It is done.

It is done.

What we set out to do about two years ago has finally been completed.

The Turning Away has been accomplished in a physical sense, but not emotionally.

Emotionally I do not have closure and feel anger and frustration at the politicians and people that pushed me out of my country of birth.

I feel anger that the government did not see the work experience, knowledge and opportunity I could have offered. Granted, my employer tried everything ethical to keep me, promising me more money and more position. Without hesitation they offered me a position I had only ever dreamt of. Writing this I see the people who mattered did understand the potential they were losing.

I miss the things I used to have but things won’t bring me back. Not when my family was at constant threat because common descent services no longer functioned. Things like road laws, policing, water supply, power supply and value for life.

One day when there is a working government in place, the country will thrive. For me that will be too late. It already is. I’ve turned away and the effort to reverse what has been done, the course we’ve taken, is far too great. There is not a reward that someone could offer that would draw us back I believe.

I now need to do the emotional turning away and leave the past right where it belongs – in the past. No more blame. This is the path we’ve actively chosen and it’s what’s right for us.

It is done.

We now live in Belgium. A safe, wonderful place for my family to flourish and our goal has been achieved.

The adventure continues! There’s a new language to be mastered, beautiful things to see and experience.

Ciao for now.

Sprint to the Finish

The months from September to now are a blur of activity.
On reviewing the last post I see that much has happened!

On my fourth interview I got employment. The company was looking for someone with my particular design software experience. They're one of the very few companies in Belgium who are looking to start using the package I have experience in and were dead-keen to have me aboard.



A hint of what I do...

The Apartment - it's the white one.
 

After that crucial step in the plan, I was able to set everything else in motion. Next was getting an appartment and finally purchasing the tickets for my family to join me.

I am pleased to say that all this has been accomplished. My family now reside with me in Belgium in the beautiful, clean city of Antwerp and all with the help of my extended family - my aunt and my parents.

I'd resolved to fetch my family myself - flying back to South Africa and returning to Belgium with them. Before this epic journey, I was surprised at how bitter and angry I was inside. Not at a particular person or thing, but at the circumstance. I was born in South Africa, worked hard there to obtain what I thought was a secure home, work and society. To find out that my work and input was worth nothing and scoffed at by an arrogant, corrupt and ignorant society hurt and angered me. Perhaps it's just that. There's no face to vent at, no person to rage at, no one who will react, no one who will look at this situation and say "Something's wrong here in South Africa".

This anger came as a surprise. It wasn't something I foresaw and I'm still not sure how it was sparked.
After all, we're here in Belgium! We're finally in a better place without the inconvenient death bit in between! We're where we planned to be and we're all settling in nicely - no regrets in fact quite the opposite. We're all very happy here!

So there we are.
Finally, FINALLY we're all here in Belgium! What a fantastic start to a New Year!

Ciao for now.

In-between Dreams

“In-between dreams” is apt.

I am now residing in Belgium, as a Belgian. The experience at the “gemeente huis” which is the local government office where I had to register to be plugged into the Belgian social system was a uniquely pleasant one! The place was clean, I was served quickly and the facilities used by the employees there were in perfect working order. The employees also knew how to do their work!

That very evening the “politie” – the police – arrived to make sure I was who I’d said I was and was living where I’d said I was living!

As predicted, I miss Mrs Black and my little girl terribly and seeing parents in the streets of Belgium with their little ones makes me tear up. Its at these times that I must stiffen the barricades and harden my resolve to fight on to establish myself here so they may join me soon.

I feel guilt again. Guilt that I’m experiencing all that Belgium has to offer, guilt that I’m far safer and at peace here than I ever was in South Africa and Mrs Black & Speculoos (my little girl) can’t share in that yet.

In South Africa things finally came to a head, there was no more time, and what wasn’t done would merely have to remain so and be an inconvenience for later. Things like making sure my clothes were properly packed away for shipping and sorting out my family photos simply didn’t happen.

I left on that plane on a Thursday evening with numb emotions and as few tears as I could manage. My emotions are still numb thankfully or the burn of loneliness would creep through and I’d be hurting badly. I’ve also thrown myself thoroughly into finding employment and forcing myself to take breaks every so often. Since my arrival about a week ago, I have managed to attend two interviews and keep pursuing more.

The faster I can get work, the faster I can get Mrs Black and Speculoos over here and show them all the wonders and peace and sublime tranquility of life in Belgium. I can now offer them far more than I ever could in South Africa and its so close…so close to fulfillment! So close for the “In-between dreams” era to end.

My aunt has been lovely, showing me all the things I need to know along the way and looking after me.

I stay with her and her family in this adorable home.

After my first interview we went to the museum a block away.

On our route to the Central Train Station in Antwerp we went through the Grand Market area in “Old Antwerp”.

Finally we reached Antwerp Central Station.

Tomorrow I do all this touring on my own. I have another interview!

I need to land employment. The sooner I get that right, the sooner Mrs Black and Speculoos can join me here.

Ciao for now.

Punctuation Marks

It’s done.

There is a full stop in my chapter. I have the airline ticket.

 Now I must find fiery hoops to run, jump, tumble and fly through so my family can join me as soon as possible in Belgium.

There’s a little red tape for Mrs Black to do before she and Speculoos join me.

There’s a lot of red tape for me to comply with before they can join me on a more permanent basis.

