Polkadot Gumboots

This year I learnt...

2011-12-14T12:38:00.001+02:00

Its that time of year. All around Christmas trees are going up, people are overspending and parktown prawns seem to be in every dark corner. As the roads quieten down and the offices empty out many people get nostalgic about family time and special people in their lives. Some get depressed, some go on holiday and others become the sickeningly festive sort that hum Christmas carols.

I like to use this time of year to take stock and reflect on things. It's been an interesting year and a big one for me. This year I got the job I had only dreamed I would one day have, I bought a house and I found a family I never knew. I also had to say goodbye to family as they moved away, dealt with an unhealthy relationship and realised what is was like to have no food in my cupboards.

This year I learnt:

Green sterrie stumpie is underrated.
Drama is overrated. Avoid it and you will be happier
People will walk away from you and sometimes you will need to walk away from people and that is okay.
Hangovers get worse as you get older.
Oil heaters will melt your skin off if you get too close.
People are shit especially when money is involved.
The people who are in your life for better or worse, are often the ex-lovers or people you never spoke to in high school, but only sometimes the friend you swore was forever.
Dogs are really proof that god loves us and wants us to be happy.
It is okay to be selfish sometimes.
There will come a point when your happiness will be more important than that of others.
I am imperfect and quite comfortable with that even the squishy bits.
Throws from Mr Price are extremely flammable. As are couches.
You don't have to like me, in fact you probably will not, and I am okay with that.
High heels do in fact equal respect.
Being able to count your friends on one hand is a good thing. I used to think it was a weird thing to value. I mean why not say you are blessed if you can count your friends on two hands, or maybe both your hands and your feet? I get it now.
And finally:

Don't Panic

2011-11-16T15:39:00.001+02:00

I did a crazy thing it seems. I bought a house. By myself. Without a husband. And then I absolutely did the unthinkable. I got dogs. I know right? Cause even in this post-modern society the idea that a girl can live alone happily without need or want of a manly protector, white picket fence or small sticky jam covered children, is shocking.

It seems to me I have reached the age where hysteria bout finding a mate is starting to set in among both my normally grounded friends and among their well meaning family members. Suddenly one friend will wail that person X did not return their call and therefore this means that they are going to die alone, half eaten by caterpillars surrounded by garden gnomes or something similarly ridiculous.

Gosh. I mean really. We are young, our breasts are perky and our laugh lines small. I barely know what I want for dinner most days never mind who I want to co-habit with for as long as I live. If you where to look at me five years ago with black hair, a nose ring and very angry clothing, then at me three years with long blond hair hair, bright pink glasses, studying ecology and acting like a raving hippy and compare that to me now, most people would not even recognise me as the same person.

I still need to figure out who I am and what I stand for. I still need to see the world. I need to make so mistakes and bad choices before I can be sure I want to settle down and commit my life to a single person forever.

I am lucky though. Where so often people find pressure to conform and settle down I have support. I have a mother who gets me. I have a mom who understands that I am different and I don't need to conform to be success in life. My mom has supported me through piercings, radically career changes, buying my house, wholly unsuitable men and even large cherry blossom tree tattoo's. My mom tells off the well meaning friends who ask when I will settle, she shows them my tattoo and then tells them how well I am doing at work. When people ask about children she shows them pictures of her two grand-dogs.

My very large cherry blossom tree

My mom always says "Whats meant for you in this life will never pass you by". As far as mom advice goes this is up their with the best. Whether its the missing out on the job you wanted, breaking up with one one you thought would be your person or just the perfect pair of shoes not being available in your size, this piece of advice is one sizes fits all. Whats meant for you may be a picket fence and 2.4 children, it may be beach condo and a scuba instructing job and it may be a little house in Lonehill with 2.4 dogs and a lot of fish.

Whatever it is DON'T PANIC... the world will not pass you by unless you forget to stop and appreciate your right now. And if you do die alone and are found half-eaten by caterpillars, surrounded by garden gnomes, at least it will be one hell of an anecdote for the person who finds you.

I am Marshal

2011-10-05T13:45:00.002+02:00

Selling out - the compromising of, or the perception of compromising, integrity, morality, or principles in exchange for money or success -Wikipedia.org.

As an ecologist working for a mining company I get called a sell-out a lot. And while most people would not study four years of environment and conservation only to join the world of mining, I have always strongly denied being a sell-out. I have truly believed you make more difference working with mining companies that working against them (see post below: A necessary evil - my rant) but recently those words have begun to sound hollow even to me.

You see while South Africa has some of the most advanced environmental legislation in the world we are not yet ready for it Applications for authorisations can take years to finalise and understanding what activities need to be applied for under three different acts each monitored by a different department can be a minefield. In addition the application of these laws is often extremely hap-hazard and often politically motivated. Its a first world system in a country that for the most part is miles behind.

Another problem with this legislation is affordability of compliance. Proper environmental management can cost more than a given mineral asset may be worth. In this regard Junior mining companies have traditionally gotten away with murder in terms of environmental management. As such junior miners often mine the more marginal resources as the capital outlay associated with legislated environmental management measures would deem many resources unprofitable.

In my job I find myself increasingly trying to motivate measures that while supported in principal we just cannot afford. The process of environmental management, the time frames associated with applications and the cost of infrastructure mean that even the most willing companies often have to reject full compliance and best practice management measures.

At some point even the most hardened activists need to be practical and compromise on the ideal in favour of the possible. The question is at what point is the cost of compromise too much. At what point do you say enough and walk away. Its certainly easier to be idealistic when you are a student without bills to pay.

One of my favourite pieces of prose is by a lady writing as Oriah Mountain Dreamer. Its called The invitation and the author describes it as an expression of all the things she really did want to know about and share with others. The final line of this poem asks "I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments." I suppose when the answer to that question is no that is when you realise you have in fact sold out...

