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is a South African girl living in South Africa. That doesn't sound very original, we know, but you might find it remotely interesting when you learn that she has only recently returned to South Africa for the first time after a nine year, one month and two week (non-stop!) stint in the United States where she accidentally became an outlawed alien (also known, especially in immigration circles, as an 'illegal immigrant.' We prefer the term 'outlawed alien' ourselves). During her reversed exile from her homeland, she kept herself occupied by winning this website (but only after shamelessly bribing the judges) and thus being unleashed on the web where she slowly, leisurely became the World's Laziest Blogger; by being a nanny and by attending sci-fi conventions in search of other aliens. In the US, she also made her sailing debut, her international acting debut, tried and failed to learn the piano, and never learned to cook. She is hopelessly addicted to coffee, dogs (especially Labrador Retrievers), how-to books (with a particular fondness for her copy of the Time/Life A - Z Medical Encyclopedia), and she tends to grossly overuse parentheses (we're not kidding) during her attempts at writing, which you may - if you really have masochistic tendencies - subject yourself to by reading the words to the right of this column. If you REALLY and truly STILL want to know more, you can read her C.V. here.
Or you can stalk her send her some love via e-mail at: redsaid[AT]gmail[DOT]com

The Wish List (Because yes, she really does need more how-to books. Honestly!)

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Driving me crazy (in which I slightly overuse ALL CAPS)
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Nessun Dorma
Rugby, apparently it isn't just a town in England
Not even muted, just ignored
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October 20, 2007
Nessun Dorma
Re(d)patriation

After hearing the vague cheering (and not being able to make out whether it was cheers or jeers) through the movie I was watching, I'm delighted to tell you that we won't be getting any sleep in these parts tonight.

That's right. We won!!!

Final score: England 6, South Africa 15.

Redsaid | 11:47 PM | comment (1) | view »
Rugby, apparently it isn't just a town in England
Re(d)patriation

I'm lucky enough to be in Cape Town at the moment (usually my stomping grounds are a bit further inland, in Stellenbosch), where the excitement in the lead-up to the Rugby World Cup (our Springbok team will be playing against England) has officially reached fever pitch.

The sun has just set on a lovely summer's day, and not even the dark, chilly fog rolling in across the sea is doing much to dampen spirits around here.

From the celebratory noises - shrill car hooters piercing the air, people blowing on vuvuzelas (for the non-South Africans among you, a vuvuzela is a metre-long, brightly coloured plastic air horn that produces a noise not unlike an elephant's trumpeting when blown on it, and very popular with South Africans showing support at sporting events), people cheering and singing - one would swear that the match has already been won. Not even New Year's Eve inspires THIS much excitement in South Africa! It is almost palpable enough for a person like me who is (and admitting this on tonight of all nights will be akin to blasphemy, I'm sure) rather indifferent to the game to also be swept up in the enthusiasm.

This neighbourhood is packed with foreign tourists, and they have been leaning over their balconies and watching the madness going on in the street and on the stretch of beach visible from here with good-natured smiles. The match kicks off in a few hours' time in Paris, and if there is a favourable outcome, I predict that we won't be able to get any sleep tonight. I wonder if the tourists will still be so understanding then? (I'll feel especially sorry for the British tourists... NOT!)

So how's YOUR weekend going?

Redsaid | 10:02 PM | comment (0) | view »
August 02, 2007
Starting to feel more and more like home
Re(d)patriation

Late this afternoon, I went to a shopping mall with my mom, my aunt and my sister.

Unlike most girls, I loathe shopping malls. But that's another story for another day.

On the way there, we drove on the three-lane highway, passing many subdivisions filled with identical houses. We also passed many advertising billboards, a big Toys "R" Us, a KFC, and a McDonald's.

At the mall, I wandered past a Nine West, a big local clothing store advertising that they're now selling clothes from the Gap, a Claire's and a Guess store.

But I almost wept from happiness when I discovered that this place* had just opened at the mall a month ago, and that they are the very first one in South Africa.

I immediately ran up to the shop, shrieking with delight. It was only once I had flung my entire body across the display counter, hugging it, that I overheard the manager telling one of the very stunned looking staff members: "She must be American. Only the American tourists have been reacting that way."

Now I only need a Starbucks.

Then again, a Green Card and a plane ticket back to D.C. won't hurt too badly either!

*What, surely you didn't think that I had gained weight in the States through sheer osmosis, did you?

Redsaid | 11:44 PM | comment (3) | view »
May 18, 2007
In the closet
Re(d)patriation

Even though YOU probably don't know, I can assure you that all of my phantom readers are aware of my addiction to and subsequent elaborate collection of how-to books.

These books have followed me all the way back from the United States to Stellenbosch. Then from Stellies to the town of By George! And now that I have my own place (read: room), they are back in Stellenbosch with me.

The boxes containing my beloved how-to tomes arrived a bit after me. And since my has-been but ergonomically and economically friendly executive chair - the only piece of furniture I actually own - is devouring a lot of space in the room, it will take some planning to get a bookshelf in there.

So until then, the boxes and boxes of books have been carefully and lovingly stacked in the closet.

And now I'm wondering: Does that make me a closet intellectual?

Redsaid | 01:19 PM | comment (5) | view »
April 19, 2007
My Big News
Re(d)patriation

Okay, okay... so Monday's come and gone.

In my own defence, I had actually meant NEXT Monday. So I'm going to do something frightfully out of character and reveal my news early.

Okay, honestly? I just wanted you all to hold your breaths long enough so that you could get permanent brain damage, because no one in their RIGHT minds will read this blog, and I really want readers.

And now for the news...

read more »
Redsaid | 04:35 PM | comment (14) | view »
August 01, 2006
A grainy glimpse into my world
Re(d)patriation

"Grainy," because all these pics were taken with my cell phone. Let's pretend it was done on purpose, for artistic effect, shall we?

So, if a picture really IS worth a thousand words, then prepare to settle in for a hefty epic.

By the way, most of the pics you're about to see were taken around the same time as my one and only mug shot.

Below is the view (or rather, a vague idea of the view, because it's really much more impressive in real life) from my bedroom here at my mom's house. That mountain range is known as the Outeniqua, which is a Khoisan word meaning either "they who bear honey" or "place of honey." (At least all the translators were sweet enough to agree that honey was somehow involved.)

IMAGE_00022.jpg

The bamboo wind chimes outside my mom's art studio provides a restful vibe. (Or maybe it's my recently upped dose of antidepressants?) Very Zen though, yes?

wind chimes.jpg

Room with a view.jpg

And remember that book gig I had in April? Well, these were my trusty assistants.

IMAGE_00043.jpg

Popping into the office to take my coffee orders.

IMAGE_00046.jpg

My other assistant emulating me on the job.

IMAGE_00031.jpg

The absolutely perfect and very generous welcome home present I received from my brother-in-law. A book for every year that I was gone, and one extra for pain and suffering. (He didn't specify whose pain and suffering.) Had I known I would be rewarded for every year away, I would have stuck it out for at least another decade!

welcome home present.jpg

Just some of what my mom gets up to in her art studio.

mom painting.jpg

And now I've officially pushed the limits on my daily allotted data. (I've worked out a strict "data diet" in order not to go over my cap. (And y'all KNOW how I feel about dieting! Let's just say, no wonder it contains the word "die." Suddenly all I want to do is eat all the Gigabytes my little laptop and my internet connection can possibly generate!)

Oh, these tiny bytes hurt the deepest! Only 30 days to go before I get a new share.

Suddenly I LOATHE months with 31 days...

read more »
Redsaid | 11:15 PM | comment (3) | view »
July 28, 2006
Reality Bytes
Re(d)patriation

Patience is an annoying, torturous, gratification-delaying, highly overrated virtue.

But patience DOES pay off... Eventually.

After another three month "visit" (sheesh, didn't ANYONE pay attention and get the hint when I went to the States for a quick jaunt and ended up staying there for NINE YEARS?) on my bro-in-law and sister's farm in Stellenbosch, I returned to my mom's house in the wild, hip, happening city of By George! (Located about four hours east of Cape Town.)

When I left here three months ago, I had no laptop, no job and the internet situation was DIRE (otherwise spelled like this: D-I-A-L-U-P.)