Some of this red tape involves getting original documents from our current Home Affairs Government Department which is no easy feat! We’ve tried applying through the ‘normal’ routes before but I’ve learnt my lesson. I didn’t even bother this time. We went through this in A Warmed Heart and then it cost me 1000-00 South African Rand. This time round it’s cost me 1500-00 South African Rand multiplied by two since there’s two documents I need. When Mrs Amazing and Speculoos need to do this exercise I expect it’ll cost 2000-00 South African Rand for each document. Too high a price to pay?

No.

No price is too high to pay to have my family safely and legitimately with me!

Soon I go out into the world homeless and unemployed. These are scary times but also exciting times. We get to start off fresh! We can un-do the little nasty things that crept into our lives and improve other things.

First example – no hoarding! Never again will I own things that I do not use, think I may use later or other such possessions.

Second example – I will live close to work. I always thought I would consider my workplace as hated as school and the thought of living close to school was abhorrent but it turns out I love what I do and wouldn’t mind living closer. Maybe not across the road, but closer and that seems to be ‘The Belgian Way’.

I’m wrapping everything up at work this week and ten years is a lot of wrapping up to do. I didn’t think it’d take so much time and effort but it is. One week almost isn’t enough to get it all done, but it has to be.

Next week Speculoos is on holiday and I get to spend that one precious week with her. I’m looking forward to it and I’m going to miss her terribly. My awesome wife, Mrs Black is also going to be sorely missed over in Belgium during that limbo I shall call the ‘In-between Dreams’ era. Her reassurances, hugs and love have kept me going and her hard work has made this possible for all of us. She has done the most work in planning and packing that I’ve ever seen to get here. I love her with everything in me.

There are a few things that are going to keep me extremely busy during ‘In-between Dreams’ but I can guarantee that missing my family will be there like a constant weight on my shoulders. A cross I must bare if you could excuse the cliché.

Ciao for now.

Moment Lost

In a week’s time, I no longer work here.

After 10 years, more than 10 years I will not have an occupation. I will be completely free for a short while or as free as one can be with such big plans. There’ll be two weeks of crazy running around preparing those ordinary things for the trip to Belgium and then three to four days in Belgium getting more ordinary things in order.

What concerns me is that I should be enjoying this more but I’m not. It’s not anyone’s fault either. I keep getting this really bad cold and I haven’t been able to get rid of it for months again. It’s really bad now and completely distracting. It’s always different though, never the ‘same’ cold. This time I’m coughing, having night sweats and generally feeling bunged up and miserable.

It’d have really been good to go to a friend’s BBQ tonight – impromptu – and be able to socialize before the crunch of time makes it harder before I go but there’s no way. Not how I feel now. All I want to do is crawl up in bed and be a snotty mess. Hopefully I can get better and enjoy the time left to me here with my family and friends.

I’ve been loading up on the vitamins, minerals, aspirin, natural antibiotics & antivirals and colds & flu medication and it only seems to be getting worse. I’ve even upped my food intake in case it had something to do with over-training. Nothing thus far has met with good results.

I’m sick of being sick.

I was hoping that next week – my last week at work - I’d be happy, healthy and alert. Able to take it all in as I wound down, packed up, packed in, did admin, made sure my desk was cleaned off and made sure all was in order for my exit.

Let’s see what comes of that.

Ciao for now.

The Scout

Inevitably I will have to leave my ship, set off in a little boat on my own and venture into new territory alone armed with little more than the clothes on my back and the skills I’ve gained through years of study and work. We can see the land on the horizon. It’s that land I need to venture to and plant our flag on the shore – steak out our spot.

I’m procrastinating until the last minute but in the end it’s inevitable. It has to happen for me to get my family safely to Belgium. I have to book the plane ticket. I have to put that full stop at the end of the last sentence of the last chapter in the book that was “Survival in a Crumbling South Africa”.

The date I choose is a date of heartbreak and sacrifice on all our parts – Mrs Black, Speculoos and me. I have no misguided notions that I am most likely not going to be present for Speculoos’ second birthday. I’ll be very sensitive that day if I’m not able to hug her and tell her how much I love her.

Chances are I’m not going to be able to give my awesome wife, Mrs Black, a hug and snuggle on our wedding anniversary either. There’s another day where I’ll be emotionally rubbed raw and under the weather.

I now see how sacrifice is love and love, sacrifice.

It’s because of love that I’m willing and able to bare these pains. It’s out of love that we do what we’re doing. Mrs Black will let me leave because we’ve agreed that ultimately it’s for the best and when this very hard time is done, we will have gained far more than we could ever hope both for us and our little Speculoos.

Even with this in mind, it’s a hard thing to do.

I’ve had a date in mind for a long time now and yet I still toy with it, pushing it back in moments of weak procrastination and brining it forward when I know that the sooner I set out, the sooner I can do what needs doing and have my family stand next to me on our new homeland – our new home territory.

I need the courage to make that full-stop.

I need to book that ticket.

Ciao for now.

Land Beyond The Horizon

Our home is no longer ours.

Hmph. It’s funny that I still call it ‘our home’ and I suppose it will always be our home. It was a very bitter sweet moment when I handed the new owner the keys and relevant documentation. I was quite numb when I pulled the car out of the driveway loaded with the last of our possessions. I left quickly and quietly and didn’t look back over my shoulder out of fear of regret.

It was a wonderful home – our dream home. It had everything we wanted and more but it was in the non-popular part of town. The estate agent admitted that if it were a block or two up the street it would have sold for millions. It didn’t matter to us. We loved our house. I will also admit that I hated it for a while when we couldn’t sell it and all it seemed to do was hold us down and prevent us from our organized flee of the country.

It was necessary. We had to relinquish it because tenants in our country are savages and would have destroyed it leaving us with a useless investment and even worse emotional scarring than this way.

That’s also why I do not wish to ever, EVER return to that street or even drive past to see how our home is doing. I’m too afraid of what I’ll find. I have the original plan to reminisce over. It’s funny how nostalgia makes everything look so rosy and pretty.

Our organized flee. It doesn’t sound like a ‘flee’ at all, but trust me it is. We simply have the time and means to do it without complete abandonment of assets and the accompanying running and screaming.

To continue the metaphor from previously, we are now far beyond seeing land and out in deep, sea-green water. Our dreams are the sextant that we now navigate by and our hopes are the stars we follow.

The terrible delays I so feared in the selling of the house vanished at the 11^th hour! On the very last day at the very last moment the house was registered in the new owner’s name and I was able to retrieve the month I thought I’d lost! Had it been mere hours later, I would have had to put my resignation in at my company a whole month later as they only accept notice for a calendar month. Effectively one can only resign on the first of a month.

I’ve updated my Curriculum Vitae on two employment-seeking sites hoping to line up interviews in Belgium and already an employment agency has had a telephonic discussion with me about my skills and sent me a list asking which companies I would be interested in working for. This makes me hopeful that I’ll be able to get employment very quickly once I’m there and at least line up appointments while I’m still here in South Africa!

There’s much red tape I’m going to have to work through before and after I depart before I can be re-united with my family. This is definitely good motivation to hit the ground running in Belgium.

At the moment we (Mrs Black, Speculoos and I) stay with my parents in a cottage in their back yard. It’s small, cramped and I’m feeling awfully claustrophobic. Our previous home had pressed ceilings 4 meters above us (that’s approximately 12 foot to you who use the imperial system) and this is pretty precise. I carefully measured it. The ceiling in the cottage is only about 2.5 meters high. It feels cramped.

I’m beginning to dread the day I have to say goodbye to my family for an extended time while I’m in Belgium and they remain patiently in South Africa. Songs like “Leaving on a Jet Plane” by Janise Joplin and “Hey, that’s no way to say goodbye” by Leonard Cohen almost have me in tears every time I hear them.

It’s going to be a hard goodbye at the airport. If you want to see a grown man cry, neigh, reduced to sobbing snotty mess, well, you should be there.

The only reason I’m putting us through this is the sextant and the stars.

My family, I love you.

Ciao for now.

Shelf Life

There are three lives on the shelf…well…two anyway. The little life that’s started we’re trying to keep off the shelf. My little girl, Speculoos, is amazing.

Our journey has begun in earnest but there have still been awful delays. Soon the shoreline and home will be gone, no longer visible and no longer relevant. My family and I will truly be adrift with nothing below our feet but open, undulating water and we’ll have to navigate by our dreams. It’s horribly frightening and exhilarating all at once.

For this to happen, we’ve packed up our lives as compactly and neatly as we can. Everything that’s important to us is stowed in a box. Even the things we do that are important to us have been stowed away. Gym for instance has been packed away for the foreseeable future but it has to be so. Just for a little while. We’re living on almost nothing and by that I mean that our beautiful mansion of a house is empty save for 3 rooms. The bedroom, the kitchen and Speculoos’ play room. Those are the only rooms we’re using at the moment and the only rooms with “living items” in.

The delays, only a few days’ worth, have put our plans back a month. This saddens me because with all my heart, I was hoping to have my family with me in Belgium by the time Speculoos turned two. This won’t happen unless I get work very quickly and this is what I’m wishing for most of all. My skills are sought after and I should be able to get work easily enough but I hope it’ll be quick enough.

The laws in Belgium governing the amount of people living in a home are very strict. The size of the home governs how many people may stay there. Unfortunately my aunt’s home, and my first port of call, can only accommodate one extra person. As I’m the legitimate working age Belgian, I have to go first. This means I leave behind my beautiful wife and little girl until I land that employment.

I suppose that’s also good incentive to hit the ground running from the moment my feet strike solid Belgian soil! Those Belgians won’t know what hit them – they’ve NEVER seen the likes of me!

I will wow, stun and kick overall bum with my skills. King Albert II and Queen Paola will wonder how Belgium ever managed without me!

Ciao for now.

Suddenly...

Then suddenly it’s over.

One heartfelt Rosary, one sincere and silent plea and months of agonizing limbo are undone.

The winds fill the sails sure and strong. At first I suspected that the wind would die and fail again but it has remained and our journey has begun. The ship cuts through the water with uncanny speed, the bow throwing up salty spray and everything becomes frenzied action!

There are goods to stow away and secure, there’s excess to be thrown overboard and a destination to prepare for!

The Haunt has been sold! Our dream home given up for a different, better dream. I won't lie through a brave smile and say I don't feel regret and sorrow because I do. I was hoping things would be different but things change, people change and with that countries change. My hopes and dreams are different now and (excuse the pun) so I move with them.

Now there are new fears and different anxieties which aren’t unexpected or unwanted. With every motion forward, my stomach drops and my heart soars! It’s an unusual and conflicting feeling.

Every time I see a jet plane high up in the sky I become excited and nervous because I know that when I board that plane I depart on, that everything’s come to a head. When I hear strains of the song “Leaving on a Jet Plane”, I feel the tears welling up because I know that day is inevitable. The day I leave my family for a while and I know my heart will barely remain intact but it must be – neigh has to be - done. It’s everything we’ve planned towards – heartache for a greater reward.

For the first while when we are homeless, we’ll live with my parents. They’re so excited it’s funny to see. My mother’s looking forward to having a ‘big family’ again and I think seeing their only grand-daughter daily has massive appeal!