Snippets of Zambia

2011-01-06T14:37:00.003+02:00

I recently started working for a large mining corporate... These are some shots from my first business trip into Zambia.

To see more from this ablum click on this link.

A Necessary Evil - My Rant

2010-12-02T14:10:00.000+02:00

When I was still studying I always swore that I would never become an Environmental Consultant because it was essentially selling out. In South Africa, due to our mineral based economy, most environmental consulting is mining related. And, lets be honest mining is a messy process: it always has been, and although legislation and technology has improved the situation to a certain degree, it still is a relatively environmentaly risky and leads to ecosystem degradation. The greenie beanie in me see's this and yet not only am I currently consulting but next year I will be working for a mining company directly in a sustainability coordinator's role. My reasoning for "selling out" is two fold.

Firstly, I realised that I can make a far larger difference working with the mines, which are likely to continue mining with or without my cooperation, than working against them. Standing outside their offices with a placard is unlikely to make a difference but working with the mine to ensure that all possible measures are taken to minimise the impacts of mining will.

The second reason is that once I became familiar with the communities in many potential mining areas and the statistics regarding average household incomes, education levels ect., I begun to see how mining could benefit such communities. Most people don't realise that the mines build and fund most of the roads, schools, clinics and provide much needed jobs in adjacent areas to their mines. These areas have mostly been long forgotten by our so called leaders. Not to mention the economic benefits of such projects to the growth of the South African economy as a whole.

I therefore can't help but feel a sense of outrage when people protest against mining on principal. Usually loudly at public meetings, on TV, radio or any forum they can lay their hands on. These people harass mining related companies endlessly. What they forget is that the electricity used to email their complaints most likely comes from a coal fired power station fuelled by coal mined locally. The reason we have local TV and radio shows is because we have a healthy economy which can mostly be attributed to South Africa's immense mineral wealth.

If you want to make a difference, protest but on a firm knowledge base and suggest more sustainable alternatives. Put pressure on companies to be more sustainable and environmentally pro-active. The last few years have seen a surge of such type of pressure and protest. I know from working in this industry that it is working. Companies (for the most part) are wanting to comply with environmental and mining legislation (of which South Africa has some of the most progressive in the world) and are seeking better, cleaner ways of operating.

Mining may be "evil" but it is a necessary evil. Many of the materials used to build the components on the very laptop or computer that you are reading this off were most likely mined for and probably in South Africa. The building material for your house, the electricity powering your house, and most of your household contents have likely been mined for. Our challenge as inhabitants of this earth is to find the best possible practises and solutions to make this necessary evil, less environmentally damaging. Engineers, chemists, ecologists, journalists, all fields of society need to work together to find the answers rather than focus on the challenges.

So yes, I do work in mining and yes I am a conservationist eco-bunny who loves the natural world. These are not conflicting statements in my mind because I'm helping to ensure the world is still there for future generations the only way I know how. The question is what are you doing?

The Fight

2010-11-18T20:38:00.005+02:00

I slowly wake, reaching consciousness, though it still feels a dream. Upon opening my eyes I see the tangled green beauty of a forest canopy. Small patches of sky between the leaves show the sky to be grey and overcast. My bed, not a bed at all; but an old stone bench, whose cold, hard surface, offers me no comfort.

Long thick grass, which has all but covered the bench, rustles against my naked body. Turning to stand up my eyes rest upon a brass plaque; its message obscured by times erosion still stands testament to somebody’s loss. Stepping stones, cracked, broken and barely visible in the undergrowth mark a way between the tall moss covered trees.

Intrigued I follow the stones, often tripping and falling as the way becomes increasingly overgrown. As I fight my way through the plants, not even sure where I am going or why I am pushing so hard to get there, my naked flesh bleeds as thorns and braches tear at it.

Exhausted and almost at the point of giving up the fight I reach a clearing. Leading from the clearing are two open paths leading in opposite directions. One direction reveals the now setting sun, almost on the horizon, and the other is nearly dark with the first stars just beginning to emerge. I stand in the clearing for some time. Though my cuts still sting; the painful part of the journey is past. Enjoying the reprieve, I contemplate my path.

Finally I begin to walk; away from the setting sun and into the darkness. Every end means a new beginning and tomorrow I will face the rising sun.

A series of unfortunate events caused by a rampant ecologist...

2010-11-09T13:37:00.003+02:00

“I have known Lauren a long time she’s always been an idiot: sometimes more so, some times less so but always an idiot”. Chris Byrne

A friend once drunkenly sprouted this phrase that now has been adopted and is quoted regularly when I have ‘typical Lauren’ moments. I am apparently the dumbest clever person most of my friends know. After this week I’m inclined to fully agree…I, in the space of a few days, took out 4 cars, one electric gate, a garden wall, myself and nearly stole a car. My one friend truly believes I was somebody terrible in a past life because I have the worst luck of anybody he knows.

Last Wednesday I was on my way to a friend’s house, having just secured my absolute dream job. This job is the job that I would have put as being the job I wanted to have 10 years from now if all went well with my career. To say I was excited is an understatement. I was giddy as a schoolgirl, bouncing in my seat and grinning like an idiot. The one thing I was not doing was paying attention to the road. I slammed at full speed into the back of a row of cars waiting at a set of traffic lights.I caused a three car pile up. The car I hit was actually not owned by the driver but being borrowed and not insured. Luckily nobody except me was injured. My car however is a write-off and to be honest I’m lucky to be alive. The rest is a bit fuzzy as I had pretty bad shock and whiplash. All I know is that my friend Mike came and took care of everything for me. Mike also arranged for me to take his car (since he rides a motorbike and his lies idle) until everything with mine got organised.

