Forest Fire

 

The animals twitched their noses, some turning towards the smell of smoke. The older ones gathered the youth around them. The rabbits hopping around stopped to sniff the air to find the direction of safety. The leader of the group found the safe passage and as he was rounding up the family a herd of springbok bounced past heading in the right direction. Mice were also gathering, squeaking directions to the rest of their horde.

Soon the forest was alive with animals running towards safety. The smell of the fire became more intense as it progressed towards them. An elephant stopped and trumpeted to his herd. The females surrounded the young ones, edging them all to safety.

Soon all had made it to the clearing by the dam. It was a wonderful sight to see. Enmity was forgotten in the midst of the danger. Mortal enemies stood tightly together, united in their fear of fire and the fire continued to eat up the forest.

© Vera Alexander

Living behind a mask by Frances Roberts

It's a whole new world living behind a mask. To make mine more interesting I cut out a template, copied off Google, and, digging through my large collections of fabric scraps, cut out four. I sewed them and attached the elastic. One pink mask, one green, one blue, and one yellow. I wash them after each time they come off my face.

I quite like the mystery of masks. It's no longer, “How are you?” when you see a pair of half familiar looking eyes, but “Who are you?” I'm sad to say the eyes do not always have it, and the hair may have changed its color, shape, or length.

There's also the risk of giving offense to a dear friend as you sail past him or her in the shopping mall. But there are more upsides than you can poke a stick at. Just think about it. No more colds and flu, after queuing at the hypermarket on a patch marked STAND HERE, no germs flying up your nose as you jostle your trolley through the narrow aisles at Checkers in search of a two-for-the-price-of-one bargain. The coughing, the sneezing and guttural clearing of throats are no more a threat to your health: the dreaded virus has no chance of sailing up your nostrils and creeping its way down into your lungs. Your mask is a brave soldier, guarding your fragile immune system from all attacks. You can safely hum Amazing Grace as you wander along the avenues in the Botanic Gardens, inhaling the sweet scent of jasmine near the sunken garden or rosemary or lavender as you wander past the herb garden, touching their leaves briefly and holding them close to your face.

Life with a mask has its humorous moments. I sometimes find myself halfway to the shops without a mask, having forgotten to put the spare back in the cubbyhole after washing it. Worse still I arrive at a shop’s entrance blissfully unaware of my naked face. I’m brought up short by the sanitizer-wielding guard who refuses to allow me in to buy a mask. How reassuring to then enter a nearby coffee shop, ask if they would sell me one, only to be given a clean mask from a pack by a gracious waitron.

How easy it is to avoid your grouchy Uncle Percy when you catch sight of the wispy fringe around his bald pate. What fun to just sit and sip your freshly brewed mocha java at the Mug and Bean and contemplate the lives of the customers as they wander in, sanitize, sit themselves down, study the menu, and place their orders. When you finally reach the shelf where milk is stored no one no one can hear your muttered curses as you find that the dairy section has reached its looting zenith. And you must try another shop or shopping center, or go home and do without it.

Storms by Nicola Rodda

There is a storm raging within me. Or rather, there is a whole weather system of storms, all of which are separate fragments of a greater whole. The members of my inner family are changing. I’m not sure if maturing is the correct description, but definitely changing – just like storms and weather systems do with time, sometimes with frightening speed.

Officially, my inner family goes by the label of dissociative identity disorder – or multiple personality disorder, if you prefer the older, more melodramatic name. To me, it is not disorder at all. It is a clever trick of my mind that allows several individual storms to occur simultaneously without allowing the overall weather system that is me to escalate into an all-destroying cyclone. Perhaps a series of tsunamis would be a better analogy. It is the children of my inner family that are storming right now, the ones that hold the individual slices of my childhood self which would obliterate me if I were to try to hold them together simultaneously in the greater reality that is the adult me.

Why the multiple storms? Why now?

There was the writing of that letter to my father which my therapist set me as homework; the letter that would allow my inner little girls to place the blame for what happened to them squarely on my father’s shoulders, where it belongs; the letter that would allow them to begin to feel and express the anger they felt towards him. Sounds simple, yet like in so many cases of therapy homework over the years, it has plunged them and hence me into this weather system of swirling individual and interlinked tempests.

The therapist is new to me, and I to her, so she is still getting used to me, and especially to my inner family. She is feeling her way through the revelation of how easy it is to pitch its components into parallel, and sometimes conflicting, spirals of turmoil. No wonder she has to write so furiously on her notepad when we meet. Lots to keep track of. The children can be confusing, even to me. As with all children, whether in the outer or in an inner world, they are constantly changing focus, speaking over each other, jumping from one part of each of their stories to another, often without any apparent logical connections. That, with the added complication of the release of repressed memories through the children - those disjointed fragments which pose so many questions. Which parts are semi-objective truth, if such a thing exists? Which parts are the imaginative attempts of a child to make sense of overwhelming and often terrifying sensations and experiences which she has neither the knowledge to understand nor the language to express?

Beyond that, there is always the frightening prospect that none of it represents any true experience of mine at all; the prospect that I and my therapists – the new one and her predecessor – have made it all up out of some perverted thirst for sympathy and attention on my part, and for professional validation on theirs. After all, there have been those around me who have tossed the label “false memory syndrome” around with a firm sense of security in their superior knowledge and understanding of how these things work, regardless of the extent of their psychological training – or lack of it. Foremost among them was my then husband, who eventually found my divided self too much to live with, and left. But he was far from alone. There are plenty of “normal” people out there, including in my ever-shrinking circle of friends, who find the concept of an attention-seeking histrionic fake far more comfortable to comprehend than the mind-bending possibility that both the multiplicity of me and the years of abuse that created it, are in fact true. No small wonder, then, that periodically I commit the traitorous act of doubting my inner family and wondering whether, just maybe, I am a far simpler case of outright insanity.

Storm by Peter Moni

This takes me back to 1980 when I joined a family friend, Lee McGregor. He was a Springbok swimmer in the backstroke at school and his career began when he was still 15. In the days because of sports isolation, he did not go to the Olympics or any major sporting competitions. But when allowed he excelled and did well. Lee left school at the end of standard eight, coming from a tradesman family. His father, Bill owned a very successful excavation business. He levelled the playing fields at school gratis and for nothing. This was my alma mater St. David's College, Inanda in Sandton. From this point onwards Lee became a professional swimmer. Taking part in events in the US at the university level, and he achieved great success.

I was to run into Lee about 15 years later, when he had returned to Cape Town with this yacht, Stormkaap. This was an ocean-going keelboat, with a wooden hull a classic racer. This yacht did leisure cruising in the Caribbean. The cruising season in the Caribbean is a full summer fun program. Families charter the boat. The guests decided the route and itinerary. Lee and his wife and crew did the rest. Normally, you collect the guests in Miami and the cruise begins.

During the winter, he would sail up and down the East Coast of the US sightseeing with his wife and family. In 1979, during winter, he returned to Cape Town with Stormkaap, to refurbish the butt. Up to that period, there was a fair bit of work that they need to do to bring the yacht up to standard. Lee McGregor's father Bill was getting on in years, and he wanted Lee to come into the business. Still financed by his dad he was now at the crossroads. Sell the yacht and return to Durban to take over the reins of the business.

It was at this point that I met up with Lee again, one of the dreams he had was to take part in the Cape to Rio race of 1980. A precursor of this race was the Cape Agulhas race. A successful Cape Agulhas race would mean automatic entry to the Cape to Rio. We prepared for the race and took part. As always in those days of keelboat racing, the favourite yacht was Voortrekker. Sailed by the Bertie Reed. This yacht also had a long history of success in ocean-going racing. A yacht prepared by the SA Navy and always very competitive.

The race started at midday in Cape Town and we set sail to round the Cape of Good Hope heading for a turnaround beacon in Mossel Bay. The Cape of Good Hope, otherwise known as the Cape of Storms was very calm that he and he decided on a course where we would sell close to landfall and was his experience. He guided us through some very tricky waters, avoiding the rocks as he rounded the Cape. This did give us a decided advantage, Voortrekker had decided to take the longer route around the Cape of Good Hope and we gained a big advantage.

In preparing for this event and knowing where we were sailing. We had to prepare for the worst weather conditions. So we packed all our heavy weather gear and prepared for the worst. The sailing went well and at nightfall around 20h00 hrs we could see the black clouds gathering out to sea and the wind started to pick up. Within half an hour we were now faced with a raging storm and thank goodness for the heavy weather gear. As the night went on, it raged with all hands on deck. We worked with the hatches battened down to avoid any water flooding into the boat. This carried on until about 04h00 hrs the next morning. If you're a good sailor in a storm, you have a great advantage. Lee understood this heavy weather and handled it well. We were well on course, but as quick as this storm came up, it disappeared. Come the sunrise and the wind went with it. Leaving us completely becalmed off Cape Agulhas, the crew one by one disappeared.

