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Monday, 21 July 2008 |
Standing in Madiba’s prison cell at 6am on his 90th birthday is a day I will never forget.
I was shocked at the size of it. His mattress from foot to head was the length and the breadth was the same. His view through the bars was onto a bleak and barren court yard. Just standing there, with bright lights glaring at me, made me feel a reverence for him that I had not been there until this moment. How was he able to believe so strongly in the rights of all people to be free and then completely forgive his oppressors on his release?
 As I began my first 8.6km lap of the island in the dark, I saw Cape Town’s lights from his perspective for the first time. The seagull’s squawked incessantly and the rabbits scurried into the darkness ahead of me. The sunrise was spectacular and everything seemed at peace now. I felt extremely privileged to be able to honor this man with the gift of running 90kms with David in a gesture of hope for our country. So many people are blaming everything and everyone around them, so few are proactively finding solutions themselves. Madiba said recently: “I have done my bit, now it is time for you to take it further”. He was handing the baton to us. I feel optimistic in running forward with it. Do you?
Well, I am back on the West Coast and should reach Cape Town in about a week. The journey is special, everyday.
Wild Child
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Sunday, 13 July 2008 |
 With the rains gone the wind has turned southerly, blowing off the ocean. In the early morning I run into a light but icy headwind. As the sun crests the low Strandveld hills I identify the many spoor left in the sand tracks by the foraging night life – millipedes every where, now buried before the sun; bat-eared fox’s; ostriches and an aardvark; steenbok everywhere – what appears so barren and empty is so rich and alive. And it warms me as I embrace the day.
“I have much to be grateful for,” I say out loud to myself, thinking of people who never get to see this beauty. Here I am, often hurting and cursing when I do, yet free and at peace in this fragile land. I wonder why so few people strive to reach their fullest potential? What is it that makes us complacent, compromising and ultimately, unfulfilled? And why are we so greedy?
We use our minds as the ultimate decision-making power, yet it is only a tool. We let ego drive us blindly forward. When we trust our intuition completely, we cannot deviate from our truth. Nature shows us these lessons daily but how often do we see?
Running around a small bay, we saw an old white Mazda 323 looking totally out of place on the edge of the beach. I was curious and approached. The door opened and a big man, at least 6-foot 4-inches, got out. He wore old dirty jeans and a thick jacket that looked like something picked up from a dump site. His hair was grey, long and greasy and he hadn’t shaved for a while. He introduced himself as Dennis. A young girl who I guessed to be around 17 was sitting in the back seat.
 Dennis had been diagnosed with a hyper allergic condition and could not be exposed to chemicals of any kind. He and his daughter, Charlene, had travelled to this remote part of South Africa to find ‘clean air’. They had lived here, in the car, for over two years now. They appeared destitute.
To me, Dennis seemed to have given up on conventional living. “A bit extreme” I thought, but tried to avoid judgment as I peered into the messy car. How did they sleep? His large frame could hardly fit behind the steering wheel. After chatting for a while, it was clear that he was an intelligent man. Charlene had displayed similar symptoms and had opted to join her Dad. Their story, it turns out, was well known and appeared on Carte Blanche some time ago.
Dennis asked what we were doing. When we explained, I wondered who was more crazy.
Then he did an unexpected thing. He crawled into the car, rummaged about, and offered R50 for Operation Smile! “I may appear poor,” he said, “but I want to make a contribution.”
“Never assume, never judge”, I told myself as I ran into my day. Miracles are in abundance when we open our eyes.
… And on I go.
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Thursday, 10 July 2008 |
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 After a well-earned rest on Monday we crawled out of bed in the dark and climbed into clothes so cold they felt wet. Peering into the dark morning gloom I could see no stars. At breakfast the rain came. Again. We headed off across the spongy Namaqualand veld in a light drizzle towards the Koiingnaas dirt road. It was dirt all right. The mud sucking our shoes like a vacuum. The going was slow. Running in this meant a sprained ankle.
Then it came. Hard, unrelenting rain and with it the ankle-deep rivers in the road. We finished 35kms at 4pm. A long hard day behind us.
In camp we were told that this part of the land had not experienced rain like this in 20 years. Roads were washed away and flash floods had ancient river beds breaking through to the sea. We were trapped, unable to cross the Spoog River to the south.
 Making the most of the situation, I got my sore feet up, read a book and listened to music on my Ipod. Best to be still and appreciate nature than fight her. I read in James Lovelock’s book, ‘The Revenge of Gaia,’ that the earth is like a wild beast and we’re
Poking her with sticks. Wake up people, wake up!
 And then the rainbow. Beautiful as the last drizzle moved south and the sun shone brilliantly on the sea and the wet wild veld.
On we go … the journey continues.
Wild Child
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Tuesday, 08 July 2008 |
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 After six days of running I sit alone in front of a log fire in a small stone diver’s cottage, the cold West Coast ocean booming in the rain outside. I am warm as I contemplate the week gone bye.
Now well past the 200km mark my legs have settled in well. At this stage, only minor niggles and a few blisters. Already I am living in the moment. Like China, I start my day with only lunch stop in mind. Then the smaller chunk of the afternoon and the end of another day. I touch Ben’s stone and am grateful how nature conspires with me when I feel her powerful connection. And how easy that is when she is all around me, caressing all my senses each day.
When I ran into Port Nolloth I was overcome with nostalgia. Over twenty five years ago, after returning from diving off the North Sea oil rigs, I sailed to Port Nolloth on the maiden voyage of the steel hulled diamond-diving boat, the Urania. I had not returned to the old wild place since.
As I ran along the coast road towards the harbor I wandered if any of the divers of yesteryear had survived the test of time. A part of me really missed those hard lonely days, sucking the diamond-bearing gravel from the trenches and gully’s along the treacherous shore line. My senses, particularly smell, became overwhelmed with memories I thought had disappeared. I remembered the smell of diesel in the jigging room of the ship’s hold where we sifted through tons of gravel in search of the ‘jackpot’. I remembered the smell of sea salt on my skin and the taste of it when it dried on my lips.
 WStanding outside the Spar, a man got out of an old white car which bore the rust scars of the relentless on-shore sea air. He looked familiar. His hair was long and bleached, his face showing the scars of many long years of sea and sun. It was Budgie. I had met him when I was last here. The Spar owner told me he had recently sold his boat and intended going to Cape Town. He was destitute … until last week. Budgie had found his jackpot, a twenty eight carat diamond worth R10m, of which he receives 50%! I chatted with him reminiscing and he told me Geoff Lorenz was still in town. I couldn’t believe it! Geoff and I had dived many hours together in Cape Town and he had come up to Port Nolloth shortly after me. I called him up. Signal was poor. He said he was on the ocean and we could meet the following evening.
He answered the door, a bright grin on his face. Still the same warm smile, just his hair turned to silver. He had his own boat and dive crew, a second wife, Lara, and beautiful children. Geoff had done okay and I could tell the old sea dog was more than content. This was his life, and he loved every minute of it. I guess we’ll be friends forever.
 Running through the restricted diamond fields south of Kleinzee, our escort told me about a guy who had been diving off Melkhout Punt over the past five years. He thought I might find him interesting and suggested we meet. As it was along the route, I said “why not?”
As I walked up to the only house in perhaps twenty kilometers, I noticed a massive grey granite statue about 1.5m high, reminiscent of the heads on Easter Island in the Pacific. “Different” I thought.
And that’s Rocky Dreyer; different in the nicest way. A tall guy who loves the specialness of quiet places, we clicked instantly. Then, his wife walks out, looks at me and says “you’re Braam, I know you.” Karen had been friends with my sister Judith for many years and Rocky had matriculated at Rondebosch Boys High, my old school!
 They have a beautiful little girl, Jesse. Rocky had found his jackpot too; a 23 caret stone. But he was not here for the money now, he was here because of the simple beauty that we all miss and so easily forget. Here was a man and his family living as nature intended, in harmony with her. And when we live with her, she always provides. Rocky is testament to that.
The journey continues …
Wild Child
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