Sunday Morning View

Sunday morning, two weeks after my big move, I’m finally feeling capable of lying in and enjoying the view. The busy domestic in me has been tireless in sifting through boxes of papers and allsorts, collected in duration of 2 years. It’s amazing how many items one can amass in such a short period. That said, this is the first time I’ve unpacked my full collection since I lived at Margie’s in Cape Town well over a year ago!

A very large portion of my belongings were stored in an unused garage and were steeped in rainwaters from a faulty leak for a good portion of the rainy season. Imagine the tears, pulling out all of my teaching resources and books, notations on birds, wooden spoons, journals, and clothing…sopping wet and full of mildewed stains and damage. I’ve managed to reclaim a lot; the rest I just have to let go. Miraculously, my artwork remains in minted condition - someone’s reminder to me to be glad for what I do have.

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Upon returning to South Africa, after my three-week trip home to the USA, I also find myself “at home” here. The caw of the guinea fowl at night and the hum of the morning doves are all part of the greater landscape. The sweeping of the dust from my floors, although constant, feels effortless and normal. The nightly ritual of closing all the windows and curtains to keep the bugs out is just another part of the everyday fabric.

However, my transition to a new space brings with it new delights, marvels and intrigue. A selection of the new sounds and textures and societies: The screeching of an owl or bat or mouse (?) that consistently scares the dickens out of me at night. Soft, sinkable earth out the front door. The music-drowning sound of rain on a tin roof during a storm and the music-forming tinkle of a tin roof drizzle. Sunken mud roads, closed from heavy rain. New grass roads, full of the tickle of long grass on my car’s underbelly and the THUNK of hitting a porcupine hole. The smell of grass at the start of an evening rain. The odour of bog after too much downpour. The morning rumble of the tractors. The flapping of wings when startling a flock of birds. The ever-present call of “shannono” from my new neighbours, Mahase (12), Mammekie (9), Kathleho (5) and Bulelane (2). The thinly worn textiles of my neighbours’ blouses and trousers, pitted with holes, bosoms and shoulders hanging out through the weave. The daily clicking of clippers on the hedges or tin being tinkered-with on the chicken coup by Ntate Fezile, tending his family’s garden. The relentless quest for work and money from this new community. The polka-dotted patterning of the path from my house to the arts centre, formed by very busy ants in the freshly turned soil. And, of course, the cry of the roosters.

More than anything, I am enjoying being the master of my domain. After living with another family for 6 months, I am relishing being in my own kitchen, drawing lines in the dirt for my upcoming garden, having a separation of my office from my home space, and delighting in the independence to listen to any-type of music at all levels of sound. I think the lack of personal space from the past half-year had a larger impact on me than I ever realized. I treasure this moment to be on my own.