June is really the best month of all and it comes with the excitement created around the opening high season. All the residents are busy getting things ready. The deck chairs and sun shades are coming out, the painters are giving the last touches to the “chalets” – the small family run restaurants and services offered on the beach – and the summer shops are filling their racks.

The football matches too are rolling away. Except for a few extra lucky teams, which have reached the top of their section, most others are fighting to stay in for the next round. This is true of Italy and South Africa. So excitement runs high and the nervous hunger sets in. But we can’t eat too much and we must watch our calories.

I remember watching an elderly woman in Grottammare prepare one of her plain dishes and actually wondered what it would taste like. It was so simple! Just bread and tomatoes. I must say that tomatoes in Grottammare have an exceptionally sweet taste as they grow on limy soil and when they are ripe they keep their texture and become really good to eat. Well here’s what you do for the:

Bread and Tomato Pizza

For four people:
400 gr. of dry bread
water (just enough)
4 large fresh ripe tomatoes/1 kg,
salt to taste
pepper to taste
1 spoon of chopped basil leaves
4 spoons of olive oil

Cut your dried bread into 1 cm. sized cubes. Add just enough water to soften in (it must not run). Cut the tomatoes in cubes of the same size.
Place the ingredients into a bowl. Add the salt, the pepper, the chopped basil leaves and the olive oil and mix all the ingredients roughly together,

Take a pizza tin, or a cake tin, oil it all round and lay out the ingredients flattening them as if it were a pizza.

Place the tin in a pre-heated oven 240° and cook for 15 minutes.
Let it cool down and then turn out and cut into squared slices.

Any drink will go nicely with it. Red or white wine. Beer or even Coke.

I just loved it when I made it. I hope you will too.

I’m in Grottammare now, on the Adriatic Coast of Italy, about half way up the boot, Summer is ready to explode. All the perfumes of the flowering spring flowers waft through the air and mingle with the sea breeze, making the walks along the seashore intoxicating.
To make things more exciting, one can watch the Fifa World Cup matches, at the same time they are played in South Africa and that really keeps one up to date. The evening matches start around 8p.m. and with the excitement they bring, before they are over, one is hungry again. So I prepare a very fresh and easy platter, to offer my friends and guests and draw the evening to a perfect end.
The easiest one to prepare is with fresh fruit and prosciutto (or freshly cut ham which is just as good).

PROSCIUTTO, MELON AND FIGS
For 4 you need:
200 grams of ham
150 grams of figs
1 medium-sized melon
1 lemon
1 packet of grissini (or slices of toast)
In the centre of a large serving dish make a small mound of peeled fresh figs. Lay out your slices of prosciutto or ham. Around the slices place half moons of melon. Place sliced lemon pieces around to decorate. Seal or cover and keep refrigerated until the match is over.
For drinks, I suggest a sparkling wine, or a fruit punch.

Try it out and let me know and ……… enjoy the match!

Nelson Mandela was kept prisoner in the Old Fort on his arrest in 1962 and given a bed in the hospital section. This was a rare exception because only whites were held there, but he was a special person right from the beginning and the authorities were very careful in dealing with him.

In the Mandela cell, there is an exhibition of the writings and documents that refer to that time. You can also hear his voice describing his involvement and his emotions. They are touching stories to hear. Among the papers there is also a delightful pin-up picture of a young African woman dancing. The colours are so lively and the pose so joyful that, sent to him by a friend, it was his inspiration in those days of gloom.

I am not sure what I expected to see when we set out to visit Number 4. I had distractedly seen some disturbing pictures when watching the video earlier, but they were nothing like realising what the place was really like. It is difficult to accept that people were kept there as recently as the 1980s and 90s.

The size of the prison rooms, considering the number of people steeped inside, were small. There was little aeration. There were practically no bathroom facilities, except one partially sectioned off toilet. If we consider the heat in summer, the odour of many adult men in the same room must have overwhelmed them. If that in itself was not enough, they were given very little air time for any form of exercise outdoors, food was carefully rationed and blacks and whites had different meals dished out to them; more starch and beans for the blacks, more meat for the whites. Why the difference?

The abuses made on the prisoners were dreadful: the guards brutalized them, cajoled and teased them and forced them to obey to humiliating situations without any justified reason but just for the sadistic pleasure of feeling superior in some way. There is a question written in block capitals on the wall: “Who is the criminal?”

