36Boutiques

My latest consulting project has been very interesting and exciting indeed. That is not to say that all of my other projects are sadly boring. This project though, is a first in South Africa, which makes it very exciting indeed.

It has involved a new business called 36 Boutiques. Very simply the business model involves an online 36 hour sale of discounted branded merchandise. This sale is followed by another 36 hour sale involving another brand at discounted prices, and so it goes on. Access to these sales is by invitation only, which means that one of your friends needs to refer you. I could of course be that friend if you so wish!! It can be found at http://www.36boutiques.com/.

The first sale took place this Monday and involved a boutique by the name of Stefanie Morland. Presumably the prices were incredible if one considers that these are true couture garments. And yes, I have learnt a new word and have now used it in a sentence! Some really cool brands have been secured for sales in the near future...

It has been an incredibly exciting project with all of the pieces falling into place in this last week.

I have also met some interesting individuals. This project has opened my eyes to the fact that there are some truly incredible people outside of my old SAB corporation. More than that, I have learnt so much from some of these individuals that I am almost considering a reduction in my fee.

OK, that’s never gonna happen!!!

Surfing with the Family

On Friday morning, my wife kidnapped me from the corporate world and made me drive the family to Vic Bay for a quick family holiday. It really was tough to be dragged off against my will to stay at one of my favourite places in the Cape. If you don’t know Vic Bay, it is this beautiful spot nestled at the bottom of an incredible ravine and boasts one of the premier right hand wave breaks in the country. There are perhaps 10 houses that line the only road along one side of the bay and that is it!! I think this must be the closest one can stay to breaking waves, literally, a hop, a skip, and a jump!

The windows of our accommodation look out into the bay, making me feel like I am watching surfing movies all day as unbelievable surfers shred the waves. Then I get into the water and the standard drops considerably.

With every good thing, sometimes there are downsides, and Vic Bay is no exception. If you are a class act surfer, and there are many here, you end up trading waves with the other class act surfers and the rest of the dudes in the water paddle out of your way and watch.

Then sometimes these class act dudes get it wrong and the rest of us jump in to pick up the potentially wasted wave. I have surfed pretty poorly in the water over the last couple of days, but this morning it all came together. What a wonderful feeling, cracking something that is difficult!

Even better than the surfing has been the focussed family time. Time with each of my children just doing stuff that they love from building sandcastles with Matt to surfing with Luke and simply holding Isabella. I am enjoying cooking and just taking my time over normal mundane activities.

Nothing quite like a holiday at the beach!

A sneak Angola peak

Mosulu Peninsula at dawn

Yours truly and a little King fish

Sunrise on the beach - fishing again!

Beach debris

The view from my bedroom - sunrise over the sea in Luanda!

Sing Along

There are so many beautiful songs with words that are deep and meaningful. Unfortunately, I have not bothered to listen to song lyrics until recently. I take great pleasure in bugging my family about them and what they mean. Now I am going to bug all of you as I start to include some song lyrics into my blog. You are welcome to sing out loud!!

This one has been covered many times, but its message is timeless. Once again I have found myself challenged by it!

My child arrived just the other day

He came to the world in the usual way

But there were planes to catch and bills to pay

He learned to walk while I was away

And he was talkin' 'fore I knew it, and as he grew

He'd say "I'm gonna be like you dad

You know I'm gonna be like you"

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon

Little boy blue and the man on the moon

When you comin' home dad?

I don't know when, but we'll get together then son

You know we'll have a good time then

My son turned ten just the other day

He said, "Thanks for the ball, Dad, come on let's play

Can you teach me to throw", I said "Not today

I got a lot to do", he said, "That's ok"

And he walked away but his smile never dimmed

And said, "I'm gonna be like him, yeah

You know I'm gonna be like him"

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon

Little boy blue and the man on the moon

When you comin' home son?

I don't know when, but we'll get together then son

You know we'll have a good time then

Well, he came home from college just the other day

So much like a man I just had to say

"Son, I'm proud of you, can you sit for a while?"

He shook his head and said with a smile

"What I'd really like, Dad, is to borrow the car keys

See you later, can I have them please?"

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon

Little boy blue and the man on the moon

When you comin' home son?

