Category Archives: African
turbulent saudade
Ver and Ah
Like a thousand times before in my life, I stood on the verandah.
I overlooked a flourishing green garden that could creditably claim the term ‘Lebensraum.’ An Olympic stone throw away gaps between the trees provided glimpses of the mountains in the distance.
One could mistakenly say that I was looking, but I wasn’t entirely just seeing something ahead of me. It was a seeing, – but more in a knowing way seeing in my mind, – all that what was around me, even assuming a deep metaphysical dimension too. I saw with my mind’s eye, – that eye, which adds imagination to vision, – in parallel to my real eyes that were somewhat inexplicably staring in a removed way, out of focus from reality.
A pronounced and conscious experience of the present unfolded itself. An enamored bond, – of having been here in this exact location a thousand times before, thinking similar thoughts, – enacted itself like a ritual. A magnetic attraction to a place of origin pulled me along.
In case you wondered, I was not having the cognitive experience of let’s say a visitor who comes with a fresh, curious and receptive look.
I was in reflecting mode and felt encouraged with hope as I stood on the open verandah, refreshed deep down into my soul by the view directly into nature. However, I was also prone to flooding by emotional thought drowning from the weight of the intensity of my imagination reliving events.
At the opposite extreme was a determination and belief that my reality is adjustable to my wishes and dreams, perhaps whims too, if I can only get in touch with this inner being called ‘Life.’
The land of nature presented a captivating view.
Grass spread like a living, deep-pile carpet towards bushes and shrubs giving way to trees sloping gently down towards a river hidden from view. There was an un-invaded openness and the occasional hill posing like a sentinel, – guarding the dragon mountains that pronounced themselves behind the horizon on a background of the deepest blue sky, smudged with white blobs and the dew point flirting with ambient temperature in the creation of a baby called Rain.
An inner turbulence of Saudade, – a melancholic hue with a cloudy patch of shadowy sadness and an indeterminate incompleteness, was in abstract contrast to the warmth and light of the late summer’ midday.
The summer-rain latitudes express boundless gratitude with profuse growth and breathless beauty in nature. A thousand colors pinked and perfumed with Double Delight and Mint, with touches of plumbago blue, bottlebrush red, cumulus white and Chinese-lantern orange, escalating into undocumented green presentations beyond the scope and comprehension of mere definition. Thoughts were punctuated by the melodious call of the Black-headed Oriole and the announcement of the Red-chested Cuckoo with long moments of haa-haa-haa-de-dah of the Hadeda’s, awakening the last slumbering senses.
Memory was choreographed against a scenery of unrestraint growth painted with the tincture of eons of existence and strains of loose imagination. Events re-lived themselves as if their stories had to be highlighted once more and gain attention, connecting the thread of existence with the fabric of eternity, materializing in this unique present. An invitation to re-read the past with the lantern of ‘now’
(‘now,’ this whole, current cognitive, conscious awareness experience a human has: re-inventing itself periodically through subconscious actions on a different level to the physical, with emotional, compassionate and passionate growth)
illuminating pages hitherto less exposed, their meaning obscured until now, as the dots of life started connecting through lines: revealing a path, pointing to a purpose, exposing a gift, – presenting a meaningful picture that quite naturally highlighted and indicated a preference. The invocation of one’s creative spirit in a way that kindles meaning and brings benefit and pleasure to all concerned.
(There are many rituals, ideas, substances, practices to invoke the spirit – ideally find your own)
Everything rhymed in colorful poetry as nature’s hormones reacted to a dose of growth-vaccination in the form of heavenly water.
Remembering became an act of adding content to what seemed an immutable forest on the canvas of life by superimposing events sometimes so grossly out of touch with the underlying reality that they created a contrasting inset of disharmonic visual irritation. When the drive to understand life is also an incognito mission to retain sanity, then answers are essential for maintaining stability. They provide views through a stabilized gyroscope in the turbulence of Saudade. Answers are the voices in our silent universe of thought and they are the conversation that leads to more enlightenment and knowing.
For the 1001’s time I am standing on the verandah, – once again looking for knowing and starting the ritual from the beginning, accompanied by a deep sense of feeling.
Signed
Mel an’ Choly
Longshadow serenade
Longshadow
You’re never alone. Not in the winter season. There’s always a shadow around.
Sunrise is two hours later and sunset is two hours earlier. It doesn’t sound like much but it’s four hours less sunshine a day or four hours more no-sunshine. Whichever way you prefer.
Far more obvious to me though is the path of the sun through the sky, and you can call me a liar, but I’m not far off when I say that it sets in the north and not in the west.
It rises dead-on in the east, shines into my kitchen, skips the centre of the zenith above entirely, and heads straight for the north. In that process the shadows get no break, being stretched to the limit from dawn to dusk, and then they work overtime deep into the night because the lights are switched on early.
For me, there is something incredibly magical about winter here in South Africa. I mean hey, you can run around barefoot, in shorts and t-shirt most of the time and get a tan and hardly work up a sweat. You can make a lunch time braai and relax because the next thunderstorm is still three months away. And no, a braai is not a barbeque! That is some American grill-thingy using gas, burgers, and sausages. We use wood from our gardens to make a fire and then braai on the coals and the carnivores here eat real meat like beef and not that refined supermarket mash of dubious origin.
It’s the best time of year to see the animals in the bush because the grass has stopped growing and the foliage thins out and everyone enjoys the sunshine.
It’s the safari season.
Far away
Shiraz and Famous Grouse
Idol of any cat
The ancient dust of Africa is like an aphrodisiac to the soul and winter is the druggiest time. The mornings might touch freezing and early afternoons can reach +30C (+86F). Such are the extremes that await and bewitch the courageous adventurer.
Another log on the smoldering coals, an old kettle boiling the coffee and puffing away, woodsmoke, and coffee smell, you’ve come to the right address.
Old kettle, fresh coffee
Unbelievably so the Lion’s Tail or Wild Dagga as it is also called here, Dagga being the local name for Marijuana, is a huge attraction for the most magnificent, colorful Sunbirds.
Amethyst-sunbird
Greater-Double-collared-Sunbird
Sunbird’s heaven, Leonotis leonurus
Winter in these parts of Africa is just summer in another way. It is a Longshadow serenade. Even some of the roses bloom and bees buzz around. While some deciduous trees leaf and the grass might go brown in patches from the morning frost, the sky is a bright, light blue and the clear nights bring infinity onto my doorstep. Did I hear paradise? At least until the next cold front.
South Africa what a beautiful home!
Amethyst-sunbird http://www.wildlife-pictures-online.com
Greater Double-collared Sunbird http://www.theflacks.co.za
African summer morning
It is truly summer now on the southern tip of Africa.
Daytime temperatures have broken the 38C (100F) numerous times already.
Yesterday was another one of those hot days.
Suddenly, as if I have missed a month or two, the sun has nearly reached its southern most point, the tropic of Capricorn, also called the summer solstice.
At five in the morning she rises into the coolness, 20C (68F), of the waning night, greeted by the red-chested Cuckoo’s call and the laughing doves cu-cu-roo-cuuing while the southern Boubou entices her with his melodious voice. It is not a silent time and yet it is a quiet time. Wagtails, Robins, Thrushes, Bulbuls, Sparrows, Masked Weavers, Amethyst Sunbirds and Hadeda’s abound. The swallows are doing acrobatics in the sky. A faint breeze rustles the green leaves as they catch the first rays of sun. The lawn is refreshingly wet and cool to walk on barefoot and all the birds find something on the green carpet or in the bushes to eat. I sit by my fountain like I did last night when it was illuminated by solar light and I let the new day dawn on me. Each drop of water brings the sun higher into the sky.
It is a glorious time of the year.
The garden is expressing its joy in the most wonderful colours and shapes. If someone would ask me if green is one of the primary colours I would absolutely affirm it, and yet red, yellow and blue are.
Days flow into nights and into days again as summer winds its magic through our lives. The fountain of summer gives abundantly as if to say, “Drink to your hearts content, my partner the winter is having a rest.” Disbelieving I look at the garden that there once was winter where now there is not even a memory of it anymore. Such is life. Thankfully I embrace the summer and forget the winter. Thankfully I remember the good times and mostly forget the bad and difficult ones.
