Just limping along

The Beast, promising adventures and open roads ...

A year-and-a-half ago I bought a beautiful, battered Yamaha XT350 from a missionary who was leaving the country. The old nag had done her fair share of hard labour it seems – like an old cart horse just plodding along towards retirement. But I nicknamed her "Killer" and “the Beast", hoping a strong name would spur her on to a few more years of dedicated service.

I bought her bright funky stickers and a lockup box for the back, replaced her brakes and had a new red saddle stitched.

But after a few months in my stable she was in serious need of a service, because of a strange rattle in the engine, and way too much white smoke emanating from the exhaust. The staff at the reputable bike shop downtown was incredibly friendly and very helpful, but this is Madagascar - parts were manufactured and scrounged, and after rebuilding the engine she was put back together with the same seals, the same gaskets, and a whole lot of hope. 

Months later when I found hot oil spraying onto my left foot whenever I went beyond my little neighbourhood, I took her back in for a service. Once again the parts couldn't be sourced, but work was done and I was assured she was right as rain. But, unfortunately, she's not. She is still haemorrhaging oil and almost asphyxiates my neighbours and me with her clouds of white exhaust fumes every morning when I coax her awake.

She’s looking more and more like I feel right now – a bit sorry for herself.  The Beast is limping; Killer still has some bite, but I fear the worst ...

I don't know what I would have done without her and so (sadly), in honour of the old girl, I share this poem (based on one I wrote on Facebook when she was in the shop having her innards worked on last year) - 

Stripped of most stickers ... and limping

Ode to an old friend

She's taken me places, 

has whispered about adventure, 

wind in the hair (!) 

and wide open spaces 

yet to be discovered...

She's stubborn. 

She's irritated me, 

with her old-girl eccentric quirks

but in the end she's served me well – 

with a growl, grunt and roar 

about how we should live our lives – 

Loudly.

But now, 

Staggering,

Suffering from severe smoker's cough ...

And broken apart ... 

By a country that knows how... 

The Beast is on her last legs. 

The Old Girl has eternity in her eyes... 

I'll miss you my old friend, my trusty steed

When you go ... for good

[Insert tears here]

Oily, dirty, leaking, but still going...

A Malagasy's regret

Not the student who wrote the poem. But here, one of the Grade 9s
listens intently to a classmate giving a speech.

After yesterday's hilarious post, I thought I should do something a bit more serious today, and so I am including a poem written by one of my students in her December Creative Writing exams, lamenting the coup d'etat in Madagascar (overthrow of the president and government) in 2009. I thought it was amazingly insightful, emotion-filled and well written, especially as English is her third language, and it was written under the stress and time constraints of an exam... Enough said.

A Malagasy’s regret

The country’s burnt

The country’s cursed

And I stand here

With nothing left

The country’s dead

The man has fled

And I am helpless,

With no worth

What did I do

to stop this coup?

Nothing, nothing;

Not a single thing.

tragically.tenderly.tana

tana

filthy city

capital of nothing

that matters to the world.

rejected. forgotten. alone:

the outcast of the West

citizens root through the waste

of politicians’ ill-gotten gains

living on scraps angry,

yet smiling –

like an old lover in a dark room,

numbed to her abusive husband’s bruisings.

How much longer my love?

When will your vanilla fragrance fill the air afresh?

When will your beauty and fame set the nights alight?

When will you

start to live

anew?

 

Woman. Wo-man!

Hoby, Grade 12, with archaic computer speakers

I was teaching the Grade 8s about poetry techniques in free verse – where the lines don’t rhyme and there’s no regular rhythm. It includes things like alliteration, use of rhetorical questions, changing regular word order, repetition, all capitals, punctuation, etc. etc.

The textbook had used an example of a young girl who was called wicked by her parents (yes, I know, weird). At the end of the theory some of the students asked if I could show them the different techniques in a complete poem. I stuck with “wicked”, but I’m no regular English teacher...

... Vaguely inspired by a poem by the Mike Myers character in “So I married an axe murderer”, this is what came out. The rhythm and meter is all over the place, but that is, after all, what emotions are like – up, down and all around... The Grade 8s pretty much just stared at me blankly when I was done. The Grade 12s, the next class to arrive, got it.

Something tells me I may have unresolved issues?

WICKED. girl

She loved me

not.

She hurt me lots.

Why was she so

Un-feel-ing?

Why did she stomp

on my soul?

But break, break, break

oh hardened heart of mine

or never shall I let love in

again ...

Until. Of course. Another comes along.

The Grade 8s

The Mad Merry Midgley Minors

My sister tells me I shouldn't get too serious - I guess it's bad for my health and everyone's around me. And so I thought I'd write about a visit to the Midgleys, which is (mostly) anything but serious - boys climbing all over me and calling me names;  gentle wrestling, wild wrestling; oohing and aahing over the latest Lego creation; tears (mostly mine); being begged to watch funny "You Tube" videos; Kim, Sue and I taking out any frustrations we may have built up in the day by blowing each other away in Call of Duty (it is worrying that all the boys know the maps and weapons better than we do, especially because they never play the confounded game! But somehow our friendship has managed to prevail despite the regular violence against each other!) ...

Today I heard that the lads have now cast me in the role of Pooh Bear (each family member has been given a character, and as honorary uncle they couldn't leave me out). I'm assured it has nothing to do with "the bear of little brain" part, but rather because of my "ever-so-slightly round tummy". Mmmmph! While wrestling with numbers 3 and 4 the other day number 4 did call my stomach revolting, so I guess Pooh makes sense. Which all reminded me of my first stint on stage in a PACT Playwork production of Winnie the Pooh, when I was six. My mother was Rabbit, Laurika Rauch (of Kinders van die Wind fame) played Kanga and I was little Roo who dizzily careered around the stage shouting, "look at me jump, look at me jump," or "look at me swim, look at me swim." I still have nightmares about forgetting my lines and of my grandmother wildly waving and screaching, "yoo hoo, Robbie," from the audience.

Midgley son number 1, 11-year-old Andy, has been churning out some rather remarkable poetry the last few days - about random things like angles ("angry anglers' angles could really twist you up"), eels ("eels, eels, water mobiles, where, oh where are they from"), and manta ray pets called Nimbus ... Sounds like fun, homeschooling ... I'm attaching his poem about Jesus at the bottom of this blog.

So, enjoy the pics of these mad, merry, mercurial Midgley minors. (As ever, click on the pics for larger versions).

Number 1

Number 2

Number 3

Number 4

Number 5

JESUS

Jesus, known as son of David,
Was the Son of God.
Jesus had no sin in Him,
But His life was hard.

As all the world was registered,
The Son of God was born,
Born in a stable dry,
amongst the animal's corn.

And wise men came to visit Him,
And shepherds the news heard
And gifts were given unto Him,
While the angels stirred.

And Jesus wasn't evil
And Jesus wasn't vile,
And Jesus could not stand with Satan,
Not even for a while.

The people call Him meek
The people call Him mild
Though Jesus was more likely
To be a Godly wild.

And as His life went by,
He did a lot of teaching
Healed many people,
He even did some preaching.

As His time of death drew near
Jesus was betrayed -
Betrayed by His own disciple
Who a "fortune" made.

And on the cross at Calvary
as Jesus was crucified,
Many people mocked Him
Though many people cried.

And Jesus, known as son of David
Is known as the risen Son
And Jesus is in Heaven
For God's great will was done.