Sadly even Gandhi was imprisoned in Number 4 in the early years of the 20th Century. Being who he was, he said:”Let the accusation of breaking the law fall on us. Let us cheerfully suffer imprisonment. There is nothing wrong in that…”. I hope that at that time prisoners were not treated with abuse.

Our excellent guide tells us that there actually is a permanent Gandhi exhibition on the Hill and though her time is up, she encouraged us to go and take a look. I am very happy to know that Gandhi’s memory is kept alive and am even more pleased to see that it was the Indian Prime Minister, Dr. Singh, who opened the exhibition back in 2006, on the Centenary of the Satyagraha. There are pictures of a young Gandhi, in his prime, looking through meaningful eyes, straight ahead of him with serenity and confidence.

While reading his biography, written all along the exhibition path, all my earlier findings are confirmed but I can’t believe that he opened his law office at 21-24 Court Chambers, Corner Rissik and Anderson Streets. I worked for African Life at 19 Rissik Street in 1961 and never noticed anything there at all. It was probably all pulled down by then. Of course Johannesburg has changed so much over the years and even African Life does not exist any more.

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There are more sections to see: the Women’s Jail, the Great African Steps….. but time rules the day and with a heavy heart we leave the Hill. The sun has warmed the air and we begin to feel more comfortable. We put our trust in its new Constitution and confide South Africa will become a place of solidarity and democracy. Tomorrow we’re booked for Soweto.

The rain hasn’t eased up yet but by the time we reach Constitution Hill there is a break in the clouds and a ray of sunlight. There is a lot of road work going on around the hill and we really have to navigate through numerous detours and unclear signs. Somehow we reach Constitution Square by going up the Joubert Street Extension. It takes a few seconds to recognize the black and white soccer ball wrapped around the tower. Yes, the 2010 World Cup is on promotion!

Except for a group of students who are already leaving the area, we are the only ones there. At the Visitor’s Centre we ask for a tour guide. Luck is with us and we get the last tour of the day. We have to make a choice of three areas to see as the time is running out. Our choice falls on the Constitutional Court, the new South Africa. Then the Old Fort to see what Paul Kruger had done and finally the Number Four prison section, out of respect for the men who had to live through such a dreadful experience.

We first view a video and then follow the guide to the Court.

We can’t help but notice the name “Constitutional Court” written in different colours in the 11 official languages of South Africa. We try to make out some of the African languages but confide in the English and the little Afrikaans we know for reassurance. The symbolic meaning of recognizing all its people is strong enough to make us realise how ignorant we are of the other 9 languages, their people and their culture. We’re like on the tip of an iceberg and are completely unaware of what is underneath. I wonder what their feelings are?

We pass through remarkably sculped doors into the foyer of the Court, a light filled area populated by slanting columns. These represent trees as, traditionally, it was under them that villagers congregated to discuss important issues with elders. A majestic tree with people underneath has become the logo.

There are many works of art to look at but the centrepiece is the ladder of liberation. It is the symbol, of how, step by step, the people ascended the ladder leaving behind them all the different hardships they had to endure.

The conference section with its red velvety seats is not very big but dignified. You do not need many people to make a good constitution and the one South Africa adopted is one of the most progressive in the world.

Outside the Court there is a statue of considerable size. It is rather disquieting to look at. We can’t make out what it is – an animal – a man – a hybrid? We try to understand the meaning the artist tries to convey. Is it telling us how a small indifferent minority, for their own selfish interests, slave drives a large body of subjected people?

We move across the yard, following certain intriguing, artificial long shadows of men and women, up a few steps towards the Old Fort which dominates the hill. It is a strong construction, architecturally styled, built to protect the Boers from the advancing British during the Anglo-Boer War in 1899. A defense system which unfortunately turned into a prison and has lamentably seen prisoners of all races pass through its gabled gates.

The old Johannesburg produce market has changed its customers since the transformation into Museum Africa. It was a good idea to revitalise the inner city and give some breathing space to the traffic congested area. Today no-one is around. It’s raining, of course! Ducking the downpour we hurry inside to see a section dedicated to the Struggle for Freedom. There are large poster sized photographs of South Africans who were sentenced to prison on charges of treason at the infamous “Treason Trial”, amongst them Nelson Mandela and many members of the African National Congress. Sad but true.