We had to forgo our dinner in this stormy weather. The crew exhausted, wet and hungry went to eat before retiring to bed. They all one by one disappeared. Leaving me to watch the sunrise and I was quite shattered with this responsibility. Now having to navigate this yacht further with no wind, and no one to help. The sunrise dried the boat and it started to warm up and I was now able to remove my heavy weather gear. When the crew came back on board, they had no idea what happened whilst they were sleeping. They looked at me in astonishment when I said I was hungry and I needed to rest.

The weather for the rest of the race was great. The wind returned. The rains disappeared and we rounded our buoy in Mossel Bay, at 20h00 hrs. - Third in line and we were about two hours ahead of Voortrekker. This meant another 20 hours of sailing and we needed to keep this advantage. We made sure that we keep ahead of Bertie Reed. He was also keen to catch us. And so for the rest of the race, we concentrated and whilst Voortrekker reduced the margin. We still happened to finish the race in Simonstown, about an hour ahead of Voortrekker.

© Peter Moni

The First Visit by Terry Ross

On the day Burrow walked in, Ashlee was standing, twiddling thumbs, tense for the next crazy, for the next someone who's twisted, watch spring-coiled mind she'd have to unknit with probing, psychological fingers. His cologne seemed to cut the office air in two, something that seemed to rush her, as if to announce him because he didn't know how to do it himself. She heard the click and clang of cuffs and his service weapon on his belt, his boots a steady, determined march. 

She couldn't meet him eye-to-eye, so she got up and walked round her desk to shake his hand instead to get a better measure of his vibe - the undercurrents that made him him. She felt him as she got nearer, a storm brewing, his breaths splitting the silence like the wind that builds, ready to become a tornado. 

"Morning, Doctor," he said, his shirt sleeve rustling as his hand extended to grip and almost crush her gentle one in a firm, dry grip. 

"Officer," she said. 

"You got demoted, huh?" 

"Yeah, well. Step on some toes, and that foot's gonna lash out." 

"And where'd that foot land?" 

"All over, Doctor. They kicked me all over." 

"Well," she said, turning her back on him to walk back to her desk, letting him observe her confidence, "Sit your butt down and lets pull out our mental plasters, bru."

© Terry Ross

 

 

Storm

 

The cat sat in the window fascinated by the lightning flashes. He watched as the world became brighter for a brief second. The thunder was rumbling a soft accompaniment to the light show. All at once a giant clap of thunder followed by a huge fork of lightning disturbed the peace. He bolted and hid under the lounge chair, eyes wide with fear. This was not what he ordered he seemed to say.

I smiled and tried to coax him out from under the chair but he just stared at me with pupils distended.

Vaguely my grandmother’s words came to me.

“When a storm comes you must close all windows and curtains. If you don’t a bolt of lightning will enter the home and fly around inside and you had better not be in its path.”

Keeping these words in mind I went around the house closing windows and curtains. My mind grappled with a memory, trying to remember what this phenomena was called. St Elmo’s Fire seemed to come to mind.

She also warned of using water during a thunder storm. No bathing or showering or even turning a tap on for a glass of water.

She was very threatened by storms and would sit still in one place clutching her hands together close to her body until the storm passed.

I often wondered why. What experience did she have when she was young to make her this scared? I asked her once and she just shook her head as tears sprang into her eyes. I learned to just sit close to her while talking in a soft low voice to try to distract her from the heavenly sounds. She would talk when she was ready.

As soon as the storm passed she became my strong Granny again, scared of nothing and no one and giving sass when needed. It was strange to think that a few moments previously she had been a quivering mess.

© Vera Alexander

The Green Dress

The emerald green dress sparkled in the shop window. Laura stood mesmerised. It was beautiful. She moved slightly to the left, then slightly to the right, fascinated by the sparkles as she moved. She could only imagine how it would look as she moved around in it. She knew it would bring out the green of her eyes and complement her auburn hair. She always looked good in green.

