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The view of Pretoria from the author’s living room window (Photo: Supplied)
The view of Pretoria from the author’s living room window (Photo: Supplied)

OPINIONSocietyMay 24, 2020

South Africa from my living room window

The view of Pretoria from the author’s living room window (Photo: Supplied)
The view of Pretoria from the author’s living room window (Photo: Supplied)

Felix Geiringer had no idea what was in store for him when his family moved to South Africa early this year. Here he writes about the move, the science of cooking eggs and Covid-19.

In January, I moved to South Africa with my family. The move came about after my partner was appointed New Zealand’s new High Commissioner to South Africa

The question of what I will do while we are here has multiple answers. But, in a bout of unoriginality, I thought part of the answer might be to try my hand at blogging. I even set up a platform for the blog before I left. 

Weeks passed, blogless, while I struggled with the reality – moving my family to South Africa was much more challenging than I had expected. 

I don’t want to tire you out with the trials and tribulations of my telco entanglements, or bore you with the banalities of the ‘Bok banking bureaucracy. But to give you a flavour of how a move like this can surprise with unexpected challenges: here in Pretoria (the SA administrative capital, lying 1,339m above sea level), water does not boil at 100 °C! In fact, at our house, the boiling point appears to be pretty close to 95 °C.

Now that might seem like a small thing – perhaps a good thing. Before I realised what was going on, I was very impressed at how quickly the house kettle seemed to be able to do its job. Then I tried to boil a 3-minute egg. A 4-minute egg? Nope! A 5-minute egg? Still nope! 

It turns out it is a lot more complicated than just extending the time. The internet is full of chilling then cooking or cooking then chilling instructions to try to duplicate, at altitude, a cooking job that in Wellington had seemed as easy as toast. This is a problem I have still not overcome. Then I discovered that there were no egg cups in the house. Then I discovered that no one at the local shops even knew what an egg cup was! 

Even if I could overcome the egg cooking challenges of this new home, what sort of a blog would this be? An exposé of the life of a diplomatic spouse? A travel journal for all the exotic African locations we were going to visit? An on the ground exploration of the socio-economic realities of modern South Africa? Or perhaps one of those sites where a bitter ex-pat moans about how much better things were in their home country?

And then Covid-19 came. From as early as February, the disease became the overriding reality of our existence. It is our alpha and our omega. Travel plans – cancelled. Diplomatic soirées – cancelled. Getting to know our new country – cancelled. 

Our kids’ school closed down for a short break at the start of March and has not reopened. My partner’s workload skyrocketed. My workload skyrocketed (while my income disappeared). And all thoughts of writing anything went out the window. 

Even now that I finally come to put pen to paper, it seems impossible to write anything other than a story about life in the time of the virus. And who wants to read something like that?

Life in the time of the virus

South Africa formally went into lockdown one day after New Zealand. 

It was a stricter lockdown than New Zealand’s. For example, no one was allowed to go outside for exercise. In any case, walking around outside is not considered a safe thing to do here. Parks and playgrounds can be safe if surrounded by a high electric fence with security guards at every entrance, but all such places are closed. Alcohol and tobacco sales were also banned.

Lockdown rules have been enforced by patrols of police and military. In Gauteng (the province containing Pretoria/Tshwane and Johannesburg), there was an effort to round up the large homeless population and move them to makeshift camps in disused sporting grounds. It was not entirely successful

This might sound extreme to New Zealand ears, but the stakes are much higher here. South Africa had to go harder and earlier. About 8 million of South Africa’s 58 million people are HIV positive. Despite a recent push significantly improving the situation, only about half of those people are receiving effective treatment. That means 7% of the country have severely compromised immune systems, just from HIV. 

The living conditions for many South Africans also make social distancing an impossible dream. Over a third of the population live in townships or large squatter camps known as “informal settlements”. Accommodations can range from cramped to, frankly, appalling, and many lack basic amenities.

Aerial view of Diepsloot (Photo: Getty Images)

One such township close to here is called Diepsloot, literally “deep ditch”. A sea of corrugated iron shacks tumble across a wide depression on one side of an extremely poorly maintained road. It was in the local news shortly after we arrived with stories about the appalling condition of its primary school

Residents of these settlements know about Covid-19 and are concerned about it. But some understandably point out that without a properly functioning sewage system, rubbish collection, or even running water, they have more pressing health problems to worry about. It is hard to understand how social distancing is even supposed to work in a place that is that cramped.