I don't know when, but we'll get together then son

You know we'll have a good time then

I've long since retired, my son's moved away

I called him up just the other day

I said, "I'd like to see you if you don't mind"

He said, "I'd love to, Dad, if I can find the time

You see my new job's a hassle and kids have the flu

But it's sure nice talking to you, Dad

It's been sure nice talking to you"

And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me

He'd grown up just like me

My boy was just like me

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon

Little boy blue and the man on the moon

When you comin' home son?

I don't know when, but we'll get together then son

You know we'll have a good time then

Now what? Shrug, feel bad, and carry on doing the same thing, or change you life because it might change the lives of your children...

One step forward, two back

My car saga continues.

I left for Angola hoping my imported spares would arrive just after I had left and that I would return to a completed car. I did not think that my expectations were unrealistic, but then again 15 months ago, I would never have guessed that this car would still not be parking in my garage!

The spares are yet to arrive, almost 5 weeks after being ordered, that after being promised a lead time of just 2 weeks. The poor recession has been blamed as it is rather old fashioned to now keep stuff in stock. It is now far more appropriate to disappoint the customer!

Yesterday, I met the owner of the garage that is doing my rebuild. I was informed by him that he cannot complete the project!! While I was away, the experienced mechanic that he had just hired, disappeared and had a nervous breakdown. Completely unrelated to my car, I hope, as I firmly reserve the right to the nervous breakdown linked to my car!

The owner is to focus on his strengths, which include V8’s, but not limited to them. As a result he is in the process of moving all projects out of his garage to other garages. Obviously this is as helpful to me as a hole in my head.


Perhaps I should have been excited but I was not! There are still three outside specialists busy with items on the car; interior, spray painting, and auto electrics. They all cannot complete their work until my spares arrive. Moving the car to another garage means getting all of them to move too.

Looking for a simple alternative, we tracked down the experienced mechanic. It turned out that it was pretty easy to do, dial his number and push the green button. The chap had completed his breakdown and opened his own business in my own town. He has agreed to complete the job just as soon as the spares arrive.

The good news is that I took my wife to see the car. She seemed impressed and really liked the wheels! The colour change from bright yellow to black means that she may even be able to drive it after all!!

Creepy

Last night I had the most exciting tickling sensation between my toes. I am tired of slapping myself silly every time it feels as if a mosquito is investigating a potential snack site. Instead I move my foot and feel proud of the way that I have mastered my self control.

The tickling continues...

I move my foot again and carry on eating my dinner. A third round of tickling and I lose my cool. When I look under the table I am greeted by a large red armoured insect, the nasty cockroach!

It did not enjoy what happened next!

At Sea

I am invited on a deep sea fishing trip by the MD of the company I am consulting to. As a consultant, I cannot say no. So I say yes! I am not a fisherman at all, and I certainly have never been out to sea to catch fish, normally I skate over them all on my surfboard.

I gingerly take a motion sickness prevention tablet the night before the trip, just as the instruction packet tells me to do. Our rendezvous at a fishing lodge on the Kwanza River, some distance away requires me to get up with the birds in the darkness, again. One normally gets up this early to join everyone else dodging traffic, so as to all be late at work together. I take another tablet and hope for the best. I do not want to spend the day at sea, puking over the side of our craft.

The fishing lodge is very rustic and beautifully nestled on the banks of this river. I pack in a good breakfast of jam sandwiches and avocado toast, as one does before setting off to sea! I am not worried about the fish; instead I am very worried about my ability to ride the waves.

Our craft is an oversized motorboat with two 150HP motors on the back. It bristles with fishing rods and tackle. I am no closer to understanding how I will fare. I need to suck it up!

We cruise up the river and then make a run through the waves attacking the shore. They are bigger than I thought, perhaps I could do some surfing in this country. The skipper mistimes a big swell and the boat is launched into the air off its top. We are weightless until we crash down behind the wave. That was fun, I can enjoy this!

