South Africa: Rubber necks, stiff backs

We flew out of Cape Town at 22:40, 22 degrees, into a typical January London morning — 3 degrees, dense low cloud, people shuffling around trying to hold their colds at bay. Now back in the UK, and wallowing in seemingly unimited bandwidth, it seems the main problem about South Africa is also its greatest joy — it's a long way away.

It’s been a wonderful experience for us both, out of which it would be good this week to share a few photos and some larger questions South Africa raised for me. Today, hacking through a forest of emails and gunk, a few orientation pictures of the Cape Peninsular, including some animate and inainamte animals, that demonstrate how everything seems technicolor in clean air, especially in midsummer.

Rubbernecking the Rainbow Nation

About fifteen months ago, Lucy and I were bounced off a flight to Chicago by overbooking. But being jolly decent people, Virgin Atlantic offered us a deal. Go next day, and they offered us two tickets anywhere in the world, except Australia (They don’t own Australia, the lady said. Murdoch does? I wondered). If not our Oyster, the world was to be, for a week, perhaps, some other kind of rubbernecked bivalve mollusc.

2009 was our silver wedding anniversary year, and the kids put on a brilliant do for us at home. We could go somewhere together on our own, for the third time in 25 years.

We had two nights away from home for our tenth anniversary, with a working trip to India for Schools development in 2007.


So, with a world to choose from (except Australia), we chose Cape Town. Two of the most influential people in my young life (he said unpretentiously) had strong associations with Cape Town — the teacher who taught me how to read a poem, and my research supervisor at Oxford. We’d never been. Now we had nothing to lose but our children... for a week. Witha little help from our friends, Bob was our Uncle. Or Richard, perhaps. This week finds us rubbernecking, not writing postcards (too lazy) but with the opportunity to put an few pictures on the blog.

We begin almost overwhelmed by a beautiful country in midsummer, still very much under construction, but with everything to play for. There's a lot of beauty around us, and a vibrancy in the air.

The challenges are considerable, though, including the way it’s becoming a magnet, or lightning conductor, or something like that for all of Africa — its refugees, its resources, its challenges.

Surprises await around every corner. I’ve never seen a harbour as full of seals, not only rolling around just under the surface, but sitting only a few feet away from people, slobbing about. They also do a particularly nifty line in what looks like Synchronised Swimming, sticking their flippers in the air in a kind of mock-Jaws impersonation that probably cools them down, or warm them up, or something. It entertained us anyway...

Out of Africa: Toxic Prawn Cocktail

Neill Blomkamp’s District 9, now available on DVD, is original, thought provoking, and unforgettable, even for non sci-fi wonks. Movie Aliens have clasically taken various ingenious forms — killer tomatoes, fifty foot women, even a bloke in a gorilla suit with a diving helmet. Since Close Encounters of the Third Kind, however, most regular aliens have had smooth ectoplasmic bodies and almond eyes. Men In Black introduced a telling variation — jumbo cockroaches, with feelers, manners and mores to match.

Here’s an easy one for your next pub quiz: What country does Wikus van der Merwe come from? Answer: Wikus and his lovely blonde wife come from the right end of the spectrum of the Rainbow Nation. Wikus isn’t embarrassingly bright, but he is married to the daughter of his boss, a Pik Botha lookalike bald meany. Wikus he has been given a big job by his employer, a government agency called MNU, to clear prawns from District 9.

But I’m running ahead of myself. A bunch of aliens has landed. It’s come, obviously, from a galaxy far far away — they always do. Their ship is all smooth white metal, neat pipes and designer bumps on the outside, but on the inside it’s worse than a teenager’s bedroom — literally indescribable, so I won’t try. The ship may have broken down, or perhaps not. The aliens themselves are slightly mellowed Men in Black insectoid.

They came to Johannesburg, but Johannesburg received them not. Or rather, Johannesburg received them in its own inimitable way, by piling them behind a concrete wall into a shanty town called District 9, for a bit of separate development. That don’t seem particularly friendly, but on the plus side, the locals have christened their uninvited guests “Prawns.” I could watch this film all day for the sheer pleasure of hearing the word pronounced in fullest rolling Afrikaans. “Prawns.” Say it loud and a brass band’s playing. Say it soft and it’s almost like braying...

District 9 contains all kinds of people you wouldn’t want your daughter to date, from Wikus’ dim freebooting mercenaries to a bunch of unpleasant Nigerians who do various nasty, occasionally violent, scams involving raw meat. When not otherwise employed, we assume they send out emails al over the world telling people they’ve won a million dollars.

The Prawns have outstayed their welcome, and the government has built them a lovely new concentration camp up country. Unfortunately, the little Blighters don’t know a good thing when they see it, and Wikus is the man to win them, and their wives and kiddies, over. Soon disturbing evidence begins to emerge that they have been cooking up a few little surprises of their own.

