These are short memories of people I have had conversations with since my father died in 2008. Some of these people died before him, and I wished I could have spoken to them now that I know whoI am and what is important.
These conversations were inspired by a family friend who told me of a personal analysis system she had done, and this is the fruit of thinking of that.
These conversations are the backbone of the book I am writing about my father.
Umhlabuyalingana, known for its mystic roots and powerful magic, welcomes visitors seeking guidance in money matters, love, and ancestral affairs. Just across from the Hlulabantu Chess Club, a prominent road sign marks the entrance to this enchanting place, often capturing the attention of passersby who stop for a quick photo to share on social media.…
Last night I attended a talk by Ian McCallum at the Yellowwood Café in Howick. He has just completed his expedition from the west to east coast of Southern Africa linking various elephant migratory routes and publicising the need for environmental action by focusing on pachyderms, a key species in the ecology of wild Africa…
Its 5:30 a.m. and I am at my computer writing. I have woken early to soft rain dribbling down the gutters and sheeting the veranda. I have started the coffee machine to warm it up, and am drinking a cup of hot water and lemon. I looked at my writing folder and saw that I…
As children my mother always organised great birthday parties. She would invite our friends and set the table with food and treats. Cold drink bottles would line up to quench our thirst. I remember everything being set and then having to wait for my father, who would rush back from his busy schedule at the…
I do not remember either of my grandfathers. I am named after my mother’s father, Basil the baker. My father’s father, John, owned a corner café in Alberton. I can imagine he would be very proud that one of his grandson’s is an orthopaedic surgeon. He would open the store early in the morning and…
When I was growing up there was only one herb in our house: oregano. It was never fresh and it always came from Greece, harvested in the harsh Arcadian mountains around the village. Whenever my father returned from a trip to the homelands, as he used to call Greece, he would bring a gift, a…
The Greeks use the word work to mean labour as well as to mean trying to pull a fast one. They say the only work left in Greece is the work where you pull a fast one on your neighbour. Sitting in the lounge at Oliver Tambo Airport after an intercontinental flight is far removed…
My father did not actively teach, but reinforced ideas. This is what I learnt from him: Have faith. Act now. Be punctual. Be prepared. Have compassion. For all the trials and tribulations he faced, and he faced as much as any of us and sometimes more, he kept his faith. It was a complex religion…
I wanted to start this by asking “crisis, what crisis?” but it is unfair. There is poverty and suffering, but there is still a whole lot more living happening in Greece than in most places. Take May Day. Sure, it is Worker’s Day worldwide, including in Greece. People protested in groups, there was certainly aggravation…
Panayiotis is the son of my father’s mother’s sister, Christina. He was born between my father and me, and was my father’s most important family connection in Greece, and the only real cousin I adopted in Greece. All my first cousins are in South Africa, Australia or the USA. Panayiotis is the sort man that…
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