Our ship will dock in those friendly waters for a few months while I prepare and travel ahead to Belgium.

For now though, the winds are hard and strong. Everything is frenzied action and moving forward fast!

Ciao for now.

When the air stirs.

The air stirs. Is this what we’ve been waiting for?
Limbo is its own type of hell. The same day on a different day where the sun rises, the sun sets and everything in between is no more different to yesterday than an orange is from an orange.
There is one thing that changes: Hope. It’s whittled away month by month, day by day and finally minute by minute, the slow flailing by despair. The drinking water has turned bracken, the ship floats dead on a glassy mirror of ocean and the sails are flaccid, empty cloth.
There are moments when hope returns but quickly fades, when a teasing breeze fluffs a flag and momentarily ruffles a sail but then dissipates to nothing. Bitter disappointment filling its void, all hope once again gone and my soul sinks further down from where it previously sat.
We long for the winds of change, a stiff breeze to fluff the flags, fill the empty cloth and billow them into full-bosomed sails and the creaking of the wooden deck and rhythmic swaying. We look for the signs of a journey finally underway again and a future pregnant with hope and full of possibility.
The air stirs. Is this what we’ve been waiting for?

Bump in the Night

When cleaning up, certain things get disturbed. Dust gets kicked up into the air, emotional dust, physical dust, perhaps even ghosts.
I happened upon a load of paperwork, a massive stack of poems, scribblings and writings. Evidently I expounded quite prolifically when I was an angst-driven teenager. I’m surprised my psyche didn’t kill me back then. I’m surprised I didn’t kill anyone else back then!
Admittedly, I’m fairly narcissistic now, but I’ve definitely mellowed with age! Back then it was really, really bad! I felt quite shocked at my own writing! Who I am now is definitely not the same person I was all those years ago.

The ghost (or ghosts) have been quite active at The Haunt (our home) recently. I’m hoping this is a sign that they’re saying their good-byes and that The Haunt will be sold soon.
It’s also a bit freaky when they’re playing so close to my daughter. We have a baby monitor. When baby doesn’t move (breath) for too long, it makes a hell of a racket. It also kicks in when baby cries or there are other sounds in the bedroom. On this particular evening Mrs Black and I were sitting outside having a cup of tea after putting Speculoos (baby Black) to sleep. Next to her crib is a table with the monitor on and various other items. One of the items is a wind-up doll that plays a lullaby tune when wound up. We used it to put Speculoos to sleep earlier and it’d run down, becoming slower & slower.
Quite suddenly we heard the tune over the baby monitor! It was playing hard and fast like someone had freshly wound it up!
We quickly went through to the room and yes, the doll was playing with ghusto. I quickly picked it up while it was still playing and removed it from the room to examine it and so that it didn’t disturb Speculoos. It was far from unwound. It played for a good minute before it slowly wound down to the dying strained playing again.

The Haunt is still not sold. Another deal fell through. The buyer didn’t get the bond they applied for and that, again, is the end of that.
Perhaps I should approach our president and enquire whether he’d like to re-appropriate our land. At least we’ll get market value for the place and be able to settle the bond.
Most importantly we’ll be able to move on. The waiting’s getting infuriatingly frustrating.

Ciao for now.

Small Steps.

There’s an advert on our TV at the moment that advertises that out of three people who’ve left South Africa, two return. I’d really like to contact them because I have a house for them to buy…

Mrs. Black’s sister and family visited South Africa for Christmas. They moved to Ireland for work like so many South Africans moved abroad for a few years to earn Euros or Dollars and come home. The plan (as far as I’ve heard from those who’ve done this) is to put everything in storage, live and work abroad for two years whilst renting out the domicile and paying it off then come back triumphant with a wealth of experience and money.

The reality appears to be different. Nine years later and they’re still living in Ireland with no thought of coming back except for the odd brief visit to family and friends every second year.

When we went to meet them at the airport, it struck me how the place had deteriorated in just a few months. From when South Africa was the golden child, hosting the Soccer World Cup and each and every elevator and escalator was working and all processes were running smoothly to now, where only a few escalators and elevators were working and getting out of the paid parking area was a nightmare. We had to take two elevators to get to our desired floor – the floor in the middle. We had to find one that went two floors up and then one that was capable of going one floor down. Nice.

What was worse than this? The tiny seed of knowing that had been hiding deep in my mind that suddenly sprung into being as a shrub - knowing that more than likely the next time I am to visit the airport is the time I’ll be separated from my family for a few months. Will my little girl recognize her daddy when she sees him again? Will she cower away coy and shy or be ecstatic and shrieking as she’s prone to do with sheer joy?

 Either way, my months away are going to be lonely and it already saddens me but I must take heart! It’s all for a greater cause!

I now have short hair. Belgium, I understand, is extremely conservative and having long hair won’t do in my field. I decided over Christmas that it’d be better to cut my hair sooner than later, another small step towards the turning away.

All we can do at the moment is take small steps until the house is sold.

Ciao for now.

A White Horse.

Hold your breath until you remember when you last saw a white horse.

Does anyone still use this cure for hiccups? Did you know it can be used as a cure to a country?

On Monday I asked Mrs Black “Are you sure you still want to leave? You’re still okay to go to Belgium?”

She looked at me as if I was a shaved fruit bat.

Her answer was (and forgive me if I’m miss-quoting here) “Of course! What would make you ask that?”

To get something clear at the outset: I have not changed my mind or altered my resolve in the least about leaving South Africa but I needed to be certain that she wasn’t having second thoughts. I’d hate for her to be going through this with reservations.

Second thoughts kill ideas and sabotage the best laid plans. In my opinion they rot things from the core.