I returned with a freelance internet writing/editing job, a laptop (yes!) AND a high speed (yes, really, even by international standards) wireless internet connection.

The laptop virtually dropped from the sky and into my lap (which, come to think of it, is a rather excellent place for a laptop to land). It's beautiful, if a tad vintage and temperamental, but a recent expert opinion has revealed that, with careful handling, it ought to see me through for a while longer.

It contains a DVD-writer (so we're happy to report that at least one true writer is associated with the laptop!).

The data usage on the wireless connection is also capped (only if you have MEGA bucks and/or live in a large metropolis can you get uncapped internet in South Africa, but their twisted definition of "uncapped" and an "all you can eat broadband!" buffet still means you are allotted only 10 Gigs to send and receive data. Scary, isn't it?), but at least I don't have to pay per minute anymore and land into this kind of trouble!

So I'm hereby the proud owner of 500 measly Megabytes per month. Yes, per MONTH, folks. That was the amount I used up in like three seconds back in the civilised world.

But even though my wireless data card has turned out to be a greedy little sucker, already devouring up scary amounts of precious megabytes from my account limit (and I've only had it since Tuesday) despite the fact that I'm not streaming anything, or downloading anything (other than opening webpages) it's still fantastic because I don't have to use THEM.

So goodbye streaming radio and video!

And fare thee well, beloved music downloads!

But hello again beloved internet and blog! Brace yerselves, 'cause I'm back.


Redsaid | 11:55 AM | comment (11) | view »
April 27, 2006
Things I miss about the States/Things I don't
Re(d)patriation

It’s been four months since the demise of my American Dream, and now that I’m back here in my native land, in this geographically far-flung outpost, I’ve reached a few conclusions about some things. Like about what I miss about the United States:

Some of the people I knew there.

Starbucks!

ALL the dogs I knew there.

Affordable books, CDs, electronics, travel, etc.

The Salvation Army store where I bought second-hand hard covers for A QUARTER.

Starbucksstarbucksstarbucksstarbucksstarbucks...

Inexpensive, super fast and UNCAPPED (as it should be, by human right) broadband internet.

STARBUCKS!

Reliable, fast, safe public transit in places like D.C., Boston, New York City, Portland, Oregon and San Fran where people really do not need to drive.

S*T*A*R*B*U*C*K*S!

Free local calls, which means hours on dial-up internet (if one really have to) without worrying about the phone bill.

Believe it or not, but Network TV. Here we have to pay for the channels that broadcast the same type of shows that one gets for free on American Network TV. Some things do make it onto our free channels, but overall the pickings are rather slim. NOT that I’m addicted to the telly or anything, no way. Oh, and at least Oprah and Dr. Phil are still on the free channels, even though the shows are months old by the time they get here.

Good ol’e garbage disposals. Sure, I may not have cooked in the States, but man, did I have fun trying to see what can/can’t go down the garbage disposal!!!

Heat inside the houses, ‘cause here in South Africa, houses are built mostly for our long hot summers without much thought left for the winters, which seem to be getting increasingly longer and chillier. Just a few weeks ago, the South African Weather Service announced with what seemed to me way too much glee, that after several years of milder than usual winters (for which I wasn’t here), South Africa is in for years of old-fashioned, ice-cold winters. Of course it’s happening now that I’m back! That’s just so TYPICAL of my bleedin’ luck.

I miss how every state seems like a different country, complete with the residents speaking in different accents and possessing different idiosyncrasies.

The general belief and confidence among the American people that nothing is impossible and that anyone can become anything they want to be.

Free coffee in the grocery store while you shop.

Free coffee refills.

Great live music in the most unlikely places.

I miss having people hanging onto my every word simply because of my accent.

Radio stations devoted solely to jazz.

And just in case you didn’t hear me before: S...T...A...R...B...U...C...K...S!

Things I do NOT miss about the States.

Some of the people I knew there.

Bush.

Snow, sleet, ice and brutally cold winters that never ever seem to end.

Daylight Saving Time. Sure, the extended daylight hours are lovely in summer, but I used to hate that they changed the clocks back again in the fall, causing it to go dark before 5 in the afternoons.