There are also economic obstacles to an effective lockdown. Many people live a literal hand to mouth existence. On days when they fail to find work, they do not eat. People may understand the importance of the lockdown, may believe in the need for it, but still break it because they have to

Mobile testing facilities have gone into some of the townships, including Diepsloot. But even with testing one wonders how to prevent the virus spreading in places like these. A few days ago, a Dieplsoot nurse tested positive for the disease. 

So, the fear here is that, without extreme measures, Covid-19 could spread like wildfire here and exact a truly terrible toll. 

Luckily, the disease has struck at a time when the country has competent leadership. Internationally, President Cyril Ramaphosa has received praise for his handling of the crisis, both for the country and, as the current president of the African Union, for the whole continent. Action has been reasonably decisive, relatively swift, and somewhat clearly communicated (yet not without humour). Some of Ramaphosa’s playbook was similar to Ardern’s, and maybe there is a reason for that

Thank goodness someone like Thabo Mbeki was not in charge. If you want to understand that comment, Google “HIV/AIDS denialism in South Africa”.

In short, it feels like the government here is doing what it can to halt the spread of the virus. However, it is hamstrung by a lack of resources. And the extreme measures that are being taken are problematic. In one incident early in the lockdown, police fired rubber bullets at shoppers who were failing to adhere to social distancing rules. 

Long before Covid-19, South Africa was in a deep economic crisis. The country is practically broke. South Africa desperately needs massive infrastructure investment. But the country was told that unless it took an axe to public spending in the last budget, Moody’s would downgrade its Sovereign status to junk – significantly worsening the financial crises. Standard and Poor’s and Fitch had already done so. Cuts were made, Covid-19 hit, the lockdown was announced, and Moody’s downgraded South Africa’s status anyway

What this all means is that the goal is more modest here. The lockdown (and especially the ban on international travel) flattened the curve as the dent in the graph shows. However, confirmed cases are still increasing exponentially, just with a smaller exponent. There is no expectation that it can turned around.

The lockdown has therefore been declared a success and it is being slowly relaxed. It is now lawful for us to go for a walk (between 6 and 9am), or buy clothes, and restaurants are open for deliveries. 

It has been a success. The lockdown delayed the spread of the virus and bought the country time it desperately needed to gear up hospitals. Ramaphosa says it has saved tens of thousands of lives. I believe him. What I fear is that that doesn’t mean that tens of thousands of people are not still going to die.

Karyn and Catherine, aged 15 (Photo: Supplied)
Karyn and Catherine, aged 15 (Photo: Supplied)

SocietyMay 23, 2020

Making up is hard to do: Should you try to fix a broken friendship?

Karyn and Catherine, aged 15 (Photo: Supplied)
Karyn and Catherine, aged 15 (Photo: Supplied)

The best of pals can fall out, never to speak again – and some friendships are only meant for a season. But if you find yourself haunted years later by the loss of a broken friendship, it’s worth trying to fix, writes Karyn Henger.

I was 14 years old when I met Catherine. It was 1985 – the setting, Napier – and we were both finding our feet in high school, trying to break away from our good girl reputations.

She soon became my best friend and I couldn’t tell you who led who astray. We got into loads of trouble together. Catherine was fun, bold, exciting. When we weren’t grounded we shared with one another cigarettes and secrets, poorly written poetry, all our hopes and dreams. 

With Catherine I felt invincible, and I was completely drawn to her intuitiveness and intelligence. In 1986, when we were 15, we were involved in a horrific car accident that killed my mum. Catherine almost died too, and I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost them both. The experience brought us closer. I was sad for a long time afterward and leaned on Catherine through that period of grief. 

My dad was bipolar and after Mum died it often felt like I looked after him more than he looked after me. Where other people said, “How’s your poor dad?”, Catherine said, “You’re so good and patient with him.”

Later there were boyfriends and break-ups, weddings and divorces, the birth of my first child. Through all of it Catherine was there. She knew and understood me better than anyone.

But then in 2009, after 24 years of sisterhood, we fell out in the most underwhelming of ways. Over email, a final showdown: me upset that she wasn’t stopping over in Auckland to see me during a trip home from the UK to visit her mum, and Catherine annoyed that I was making such a big deal about it.