Later on, Mrs Black retorted to my question with one of her own – to prove a point.

“Give me a reason to stay in South Africa. Think of one reason why you’d want to stay in the country.”

I smiled at her because at face value it sounded easy. My smile was soon stripped off when I realized that I had cranial constipation! This easy task was becoming rather difficult and the more I racked my brain, the more elusive the ‘one reason’ became.

The conclusion to this little debacle is that I couldn’t find one. Even now my mind wanders through empty corridors, peeking in the corners for the ‘one reason’ in complete disbelief that it cannot be found!

There’s a list of reasons for leaving South Africa, flocks of fluttering agitation but not one single butterfly of reason to remain.

I’m Belgian. I’m proud to be associated with Belgium. I will pay my taxes not to keep my president soaked in wives (yes, plural of wife), but to pay for services. I will have a King and Queen, who have decorum, manners, monogamy, self-control and a certain amount of class but still have a human side.

I dream on until The Haunt is good and thoroughly sold and we set sail for a new home.

Ciao for now.

Bleak Days

Black Tuesday…or is it Black Wednesday?

It certainly feels black.

The weather’s been rainy here. When it rains many traffic lights cease to function, drivers become more impatient, many accidents happen, potholes fill with water making them deeper and hiding them. It doesn’t help when an ‘unknown’ element is also tampering with traffic lights, turning them to face the other intersections causing a fair amount of confusion and a whole lot of danger. I took a different route home yesterday because a truck had jack-knifed on the freeway blocking three lanes. That’s two lanes open and I could feel it in the traffic 5km back.

Tom Tom the GPS took me through what used to be green, beautifully maintained suburbs. They now resemble Maputo. I thought I saw one of those tampered-with traffic lights but I was mistaken. It was hanging skew out of neglect.

The ‘Secrecy Bill’ has taken a step closer to being implemented.

This is what the majority want. If they didn’t want this they would’ve voted for a different government. Perhaps the majority don’t know of this and didn’t protest against it because they didn’t hear it on the news because they didn’t have a radio or TV. It doesn’t really matter. They’ll vote the same government in next time anyway, their saviours and heroes, regardless.

There’s those amendments to the ‘Secrecy Bill’ too that sound fine and well but leave me deeply worried. That bit I heard on the radio yesterday about information not being made classified to hide incompetency, criminal or wrong doing. Who’s going to decide that? What’s the sequence here? Will it be deemed classified until someone can prove the incompetency, crime or wrongdoing and then that someone’s broken the law because it was classified?

Will it have to be proven before it’s classified? Won’t it be leaked to the public then making it no longer classified? What information could be so harmful or shameful that a tiny insignificant banana republic like South Africa has to keep it secret?

Our borders aren’t of use anymore. We have so many foreigners here that we may as well incorporate our neighbours and call the country Zim Africa. Are we keeping the secrets from them? Why?

No. There are things that need to be kept from the citizens and the best way to do that is gag the press.

On the up side I look forward to hearing less political news and hopefully less about ANY government projects. I’d like more weather and economics to be shown on the news.

I don’t agree with the majority and I’m tired of explaining to the infatuated. My little girl deserves better so we’re going where I can give her a fairer lot in life.

Ciao for now.

Our Home.

Our beautiful home.

What a blessing, what a burden.

Our house is probably one of the oldest domiciles in the neighbourhood and because of this is steeped in rumour and neighbourhood legend. The house is now over 100 years old and still sports many of its original fittings and charm.

We nicknamed it “The Haunt” because it’s said to have spirits roaming the halls. I can say “the halls” because yes, it is that big. The Haunt is rumoured to have been the dwelling of everyone from the mayor to a mining magnate. It’s walls are all double cavity, internal and external, and the floors are wooden. The house is built on a double stand and sports an entrance hall, four bedrooms (one part of the house but accessed from outside), one and a half bathrooms (toilet outhouse part of main structure but accessed from outside), lounge, dining room, kitchen, store room (which used to be the kitchen – remember that the slaves did the cooking and brought the food in), a coal cellar, a walk in cellar and crawl space for the rest of the house.

On the property we have a cottage with bedroom, lounge, kitchen and bathroom which used to be the coach house and is still labelled as such on the original plan. I’ve often imagined the four wheeler buggy standing in there, waiting for the Sunday trip to church.

One of the ghosts that haunt the place is rumoured to be a lady who was shot in the cottage by her estranged husband. The neighbours remember him piling her body into the car, wracked with remorse after the fact, and rushing her to hospital - too late.

There’s a ghost who arbitrarily presses a key on the piano every so often. It’s A# to the left of middle C. The room will be empty and the note will sound. Always when your back is turned to the piano, of course. The first time it happened I whipped my head around; lo and behold there was nothing visible there.

The ghost has also closed a tap for me. I was home alone and filling the dogs bowl in the kitchen and left the tap running while I rummaged in the fridge for ingredients for a sandwich. It’s a big tub of a bowl – enough water for two Rottweilers and a Labrador. I suddenly hear the water stop running and look over my shoulder thinking “Oh damn, the municipality must be working on the water again.

I went over to have a look and close the tap. I didn’t want the water suddenly turned on again by the municipality and have the tap running full ball with no-one noticing until a lot of water had been wasted.

The tap was already closed and had it run much longer the bowl would have been over-full.

As creepy as this sounds, the ghost…or ghosts have been quite amenable. There has been no rattling of chains, tearing of sheets or other horror movie type incidents. They don’t do things very often and as in the last incident have been helpful!