In the Museum, the story of Johannesburg is told through its exhibits which go back to archeological findings on the city’s cliffs (still going on) – hominids and bushmen. It quickly passes on to the more recent past with the Voortrekkers’ arrival, the mad gold rush and emphasis on shoes and clothes worn then. It is amazing how women wore dainty lace garments and bonnets in those rough times! Vanity never goes out of fashion!

But, what is fascinating is the Imbali shop. Thinking it a souvenir store, we enter only to make a new discovery. It is a non-profit Visual Learning Project which trains its participants to create artifacts with different materials, many of them recycled: bags and mats from plastic shopping bags, jewellery from buttons, original shaped pottery and clothes all individually fashioned and designed in the most exciting colours. Check in to this web site: www.imbali.org.za; It’s really worth it!

I am more and more pleasantly surprised by the Africans’ great creativity. Besides training centres like Imbali or Ardmore, there are many individual street vendors who offer amazingly crafted goods made from the humblest materials such as shredded aluminium cans and wires. They shape the shreds into chameleons, zebras, giraffes and elephants, of all sizes. They fashion toy bicycles and motor cars, which actually run, from wires. Real life-size ibis, cranes and other large birds are created from scrap metal. Bead work, an ancient art form, is used in making an enormous amount of items: necklaces, dolls, key rings, drinking cup covers and many other goods. They are really amazing and you can find them practically everywhere.

The next visit is to The Market Theatre, just round the corner. Yes, the very theatre where Athol Fugard premiered his award-winning dramas and other playwrights put on their many plays, stirring the souls of the audiences, during the long years of apartheid. In the brochure “Celebrating 30 Years” of its founding in 1976, Nelson Mandela’s words in the foreword ring true: “It created a special space for the voices that had been suppressed for so long”. It was through Fugard’s plays that the western world caught up with the 30 year gap in South African history of which there was little news anywhere. In the simplest terms, he creates situational theatre which reveals the very heart of human tragedy caused mainly by social and political injustice.

It is lunch time and on a long day of hard museum walking we find the catering at the Market Theatre Restaurant very much to our tastes and commendable to whoever visits. Buon Appetito!

Our next stop will be Constitution Hill. The rain hasn’t given up yet!

Carlo and Gill have returned from their holiday in St Francis with the sad recap of Jemima’s loss. The whole community up at the air field came out to look for her. Picture posters were hung up all around but Jemima never appeared again. Occasional neighbours still call to enquire of the outcome and to express their sympathies.

Thursday, Jan. 21. It’s one of those incredibly rainy days in Johannesburg. The weather has been rather tedious this past week with its thunderstorms repeating themselves several times a day and today the downpour keeps going on.

I’m keen to visit Gandhi’s Monument and the Hamidia Mosque, two places of such importance for collective memory. We actually get to Fordsburg, in downtown Johannesburg, very easily, as the rain has discouraged traffic, and keep a look out for the monument but, unmistakably, first see the Mosque – a beautifully kept example, painted in pure white, stands out with its elegant minaret against the dark grey sky. We ask the only person there, a young man of oriental features, protecting himself from the rain under the arches, where the monument is. He doesn’t know. As we turn to leave, we see the small monument just across the street, a few meters away!

The word “TRUTH” written in capital letters is clearly visible and the structure swivels, just like the artist Usha Seejarim meant it to. But, without protection or emphasis, it looks more like a rubbish bin. “Burning Truth” is the name given to the monument, in memory of the burning of the Registration Certificates in 1908. It has a vandalised plaque attached in the front to commemorate the 100 years passed since that day, but, the truth is that it looks abandoned and abused. How sad! So much dedication and suffering and so little recognition.

The rain is coming down in buckets so the obvious thing is to take refuge quickly and where better than at the Oriental Plaza, just a few hundred meters down. There’s a large parking area at the front. It is an Eastern Style mall, completely run by Indians or Asians with oriental goods of all kinds on show: shoes, clothes, jewellery, textiles, furniture, etc. in modern, well-lit shops.

The main hall is impressive with its escalators and children’s play area and floods of light. Inner courtyards with covered porticos allow you to enjoy natural light and air, while keeping you protected. It is more realistic in a South African setting, than the covered malls, but then again, styles have their models.