Mikes car has sat for a few months in his garden untouched and to say it’s a little dodgy is an understatement. The windows don’t open, it has no air-con and the fan smells like a rat crawled in and died. So driving the 60 km from Johannesburg to Pretoria (a route I do about twice a week) in 30 degree Celsius weather is no fun at all. It also does not have a single panel that is not scratched or ruined in some way but the important part is that it drives. Also there was no spare tyre. Mike warned me of all these little quirks before handing over the keys and then I promptly drove myself to Pretoria to get to work. He also told me if it was stolen make sure it had enough petrol to get far away and if I crashed it to write it off since its insurance value was higher than the resale amount. Once at work I parked on the hill at the top of the driveway and went inside. I was just relieved I could get to work, since in a few days I would have to tell my boss I was leaving the company.

The storm of the centaury was brewing, the wind was blowing and the clouds looked ready to burst at any moment. Suddenly a huge clang followed by a bang was heard. We all ran outside and there lay Mikes car on the opposite side of the road against the neighbour’s wall. One detail Mike had forgotten to tell me was that the handbrake was dodgy. Mikes car had gone rampant and broke out of the office. As the storm broke I looked at the car, sat down and cried. Finally , after being coaxed up by my co-workers, I went down to inspect the damage and promptly locked the keys in the car (luckily I have ninja skills ands know how to break into cars really fast since I lock my own keys in my car so often). One burst tyre and dented boot. Not to mention the fact that the company’s electric gate was completely smashed and lying on the road. I phoned Mike to tell him and expecting a complete flip out instead he laughed till he cried called me a ‘nanna’ and chided me for not writing it off… The best part was at the police station trying to explain that when the accident happened nobody was driving, let just say the officer thought I was a nutjob.

Come Saturday I drove my friend Colby to a local venue where some bands were playing. We took the hubbly bubbly and chilled out until a band I wanted to see came on. At that point we packed the hubbly up and went to put it in my car so we could jam (well so Colby could jam since I was still injured and the best I could muster without pain was a wiggle). When we got there the front door was unlocked and I was convinced I had locked it but this is me, after all, so I shrugged it off put the hubbly in the back, locked up and went back inside. When we decided to leave, we went back to the car and my key didn’t work. Luckily Colby realised his window was open and let me in. Once inside the car we realised something was terribly wrong. All our stuff (except the hubbly) was missing. The windscreen was cracked, the radio missing, there were beer bottles every where and what appeared to be a sex toy on the seat. It was like somebody has broken in stolen some stuff, had a party, broken the windscreen and left. It made no sense but all I could think was “Mike is going to kill me”.

Freaking out, I climbed out the car and looked at it from behind. Tears welling up in my eyes I suddenly noticed that the back was not dented. It was in fact not our car… and yet it had my hubbly in it. Not once but twice I had climbed into the wrong car. After a brief confusion because the car guard was convinced I was trying to steal the hubbly and Colby and I were laughing so hard he must have thought we were mad, we found our actual car (fully as we left it).

So yes Chris I am an idiot…and this week in particular more so.

Natural warfare

2010-11-08T19:08:00.002+02:00

Back in April I did some freelance work for iafrica and they asked me to write an article on eco-friendly gardening. The problem is I'm honestly the worlds worst gardener. Especially for an ecologist, a conserver of nature, I have killed far too many potplants and vegetables seedlings. It turns out, however, that you dont have to gardent to write gardening artcicles because they published it.

The link to the online article is here: http://lifestyle.iafrica.com/article/613939.html but below is my version.

A while back I decided to convert a forgotten area at the back of my garden into an organic vegetable patch. It was all going according to plan until, as I began to turn the soil, I uncovered something so horrible, so terrifying that I nearly gave up right then and there. I uncovered a creature that strikes fear into the hearts of most South Africans, a creature synonymous with terror and standing upon your toilet screaming, a creature that has been known to send grown men running: A parktown prawn.

While there are many species of king crickets in South Africa the parktown prawn, scientific name: Libanansidas vittatu , has achieved special acclaim among those in northern Johannesburg, whose gardens they commonly inhabit.

Now faced with this nightmare I fought the urge to run. As the little cricket, no bigger than my thumb lunged at my head, I fought the urge to hit it with my spade. And as it lunged at my head again the reason I flicked into the nearby shrub and not the neighbour’s garden was simple. I like spinach.

A single adult Parktown Prawn, can consume up to four snails a night and snails wreak havoc with my spinach. What is more, the parktown prawn also feeds on snail larvae, dropped fruit and dog droppings.

If I was going to go the organic route and have an all natural garden, I needed to accept it, Prawns and all. What most people, and often most gardeners, miss is that they key to a healthy and successful garden is a healthy ecosystem. If specific organism is eradicated or targeted in a garden then other organisms may also be mistakenly eradicated.

A common example is that of aphids and lady birds. Most chemical aphid poisons also kill lady birds, an aphid predator. Since the lady bird life cycle is longer than that of aphids it is likely the aphids will recover faster and be more numerous than before by the time the lady bird population in your garden has recovered. Usually a gardener will then apply more poison and the pest eradication cycle often continues until one is entirely dependent on the poison for aphid control. If simple repellent plants were instead planted alongside ones roses, to deter aphids, then the aphid population could be kept in check by natures own devices.

With this in mind, when a few days later I found a rain spider on the wall above my bed and I didn’t scream or reach for a can of deadly insect killer. I simply escorted the scary, hairy fellow outside because rain spiders eat parktown prawns.

Franky my fish friend

2010-10-28T10:56:00.001+02:00

It has been quite some time since I blogged.... I apologise.

I must tell you that last week my oldest and most beloved goldfish died. Frankenfish (belovedly known as Franky) died. Now to you this may not seem like a major event but Franky was the fish that never died. To fully understand the tragedy of his death we better start at the beginning.