Having to deal with the double combo of US Immigration and my Immigration Liar and feeling that my whole life depended on them. I still can’t decide which of the two was worse to deal with. I’ve since reached the conclusion that I’d rather take on Satan himself with my bare hands than having to go through that pain and anguish again.

Feeling cut off from the world because unless you really make an effort to search for news on the internet or have access to BBC, there generally really isn’t much attention given to what’s going on in the rest of the world by the American media, which I think is in large part to blame for why some Americans seem rather ignorant to outsiders.

Redsaid | 01:09 PM | comment (7) | view »
April 19, 2006
Re(d)porting for duty. WHADOYOUMEAN I should stop inserting a (d) in words that don't even contain the letter "d" in order to make my own lame play on words? WHADOYOUMEAN the title for this post is too long?
Re(d)patriation

I can’t help but notice that all three of you have been falling over yourselves to find out why I have been so quiet. I’m really touched to know that people (even phantom ones) care so much about my well-being and about whether I’m still alive or not.

WHADOYOUMEAN it’s nothing unusual for my lazy self to not update this blog for weeks, even months, at a time which is why you weren’t worried?

Oh, right... Never mind then.

Well, just so you know. For once I DO have a valid reason for my silence. Well, at least slightly more valid than watching too many Dr. Phil and Oprah episodes back-to-back, which used to be my usual excuse back in the States.

Ah, those WERE the days... but before we get side-tracked completely and this bit of news becomes entirely anti-climactic:

I have been quiet lately because I... brace yerselves... have.............

read more »
Redsaid | 04:07 PM | comment (9) | view »
April 03, 2006
The Second Leg of my Repatriation Begins
Re(d)patriation

By George! I'm moving. Again.

To this place.

See you all on the other side.

Redsaid | 03:40 AM | comment (8) | view »
March 17, 2006
An Attempt At Creative Writing (Okay, who am I kidding? It's an attempt at WRITING, never mind trying to get all creative about it.)
Re(d)patriation

I have recently returned to South Africa after almost a decade of living abroad, and since I have family here, I decided to try and become part of the colourful, quilted patchwork of valleys, vineyards, mountainous and sweeping oceanic vistas of the Western Cape. So I came to see if this land would adopt me and allow my vagabond soul to anchor here and find rest.

At first, I was the proverbial prodigal daughter who had returned after a long absence, but after being away for so long, I felt a bit out of sync with the rhythms of sun-drenched South Africa and family life.

And so before the novelty of my homecoming had even begun to wear off, loneliness crept up and enveloped me in its snare like a heavy and unsettling cloak.

I wasn't necessarily bothered by the fact that I was single in a world that suddenly seemed to be teeming with couples. With baggage containing the shards of several shattered relationships trailing in my wake, I was willing to travel emotionally light for a while.

Besides, in attempting to repatriate and reconnect, I had more than enough on my plate to redirect my mind away from my forlorn, tattered heart.

But then…

Shortly after my arrival here in the heart of the South African wine country, I made a rather thrilling acquaintance. Maybe I'm confessing this a bit prematurely, but I would like the world to know that I have been completely swept off my feet.

My family has known him for longer than I have, and I'm afraid that they don't quite share in my adoration. In fact, they have made it clear that they find his presence a bit annoying.

Maybe my former rebellious streak has reappeared in full force after abandoning me in my late teens, because much to my family's dismay, I find him to be a breath of fresh air.

They have warned me of his fickleness; told me that he is notorious for turning on a dime, for blowing hot one minute and cold the next.

I say that he gives me gooseflesh when he does. (Somehow they do not find this amusing.)

They're not even impressed by the fact that he is a rather renowned doctor who is helping me to heal my heart. They still think he is an airhead who talks about nothing.

I surprise them and lead them to believe that they've finally managed to sway my opinion when I answer that they're right, but immediately dash their hopes when I add: "Especially when I consider the sweet nothings he whispers in my ear!"

Alas, some things one just can't explain to one's family.

Like how, whenever I hear him outside, I fling open my bedroom windows, allowing him to slip in and stay the night.

