One hundred and thirteen days ago, the president of South Africa shut down our country to combat the threat of Covid 19. The whole world was being affected and thousands of people were getting sick and many were dying. As the days went by and the infection numbers increased along with the death toll, the pandemic dominated the news every day. Endless experts gave their opinions on where this was coming from and where it was going and what the long term effects were likely to be while the numbers kept ticking over relentlessly.
I believe that moving house to a man is like childbirth to a woman. Well, for me it is. The pain, however intense, is soon forgotten until the next time.
Di and I have been together for nearly nine years and during that time we have moved 5 times for varying reasons, somehow gathering more stuff along the way to the point that we even have a storage facility to keep goodness knows what all.
If just for a short moment what I experienced could have been flashed on every TV screen on earth, if everybody could just for 1 minute have stopped and watched 3 grubby, windblown, grass-scratched, sweaty teenage girls high five each other when they “saw the floor”, then just maybe, for an instant, we could have all seen hope.
With a couple of weeks to go before we move the kids are already packing with such enthusiasm. There is an energy in our home that is igniting hope for our future. We are still waiting for the tourists to come flooding back so we can once again be a part of their dream holiday and although we do not know when this is going to happen, the mountain we have to climb every day looks a lot prettier than it did a few days ago.
Is this not the time we should look at ourselves, at the world around us? Not the world we despise and reject, but the place that we know it can be? Should we not be taking in all the beauty that Mother Nature has given to us, for free, as a gift, and make a collective statement as the species that thinks we rule this world: