douala’s call to board now! We converge on the ground staff desk to have our tickets ripped. I spot a white haired priest hunchbacked from too many devotions. He looks lifeless. Where there’s a nun, there’s a priest! Priestly rituals have a way of gnawing away at the soul until it slowly dies and gives up the struggle to try to enjoy life. Life becomes a dull routine. Man’s traditions make void the power of God, the Bible tells us.
A hooked nose Frenchman, smartly dressed in a white full length shirt revealing a pansy flowered coloured pattern on the inside of the collar, sleeves rolled back to reveal a blue leather strapped expensive name brand watch and stepping out in charcoal suede long pointed shoes pushes in front of me. I let him.
‘Merci,’ he says embarrassingly.
When we have to alight from the bus on the tarmac in front of the plane, I happened to be in front of old Frenchie. He lets me go ahead of him. I smile. He smiles and wants to talk but I just don’t have the energy to practice my French after sitting in the hot lounge for several hours.
All I really want to do is get on that plane and fly into the blue sky.
Monday 24 January 2011
I walked on mass graves in Kigali
I walked on mass graves in Kigali - and I cried. Two million people brutally murdered in three years in Rwanda. What for? Because of class distinction - between the rich and the poor. If you owned ten cows you became a Tutsi and if you had less you were considered a Hutu. The Hutu's exiled the Tutsis and many of them joined rebel forces to get back into their country. And then the genocide began...and the United Nations and the rest of the International Community would not believe the reports about the atrocities until it was too late. Koffi Anan's repentance as General Secretary of the UN came when the war was over: 'I should have done something about Rwanda ten years ago.'
The hills of Kigali are covered in houses, nice looking houses, and the roads in are in good condition. The taxi driver said to me,'do you like our city? Look how clean it is!'
But the red colour in the dark faces of the people in Rwanda reminds you of the slaughterhouse that Rwanda once was. The people are still weary of trusting anyone too quickly.
Yet Rwanda is one of the most fruitful and fertile lands in East Africa and could become the bread basked of Africa.
The Virungu volcanoes are still active and erupt every few years causing much damage and even deaths. Rain forests harbour 150 000 gorillas that Diane Fossey described in her books until she exposed the poachers and was murdered by them.
I walked in silence on the mass graves and shed tears for a nation that went through ethnic cleansing of atrocious proportions...and I was reminded of Hitler, Stalin, Yomo Kenyatta, Idi Amin and all the other dictators who brainwashed people into accepting their evil causes as if it were natural.
Then I remembered the words of Jesus: 'The thief comes not but to steal, kill and destroy; but I have come that you might have life and have it more abundantly.' The Good News of the Gospel of Jesus Christ is the only hope for the world today, and yet the modern society speaks of the 'post-christian-era' as if Christianity is outdated! What a lie from the pit of hell! The Gospel is just as relevant today as it has always been! It is fresh - like the dew on Mt. Hermon!
The Prophet cried out: 'Who will hear our report? And to whom will the arm of the Lord be revealed?'
That is the cry in my heart today, as missionary, perhaps one of the least, but at least I keep going to other lands to preach the Gospel of the Kingdom of Christ. We can do all the humanitarian work that we wish, but unless people have a change in heart the atrocities of genocide and the killing of wars will continue.
There can be no peace without the Prince of Peace, Jesus Christ the Lord of lords and the King of Kings. At His Name every knee shall bow and every tongue confess that He is Lord.
There is no other way!
The hills of Kigali are covered in houses, nice looking houses, and the roads in are in good condition. The taxi driver said to me,'do you like our city? Look how clean it is!'
But the red colour in the dark faces of the people in Rwanda reminds you of the slaughterhouse that Rwanda once was. The people are still weary of trusting anyone too quickly.
Yet Rwanda is one of the most fruitful and fertile lands in East Africa and could become the bread basked of Africa.
The Virungu volcanoes are still active and erupt every few years causing much damage and even deaths. Rain forests harbour 150 000 gorillas that Diane Fossey described in her books until she exposed the poachers and was murdered by them.
I walked in silence on the mass graves and shed tears for a nation that went through ethnic cleansing of atrocious proportions...and I was reminded of Hitler, Stalin, Yomo Kenyatta, Idi Amin and all the other dictators who brainwashed people into accepting their evil causes as if it were natural.
Then I remembered the words of Jesus: 'The thief comes not but to steal, kill and destroy; but I have come that you might have life and have it more abundantly.' The Good News of the Gospel of Jesus Christ is the only hope for the world today, and yet the modern society speaks of the 'post-christian-era' as if Christianity is outdated! What a lie from the pit of hell! The Gospel is just as relevant today as it has always been! It is fresh - like the dew on Mt. Hermon!
The Prophet cried out: 'Who will hear our report? And to whom will the arm of the Lord be revealed?'
That is the cry in my heart today, as missionary, perhaps one of the least, but at least I keep going to other lands to preach the Gospel of the Kingdom of Christ. We can do all the humanitarian work that we wish, but unless people have a change in heart the atrocities of genocide and the killing of wars will continue.
There can be no peace without the Prince of Peace, Jesus Christ the Lord of lords and the King of Kings. At His Name every knee shall bow and every tongue confess that He is Lord.