When I first bought him my ex-boyfriend chose him and to be honest I didn't really look at him until we got home. However, once I did look at him I realised he was without a doubt the ugliest fish I had ever seen. He was therefore christened Frankenfish.

Now anybody who has kept fish will know that fish come and go... they die pretty much most of the time. And one small mistake in changing the water can result in mass death, one small infection from a new fish introduced can kill the whole tank if not caught on time. Many times since Franky joined my tank this happened but always he somehow lived through it.

One day, my tank randomly sprouted a fungus that clouded the water and killed my fish one by one. Despite a water change and fungus medication I lost five fish. Franky was the last fish alive and he fought so hard that when it appeared he had finally died I could not bring myself to flush him. There he lay lifeless and not breathing on his side. It broke my heart.

Eventually a day later I decided it was time to flush my friend before the stench of rotting fish started... I plucked up the courage found my fish net and went to retrieve my friend Franky. When I got to the tank I discovered to my utmost surprise Franky was swimming quite happily around. Frankenfish it seemed was a very appropriate name.

Franky went on to survive a relocation in a cooler-box (strapped in to my front seat like a passenger) to my new home in Pretoria. Franky was alive and well. I live alone and so as time went on my fish become more my friends than just merely fish. After all one seems less marginally less crazy talking to your fish than to yourself. I even gave up eating Pecks Anchovette for breakfast because its hard to eat fish while your fish friends are watching you.

Last week, I returned from the weekend to find Franky lying on his side, barely breathing. I medicated the tank and held vigil. But in a few short hours he was gone... I waited two full days hoping for the same miraculous recovery as before but none came. Frankenfish had finally died.

So here is to a fish that was more than a fish. Here is to my friend Franky....

My Fascination with Gumboots Explained

2010-03-25T11:29:00.002+02:00

You may have noticed I have an unusually close bond with my gumboots. I mean, while ridiculously cute and very practical, they are ultimately just a pair of functional rubber shoes. But these rubber booties and I share a history; we have travelled together, worked together and played together. Though they did get me strip searched once in Dubai, they also saved my life.

It all began one cold, grey day in London. I was in Notting Hill looking around hopefully for a sign of Hugh Grant when a bright patch of colour caught my eye in a nearby shop window. The angels sang and a ray of light illuminated a pair of perfectly spotty gumboots hanging from a wire in the window (okay well maybe I'm exaggerating a bit but I swear it felt like this). My long suffering travel mate gave a shout of joy, I had found my boots and she no longer had to haplessly follow me as I trawled the shops of London looking for the perfect wellington; little did she know, her suffering had just begun. We were on a backpacking trip and since gumboots are rather larger than the average shoe they did not fit in my backpack. This meant every time we travelled to a new port of call I was forced to wear my boots. London to Frankfurt, Frankfurt to Marburg to Regensburg to Munich to Geneva to Sanen to Zurich to Dubai and then finally home. In Short I looked ridiculous.

In Dubai they were obviously so confused by the bright spots and my happy Elmo shirt combined with a bright pink snow jacket , they instantly assumed I must be on drugs and proceeded to strip search me. Not a fun experience.

But my boots redeemed themselves in due course. My happy wellingtons accompanied me on a student Wetland filed trip where was working as a demonstrator. Upon arrival I donned the boots to scout our field sites for the students to work on. Crunching along through the thick flood debris on the river bank I suddenly noticed my last step was distinctly uncrunchy, in fact it was rather soft and squishy. I looked down and saw I was standing on a puffadder. The puffadder was understandably unhappy with the situation and had latched onto the side of my left boot in an attempt to eat me (well okay... maybe just to bite me).

AHHHHHHHH!!!!! I Screamed and jumped about one metre upwards and two metres forwards shaking the snake free as I did. The poor girl behind me got such a fright she launched herself backwards and managed to entangle herself in an Acacia thorn tree. Thanks to my beloved gumboots I was fine, not a scratch on me, and while my boots may not be entirely waterproof anymore, fang marks will do that, they survived too. My friend who encountered the thorn tree was not so lucky and ended up in hospital getting pieces of thorn surgically removed from her hand.

My gumboots have come to festivals, we have jumped gleefully in puddles together, they have saved me from gross, sewage and even been to the beach with me. So you see you really should never leave home without a pair (especially if they are as cute as mine).

*** Pick 'n Pay Clothing currently has a great selection of funky gumboots for ladies!

And so the wheel turns...

2010-03-24T09:10:00.003+02:00

They say you live and you learn. I certainly have learnt some hard lessons this year... Last week I decided, after much thought, angst and guilt, to leave the cadet school. I don't in any way regret my decision to join the programme and I certainly learnt a lot but I realised, with more and more certainty, everyday that passed, that it was not the place for me. I did not have the passion for news-writing or the industry that my fellow cadets had.

In short the reason I spent four years studying science and ecology is because that's what I like best, only I had to leave my field to realise just how much I loved it in the first place. After honours I needed a break. My whole student life I had just assumed I would do my honours, then my masters, then my doctorate. Once I arrived at the point of masters I realised that I did not want to study anymore. I then analysed my passions deciding my love for photography and writing could be combined with my love for science. A friend warned me that turning my hobbies into a career is not always the smart move because you can lose your passion. In retrospect, he may have had a point. I am glad I gave it a shot and I still will be writing and blogging but for now I'm going to try get a job in the environmental field and write for fun again.

This does not mean the end of my blog, since it was about my journey into journalism, but rather a change in direction. I am going to use it as a platform to discuss issues of environment and science giving credible information and useful links. I hope you will remain with me as my journey takes in a new direction.

My name in lights

2010-03-12T11:39:00.004+02:00

I finally got my name in lights... or at least on a lit computer screen.

My first published article Shaking Hands with Death discusses Terry Practhett, his battle with early onset altzeimers and his stance on assisted death.

