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Cape Argus Cycle Tour: My Mom Made Me Do it


Most of you by now are very well aware that I am doing the Cape Argus Cycle Tour this year. Yes, me. I have indeed signed up (and paid a ridiculous amount) to cycle 110km over mountains and across the Cape Peninsula (For a map of Cape Argus, click here). My aim is to reach the finish line within 5.5 hours, so yes: I am training up a storm.

“But WHY did you decide that torturing yourself would be a good idea?” I hear you ask. The only answer I have for you is that my mother made me do it. Well, sort of. When the docs found out about my mom’s breast cancer last year, my world came crashing down with all its might. For the first time in m life, I really, *really* realized how unpredictable life can be. The one moment everything is rosy and peachy, and the next one everything you believe is shred to pieces. That is at least how it felt when mom broke the news, just 3 days before Christmas.

All of a sudden, everything seemed so meaningless: the deadlines, the problems with the (now ex) Significant Other, the fact clients refused to pay, the weather, and so many other things. Nothing seemed to matter and during that first day, all I could think about was the fact that my mom was suffering from a disease that could potentially kill her. It is very surreal and there is not enough ink (or pixels) to explain how it feels.

Luckily, mom’s cancer was in a very, very early stage. The tumor was removed completely, and luckily this nasty disease did not get the time to spread. No chemo was necessary, “just” radiation. This week, Mom will have her last sessions of radiation and then she will be done. For now that is: she will have to go for annual check-ups for the next five years or so, but that seems to be standard procedure.

Back to the Cape Argus Cycle Tour and my reason for doing it this year. Look, if my mom can beat a disease like cancer, then I see no reason why I can’t do this race. Seriously. And then there is the element of closing this chapter. No better way to do it while cycling across one of the most beautiful parts of the world.

So now you know: this race is dedicated to my mom (and to my dad, who has been absolute trooper) :-)

 
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Posted by on February 22, 2012 in The World of Mir

 

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Back On The Horse?


“Come on, just do it!” a friend told me not too long ago.”You gotta get back on the horse some day, right? Rather do it sooner than later.”

Friend X was not talking about horse riding or climbing back onto my Mountain Bike after a wee accident the other week (which has not deterred me from doing the Cape Argus by the way – I am cycling up a storm). She was talking about dating. Yes, that thing you do with someone you could possibly see yourself holding hands with. Eew.

Look, I am not sure if I am ready to throwing myself into the dating cauldron. First of all, the ex still pops up in my mind from time to time, despite the fact that I am pretty much okay we did not work out in the end (The writing was on the wall from the moment I left Oz after all, with him backing off and avoiding communication. I have had some time to get used to the idea … ). We were together for 1.5 years, and despite all the shit including three or four breaks ups from his side, I have good memories about us. Too bad he seems to be unwilling to build news ones but that is not my problem.

So despite the fact that I am not 100% sure whether I want to ‘put myself out there’, I do see myself walking hand in hand with someone at some point in time. However, I wonder if I have the energy to:

1) Find someone (finding a nice, handsome, straight, tall, sporty, single, non-religious, trustworthy, honest guy who does not have mommy issues / bonding issues / changing mind issues in Cape Town can be classified as a downright Mission Impossible)

2) Get to know that someone and all his quirks and baggage – with the possibility that it doesn’t work after all (meaning ou have just wasted another couple of months)

3) Go through the entire insecure “Oh shit, does he like me?” phase (with the possibility to get dumped in the process).

4) Be dumped

5) Having to dump someone if it doesn’t work out

6) Go through stages 1 -> 3 with someone else.

So what to do?

Friend X told me I should try online dating again. I laughed. Hard. The last time I did that, I was inundated by emails from creepy uncles / convict look-a-likes / sugar daddies / old toppies / horny teenagers / gangstahs / hippies / married men / other freakshows. Yes, it was entertaining I must admit, but it was not very productive on the dating front. To give ou an example: One guy that I agreed to date, ended up in a stalker who said he loved me after date number 3. When I told him to back off, he did just the opposite by ringing my doorbell. Another one burst into tears when I asked him why he was on this particular daring site. Number three was everything but tall, dark and handsome as he proclaimed to be. And so the list continues. I did make friends via this particular site, which is great. But love? Na-ah.

“But it could be food for interesting blog posts,” she added, all innocently and chirpy. “In the process, you COULD meet Mr Right, you know.”

Hm. Mr Right. *ponders*

I hate it when Friend X is / could be right. Hm. Watch this space.

 
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Posted by on February 16, 2012 in The World of Mir

 

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“Bon Jovi Has To Die. On a Bed of Roses. In a Hurry”


“Can Bon Jovi die now? On his bed of roses, in a fucking hurry?”, mumbled my lovely friend Joanne a.k.a my Lonely Hearts Club partner yesterday eve prior shoving a piece of overpriced sea bass – or what ever the title of her fish – in her mouth. I laughed (a bit sourly, but I laughed): “Yes, Bon Jovi has got to die. Quick-sticks.”

Despite the fact that Valentine’s Day is nothing but one big commercial bullshit operation De Luxe, meant to keep the retail industry afloat instead of filling little hearts with love and affection, we both felt a bit miffed. Miffed because of being single at the age of 30+, miffed because of the disappointments with the opposite sex so far, and that that bumping into a decent guy who sticks around no matter seems to be more tricky than finding an honest politician.

Oh, to fill you in: Mr Insignificant Other shortly after m return from Australia to Cape Town decided to stay in Down Under for a couple of years instead of a couple of months – officially canning the plans we had for the future (marriage, kids, and eventually finding a house with a superb attic for me to write my stuff).

He made that decision without consulting or involving me while we are technically living together. Awesome. He told me about his new plans over the email. Awesome, part 2.

