Gibran’s Surrender
We are fast approaching the arrival of Spring in the southern hemisphere. The days are more than 20 minutes longer since the official winter solstice. Wary Joburgers are not yet celebrating though. Anyone who’s seen through a decade or more of Highveld winters knows there is almost always a sting in winter’s tail. Like a lurking unfinished task. Or an unstarted one. Still, the locals are making the most of the sunny, warm days and some are even going so far as to jinx the rest of winter by saying it’s been a mild one. Eejits. But I do want the jinx-ing eejits to be right. I want winter to end as much as the next Joburger. And I don’t.
Not because this has been the best Jozi winter of my life. But because it’s arguably been one of the opposite. I share as much with the Dervish on a surprise call and I get the usual silent treatment. The silence gives me the moment I need. ‘Scratch that. It’s certainly not been arguably one of the worst winters in this city’ I say. The Dervish smiles her most beatific smile at me and we share a laugh. ‘I like that your processing speed has improved, dear absconded novice’ she says.
We meander our way around the hazards of Life circa 2024 AD. The major touchpoints being sold as the news; the hate crimes, the unfreezing of the poles, the breakers of the dance, the one-eyed shooters, the medals won, lost and taken away. We spend extra time on Simone Biles and give a wide berth to the untucked high-jumpers and finally dock in the Empire’s home port to bear witness to the lived experiences of being second class humans on a planet ruled by first class humans.
The holy land is not spared our review of the news and the Pan-African project fails to win any medals in the local beauty contest. We sigh a collective sigh of despair at the process of bearing witness to the going-ons of our global disorder and this calls for a coffee break. It’s a rare treat for us to have time sans the toddler who’s been borrowed by elders to remind themselves they can be better grandparents than they were parents. Or worse ones. It matters little. No amount of asking adults not to stuff toddlers full of sugar and race hatred ever yields anything. They are what they do. Much like we are.
We compare coffee notes while preparing our respective Bialetti’s and like Hollywood lovers our pots simultaneously bubble to their ends. I ruin the post bubbling mood by starting a rollup. The ephemeral seascape of my childhood fills the background to our shared coffee break. I luxuriate in my memories of the east coast fishing village but soon enough I’m hauled back to the stark Highveld, not by a hundred horses, but by the wailing of the security alarm. I’m briefly (and sensibly) alarmed. The Dervish waves me off. A quick check confirms my suspicion — a pack of hadedas have landed — their combined heat and size signature is enough to trip the beams on the west end of the garden. I click the reset and return to the Dervish on screen savouring the last of her coffee.
A thumbs up from me and she’s off with; ‘so tell me why it’s not the worst Highveld winter? Ohh wait, I think I know the why — maybe I want to know what’s different this time? How are you different? What growth has taken place to give you the idea that you don’t want this time to end? Given that this time was as one might say; foisted upon you and not a choice?
‘Sjoe lady, that’s a lot’ I reply.
The Dervish remains unmoved.
I launch into the thoughts she’s laid out and (recounting details bears little relevance here) I find myself rethinking a few things in the process of sharing conversation with one so conversant with being human. Soon enough we exhaust this thread and the Dervish brings our time to a close. ‘It’s wonderful to see you grappling with this. We are trained into wanting pain or discomfort to end. The rote expectation of a better. It may be that we must embrace the bitter fully before we can even begin towards the better. You’re in the bitter and let me assure you it’s not a given there will be better. Maybe you’re finally starting to learn and know surrender. Keep surrendering. That is the win.’
Gibran’s Surrender …. has been offered…
© Jesh Baker for Oppi Stoep 2024, All Rights Reserved