Yay me!!!

I'm probably going to get into trouble for this...

2010-03-11T17:47:00.005+02:00

I write today through a fuzzy flu infested head, wrapped in a duvet and clutching a cup of med-lemon. My fellow cadets are on their way to a book launch on the subject of democracy by now... I will therefore try and be intellectual from afar. I am probably going to get into trouble for this, but since my fellow cadet Neo keeps telling us 'nobody should apologise for having an opinion', here goes.

You see I have finally found a blog that I can't live without. It is called Thought Leader . The website is actually a series of blogs by a number of insightful, funny or influential South Africans. The reason I can't live without it is that I enjoy seeing many of the issues we try to hash out in the cadet school discussed here with far more eloquence and maturity than we muster in our excitable, naive forum.

This last few weeks have been somewhat difficult for me. I entered the workplace, the world of journalism, naive and fresh out of university and my generally white, conservative, middle class world. Its been a shock. My current experiences have opened my eyes to the anti-white guilt ridden racism expressed by so many older white South Africans, often ex-struggle supporters. In addition, the latent anger expressed by some of the black youth outstrips anything I have experienced to date. Some of this I have seen inside the school and some comes from a closer scrutiny of current affairs and the media.

I despair, feeling that I’m neither wanted nor appreciated in this new South Africa. Silenced in punishment for the sins of my forefathers. Somebody even told me I am not an African. A comment that left me hurt even though I know it is a common sentiment.

But then I read pieces on the Thought Leader like that of Sandile Memela and of Khaya Dlanga and I see a differnt perpective. These are still the opinions of ordinary, albiet well informed, South Africans and I think maybe I do have a place in this society, that maybe I do have something to contribute to my country, afterall.

I was told South Africa belongs to all those who live in it. Even me.

Click your heels twice... there is no place like home!

2010-03-05T17:10:00.004+02:00

I was bouncing like a small girl awaiting the arrival of her new Barbie. God I love Joburg. In fact I love Joburg so much that when I watch eNews and see ponte (A drug filled disgusting heap of a skyscraper) in the background of their studio, I get homesick.
It seems like a strange statement at first. Joburg is, after all, a large, sprawling smog filled city almost completely devoid of any natural beauty. What most people, who have not lived in the city for any measurable amount of time, miss is that while it is not naturally beautiful and yes we have mine dumps where others have mountains, its sure got a whole lot of style. There is a vibe in Joburg an intangible feeling you get from the minute you arrive. It’s a buzz, a frenetic energy that sweeps you up and carries you along.
Most Joburgers can’t wait to leave Joburg and think longingly of moving to Cape Town or really anywhere else along the coast (blame it on being beech deprived). The strange thing is that once said Joburgers find themselves permanent residents as opposed to holiday makers in these ‘greener pastures’ the illusion often fades. Many a Joburger returns saying that there is after all no place like home and that despite the grunge, Joburg is still the best place to live.
So you understand why today I find myself bouncing uncontrollably as I wait for my flight into the city of gold. Living in CT may be cool but the novelty soon wears off and you kinda long for the potholes (else why drive a 4x4?), a place where bergies don’t sleep under your car (yes, its true I have my own security bergie in CT), the green glow of Sandton City on the skyline and yes even the infamous ponte.

Alternative Economy or Idealogical Rubbish?

2010-03-02T11:27:00.006+02:00

Conspiracy theorists like Michael Moore and movies like Zeitgiest Adendum criticised the banking system saying it is essentially a tool used to rob people and governments of their hard earned money. Tim Jenkins,the apartheid era escape artist has proposed an alternative economy which essentially means to do away with money and banks Jenkins came to sell his new economy to us at the cadet school but I was unsold.

Why I wont use the Community Exchange System

The community exchange system (CES) was initially sold to us as an alternative to the current money based economy. Tim Jenkins one of the exchanges initiators explained that the current economy has no value but is rather based purely on debt. His alternative economy uses talents to trade for goods and services in a worldwide web-based network. His model may have potential applications in very poor unskilled communities but I fail to see how it will be implemented a large scale, so long as there is the current money-based economy in place. I was unsold by his naive stance that his system is a cure for all that ails the world, including global warming. I too believe that there needs to be a solution to the oil dependency of our time but my interest lies in finding environmentally sound alternatives rather than redesigning the economy. I think to assume, as he does, that when oil runs out that the world will collapse, is to sell short the ingenuity and adaptability of humanity. So far as I can see, his system relies on honesty and the tenant that all people are good and can be trusted. Frankly that’s not my experience of this world cynical, as that is. I will not be using Jenkin’s CES as frankly I think its all a bit too ideological for my scientific brain.

See the CES website: http://community-exchange.org/

Passionate Newsmaking

2010-03-01T13:20:00.010+02:00

This week we lost a Cadet. No he didn't pass on but his sudden departure left us all stunned. Family commitments apparently tore him from the programme but I was amazed that, in spite of sitting at his side for many hours on a daily basis, he had not said a word about leaving until he was already gone. This cadets leaving affected me even more than it might have normally because I, myself, encountered a speed wobble this week. In spite of knowing just how lucky I am to be here I also have a different view to most of the cadets. I don't have a journalism background and my interests lie primarily in science writing and photography. I had really hoped that we would be covering more of these topics and be given a little more room to explore our own particular passion. I have been bored with the hard news angle which seems to be the focus of most of our assignments and writing tasks. After much talking to people and mulling it over I realise its just part of the process of learning... I just wish I could carry as much passion into these areas as I do into my photography.