As we wind our way through, enjoying the variety and colour of the goods exposed and the quiet, compassed air of the vendors we see an intermittent luminous sign: “Samoosas”. I don’t know what they are but Gill does and since it is half way through the morning, she invites me to taste one. We obviously hit the best restaurant and the owner welcomes us into the dining area. It is full of people, mostly oriental, and the decor comes straight from India itself: wooden panels depicting famous buildings (the only one I am sure of is the Taj Mahal), silken tapestry with Indian dancers and many more. The samoosas, triangular fried pastries filled with either meat or fish, are excellent and the tea is superbly warm and sweet. We leave tempered to face the rain again.

Well, Indians have certainly come out since the 1960s. What I remember of Indians then, was their overfilled emporium of goods centrally positioned between Wares Road and Russel Road in Port Elizabeth, “the Indian shop” as we called it, We used to cross this central area as school children because, after school time, regular buses only ran up Russel Road and if we had sport or another afternoon activity we had to walk across to catch a bus. Many times we took the walk on purpose because we could buy comics for one or two pennies cheaper and the same was true of any sweet or cold drink. With what we saved, we could buy more, and that is just what teenagers wanted, a little extra cash to add to their pocket-money. That was always exciting!

A young woman, dressed in a colourful silk sari with her red spot well painted in the centre of her forehead, a long braid of hair down her back and many jingling, golden bangles on her arms, was always there. She had a peculiar, pleasant, smell about her but it was unlike the perfume other mothers had. There was always a man in the background too, undefinable, busy carrying crates from one side of the shop to another but rarely serving customers. The woman would turn to him only to ask for the price, if she did not know, of an item. He usually answered in English but sometimes would lengthen the speech in a language we could not understand. We felt comfortable there though, and could look around without any limit of time and, little by little, began to recognize merchandise not found in other shops. It was all very intriguing but, most of all, we got what we wanted.

This then, is one secret of the Indian community’s success: small, family run businesses, serving their own community and keeping prices just a little lower than other general stores. A few pence a day………make a millionnaire and some Indians are among the wealthiest citizens of South Africa today.

It is after Smuts breaks his promise that Gandhi calls for a meeting outside of Hamidia Mosque in downtown Johannesburg, on 16th August 1908 and leads the crowd in burning their Registration Certificates in a large three-legged pot . This pot stands on a raised platform.

Before the Union of South Africa comes into being in 1910, Gandhi goes to London with other representatives of black political organizations to present the case for his people in South Africa, but, though the British Imperial Government is criticised in the British Press and also in Parliament, no changes are made. This means there is to be segregation to maintain white economic and political domination and that black and white land is to be separated. There is no mention of Indians.

The tactic of Satyagraha intensifies from Sept 1913 to protest the question of the legality of Indian traditional marriages (no plural wives) and soon broadens to include other economical (the hated 3 pound tax) as well as social grievances (living segregated in so called bazaars). Indians, including women, for the first time cross the Natal, Transvaal and Orange Free State borders. Strikes begin in the Natal collieries, supported by 4000/5000 workers, Gandhi leads 200 strikes towards the Transvaal border from Newcastle and strikes spread spontaneously to the sugar plantations in Natal. Mass arrest of Indians, including Gandhi, are made.

The Union Government appoints a commission to enquire into the strike. Gandhi and others who are imprisoned are released and negotiations between Smuts and Gandhi start once again. Their negotiations lead to the Indian Relief Act being passed by the Union parliament in July 1914. Some concessions are made: the tax is abolished, the validity of Hindu and Muslim marriages is recognised and free entry for educated Indians is allowed.

Gandhi claims that it is the Magna Carta of Indian liberty in S.A. but in exchange, he has to promise to leave the country. He compromises again. Now 44 years old, after twenty years from his first arrival, he leaves for good in the same month the Relief Act is passed. Back in India he says:”Truly speaking, it was after I went to South .Africa that I became what I am now. My love for South Africa and my concern for her problems are no less than for India”.

Before he leaves he sends Jan Smuts a pair of sandals as a present. Gandhi had made the sandals on Tolstoy Farm, outside Johannesburg. Smuts keeps the sandals for 25 years and then returns them to Gandhi in India saying: “I have worn these sandals for many a summer, even though I may feel that I am not worthy to stand in the shoes of so great a man”.

However, Indians in the Union could still not own land in the former two Republics and were not even allowed to live in the Orange Free State. Nor did the Act remove existing restrictions on Indian trading. Above all Indians were still deprived of a voice in the election of members of Parliament. The Union thus formally affirmed the insecure place they occupied in South Africa. Their ideal solution would have been wholesale repatriation. At that point though there were more than 155.000 Indians living in the country.