She didn’t have to check her wallet or her bank cards. She just knew that she couldn’t afford it as no price was displayed. They do that so you won’t be put off before entering the store. Once in, they had you, if not for that dress then maybe another sale could happen.

Laura was shopping for a new, hopefully stunning and reasonable outfit for a hot date to a larny event.

She braved the doorway and made her way in. An assistant came up to her and snootily looked down her nose.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes please. I would like to try on that dress in the window.”

With an audible sigh the assistant went to the rack and extracted two dresses.

“I wasn’t sure of your size but you can see which fits.”

Laura grabbed the dresses and went in to the change room.

When she came out the assistant gasped. The gasp was echoed as a man stepped out of the office. Laura was startled as she had not known he was there.

“Oh my dear, I never thought my creation would look so good. Come, come to me. Turn around. Oh so lovely.”

“Yes, but how much? I love it and am so scared I can’t afford it.”

“Is it for a special date?”

“Yes. It’s a larny occasion with a hot date.”

“I tell you what. I’ll give it to you.”

“Oh no! I couldn’t possibly accept.”

“Yes you can. You will do something for me. I’m Njabula I own this store and I design the dresses. You will wear it to that event and to any other place you choose. When people compliment you, you will tell them where you got it and that Njabula will design anything they need just as Njabula designed this dress for you. It’s a bit of a lie but when I see you in it, I realise I did design it for you. You are beautiful my darling and I know you are going to help get my name out there.”

Laura blushed and shyly accepted the offer.

The Stranger

I stood on the deck of the cruise ship. The wind blowing through my carefully coiffured hair. For once this did not worry me. I enjoyed feeling the wind’s fingers caressing my scalp as all the tension in my body melted away. I had come to the deck seeking a solution to my problems. If none was presented then a quick slip over the railings and I would be free.

The wind was now like a soft caress. My face was gently fingered and the stress lines on my face were softened.

I watched the sea as the wake of the boat caused white droplets to fly to freedom. If only that was possible. Freedom. Freedom from all the nonsense that surrounded my life.

I was suddenly aware that I was no longer alone. A gentleman dressed in white stood next to me.

“This is the life,” he said.

My eyes narrowed as I turned to face him “If you say so,” I said snidely.

“Yes I do. The wind, the sea, the peace and tranquillity. It is all there for you to take into your being, into your life.”

“What do you know of my life?” I asked still uptight about his intrusion.

“You have problems that need a solution,” he said.

“How can you presume I have problems?”

“Everyone has problems. It is what makes us appreciative of all we have.”

“You talk in riddles,” I complained.

“Not so,” he replied. “Look at the sea, look far to the horizon, It appears that sea and sky are one. It is hard to see the defining lines. When we stand inside a problem or problems we cannot distinguish where the problem ends and our quiet life takes over. We need to step back, immerse ourselves in nature, in the universe and then our problems will appear so insignificant.”

“Some are overwhelming,” I muttered.

“I’m sorry that you are overwhelmed. Instead of giving yourself to the sea let’s see how the sea can help you.”

“What do you mean giving myself up to the sea?”

“If you slip into the sea you will leave your problems to be picked up by friends and family.”

“I’m not thinking that,” I said defensively.

“Really?” he replied and then fell silent.

He stared at the sea and sky and I was struck by his serene face.

The silence stretched between us until I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Okay. You are right. I have insurmountable problems.”

“No problem is insurmountable. You are making the mistake of looking at everything and finding a solution to nothing.”

I turned to him and his outline seemed to be shimmering and I was struck by his clothes. Before I had just seen white now I saw that he was dressed in a type of robe. Not the sort of attire that suited a cruise ship but on him it sat well.

Before I fully realised what I was doing I asked “So what do you suggest?”

“Think of one problem. Only one. Don’t allow the others to plague you. Now close your eyes and listen to your breath. Calm it down. The slower it is the clearer your insight will be. Look at the problem from all sides while you relax and breathe.”

A few seconds later he urged me to open my eyes and look at the horizon.

“There is a saying that on a clear day you can see forever. It is clear today, can you see right through your problem?”

“I think so. It may take a lot of work but I think so.”

“Things that come easily are never appreciated. Okay select another problem and let’s do the exercise again.”

He led me to the solution without even knowing the problem. This happened a third and a fourth time but when I opened my eyes he was no longer there but I got a whisper on the wind “You can do this.”

© Vera Alexander