We had argued before many times. But this time we were both heavily pregnant, stroppy and hormonal, communicating from opposite sides of the world. We made the fatal mistake of saying too much, as can happen when keyboards are involved; I pressed “delete” on her last email and we both pressed “delete” on our friendship.

I didn’t miss her to begin with; I was still angry. But then I gave birth to my son and wasn’t able to tell her. She had her son too, I heard through the grapevine, and didn’t tell me. 

The days turned into weeks turned into months turned into years and then a decade had passed with still no reconciliation. Yes, we were stubborn. 

I thought about her often and dreamed about her too. The dreams were always the same. The past had been righted and we were best friends again. I always woke up happy from those dreams only to realise, with disappointment, that we were still disconnected.

On reflection, I had been a demanding friend. I had always placed a lot of expectation on her. But I didn’t realise that for a long time, then was too afraid to reach out in case she rejected me.

However, a few weeks into 2020 I was rummaging through my old books, looking for something to read. I hadn’t touched them in years and had no idea what was in the mix. Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit by Jeanette Winterson was the one I picked out, and on opening it I spied on the inside front cover a handwritten message from Catherine. Dated November 10, 1993: “My very best wishes to you,” she had written to me on my 22nd birthday. 

It brought a surge of unexpected emotion. Had finding this book been a sign? 

The duo at Karyn’s (on left) first wedding (Photo: Supplied)

If a broken friendship still haunts you years after you fell out it’s probably worth revisiting, psychologist Dr Ruth Jillings gently suggests. But proceed with caution, because your relationship won’t reset to exactly the way it was. And if you cannot bear to be hurt again, it may be wiser to let sleeping dogs lie, she warns.

“You can forgive a person without letting them know,” she offers. “You may ultimately decide you’d rather not have them back in your life. Some people write a letter then burn it. Some perform an act that is symbolic to them.” 

But I wanted to make peace with Catherine. I sent her a Facebook message explaining that I had come by her note in the book, thanking her for her friendship and wishing her the very best. When, one month later, I still hadn’t heard from her, I had to resign myself to the fact she didn’t want to know me – and it hurt.

Then out of the blue, on a Wednesday morning in March, a message flashed up on my phone screen. It was from Catherine. “Hello Karyn. It was really lovely to see your message there…” it began.

My heart sang – I can’t even tell you the joy.

Throughout lockdown we wrote to one another regularly and it made the time in isolation so much lovelier. Our reconnection has brought me peace, because I had never found a friend again like Catherine. We haven’t raked over the past. There is no point and neither wants to reopen old wounds.

What I have learned is that Catherine has been ill and I regret that I didn’t know and wasn’t able to support her. She now practises Buddhism and remembering her as I do, this makes perfect sense. Some of the other things she has told me about her life have not surprised me either. We’ve swapped pictures of our sons and Netflix recommendations. 

I don’t know when or if I’ll see her again, but for now it’s just great to be in touch. If I hadn’t reached out to Catherine, I would have always regretted it. And if Catherine had not responded I would have been hurt, but I would have at least known I’d tried. 

She did though, and I am thankful – because life is infinitely better with Catherine in it.

New Zealand clinical psychologist Dr Ruth Jillings has this advice for anyone wanting to reconnect with a friend or loved one they have fallen out with:

Acknowledge what happened

Think about the incident and how it has made you feel. Allow yourself to grieve, let yourself be hurt and angry. Before you can forgive you need to face the incident head-on.

Think about the role you played 

Perhaps you have learned some hard lessons or grown from the incident. Perhaps you now realise you were too quick to judge, too caught up in your own viewpoint, you expected too much. Be willing to apologise for the part you played and make sure you forgive yourself, too.

Consider the other person

Maybe they made a mistake. Maybe they had a lot going on at the time and didn’t have the capacity to support you. Maybe they didn’t mean to hurt you. Maybe they didn’t feel comfortable with what you might have asked of them. See if you can stand in their shoes, things might look different from there.

Make a choice to forgive 

Forgiveness is both simpler and more complex that it seems. Simpler in that, in essence, forgiveness is just a choice. Complex because that choice can be difficult to make and then it needs to be made and remade until it sticks.

Be prepared for them to not feel the same way you do

They may not want to reconnect with you, and if this is the case, you must respect their decision.

Then move on

Don’t rake over the grievance, this can cause more harm than good. It can be enough to acknowledge that you both weren’t at your finest and then let bygones be bygones.