A sharp script and taut handling prevents the transitions from action flick to mockumentary clunking, and good humoured gags abound throughout. Some more humourless Nigerians will not find them all funny, but this is an outstanding film, with a significant message to ponder about how people handle difference. District 9 proves it is possible to make a first class movie for only 30 million dollars, and get it all back on your opening weekend in the US. Perhaps the film industry has a future, after all. I’m giving it nine and a half out of ten.

Two Real World Interludes

As someone who leads a strictly non-profit, but I hope not entirely unproftable, life, I don’t do advertising, but my eye was caught by the Trail of Hope. In a year Slumdog drew attention to Indian Streetkids, two friends from South Africa have hatched a vision for creating a community of Capetown’s homeless young people, under the auspices of the MyLife foundation. Albert Arcona and Tendai Joe are riding motorbikes from Capetown to London this autumn, taking in various sights along the way — the HIV/AIDS context mkes the need particularly acute, and anyone interested in Streetkids, Zimbabwe, South Africa, could well want to be part of this project.

Meanwhile, Beyond the Fringe taught us there is a time in any struggle when a pointless gesture is called for. As thousands take to the streets of Tehran, there are not many oogedy boogedy Ayatollahs using Twitter, but we know many democracy campaigners are. If they open the main Twitter stream, which we know they are using as a significant tool in getting and keeping their act together, and see a large number of green avatars, they know they are not alone, and have an instant database of overseas friends and allies.

The proposal is that anyone anywhere else in the world who supports Iranian democracy can “Green their Avatar” to show solidarity and support to people who need it, when they need it. So, that’s my futile gesture for a bit. I'm greening my Twitter Avatar for a while in support of Iranian Democracy. If you’re a Real Twit, why don’t you?

Heather’s Leap of Faith

What is faith? What difference does it make? What’s the link between what we do and what God does? How much of it is a mind thing — what you believe — and how much the total package about how you live? In various ways this autumn, I have been feeling the Big Issue for the church is faith — getting real about it, getting involved, actually doing it.

A joy of this job is several hundred confirmations a year. People of all ages come, each with their own special story, seeking the laying on of hands with love. They tell me about many steps backwards as well as forwards on the way, but where people tune in to God’s music and develop their own ear for it, finding a voice, learning to sing with others brings real joy.

Someone showed me a picture this year of a bungee jump off Bloukrans bridge in South Africa, 216 metres. It’s a personal ride — others can inspire you that its doable, but for the full adrenaline, you do it for yourself. Like faith, it’s a corporate enterprise — just chucking yourself off the bridge, you'd get the thrill, but not for long. And just like faith, the better anchored you are the more exciting the ride.

I said this during a confirmation at Iver parish Church recently not knowing that there in the music group was Heather Harper. On 27 December last year she took her own leap of faith at Bloukrans, having gone to SA to celebrate a personal reinvention in her family — Click here to see a Video of her feat!
Heather says:

I couldn’t edit it and there is one ‘oh s…’ but nerves were pretty high up there!! As you can hear at the beginning I did ask God to look after me – he not only did, but enabled me to have a brilliant jump. It’s a long story as to why I was there, why I chose to jump off the Bloukrans Bridge, S.A. on December 27th 2007 (the film date is wrong) as it was the anniversary of one year of my sons recovery from alcohol and drug addiction. The more I think about your sermon last Sunday the stronger my new faith grows especially the power of prayer – I know I keep repeating it but it is quite frankly Awesome – and it makes me very happy.

And in this context I recognised the corporate reinvention we are currently unfergoing in Victoria Combe’s piece this weekend in the Financial Times, appropriately called Leap of Faith, based on an interview with Richard Chartres, Bishop of London.

Speaking of whom, many congratulations to Paul Williams, Rector of Gerrards Cross, who is to be the new Bishop of Kensington. Over my time in Bucks I've developed tremendous respect for Paul and for the prayer, discernment and hard work that goes into team and leadership development at GX, as it thrives and grows. I’ve also been with Paul at Willow Creek. I know that Paul has leadership wisdom and grace to offer the whole Church, and want warmly to congratulate him, and the Kensington Episcopal Area and the Diocese of London.

Zimbabwe: today’s prices...

Sunday paper?
Holy Orthodox Deacon and all round good guy Steve Hayes bought himself a Sunday Independent in Gauteng today. It cost him SA R 11,50 (including VAT).
Now in Zimbabwe, one of these beauties would have set him back, er..
30 Billion Dollars.
$30 000 000 000 000,00.

Can you think of any sanction that could screw the Zim economy up more than Friend Mugabe already has?