Five minutes later and we are out at sea. A clear brown swathe marks the edge of the river outflow with the rest of the sea. This is where we will be fishing. Lines are tossed over the side and some bait fish are caught practically instantaneously. These are then hooked and cast out on special lines for the fish that we are hunting this morning, the mighty Tarpin! A couple of minutes later, one of the rods starts a high pitched whine as fishing line unravels at a mighty speed. Boyce grabs the rod and hangs on for life. After a good 20 minute fight, the fish lies on the water alongside the boat. It is absolutely exhausted, as is Boyce!

We take a picture of Boyce in the water with his fish. This is not a fish you find anywhere and certainly a proud fishing moment. If you are a fisherman of course! The hook is removed and the fish gladly swims off, probably keen for a sleep with its eyes open , safely locked away in its house.

Through the day another Tarpin is caught as well as plenty of King fish and two little Barracudas. Somehow I manage to bring in the Barracudas and some King fish. We release them all back into their watery home and I feel pretty thrilled about having taken part in this game of fish and hook.

Late in the afternoon we make our way back to shore. I am exhausted but excited that both breakfast and lunch stayed down the hatch! My sons will be most proud of me!

Still in Traffic

I am fascinated by the world that unfolds daily outside of the car window. At home when stuck in traffic, there is little to keep ones attention bar the senseless chatter on the radio and the cramp in your right leg.

60% of the population here is under the age of 18 years old. Kids are everywhere, playing in the dirt and rubbish, carrying loads for their parents, and standing around outside their schools. Most babies can be seen strapped to their mothers backs, contentedly dreaming away the day. One just does not see old people; it is as if they have all vanished.

We drive down a road that is filled with graffiti, finger painted in the dust that cakes the abandoned cars. At its end we pass a free clinic. At least 100 woman and their babies stand around waiting for it to open. They are clothed in bright colours and even though there is a sense of desperation, there is also this joyous sense of hope.

I miss my own children. I feel as if I have abandoned them, swapped them out for a piece of Africa and 15 hour work days. I miss my wife, my other half, and hope that this trip, this small sacrifice of each other for a short time, is the right thing to do.

Night Driving

Traffic in Luanda gives one plenty of time to stare out of the windows and to think. I have even fallen asleep, so hard was I staring and thinking! As a South African who avoids traffic at all costs, this kind of waste makes me want to cry. Most people spend four hours a day stuck or at least barely crawling along the streets.

Tonight is the first time that I have been driven when the world is dark. It does not seem to be too much different to the day. The dust hangs thickly in the air, people crowd the streets, abandoned cars laze around as if waiting to die, not knowing that they are already long dead. Lines of tail lights stretch lazily in all directions and frustrated drivers hoot at other frustrated drivers, especially if there is a metre or two of unused road space.

Our cocoon of air conditioned comfort completely cuts us off from the smells, dirt and squalor that is Africa at both its best and worst. Yet Africa is alive out there and we are pretty much asleep in here!

Reflections on another world

This country is nothing like I imagined it to be and yet it is Africa at its heart. Angola was a place that most young South African men would get to see down the barrel of a rifle, as they were conscripted to fight against the supposed terrorists of the South African apartheid government here in the early nineties. I was lucky enough to miss getting asked to make the trip, yet many men I know were not. One friend laughingly asked me to apologise for all the things he did up here. It was meant as a joke but I do think he was deadly serious!

I am picked up at the airport by a tall Angolan in a red cap. He was easy to spot in the crowds of people thronging the exit. Improvised hand gestures allow his Portuguese and my English to coexist in a fragile understanding of each other. I follow him; it seems the right thing to do.

I discover that in Angola one drives on the right hand side of the road. Slowly, but furiously! I had heard about Angolan traffic but its immensity and intensity did not seem to phase my red capped Angolan in the least. His route to wherever we were going twisted and turned randomly as he threaded his way along back roads through densely packed suburbs.

Little girls walk hand in hand with their mothers, their hair braided prettily with pink and white shells. School children bustle along in their sparkling white shirts over their clothes, Angolan style school uniforms. Babies heads loll in sleep on their mothers backs as mothers go about their business. Everyone looks so young. I am told that 60% of the population here is under the age of 18; old people are just not seen.

Endless rabbit warrens of dirt potholed roads wind between grey concrete block houses, a decaying low slung concrete jungle that teems with life. These are not roads, just spaces between houses and yet here I am, peeking into those houses, a part of the general menace trying to avoid traffic. We really should not be here!