I’ll miss The Haunt, even though I kind of resent the place now. Had The Haunt been in a better part of town, just two blocks up, we could have sold it for over a million and I think a lot quicker.

There have been a few signed (and we thought sealed) deals on The Haunt, each of which has fallen apart because of reasons out of our control. It’s been very disheartening and frustrating standing at the starting blocks, hearing the gun go off and leaping forward for the race then moments later hearing another shot indicating a false start. Everything stops and returns to the beginning again. This must’ve happened about four times already – I’ve lost count. I now expect more of the same – great start and then return to the beginning. I don’t like being optimistic and having my hopes beaten around the head every time.

I accept and believe there’s a bigger plan (God knows what he’s doing) and I’m behaving like an impertinent child who can’t get his way. I try not to but I can’t help it.

I have no choice but to bide my time and be patient. We will move forward when we are permitted to: When the time is right. Even though I want to leave now! *stomp-stomp*

Waiting patiently impatient.

Ciao for now.

The Guilt

Then there’s the guilt.

Perhaps this will be a cathartic release of the different guilt I have for fleeing.

There is the little guilt titbits that pop up like those chocolates that are left on the pillows of turned down hotel rooms; quickly seen to and disposed of. Nom-nom-nom.

Then there is the larger, Christmas dinner sized guilt that becomes bigger the more you eat. I have four of these that torment me for our decision to flee.

There’s the guilt that I’m depriving my parents of a very important part of their lives. That part where they get to dote on their grandchild, their first grandchild, my daughter who I’ll be stealing away to Belgium. I’ve wrestled and reasoned that I cannot sacrifice her safety, education and well-being on this. I’m not prepared to gamble on this here. The odds aren’t good – not now. Perhaps it’d be better in a few generations time but I doubt it’ll even become a fair gamble in her lifetime.

There’s the guilt that I’m taking someone’s daughter, Mrs. Black, and grandchild away from them. My wife’s parents are still both alive. Mrs. Black always vowed to stay here until they’d both passed on but since the birth of our daughter, Specoloos that’s her nickname, Mrs. Black’s concerns have taken a drastic left turn without indicating, flicker lights, hooting or any pre-warning! Mrs. Black hasn’t shown any wavering sign of ever turning around again. She has her sights firmly set on the horizon, waiting for the sails to billow with a stiff breeze so we may lift anchor and depart.

There’s the guilt that I’ve inadvertently coerced my family, through my cynical disposition, into leaving this place. This guilt doesn’t happen often, thankfully, but it does rear its head! It re-assures me to hear Mrs. Black’s thoughts on all the things she’d like to do when we’re settled in Belgium. As nasty as this is, it also re-assures me when she sees a terrifying reality in this place and expounds it to me.

Inevitably there’s the Catholic guilt. If you’re a practicing Catholic you may understand the next bit. To ensure my time-share in heaven, I should be looking after the poor, helping the needy and generally spreading and sharing goodwill. There’s enough of all the above right outside my house to swallow more than my lifespan of time and assets. I feel guilt for leaving the needy behind. I was the provider of music at the 11:45 mass at our church on Sunday for free and completely voluntarily. When we began our plans, I quit. I knew I wouldn’t be able to give it the little attention I already was and the equipment I used would have to be sold. As with human nature I have a counter-argument for this guilt too. Why else would I still be in the throes of fleeing?

I made a promise, a vow before God, family and friends that I would remain faithful and loving in sickness and in health (that means no matter what) to Mrs. Black. Through the sacrament of marriage where we give ourselves to the other before all those witnesses, it is my responsibility through utter and undying love to do the best by and for my family. The best right now is to move them to a place where they’ll be safer, exposed to more opportunities and experiences that they can obtain here. I hope for a happier, safer and far less stressed family in Belgium.

I've come to realize that I'm relieved when I see them at the end of the day. Relieved that nothing bad and no harm has befallen them because it is a constant and real danger here.

That's not living.

Ciao for now.

The Master

What to do about my employ?

Why am I concerned about my employer?

Simple; they’ve been good to me and I feel a certain responsibility due to the uniqueness of my position. I work for a massive international concern but each department is run as an individual business. In our unit there are six engineers, each running more than three projects at any given time. I used to be the only one doing their drawings then the projects became more and I was granted help. I am in the unique position in my company, at least the South African division, where I have absolute say on the standards, content, equipment library and who gets to work with our drawings. I’m in charge of the visual outcome of the engineer’s designs. Now that I’ve written this down, it’s kind of scary.

If there’s been a problem where a draughtsperson was having difficulty getting a certain result or the software wasn’t behaving as expected I’d be the “go to” person. Last week I got a call from a draughtsperson from another company entirely who heard I could possibly help them with a problem. I could and I did.

They’re also not stingy with their money. They pay me well for my knowledge and expertise as well as the amount of work I’m able to push out. Between you and me I think they also pay for entertainment value because when I get stressed the most unusual things come out of my mouth. When there are profits over and above what’s required, I’m given a chunk of that too. Aren’t they nice?

My manager balked when I told him of our plans. His immediate reaction was to ask if we (the company from here on referred to as “The Master”) had an office in Belgium because then I could simply transfer. I had considered this and investigated it. The Master has offices throughout Europe, but unfortunately the one place they don’t have offices is the one place I’m going to.

I hadn’t intended to tell The Master until plans were well under way but circumstances didn’t allow for that. The month we decided to put our plans into action was the month two of our engineers decided to resign. It wasn’t planned like that in any way, they simply both got opportunities to expand their expertise at the same time. Our business unit was suddenly struggling to swim. I’m not so deluded that I believe The Master couldn’t replace me, but I certainly believe they’d have swallowed a lot of water, choked and spluttered quite a bit and possibly even disappeared under the water for a while if I’d left at that point.