As I take a deep sip from my cool jug of water I feel life invigorating me and summer blessing me. If I had nothing and was given a chance to choose amongst many things I would choose summer first and then everything else. What would life be without the beauty and fruition of summer? Nature knew all too well that summer days should be the longest days of the year.
Give me sixty hours in a summer day and I will write you poetry for fifty-nine the other hour I will sing to you as I prepare another rhyme My words like a mountain stream will flow and their story breathlessly embraces you summer days and summer nights will glow now that I've found what I know is true Give me ninety hours in a summer day and I will play for eighty-nine one hour lovingly I will fill my heart sending you this dearest gift of mine My eyes in awe another summer day will see and every moment addictively I fill my soul summer, without you I could never be you give my life, a reason and a goal Give me a lifetime of summer days I would dream for all but one One day I would spend in gratitude Wishing you are never gone
rainy season starting
Sooo much water everywhere…not far from Lake Tanganyika
Close to the source of the Kalungwishi river, feeder to the spectacular Lumangwe and Kabweluma Falls
Well it’s drying time again I have to air you…this time in Kasanka
There is something captivating about the rainy season. Something so unbelievable when one has travelled during the dry and dusty winter. It is undoubtedly the most beautiful time of year when nature is so alive with variety and beauty that you are stumped to silence.
You also get wet. Oh boy do you get wet. And muddy. And your vehicle will never be the same again. And everything you ever owned is damp. And there are leaks and drips were never leaks and drips have ever been before. There are so many shades of green you’d think green couldn’t be any greener. Clouds don’t just cover the sky they cover your whole universe and they are so majestic you feel so honoured by their presence even if they bring more rain. And roads are rivulets and and when the sun peeps out you think a miracle has happened.
Forget about the hardship. Forget about wearing shoes. Run around in swimming trunks and windbreaker and hat. Have ten towels close by because each is more wet than the other no matter which one you take. So what! Have you ever experienced something like that? Africa in the rainy season blows various circuits in your brain. It’s something we don’t usually do but we should. The beauty about those latitudes is that it doesn’t get that cold with the rain, still, find your driest wet jacket with hoody for extra comfort. Oh yes, don’t even think of anything less than Mud Terrain tires, diff locks on both axles and a serious winch and umbrellas, biscuits and hot coffee.
true Africa beating
Your 4×4 is standing and gathering dust. Your heart is restless. The you hear about Zambia.
Zambia is the forest butterfly of Africa. A magnificent and beautiful country with the friendliest, peaceful people in Africa.
There’s been no civil war, uprising or fighting in a century.
Its geographic shape looks like a butterfly and only the DRC, Sudan and Angola have more forest, as referenced here. Zambia has twenty national parks, marked in green on the map, of which Kafue National Park to the left is by far the largest with 22k Square kilometres.
Of the twenty parks ten have management structures of various forms and the rest are gems waiting to be saved.
When you yearn for Africa the Kafue answers.
The Kafue is also Zambia’s oldest park. It still lacks somewhat in infrastructure to other parks and the roads suggest a robust and four-wheel drive vehicle. This is of course all the more attractive for those escaping from tourist spots and civilisation in general, wishing to experience the raw pulse of Africa. Large unexplored tracts of virgin bush with a huge diversity in bird and wildlife put it on the list of ‘must experience’ places in Africa. It is a difficult place to navigate in the rainy season with black cotton soil, lots of water and most camps closed.
decadence
Oh man it’s spring in Africa. It’s hot again and the garden is full of greens and colour.
Spring brings with it Thirst among many other, dare I whisper, ‘pleasurable things’ – after the dry winter eternity of about three months of pure cloudless sunshine.
Decadence now stares me in the face every time I open the fridge and see another ice-cold bottle of white wine as if to say, “You are complaining about your life bru?”
“Brother, ‘No,’ I have converted Nothing into gratitude and not a syllable of moan shall cross my lips ever again!”
~Nothing, clueless & lost~ 