There are some perks to being a cadet journalist though. For a start we have access to twitter and facebook (sssshhh!) which apparently is like gold here at the paper... The thing is, apart from it being a great way to pass time, these sites are valuable resources. I for instance found out about the earthquake and subsequent tsunami in Chile this weekend as it happened while sipping drinks with my feet dangling in the water at a popular Blouberg restaurant. I therefore don't understand why the news house would have these sites blocked, yes, yes, bandwith blah blah blah... but if it facilitates coverage of news, surely you are just holding your own publication back by blocking these sites? Weird...

How to make friends and piss-off influential people

2010-02-23T20:50:00.008+02:00

Last week I made friends with anemones, this week I probably made some enemies and if I didn't I'm likely to make a few by writing this. It is my forth week in the Cadet school and one of our tasks was to follow the story of Juluis Malema and carry it forward in anyway we could. For those who may not be familiar with South African politics Malema is the president of the ruling political party's youth league and he has been accused of using his influence to win government tenders for his own profit. As a result of this task I have spent much of the last few days chasing leads, phoning influential people and generally tearing my hair out. Today Malema phoned me in response to a text I sent him. Sure he refused to answer my questions but still he took me seriously as a journalist.

And therein lies the problem... My research was not for a big story it was for a class assignment and while maybe if I uncovered something major the paper would have run with it, I still felt like I was harassing busy people for sport. In addition Malema told me that he would not answer my questions because he had already commented to a journalist from our group. So you see it got me thinking that what if because I spoke to somebody they then refused to another journalist who needed the information more than I did.

Don't get me wrong I understand that this was a training exercise designed to teach us how to investigate the high profile cases and I do understand the value of it. I just feel as a journalist we also have a responsibility to not harass people unduly or we may risk losing our credibility.

Anyway that rant over, check out these pictures I took on Saturday. With the mercury pushing 38 degrees in Cape Town and the wind howling fires were inevitable. I managed to capture a Titan helicopter in the process of fetching water to douse a run-away fire Signal Hill. Enjoy!

'Bridget Jones' goes to Cape Town

2010-02-19T08:16:00.004+02:00

Last week the cadet school was taken on a walking tour of Cape Town. We were then asked to produce a piece on the experience. Below is my piece which the facilitator remarked read like 'Bridget Jones goes to Cape Town'...

The first thing I noticed as I walk out on to the streets of Cape Town is the extraordinary number of foreign accents rising above the sounds of street vendors, cars and coffee machines. I look up between the tall buildings and notice wisps of cloud racing across a patch of blue sky visible in the gap. The on-shore wind pushing the clouds also brings the faint smell of the ocean into town. The ocean, I have noticed, smells different here to elsewhere along the coast. In the cape the familiar muggy saltiness mixes in with the smell of decaying kelp. Perhaps this not surprising considering the sheer expanse of kelp forests along the coast but what is surprising is that this is not an unpleasant smell.
As I round a street corner and I am temporarily choked by the fumes of red Cape Town tour bus that is idling while a long queue of tourists slowly boards. Emerging through the smoke we meet up with our tour guide, Ursula. Ursula is a grey-haired German lady whom I notice is wearing very sensible brown sandals. She warns us about Cape Town’s ‘irregular’ traffic which frankly I feel is like saying the universe is big. I mean, yes, the universe is big but vast or infinite may better describe it’s boundless quantity of ‘big’.
Ursula takes us at rapid speed along the streets pausing to point out landmarks and to give out history snippets. She then tells us that the next stop is below the street. ‘Oh no’ I think. I was probably the only geology student in the history of world who was afraid of going underground. Luckily I came to my senses and moved onto a career in biology which included brisk open spaces and lots of fresh air. But now, faced with my nemesis once more, my heart begins to beat quickly in my chest. As I start to descend the dimly lit stairs I detect that too many people are suddenly in ‘my bubble’ and start to feel light headed. To my immense relief I find at the bottom of the stairs is a well lit, and ventilated, shopping mall. Even I can’t be afraid of that.
Walking through the mall I am fascinated by Ursula’s explanation that the old Cape Town shore apparently used to be where I am currently standing. Midway through Ursula’s explanation a nearby shop assistant lets out what can only be described as yodelling wail and then suddenly looking embarrassed shuffles back inside the store.
Finally we emerge out into the extraordinary brightness of the grand parade. Unfortunately the spicy smell of food being cooked which wafts from the vendors is overpowered by the rancid smells emanating from multiple stagnant puddles along the pavements and by petrol fumes released from taxis as they rocket past. The music, meant I suppose to create atmosphere by the vendors selling their wares, is accompanied by screeching brakes and equally screeching shouts from the minibus operators indicating their destinations. I notice a particularly amusing sign outside one vendor promising to make you ‘Smile again!’ and depicting shiny gold front teeth in a huge smiling mouth. I also notice in smaller letters a sentence at the bottom of the sign ‘In god we trust’. I muse that, perhaps if you get your dentistry done on the side of the road, you will need to trust in god.
At this point my energy begins to fade and my legs start to ache. I still have not gotten used to my new bed and the backpackers across the road from my flat insisted on having a more rigorous party than usual the previous evening. We see the ‘Groot Kerk’, the Slave lodge, parliament and the government gardens. Here, in the gardens, the cute squirrels catch everybody’s attention and some even try to make contact. The biologist in me screams out and I try vainly to warn my fellow cadets that squirrels are likely to have rabies and are known to bite unwary fingers. Thankfully we move on with everybody still in possession of their digits and I see we are stopping at some benches. After a hopeful moment of thinking we will rest here, I notice that these are the old apartheid benches which indicate that only people of certain races may sit upon them. The smell of urine which surrounds them is not the only reason I no longer wish to rest on them.
Eventually we reach St. Georges Cathedral I do get to sit for a while. This cathedral being an Anglican church conquers up memories of my childhood. The smell of incense reminds me of one particularly disastrous midnight mass where I, for reasons unknown to all who are familiar with my inept ways, was chosen to bear the cross in the alter procession. It all ended rather badly with the large silver cross falling to earth with an almighty clatter during a silent period meant for prayer. I apparently had failed to secure the cross properly in its stand. The cross was sent in for repairs and needless to say I was never asked to serve the alter again.
Leaving the church Ursula informs us we are now heading uphill to the Bo-Kaap area. My wary legs scream, I can feel my sunburn is now reaching lobster proportions and I am more than just a little dehydrated. The Bo-Kaap, however, is charming and leaves me wishing I had remembered to bring my camera. Not so charming was the pile of what I originally thought was sick but later transpired to be somebody’s dinner cast into the street. It was only identified as such because of the heavily spiced curry smell emanating from it but on the upside the seagulls seemed to be enjoying it.
One small stop at yet another church later we were finished and I ambled off to find an ice-cream and rest my legs. Cape Town is defiantly a place unlike anywhere else and a walking tour is probably the best way to experience its true essence. Just do yourself a favour and get some sleep before you try it.

