Walk On...
As I was walking through Rosebank and Mowbray (Cape Town suburbs) this week, I saw and thought the following things:
A man is sprawled on his stomach, sleeping on the grass next to the road. I have seen him in that area often, sometimes eating, sometimes sleeping, and sometimes sitting and greeting people as they walk by. I think he may live on the street near there, but he never begs. Instead he seems to lead a quiet existence near that spot.
The security guard on my street always smiles and says "Hello poppy" when I greet him. He even stops talking on his walkie-talkie in order to speak to me. I don't think I'd be that cheerful and friendly if I had to stand outside all day in the sun and rain and wind, yet he always is.
I must stop using the word "block". People in South Africa describe places as "Up the street" or "over the street" and never refer to a number of blocks. Why can't I remove this word from my vocabulary, too?
A pair of students who I guessed to be dating walked down the street carrying a grocery bag between them. I was touched by the equal partnership of each person holding one of the straps on the bag. The walk seemed perfect until his cell phone rang and he started talking into the phone instead of to her.
On Monday morning, the falling drizzle and the rather weak sunshine in front of Table Mountain created one of the brightest rainbows I have ever seen. It arced right in front of the mountain and disappeared somewhere off campus. What a beautiful way to start a week of classes!
A woman in a blue work dress and a kerchief responed to my greeting with a reluctant smile. She was missing her four front teeth, but smiled just the same. I respected her for it.
The man who begs on Main Road sitting on a milk-crate with his crutch leaned up beside him and his cup of change outstretched. Sometimes I give him money and sometimes I don't. I'm always torn about what to do, and he is always there.
The pedestrian tunnel under the train tracks always gives me the creeps. Its walls are covered in graffiti and it smells like rotting fruit and smoke. I have to walk through it four times a week and it never gets easier.
Two university students walked down the road, laughing and conversing loudly in Xhosa. I wished I spoke Xhosa so I could share in their joyful conversation.
A man is sprawled on his stomach, sleeping on the grass next to the road. I have seen him in that area often, sometimes eating, sometimes sleeping, and sometimes sitting and greeting people as they walk by. I think he may live on the street near there, but he never begs. Instead he seems to lead a quiet existence near that spot.
The security guard on my street always smiles and says "Hello poppy" when I greet him. He even stops talking on his walkie-talkie in order to speak to me. I don't think I'd be that cheerful and friendly if I had to stand outside all day in the sun and rain and wind, yet he always is.
I must stop using the word "block". People in South Africa describe places as "Up the street" or "over the street" and never refer to a number of blocks. Why can't I remove this word from my vocabulary, too?
A pair of students who I guessed to be dating walked down the street carrying a grocery bag between them. I was touched by the equal partnership of each person holding one of the straps on the bag. The walk seemed perfect until his cell phone rang and he started talking into the phone instead of to her.
On Monday morning, the falling drizzle and the rather weak sunshine in front of Table Mountain created one of the brightest rainbows I have ever seen. It arced right in front of the mountain and disappeared somewhere off campus. What a beautiful way to start a week of classes!
A woman in a blue work dress and a kerchief responed to my greeting with a reluctant smile. She was missing her four front teeth, but smiled just the same. I respected her for it.
The man who begs on Main Road sitting on a milk-crate with his crutch leaned up beside him and his cup of change outstretched. Sometimes I give him money and sometimes I don't. I'm always torn about what to do, and he is always there.
The pedestrian tunnel under the train tracks always gives me the creeps. Its walls are covered in graffiti and it smells like rotting fruit and smoke. I have to walk through it four times a week and it never gets easier.
Two university students walked down the road, laughing and conversing loudly in Xhosa. I wished I spoke Xhosa so I could share in their joyful conversation.
posted by Lauren at
8:20 PM
2 Comments:
Cool blog. Glad I came here. I really like the notion of "just up the street." Talking in blocks is so much of my existence...and it does lend to the stress of being a city person. Hearing "just up the street" gives me a sense of calm or peace...even if I'm just reading it.
By
Anonymous, at 7:45 AM
Janet is right, you are very observant. The older and busier I have gotten, the less observant I have become. Reading your observations is like watching a small child see new things for the first time. They are so full of joy/excitement and adults once again get to see things through a childs eyes. We don't take the time to do that often. At least I don't. Daniel would tell you I am too serious. I am working on being less serious. I will probably work on that till the day I die. What a blessing you are to remind us to stop and smell the roses. Have a great weekend.
Thanks,
Wanda
By
Anonymous, at 9:42 AM
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