In the summer my son Jack turned four, he started to develop strange white patches on the skin of his neck. Over the course of several weeks, the patches spread to his chest and right arm. The paediatrician was a little flummoxed and put in a call to a dermatologist. It was, she said, vitiligo. And so began our journey with a rare condition that most people know nothing about.
This week I was waiting on a pavement in the Cape Town CBD, waiting for a lift. A car moseyed up one-way Long Street, slowed, stopped. Reversed ten or twenty metres, made a right turn and proceeded on its way. Luckily there were no cars right behind it, and all was well. I smiled, thinking: “Only in South Africa…” And it is amusing, in its way. But really it is indicative of all that is…
The idea that somehow the sunset and sunrise on a particular day in our Western calendar have any bearing on the flow of life is what psychologists call magical thinking.
Being middle class is supposed to be a comfy, complacent sort of thing. But there are silent struggles everywhere you look.
Through the handing down of these familiar companions, our mothers were handing on memories and connecting generations over the love of what is both a daily chore and a source of life.
Lessons in how to listen from a workshop on racism.
I spent last week training a small group of interns, teaching them to use my company’s multimedia tools. It’s a long time since I trained a group of people, in a room, with the luxury of time and a training plan. And I realised again how much I enjoy it. Reflecting on the week, there are some things I did wrong and some things I did right. Perhaps a short list of those would be…