And even if I had wanted to tell them, how could I translate into words how he sometimes gently caresses my skin, without sounding like a love scene from a cheap paperback romance novel? How do I prevent sounding as sappy as a smitten schoolgirl when I describe how he languidly combs his fingers through my hair, leaving me flushed and giving me chills and making me feel reckless, wild and free?

I don't think they'll ever know how he has this disarming way of just sweetly sighing when he looks at me.

Or about the mournful, melancholy melodies he sometimes whistles late at night, when he thinks that I am sleeping.

My mother says he is too petulant and temperamental. She worries about the startling violence with which he slams the doors whenever he gets riled up. She also accepts as fact all those lingering rumours of how he has driven scores of people to insanity.

I don't believe the silly gossip, but like my mom, I'm not particularly fond of his flaring outbursts. I know he isn't destructive at heart, so I really wish he wouldn't slam the doors with such deafening force that they are left rattling and trembling in their hinges.

I also despise the childish way he has of jealously demanding attention by grabbing my writing papers and strewing them about when I'm trying to work.

But no one is perfect, and other than his occasional temper, I really don't have any complaints about him. Besides, in my opinion we have enough in common to make this relationship work.

Like me, he isn't at his best in the mornings, rarely stirring before late morning or noon, and definitely only gaining momentum as the day progresses.

There are days when he just takes off like a whirling dervish. At times like those, he seems utterly boundless: partying until dawn and kicking up dust with the best of them.

I think he is merely energetic and passionate, and therefore often misunderstood.

I wish others wouldn't be so blind to his lighter side. Then they'll see that he is a harmless, if relentless, tease with a wicked sense of humour. I wish they knew how mischievous and playful he gets. How he sometimes sneaks up from behind and like a real devilish flirt, tries to lift up my skirt.

I know that not everyone is immune to his charms. I have seen the visible effect he has on others as well. I know that I'm not the only one who loves him, and that my family isn't the only ones to despise him. It's interesting that I've never encountered anyone familiar with him who is indifferent towards him.

As he has been darting in and out of my days, I have found a solace and peace in his free-spirited presence. He has whipped my blood and stirred up my senses. His contagious vigour has left me breathless, yet he has filled my heart and cleared my head and blown new life into me.

No wonder he's been dubbed the Cape Doctor.

Southeaster wind, whisk me away…

Redsaid | 12:49 AM | comment (16) | view »
March 05, 2006
Montevue Farm (and a short detour into my heart)
Re(d)patriation

Edited to say: Before I could come to my senses, I decided to use this to participate in this week's Weekly Anamnesis (the brain-child of THIS beloved brainiac). The theme for this week is "waiting." So what are YOU waiting for? Play along, why don't you?

The paved, narrow farm road leads up a subtle slope between tidy rows of grape vines. These rows of vines sit at an angle with the road. This, I’ve since learned, is to help guard against erosion.

At the end of the road, a stern-looking gate and matching electric fence stand on permanent, protective guard along the perimeter of the yard, compelling would-be visitors to linger at the intercom first.

Once permission to enter is granted, the remote controlled electric gate slowly rolls aside in a sweeping welcome gesture. Two grinning dogs, a sweet yellow Labrador Retriever and a spunky Jack Russell terrier, make up an enthusiastic, entire-hind-bodies-wagging, welcome committee.

At the edge of the paved driveway and parking area sits the sprawling sand-coloured ranch house. Flanked by two double-garages on either side, it forms a perfect U-shape.

The inside of the house is even larger than the outside makes it seem, because that’s when one realises that the bottom of the “U” is merely the width of the house and adjacent apartment – almost as if the length of the house had to remain a modestly guarded secret.

Despite the ample width of the house, large windows and sliding glass doors provide plenty of natural light indoors.

Because the house is located on the side of a hill (but very close to the top of it), those large windows and doors frame the most spectacular, picturesque views. I shall try my best to describe it, but even at my best, I’m sure I’ll still do an inadequate job. My limited vocabulary could never do it justice.

The view is a daily gift, because it changes frequently, sometimes hourly. Its fixed features include a lush garden with a sparkling swimming pool immediately in front of the house; the vineyards surrounding the house; the university town of Stellenbosch spread out in the valley below, nestled in and surrounded by the colourful, quilted patchwork of other vineyards sprawled out over more hills, giving it the appearance of a slightly unmade, but wholly comfortable, bed.

Behind the town and those vineyards, more valleys and hills gently slope and roll out to the reason for the name of the farm: the high mountains looming beyond. On sunny days, the mountains and their jagged edges are clearly silhouetted against blue skies. On cloudy days – my favourites - such as today, the top half of the mountains are veiled by the low, drifting grey clouds, giving them a ghostly, mysterious appearance.

In the evenings, there is a temporary hush. It’s as if the entire world quiets down, collectively holding its breath for the most stunning scene of all: the daily grand finale, when the sunset faithfully reflects on the mountains, causing them to light up and glow in varying hues from rosy, pastel pink deepening into fiery reds.

When darkness finally descends, the town lights below flicker on, looking like a string of pearls resting in a shimmering heap on a black velvet cushion.

This is the heart of the South African wine country. Area tables heave and groan under the weight of the bounty, and visitors are treated to bottles of world-class reds and whites and sparkling wines, with bunches of the plumpest, sweetest red and white grapes added to the cheese platters as edible garnish.

For the past few weeks, ever since my return from the States, I have been in the privileged position of being one of those visitors benefiting from this warm hospitality.

The farm and house I’ve mentioned belong to my brother-in-law, my sister and my nephew. Upon my recent return from abroad, they have generously taken me under their roof and into this sanctuary of a home they’ve created.

I have not written too much about it yet, but my homecoming back to South Africa, after my uninterrupted, nearly decade-long reversed exile in the States, has not exactly been what one would call triumphant; and this transition period of repatriating and readjusting has been difficult, to say the least.

But had it not been for this familial kindness, this entire process would have been that much harder.

Every day I get to marvel at this view and derive inspiration from it.

I get to pet the two dogs and feel their velvety soft ears under my fingers. That in itself should be prescribed medication! (“Stroke one dog and I assure you that you won’t call me in the morning!”)

I get to play with my nephew and make faces at him. I wasn’t here for his birth. In fact, I only met him for the first time on the day of my homecoming a few weeks ago on Christmas Day, and he is going to be three years old in July.

Before I came home, I was very scared that my nephews wouldn’t like me; that they would never recognise me as family. (My other sister has a two-year old and a one-month old.)

But much to my joy and relief, I found out - as soon as they threw their plump little arms around my neck, thus initiating me into ‘auntydom’ - that blood is thicker than all the waters of the ocean that has separated me from them until now.

Despite all of this, there are moments when my mind still ventures to the gloomier side. At times I miss the States and my life there (which, trust me, wasn’t much of a life at all) and the people I knew there with such forceful violence that I could weep from it. During those times, I tend to agree with Tom Wolfe who wrote that one can never go home again. Or with John Steinbeck, who wrote in “Travels with Charley” (a magnificent little travelogue about travelling across the United States with his dog Charley): “The place of my origin had changed, and having gone away I had not changed with it. In my memory it stood as it once did and its outward appearance confused and angered me.”

It’s true. Despite my having been stuck in limbo half a world away, time did not stand still in this place that I had left behind. Everyone grew older (including me, of course, even though my life in almost all other aspects remained on the same plateau for a long time). Some of the people I had left behind even died while I was away.

Kids who weren’t even born when I left are now already in school. My sisters and friends were unmarried when I left; now they have husbands and wives and children. My parents have crossed over to a new demographic in which they are now officially classified as ‘senior citizens.’

I feel like someone who has been in a coma and who has now woken up to find that it’s a decade later. And I’m not quite sure what I’m supposed to do with my regained consciousness.

I’m also still unsure as to why my life has detoured like this: Why did I have to return this way, tail-between-the-legs, sans the Green Card I had waited so many years to receive? Does my purpose and destiny really await me here, in sun-drenched South Africa?

I can only ask you to please bear with me as I fumble my way slowly forward, into this scary unknown, where an answer hopefully awaits to reveal itself to me.

Redsaid | 05:05 PM | comment (11) | view »