With friends like these who needs anemones

2010-02-14T15:51:00.006+02:00

Walking on the beach in gumboots is bound to get you some strange looks especially since it was blazing hot and perfectly sunny. This morning I donned my polkadot gumboots and hit the rocks near St.James beach, camera in hand, to cover my first story as a journalist. It is hard hitting, it is serious, oh yes, its is for the Jellybean Journal of the Weekend Argus. Let me explain. The Jellybean Journal is the kids section of the weekend paper and our first real reporting assignment is to write a story for this supplement. My story covers what kids can expect to find in the rock pools around Cape Town and how to safely and responsibly explore them.
Since spring tide was this morning and with a distinct lack of suitors beating down my door to woo me, I spent my valentines making friends with anemones.
The locals sitting on the boardwalk must have thought they had hit the morning entertainment jackpot with me on the sliding around the rocky shore. Walking on the algae covered rocks(yes, seaweed is in fact a type of algae) with an expensive camera is no mean feat when you are as clumsy as I am. Luckily for my camera I value it more than my own body. Every time I slipped, and I slipped a lot, I made dam sure my body cushioned the fall of my precious camera. On the upside if you were artistically inclined towards blues and purples you might find considerable joy in the various colours of my somewhat spectacular bruises.

I cant share the story or photos from this storey with you until its published (or if its not). In the mean time here are some pictures I took from my balcony and also some from my friends farm out in Botriver... Enjoy!

The twilight view from my balcony... now who says newspapers don't look after their staff!?

The idea of looking through windows in old or abandoned buildings and using the empty frames to outline your photos is something I often experiment with.

Old farm implements always fascinate me

Lost Near the Sea...

2010-02-12T10:22:00.007+02:00

I like to think of myself as an acquired taste. Like olives or sushi... one of those things you either love or hate and often it takes some time for you to realise you like it at all. I have considerable trouble bonding with people when there is an entirely new crowd or I feel intimidated. Strangely this does not happen if I already know somebody in the group. This is why I love Johannesburg and would never leave. I have a great group of close friends and a large circle of not so close friends, in fact its been joked I know the entire Northern Suburbs of Johannesburg. This of course means I am able to throw legendary house parties and do so often!

The second week at the cadet school has been great with regards to work content but has been tough for reasons outlined above. The cadet school poses a challenge to me because its far away from my comfort zone and every person here is a stranger. I know I can be prickly and difficult if you don't know me because I don't have a brain mouth filter and I always say the wrong thing. People who know me understand this and know that I generally mean well. While I struggle to say what I mean, I never mean to offend or hurt anybody. I just hope the cadet school has more sushi and olive lovers than haters...

A biologist in the wrong habitat

2010-02-08T08:07:00.007+02:00

Following the underwear disaster of my first day at the journalism cadet school I thought that second day could only be an improvement. I was, however, sorely mistaken. I quickly found myself drowning in a sea of unfamiliar jargon and even failed a spelling test. A spelling test! Let me explain: I have not written or as was more often the case failed a spelling test since primary school where my pigtails and over sized dress made me so cute that the failed tests were quietly ignored as nobody could bear to shout at me. To make matters worse many of the other cadets seemed perfectly at home, while I felt like a biologist who had wandered out of her habitat and was now unable to survive in this new wholly unsuitable one.

Walking to work the following day I decided to adopt the Darwinian view with regards to my survival in the world of journalism. Adapt or die - although this usually refers to species as a whole over generations and not individuals I think it still applies here. Since I was not quite ready to let my budding career die out before it started, I set about the task of adapting. I found that I had to adapt the way I thought, I had to get used to not knowing what I was doing and realising that it was okay. In short it does not look like this biologist will be going extinct in the newsroom anytime soon... I even managed to pass the second spelling test!

Uncoperative underwear...

2010-02-03T18:37:00.003+02:00

If my life was ever made into a movie it would probably be a full length comedy with the lead somewhat resembling Bridget Jones. Take my first day at the journalism cadet school. Here stands polkadotgumboots, chatting politely to journalism staff and consuming canapes, as gracefully as possible, when suddenly there is an unpleasant twang. The waist band on my somewhat small underwear has snapped, I am in a dress and the offending item is now slowly slipping down my legs. I stand frozen for a moment while I contemplate my options. The room contains many of my future colleagues and superiors most of whom seem to be between me and the relative safety of the bathroom. In addition any sudden movements on my part will result in me standing sheepishly with my frilly smalls delicately sitting above my left ankle. Behind me is a bar stool that may offer just enough cover. I sidle, slowly, behind it and as nonchalantly as possible wiggle the underwear off and flick it quickly into my handbag. Success!

The day done I arrive at my accommodation thinking smugly about my discretion. The universe, however, has other plans for my dignity because as I lifted my suitcase from my car the wind flies up my skirt, revealing my naked buttocks. One surprised onlooker laughs and shouts 'Helloo there meisie... I liike what I seeee'.