Not that I could have left at that point. We were still only planning but that kind of planning and implementing takes time. It would’ve been dishonest and mean not to divulge the route I’d decided to take.

The hunt for a permanent assistant, an *ass-man if you will, began.

It hasn’t ended.

Then there’s the unexpected and gracious granting of some serious software training that I’d been asking for repeatedly for about three years. I think they were hoping to entice me into staying.

They gave up after about two months with the enticing thing and then blatantly asked with the offer of more money and entitlement. It was like breaking up with a girl. I very gently had to explain that it wasn’t them, it was me. It’s the different lifestyle and the safety for our child and us that no money can buy that I’m after. I explained that I love working for them and would’ve gladly relocated but that it simply wasn’t meant to be.

I’m still with my Master and will be until our house is finally sold and we move out. The Master has commented “There’s no rush.”

Shame.

I would divulge the terms on which Mrs. Black left her company, but that would raise my bloodpressure, heartrate and iRate far too much. Suffice to say it was far from amicable. Her company simply don’t appreciate the quality people they have.

In conclusion, here's a tiny bit of what I've done with the new shiny high-end software (Autodesk Revit MEP) I've been given.

A 2D representation of an outdoor HVAC unit (thats air conditioning unit in normal speak) and it's properties as related to design work.

and the 3D view of this item...

Pretty, no?

Ciao for now.

*this is not meant as a sexist comment in any way. I’d be quite happy for it to be an ass-lady!

My Navigator

My beautiful wife is amazing. How much trust she’s granted me with our decision I will never fully comprehend. I will need to be the money-maker in Belgium and with that comes much responsibility.

She’s dreading the inclement weather but on the flip side looking forward to parts of it. A white Christmas, making snow angels, ice-skating outdoors on real ice and not the fake plastic stuff they have in the malls here at Christmas. She’s given up and sold so much of her personal belongings and done far more than I’ve managed to in packing up the house for the journey.

Where I’ve lost hope, she holds firm telling me that we can’t simply give everything away. We have to try and turn as much of it into cash as we can.

She’s my voice of reason, the navigator who plots a sensible path. I’m the blithering idiot who wants to sail off in a straight line and maroon our ship on the first sandbank or tear it apart on the reefs that lie in wait in the waters instead of going patiently around them.

I’m often neglectful and don’t see that she needs my help and she ends up sacrificing things that are important to her, sometimes she sacrifices her very well-being that beautiful, lovely lady truly does love us and shows it so often!

We don’t hold hands enough. We don’t talk enough and that’s my fault. I’ve come to realize in this late hour of life that I’m terrible at the verbal thing. I don’t explain things properly and use poor language or my psychic ability to communicate. Of course I don’t have any psychic ability which is a little problem that manages to make huge problems later. I also tend to be a “yes” man to please people or uphold some perceived image they may have of me. I should really, really stop that and take the more “it is what it is” stance.

In essence I’m a pushover when I shouldn’t be and a stubborn mule when it’s not appropriate.

It struck me quite suddenly, this masterful blow, the kung-fu death point blow that could’ve crippled my ability to earn a decent wage in Belgium. I use the metric system in my work. What if they used imperial? I wouldn’t have a clue to begin with on the lengths, volumes and areas they would be referring to. I could get used to it but it would take much practice!

Upon some investigation I managed to parry the death blow and received only minor grazing. Belgium uses the Metric system. The grazing comes in with the notes I make on drawings. They would most likely be in Nederlands and knowing a little about what I do, I know they’d be pretty standard. My wife eased my mind here yet again pointing out that its jargon and once I have a handle on it, and understanding Nederlands the way I do, I’d be able to cope. She’s right again of course.

I wish I could do more for my lady.

She deserves far better than I’m able to give her.

A Warmed Heart

We never anticipated having a child. In all honesty she has been the happiest “accident” we’ve ever had. There is nothing, NOTHING, on this earth that makes my heart melt like the satisfied sigh, the stifled giggle or the admiring eyes of my daughter when she watches me do something and has the impulse to copy the action.

When she was still growing and getting ready to join us out here, the decision was firmly made that she’d get her Belgian citizenship as she’s entitled. At that stage we weren’t planning this departure from the country, but when we decided upon it, it would be far easier to accomplish if she was a Belgian already.

At the hospital we’d filled out a full description of who she was, when she arrived and who’d been responsible for this new “people”. A short while later we received an official document that declared in an unassuming way that she’d been noted, slotted into the system and given a number. The paper also declared who the mommy was but I was nowhere to be seen on this paper.

Upon enquiry at the Belgian Consulate I found out that they required an ‘unabridged birth certificate’ as this would state me as the father and as I’m the Belgian here we need that, a translated transcript of this certificate by one of their approved translators and an ‘apostile’. From there these documents are sent to Belgium for processing. All this has to happen before she’s two years old. We jumped on it immediately and I’m glad we did because it wasn’t that easy.

We filed the application, paid our seventy South African Rands to the government and waited the obligatory three weeks we were told it takes. Week three came and went and we enquired on the progress and were curtly told “When you get the SMS that it’s here at our offices, you can come pick it up.”

Week four and five floated by without any notification and I began to get agitated. We got hold of a telephone number for a hotline and spoke to a lovely lady there who escalated our request. After a further three weeks we finally got a response from her that the document was in for transcription. Great, so another three weeks hence we should have it. I didn’t trust this and phoned again after one and a half weeks to check on the progress.