Notwithstanding, it is amazing to discover how well Indians have done for themselves in South Africa today. By using gaps in the law and the contradictions in the system of oppression, they managed to take what chances there were and use them for their own welfare..

My first call is at Norwood Library, just around the corner. The librarians are very considerate and find two volumes for me to start on: New History of South Africa by Hermann Giliomee and Bernard Mbenga (2007) and Experiences in Colonialism 1852 – 1921 – Great People, Great Places by Lauren Segal and Cynthia Kros (2009).

Once I get started I keep going deeper. This is what I come up with.

In 1893, Mohandas Karamchad Gandhi, a 24-year-old English trained lawyer in London, accepts an offer of employment from an Indian businessman living in South Africa, Dada Abdullah Seth, to wage a lawsuit against a relative. Ghandi arrives in Durban (Natal) and travels to Pretoria (Transvaal) by train in a first class carriage. On the way, in Pietermaritzburg (Natal), he is thrown off the train because he refuses to move from the carriage for “whites only”. This discrimination shocks him,

At that time South Africa is a divided country under British Authority. There are settler colonies (Cape Colony and Natal), Boer Republics (Transvaal and Orange Free State) and subjugated black societies (the Zulu People, the Xhosa People). All four colonies pass legislation that discriminates against Indians who are restricted in moving from one province to another.

Indians, mostly Hindi, are imported to Natal after 1860, on a 5 year term of indenture or contract, to work on the sugar plantations as cheap, unskilled, labourers. About half of them stay on in Natal but have to pay a 3 pound tax, if they work as ex-indentured labourers. From 1875, Gujerati-speaking Muslim merchants, with substantial capital, arrive to set up trading concerns in Natal and Transvaal and these two communities form a small minority of about 100.000. Gandhi himself says: “I was, with my countrymen, in a hopeless minority, not only a hopeless minority but a despised minority. If the Europeans of South Africa will forgive me saying so, we were all Coolies. I was an insignificant Coolie lawyer.”

Gandhi’s traumatic experiences on the journey to Pretoria convince him to fight for the rights of Indians. He acts quickly: in 1894 he founds – The Natal Indian Congress- and becomes its first secretary.

When the Anglo-Boer War breaks out in 1899 Gandhi motivates for Indian stretcher bearer and leaves for the front with the Ambulance Corps. For his services he receives a medal from the British.

He sails for India in 1901 but returns to South Africa in 1902.

In 1903 he starts a law practice in Johannesburg and is enrolled as an Attorney of the Supreme Court of the Transvaal he also founds – The British Indian Association – and, in the same year, the newspaper “Indian Opinion” is first published with Gandhi determining the policy and often writing the editorials. He also becomes an advocate of the Supreme Court of Natal, the first Indian ever to achieve this honour.

The Draft Asiatic Ordinance of 1906, nicknamed the Black Act, states that all Asiatics over the age of 8 have to sign and finger print special registration cards or passes. If they do not register they will be fined and put into prison. It limits where Indian traders can work and live. Gandhi believes that it is “designated to strike at the very root of [Indian people's] existence in S.A.”

After the Ordinance passes, Gandhi and his colleagues call for a mass meeting. Indians from all over the Transvaal and representatives of the Chinese community come to Johannesburg. He introduces his strategy of non-violent resistance, Satyagraha or the power of truth. It involves a non violent refusal to comply with an unjust law and, at the old Empire Theatre in Fordsburg, Johannesburg, he says:”Let the accusation of breaking the law fall on us. Let us cheerfully suffer imprisonment. There is nothing wrong in that…”

Hundreds of Indians and Chinese people support Gandhi’s call and refuse to register for passes and many are arrested and imprisoned at the Old Fort Prison in Johannesburg as well as in other jails in Natal. Gandhi himself is imprisoned and spends many days in jail believing that physical suffering will make him stronger.

From the early morning the sounds in the street are audible. People are definitely back in town, the holidays are over. Then there’s a blackout. No wonder, everybody must have switched on all their appliances at the same time. Imagine the loads of washing after three weeks away!!!