The Cost of Dreaming

2010-01-24T11:02:00.004+02:00

Sometimes to follow one's dreams, one needs to make sacrifices. Sometimes they are small and sometimes they are not. The sacrifices that often end up being the most challenging are the ones you never expected to have to make. I knew leaving my friends and family to take part in the photojournalist training in Cape Town would be tough but I never expected the three month move would cost me my relationship.H8XS8J74KH2U

The Lost Tomorrow

Like the broken glass
upon the framed image of our lost tomorrow,
I too lie shattered.
Like the shards that pierce and wound
the unprotected skin of my unwary hand,
so snapshots of yesterday that rise
unbidden, tear at my existence.
The picture no more perfect, the protection now the danger
that future swept aside with the debris
while today waits
for a tomorrow that will never come.

Only the begining...

2009-12-26T19:50:00.010+02:00

It is easy to underestimate the power of a dream. Easy to brush away a whim and say it will never be of any consequence. It is easier still to underestimate yourself. When I started this journey I had no idea that it would soon become my reality. In six weeks time my journey truly begins as I take up a photojournalism internship. The very internship which sparked this blog and has featured much in my posts thus far. While I am filled with apprehension and I still doubt my ability to make it in such a tough industry, I intend to go for it with all I have.

I hope you will join me on this journey as I try to make it as a travel photojournalist and science writer. In the meantime I leave you with some images from my recent trip to the transkei...

There is more it than that...

2009-10-21T15:57:00.010+02:00

Rob Anybody -

Illustrated by Paul Kidby

http://www.paulkidby.net/

...

'Rob had mastered the first two rules of writing, as he understood them: 1) steal some paper 2) steal a pen. Unfortunately there was more to it than that'.

Sir Terry Practhett* - A Hat Full of Sky

...

As with many activities in life having the correct equipment does not necessarily mean you will be any good at it. Many people took great pains to stress this to me when I bought my SLR camera and announced I wanted to be a photojournalist. Like Rob I decided to try anyway... I am pleased to report that I have been shortlisted for a journalism cadetship based on my article 'The Namibia Shot' (See first post to this blog). Recently, upon hearing I wanted to pursue photojournalism, one of my ecology professors told me I should 'stick to the science '. My advice to him is ‘stick to the science’ and leave the advice up to those who know better .

...

*It never ceases to amaze me how well Terry Practhett understands the human condition. He so fundamentally understands humanity that he manged to produce a series of books where the world is flat, troll rights are an issue and death is a friendly skeleton, and yet manged to pass it off as a satire. Not only did he pull it off but he was knighted for his efforts. Incidentally Terry Practhett started out as a newspaper journalist. For more information on Terry Practhett and his books go to http://www.terrypratchettbooks.com/

What do you do when all your dreams come true?

2009-10-15T19:14:00.003+02:00

A while ago I was offered what I thought was the position of my dreams. A chance to study chilid fish in the African lakes... one catch I had to relocate to Grahamstown for about 8 years while I completed a masters and PhD. This is what what came out of that experience.

The thing about dreams is that deep down one never expects them to come true and if they do you never expect it to be a hard decision to follow them. But life is funny cause dreams are born in your mind and the half world between fantasy and reality. While you live on earth. A world of responsibility and practicality. A world of plans and people. If following your dreams means everything else changes, is it still your dream? Do you take the adventure, swallow your fears and forgo your plans to jump right in?Will you always regret it if you don't? And what of those dreams you sacrifice to make it happen? Do they fade away or will you always wonder what if? You never expect when all your dreams come true to be wondering what to do...

The Namibia Shot: from ecologist to photographer in a single frame

2009-09-25T15:09:00.001+02:00

Sunday to Friday Express. It was the name painted on the side the tour bus. The bus driver ironically seemed oblivious to the sign since, although it was Saturday, we were crossing Namibia’s vast gravel plains on route to Skeleton Coast National Park.
Starring out the window felt somewhat fruitless as all I could see was kilometre after kilometre of desolate plains. To pass the time I pulled out my camera and reviewed the last week’s worth of photographs. All I needed was one good shot for the assignment. Although I had over three hundred photographs of sand dunes, lizards and grass, none felt quite right.
The bus came abruptly to a halt. My first thought was that the bus driver had realised it was Saturday since we did not appear to have arrived anywhere in particular. As I stepped out the bus a wall of dense, hot air engulfed me. I looked around me, squinting in the bright desert light, and thought, ‘Great, more gravel’. Far in the distance I could see the edge of the northern dune sea. That was where we were heading. The Sunday to Friday Express, it seemed, would take us no further.
The steady, rhythmic crunching of stones beneath hiking boots was almost hypnotic. Half an hour later with the dunes seemingly no closer I stopped to catch my breath. Sunblock mingled with sweat dripping down my forehead making my eyes sting. As I lifted my shirt the wipe the moisture from my face, I noticed a small dead shrub out of the corner of my eye. This meagre, bare shrub was the only sign of plant life in sight. I bent to tie my bootlace while thinking about how one lone plant could have come to grow there at all. From my crouched position, I looked up once more at my shrub. It dawned on me suddenly that this was the shot. In the distance the dunes rose high above the gravel plains. My shrub was small yet strong against this backdrop. The colours appeared almost bleached contrasting the dark near black of my shrub whose branches mingled with their own shadows such that you could hardly tell which was which.
I lay down on the hard gravel and focussed my camera. The ground was searing hot and each sharp stone was like a tiny poker branding those exposed parts of my skin. Grimacing I took the shot. I knew I had it right before I even looked down at my camera’s review screen. This was Namibia in a single frame: harsh yet resilient and heartbreakingly beautiful. In that moment I knew I was going to need a bigger camera…