I was told that my expectation of three weeks from the initial phone call was ludicrous! The document was indeed in for transcription, but that merely meant that it was in the queue (a pile on some arbitrary desk somewhere is what I read into it) for them to draw the original hospital records from the vault and enter in the data on their system to enable them to print the official government document. What to do? Do I lose the little patience I have and the request for the transcript ‘disappears’? Do I wait patiently in the hopes that one day a clerk somewhere decides to do a day’s work and hopefully my application is among those done?

I’ve had acquaintances tell me that they filed for an unabridged birth certificate more than three years ago and they’re still waiting.

Thankfully I had a backup plan.

There are government departments that the general public use where you pay the regular tariff. This tariff entitles you to not much more than a raffle ticket. You may get nothing – ever, you may get a consolation prize like my friend’s little brother – an Identity Document with the right name but wrong ID number and wrong photo. The best prize is the first prize – a correct, complete document within the allotted time.

Then there are the government departments that are ‘semi-private’ where the wealthier go and where the price of an unabridged birth certificate jumps from 70 South African Rand to 1000 South African Rand. The documents are genuine, produced from the same government departments, but the difference is the price. I’m certain that a large percentage of that money goes to ‘lubrication’ for the wheels. As much as it goes against my principles, I needed the practical, I needed that document and I paid the piper.

The piper sent in the guy that beats the drums, the large whip brandishing slave driver and a bucket of lube and within two weeks of drumming, whipping and lubricating (sounds kinky) within the chaos of desks and paper piles that I’m sure are government departments, I had the document.

I won’t waste much more of your time because the Belgian side of this is boring. We handed in the documents requested from us to the Consulate, one and a half weeks later I was contacted via e-mail to make an appointment to sign my consent that my little girl becomes a Belgian which I cordially did. We both went because this was quite an occasion for us and the Consulate General himself did the honours of reading the docket to us and made sure we understood. He also advised that my wife get the free visa entitled to her as soon as possible and simply renews it. It was four weeks from first handing in the documents to my little girl being a Belgian and obtaining a passport!

Sorry government of this country. You have failed the millions who pay your salaries and who trusted you to make things better.

Belgium, you have my trust and loyalty. Belgium, you will have the pleasure of hearing my daughter’s satisfied sighs and stifled giggles. You will have her loving eyes watch you and you will show her beautiful things.

This experience once again affirmed our decision to flee. I’d rather have my talents and skills used in a country that will care for its people than where I am now.

Worldly Possessions.

 “Anything you cannot relinquish when it has outlived its usefulness possesses you, and in this materialistic age a great many of us are possessed by our possessions.”Peace Pilgrim

Preparations for our journey have begun.

We’re lightening the load so this ship can sail as fast as possible.

We’ve sold quite a bit of furniture and other odds-and-ends. The house is far from empty though and every time we make a big sale (like the fridge, a single bed and mattress, a double bed and mattress and various other odds and ends in one go) I expect to see these massive empty gaps but it doesn’t happen. The house seems to look as full as it ever did! The more we sell, the more there seems to be to sell. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that much of these worldly possessions we’re simply going to have to give away or leave in the house or even dump when we flee.

We both knew getting rid of everything was a hyperbole. There would inevitably be the odd thing that’d have to go with. We cannot board the plane naked after all. That would cause far too much of a hubbub. We’ve kept a quantity of warm clothing as it’ll most likely be winter when we arrive in Belgium. There are some sentimental items, a few books, things that cannot be replaced that we’re keeping and going to ship over. The rule is: If you’re willing to pay the cost of shipping it over, have used it in the last 6 months or it’s irreplaceable, it may be shipped over.

My guitars was a big debate and not in the sense that you’d think! I no longer care – I was going to sell both of them but my wife, in her coy way, eventually convinced me to keep them. We went and bought two hard cases for them so they’d survive the trip. I was still hard set on selling my Marshall Valve state amp until I saw the price of them in the music store. Even on special, as they were, I would not indulge and replace it in Belgium. She smiled politely and knowingly at me and said in her most gentle way “I think we should take the amp with us.” That’s two for my wife.

I always imagined our house being empty and hollow before we were ready to go. Only a few used rooms showing signs that someone lived there. I now know it’s going to be a mad dash to rid ourselves of our worldly goods when the house sale looks good to go through.

Knowledge is a heavy burden. I realized this when I lugged all my study books and tutorials to work in a bag. The idea is to rid myself of the hard copies – perhaps leave them with my mother for a time until I’m certain she can dispose of them. At work I’m converting them all into soft copy pdf documents that I can carry on a flash drive. That’s at least 15kg of baggage I won’t have to carry but would otherwise need. Especially if I find an employ in a different discipline I’m used to. I can quickly brush up with my study material and hopefully be kick-bum magnificent at what I do in the required field. We purchased an amazon kindle each, a pricey buy in our country but for good reason. We both love books and have ended up with far too many. From now on we’ve decided to keep things small, minimalistic and neat. The books we can replace, we’ll replace on the kindle and not clutter our home with dead wood. I can also now take all my study material over and be able to read it all on one device. Of course I’ll still take over a flash drive with the important stuff on as a backup.

I also began an internet search and have settled on two sites that send me daily updates on positions available in my field. From this I’ve gathered two things, where we’re most likely to establish our new home and that there’s at least between five and ten new positions open a day and at a scant minimum at least one I’d apply for. Those are good odds even in a depression!

 Then there was the renewed faith in what we were doing when we dealt with our new (now in power for about 20 years) government and the Belgian Consulate.