Having lunch out is a good idea. La Piccola Prima Donna Restaurant is just downstairs. It specializes in pizza and pasta and that is just what Miranda and I would like. The food is good and much to our pleasure, the pasta is “al dente”. The space is more like an art studio – there is a giant size remake of Caravaggio’s “Bacchus” covering the end wall, clusters of silver angels decorate the ceiling and fruit-laden gilded frames hang empty here and there, like open windows – and I am not wrong. All this work was done by the owner-artist who dramatically died in a car accident. His saddened friends want to keep his memory alive and take over to make it their meeting place and so much so, it is hardly ever without customers.

Across the road is Crake’s Gallery. I have kept a watch over it and have looked through the windows several times. At last, today it’s open too. I step inside and am awed by the number of paintings on exhibition. They are all by South African artists. I gaze at the landscapes. South Africa offers such a variety. I see from a rack of brochures that the Crake hosts several openings every year but the only words spent about the artists are those for Hannes du Plessis, who already has an international market. I like his “Earthscape” and his “symphony of elements” in “Leopard”.

I mention this lack of information to the promoter of the gallery and he agrees that he should write something more about the artists. He intends to. He also tells me that some are on Internet, so possibly I can get more biography from there. So far this is my judgement.

I like Bob McKenzie’s pastoral landscapes with their ironic titles: a herd of cattle is “Rainbow Nation”, a herd of goats, under gigantic baobabs, go under the name of “Goats in Paradise”. I recognize the stark South African setting of the Karoo with its desolate and solitary farm houses by Peter Bonney and the more dramatic landscapes like “Richtersveld” by Daan Vermeulen. “The Flower Seller” and “General Dealer, Derby” by Geoff Horne depict how black people have adapted to life in small towns. Dmitry Nikashin goes out of his way to capture remoter views. They are all very good and compliments to the Crake!

Carlo and Gill are still in St Francis. We want to wish Carlo a happy birthday and try calling. There’s no answer so we leave a message, sure that Gill will return the call as soon as she can. The next morning we repeat the calls without success. Surprised by the silence we contact Giulietta and find out that something is definitely wrong; Jemima is lost! No, it can’t be true! Jemima is forever going off on her own. But this time it’s different. In St Francis there are no gates and Jemima is blind and deaf. When we finally get through to Gill, we get the confirmation. We think of possible scenarios but the outlook is bleak. How did it happen? How could it happen? No, not on Carlo’s birthday! We are so sorry, poor little Jem.

Rosemary fills us in about their 6 children and 13 grandchildren, going for a 14th soon. She is as busy as ever offering herself for any of her children’s needs, even those who live abroad and through whom she has had the pleasure of making half a world tour; seeing her son in Mexico and meeting up with Laurie in Farmington, Connecticut. Besides that, she has opened her own catering business and from her home, supplies clients with platters i.e. snacks for venues, and, the idea is capturing the market. She says she started this because she can’t just sit at home and do nothing – another proof of her everlasting energy. Good old Rosemary she has kept up the stamina she showed when she played goal keeper for the school hockey team!

Rosemary and Alex are selling their home in Roodekrants- West Rand and moving back to Port Elizabeth, where many of their children live. Alex is retiring. They have been able to get away from their present home today because their Estate Agent is “showing house” for them. What it means is that Estate Agents choose a certain day and time to show their customers’ homes to whoever wants to buy the house. The owner has to leave the premises and allow the Agent to do the business. That’s why they have been able to come to Barbara’s. It sounds like a good way to deal with other people’s property though it is not the custom in Italy.

I have noticed that there is a tendency for retirees to move down to the Cape, more to the Western Cape, but not only Cape Town, and to the Eastern Cape as well. For one thing, they tell me, people there are more laid-back, there is less rush, the cost of living is lower and they can enjoy the milder weather . Contrary to this young blacks are moving to the northern cities where job opportunity in general is greater. Whether it is true or not, that is how it is felt and the Government is trying to encourage them to stay in their original home areas. However, jobs are difficult to come by and there are no new industries in the Cape. Even the new harbour near Port Elizabeth has not had much of a chance to develop as the smelting works never entered production. People can’t rely only on farming as a means of living and Gauteng towns like Vereeniging-Johannesburg-Pretoria have a very strong attraction for the young.

We have to interrupt the chat – Rosemary and Alex have to get back. It is my cue as well and better to take it while the traffic is still good. Tomorrow the new school year begins and there will be a rush. What a pleasure to have seen them all! My visit, a week-long, was really worth it. I really hope to see them again soon… And it’s back to Norwood.

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