There is no other way!
Tuesday 11 January 2011
The Quiller Memorandum
Wednesday's Child, the theme song of The Quiller Memorandum, a thriller starring George Segal and Senta Berger in the 1966's, is an exquisitely beautiful, sad tune. The opening line being, Wednesday's Child is a child of woe... Max von Sydow with his eerie, mysterious, oblong face and some other great actors like Alec Guinnes also play their roles in memorable performances, but it is the theme music that I remember the most, more than the names of the actors or the titles of the cast.
What makes one remember something for so long? What makes something find a lodging space in your memory bank for 50 years? Goodness gracious, already that long? And still the haunting tone of that melody seems to ruffle my feathers every time I hear it played or play it on the piano late at night when everyone's gone to bed.
When a violin plays the tune it tends to tug at one's heart strings even more...
I don't want to dwell on the performance, just the memory, the Quiller Memory, the face of George Segal, tilting his head to pay attention to what someone has to say. He also played in The St. Valentine's Day Massacre. I remember how he cheerfully greeted his mother on that fatefull day before he got massacred with his other mobster friends in a garage on the 14th of February. Although George Segal is known as a comedy actor as well, it is that serious face, that wry smile and the frowning and questioning eyes that seem to be imprinted indelibly on my mind. But more than my memory of his spy role in Quiller Memorandum, I wonder about the beauty of that tune...it calms the soul and stirs the spirit and carries one away to another world of beauty and peace and joy...there must be a heaven after all if there is such heavenly music!
Beethoven confessed that he heard music from another realm, from the centre of the Universe somewhere...perhaps we can hear it too... if we listen!
Funny thing, strange and eerie just as the John Barry score of The Quiller Memorandum, he sadly passed away in January on the 30th at the age of 77. Hans Zimmer who won an Oscar for the score for Inception (De Capprio starred and Ridley Scott directed)wrote an article for Time's Milestones on p.13 of the February 14 issue, 2011 in which he describes how he too remembers The Quiller Memorandum score. 'Sometimes the reason we have such deep and lasting emotional connections to movies is the music and everything that made the mood of those movies...' He was a Yorkshire man and even in his brightest work, you could always see the moors and the fog, even his cheeky stuff had an underlying darkness.
John Barry also wrote the scores for Zulu (which launched a young Michael Caine), Born Free, Out of Africa, Dances with Wolves, On Her Majesty's Secret Service (Bond), and Hammet. What he had learned from Barry is that mood is good, according to Zimmer.
Amazing that the Quiller tune drifted passed me at that time, so strongly that I could not ignore it, I had to write about it and remember it. And like Zimmer I cannot recall all the details of the Quiller Story, but the tune stayed in my memory bank. And it was in the same month that the composer passed away. Are we all in touch with the Infinite? Do we feel what is to come before it does? When will we wake up to this reality?
Astonishing...but true.
What makes one remember something for so long? What makes something find a lodging space in your memory bank for 50 years? Goodness gracious, already that long? And still the haunting tone of that melody seems to ruffle my feathers every time I hear it played or play it on the piano late at night when everyone's gone to bed.
When a violin plays the tune it tends to tug at one's heart strings even more...
I don't want to dwell on the performance, just the memory, the Quiller Memory, the face of George Segal, tilting his head to pay attention to what someone has to say. He also played in The St. Valentine's Day Massacre. I remember how he cheerfully greeted his mother on that fatefull day before he got massacred with his other mobster friends in a garage on the 14th of February. Although George Segal is known as a comedy actor as well, it is that serious face, that wry smile and the frowning and questioning eyes that seem to be imprinted indelibly on my mind. But more than my memory of his spy role in Quiller Memorandum, I wonder about the beauty of that tune...it calms the soul and stirs the spirit and carries one away to another world of beauty and peace and joy...there must be a heaven after all if there is such heavenly music!
Beethoven confessed that he heard music from another realm, from the centre of the Universe somewhere...perhaps we can hear it too... if we listen!
Funny thing, strange and eerie just as the John Barry score of The Quiller Memorandum, he sadly passed away in January on the 30th at the age of 77. Hans Zimmer who won an Oscar for the score for Inception (De Capprio starred and Ridley Scott directed)wrote an article for Time's Milestones on p.13 of the February 14 issue, 2011 in which he describes how he too remembers The Quiller Memorandum score. 'Sometimes the reason we have such deep and lasting emotional connections to movies is the music and everything that made the mood of those movies...' He was a Yorkshire man and even in his brightest work, you could always see the moors and the fog, even his cheeky stuff had an underlying darkness.
John Barry also wrote the scores for Zulu (which launched a young Michael Caine), Born Free, Out of Africa, Dances with Wolves, On Her Majesty's Secret Service (Bond), and Hammet. What he had learned from Barry is that mood is good, according to Zimmer.
Amazing that the Quiller tune drifted passed me at that time, so strongly that I could not ignore it, I had to write about it and remember it. And like Zimmer I cannot recall all the details of the Quiller Story, but the tune stayed in my memory bank. And it was in the same month that the composer passed away. Are we all in touch with the Infinite? Do we feel what is to come before it does? When will we wake up to this reality?
Astonishing...but true.
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