Honeyed Milk
Winter has settled in on the Highveld. In Joburg, we even have water coming out of the taps and electricity at the plug points. Well, the water supply is erratic and if Twitter is anything to go by, the cost of electricity has gone up by some ridiculous double-digit percentage. And there’s now a recurring monthly charge automatically added to the cost for prepaid users. All very normal things, circa life in the holy land 2024 A.D. No surprises there and to be fair, we’ve been trained for this for over 350 years now — so don’t imagine that not being surprised is a new thing. We were made for this shock and awe.
But, there are also those folks in the holy land that grew up in functioning cities with parks, libraries, swimming pools and public transport. They considered it normal to have tap water and electricity, go to the theatre in the evening. They enjoyed high tea at the Viennese coffee shop in the afternoons, just across the street from the pretty city hall. But they are just a minority that got to have that rather idyllic life growing up in the holy land up to about the mid-90s. The majority of folks in the holy land did not get to enjoy all this very civilised and refined life. They had to not-be-killed and still get on with being alive and doing all the stuff that comes with the human condition; regardless of the inhumane circumstances the human might find itself in.
So to say there’s a range and depth to the population of the holy land might be generously considered an understatement. That there’s a greater range and depth to the lived experiences of people in the holy land is likely a greater understatement. But understatement is a desirable thing. Think back to Jackie O and her almost universally praised style; it’s pretty much the dictionary entry for understatement. This past week on Twitter, we’ve had the ‘I’m watching the season finale of the USA’ meme following the Oscar winning performances of a pair of inane geriatrics vie for the role of President of the 4th Reich headquartered at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, DC. Again, understatement for the win.
Over the pond in the OG colonisers homeland there’s raw sewage pouring into their waterways and they’ve sold off the NHS to an American corporation. This week, the lovely british folk have an election choice between a brown toff and a white toff. Still they’re being so very understated about the collapse of their world-ravaging nation into a properly fascist has-been nation for the 22nd century. Let’s not forget their cousins across the channel raw dogging fascism in their recent voting choices. Idk, is that an understatement?
Meanwhile, back here on the winter-beige Highveld my frozen fingers soldier on with the daily tap-tapping to extend a survivalist existence into the next month end. Still let’s not get gloomy about the mere admin of life. The neighbours have been eerily quiet — except for the busy corner folks — they own their moniker with their whole chest. Scrofula neighbour has stopped hacking away — I hope it does not mean she’s dead, just healed.
The real bits of life are sweet as they could be. The winter-blue of the Highveld sky remains like no blue I’ve seen anywhere else; the mornings are crisp as a Cripps apple and the handful of humans I get to engage with in daily life remain beautifully human. For the long, cold highveld nights, I have Pamuk’s 700 plus page ‘A Strangeness in My Mind’ which I am beginning to suspect might be having a rather strange effect on my own mind. Or what’s left of it at this late stage.
Still the story of Mevlut’s life in Istanbul over a long period of history is at the very least as helpful as Daadi-ma’s warm honeyed milk for getting me to quickly fall asleep. Let me add — this is not an indictment of Pamuk’s epic work — more a reflection of just how much the world disorder impinges on our sanctum and fucks with our mental health and well-being. I find myself actively having to unsee, unhear, unfeel so much of what is going awry in my city, the holy land, in the world — in order that I don’t ask myself — is it even worth the effort of waking up to another dose of this human made chaos? Idk, there’s ‘A Strangeness in My Mind.’
Dadi-ma’s honeyed milk comes in several variations; the piping hot version with ginger, tumeric and other goodies served when you’re ill; the sleep-inducing warm honeyed version; to the creamier celebratory version with roasted almonds, cardamom and cinnamon. Of course the honeyed milk now always tastes surreal since Dadi-ma along with her little Jersey herd were promoted to the great pasture in the sky. That we’d be so lucky too.
© Jesh Baker for Oppi Stoep 2024, All Rights Reserved