Litter abounds. It is everywhere and seems as if it has been lying outside forever. It shocks me how people can live with so much rubbish heaped in mounds on the road, next to houses, and in the open drains. Paper, plastic bottles, old appliances, and thousands of old cars! The cars are the worst! I wonder if people just leave them where they break down, calmly walk home, and forget about them. Is this a city where nobody has any pride?

We happen upon a car wash. Perhaps 50 cars lined up under the attention of furiously scrubbing attendants. The ground is a greasy black marsh and unused hosepipes belch water pumped by pumps lined up on a nearby river bank. It seems a pathetic attempt to defy the elements, as it probably will not take more than a 100 metre drive to cake on the dust just as thickly as before.

We continue our dance with endless cars, pedestrians, and potholes. I stare out of my window, fascinated. The rhythm is frenetic and relentless. I have to continually remember to hang on to solid bits of the car or suffer the agony of my head trying to leave the vehicle but being stopped by the window glass, again!

Every now and then we pass an open doorway, an invitation to peer into somebody’s life. The scene does not change much, a tiny courtyard filled with junk. White plastic chairs try to look useful, but reveal little about the inhabitants.

We suddenly wheel spin aggressively onto a highway. Eight lanes of traffic jammed into a three lane road. Now we sit and wait. My red capped Angolan is very annoyed with himself; I assume he has many more back roads up his sleeve. After an eternity of Portuguese English silence, and a short stretch of highway, we are off into the obscurity of another Luanda suburb.

I hang on for dear life and wonder what a lifetime of this must feel like. I seriously wonder if I can survive for just a couple of weeks here...

Beaten up

Some 24 years ago, I used to model a beautiful judogi on occasion in a competitive environment. Judo, the gentle art, is not that gentle when one is faced with an opponent determined to wipe the floor with your snot. Add in the mothers of those fierce opponents, who are at least six times my size, yelling helpful comments to their children like; ‘kill him’; and you have a recipe for extra chess lessons!

That was a long time ago and yet I managed to earn my stripes on the judo mat. Sometimes I saw many stars and at others I saw many stars but perhaps a couple less than my opponent!

Saturday brought all of that back to me. My father used to avoid judo tournaments as he could not deal with the intensity of the event nor the fact that his son was the object of abuse. Thinking myself well above all of that, I took my children to their first Judo tournament. Both of them have only had a couple of months of experience in the sport but it was a tournament hosted by our own club; and what better way for them to learn and grow in this sport.

I had the joyous job of weighing in all of the male competitors together with Wild Willie, the father of another father and sons combination in the club. Weighing in the men meant that I got to see them all in their jocks, a rather intimidating experience considering the size and muscle definition of those that would be in my weight category. I wondered how I could be afraid to fight yet still support my children in doing the very same thing!

There were only two five year old competitors and one was my son and the other Wild Willie’s. Both of their names were called out and off they went down to the mat; a competitor area only. There Matt was fitted with a blue belt whilst Theo got a white one (in order to clearly identify them to the judges). I could not help imagining what was going through his mind. As a five year old in this strange environment, on centre stage, with heaps of people watching, following the bewildering amount of formality in terms of bows and etiquette, and waiting to have a fight?

As usual this little guy surprised me; nonchalantly managing the formalities and squaring up to his mate with a smile on his face. He then fought hard and was beaten. He then got up, shook Theo’s hand, and walked off most satisfied with his performance. I cannot explain how proud I was just that he had done it at all.

Luke later got onto the mat and faced off against an incredibly skilled chap. Luke held him off for a little while, but was then thrown spectacularly, probably the best throw in the tournament! Unfortunately it hurt and the Lukester was most upset. He sucked up his tears and fought twice more, winning one and drawing one.

Afterwards both my children said that Judo was sore! I wondered if I had sent them in too soon, but they both were keen to fight again! I was quite taken aback as this had been a tough encounter for them, one of life’s really tough lessons!

It now looks like dad is going to have to put himself out on the mat too, risking failure and plenty of pain, because just maybe I will be successful! And if not, my children will see that it is OK to fail if you give it your best!