It is the 4th time he has changed his mind with regards to ‘us’ (I count 3 break ups from his side since we started dating half way through 2010). And I am done now – despite the fact that I do happen to love him. Fact of the matter is that I have ran out of ambition and energy to persuade him to believe in us and to come back to SA.

He after all changes his mind more often than I change my panties. I am too old and too young at the same time to sit around and wait until the midlife crisis subsides and until he changes his mind regarding his ‘Down Under decision’ and ‘us’ once more (which is likely to happen, looking at the past). I know from experience that he eventually will have a change of heart again. And again.

It has been difficult, of course. Hey, up until recently I thought he was The One as he made me believe that we were meant to be together forever and beyond.

Last year’s Valentines Day (we were broken up / break-up number 3) he rocked up with roses, begging me to take him back and swearing he had changed and promising that he would not rest until he had me back. I was adamant: No more of this shit. One month later, however, I got tired of his chasing me and decided to give it another go. I loved him, what can I say?

Everything seemed to fall into place and we were Happy as Larry. This convinced me that we were truly meant to be together, simply because we managed to overcome all the bullshit.

In the end, I think that he loved ‘the idea of me’ instead of ‘me’. Otherwise you would not be so cruel and clueless. If you truly love someone, you don’t nilly-willy change our mind like that and don’t move from “I want to have our baby” to “I never want to go that route”. I could be wrong.

What ever the deal is: some things are not meant to be – no matter how hard you try, how many grenades you catch and how much you bend over backwards. We live, we learn, and all that jazz.

 
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Posted by on February 15, 2012 in The World of Mir

 

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Freelance Life: Different Shit, Different Day


I seriously hope this week will end better than it started. Feeling seriously under the emotional weather at the moment, and it sucks ass. I have gazillions of deadlines waiting to be slain, but I can’t seem to get myself to do the job. Fuck.

First of all, I am having some serious difficulties adjusting to the fact that Significant Other and I are on separate continents again. I thought I had gotten to this scenario by now, but hey – I guess I was wrong. So much gets lost in translation when you are miles apart, despite all the forms of technolog, and you (well, me) face the risk of misinterpreting each other’s messages. Which leads to arguments / feeling of insecurity /  rubbing each up other the wrong way / etc.

Not cool. I know he is stressed with / at work, and sometimes this results in him not being able to be present as much as I would like to. It is just difficult not to have all the pieces of information, because even with Skype and BBM lots gets lost in translation. Then, sometimes, a little voice wonders whether he has actually given up, and wants to stay in Australia without wanting to tell me. Why? Because something has changed in the air, and I can’t pinpoint what.

Then I am not sure how long I can do this freelancing business. Chasing news, chasing stories, chasing payment, chasing clients … waiting for payment, waiting for clients to respond, waiting for feedback …. It is really getting to me today.

And then there is the omnipresent fear of clients ditching your ass or not paying you for the work you’ve done. Last year, I did a job for a large South African NGO. It involved co-writing a book. They have postponed first half of the payment until Feb 3 while their writers (me included) were supposed to get the first payment in December last year. It is the last thing I need at the moment, as my Australia trip pretty much chewed up my budget for this month … Australia is expensive, especially if you live off rands. The average glass of wine in a bar or restaurant (and we are talking the cheapest shit on the list) sets you back R70 easily.

So yeah, I need that money and I need it now – especially because other clients have “forgotten” to pay me last month.

I seriously hate this part of freelancing. I know there are many advantages, but Jeepers …. At least with a fulltime job you know when the paycheck comes usually).

Of course the fact my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer has been a bit of a bitch too. And that is an understatement. Luckily it seems all could have been much worse: they have removed the entire tumour, the cancer has not spread and she won’t be needing  chemo / hormone treatment (“just” 21 radiation sessions). Nevertheless this whole cancer thing has put a lot of things in but also out of perspective.

Anyway – just on the moment supreme a dear friend (Thanks Dirk) called me and another invited me for a glass of wine (Thanks Lesley-Ann). This means I am calling it a day.

 

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Dutch government goes extra mile to show heartlessness


Who remembers the case of Mauro Manuel, the 18-year old who was born in Angola and arrived in The Netherlands at the age of ten? Yup, I am talking about the young man who is more Dutch than the average Kaaskop, and who was voted off the island by the Dutch government recently.

Mauro’s case reminded me of Sahar Hbrahim Gel from Afghanistan, although she and her family ended up being among the lucky ones. Last year December, the Dutch government driven by the right-wing Party for Freedom (PVV), were about to give this 14-year old and her family the boot.

Yes, after ten years they had to back “home”, regardless of the fact that this could put the life of Sahar, in all aspects a Western girl, in danger. Eventually, after lots and lots of pressure, the family received their residency permits. Thank God.

With Mauro, I thought the government had really outdone itself. How heartless can you be to send a teenage boy back to a country he has absolutely nothing? Well, I was wrong. Ver very very wrong. Mauro was just te tip of the iceberg.

The Dutch government has just gone the extra mile in this respect. This case revolves around 9-year old Jossef and his mother, both from Eritrea. They arrived in The Netherlands when the boy was just an infant. Yup, you guessed it: my country of birth, often thought of as the pinnacle of tolerance abroad, is sending them back.

I have no words for what is happening in the country where I was born. Yes, there are rules and I understand that. But to deny a child, which has grown up here and is in every aspect a Dutch citizen, and send it back to a country which is far form safe is criminal to the core.

I have no words apart from some very very rude ones. It seems my country of birth is developing into a right-wing state with fascist tendencies where politicians are successfully trying to white-wash the land from  everything and everyone with a certain hue.

PS: Please sign both petitions asking for Jossef to stay: http://bit.ly/vaFAol and http://bit.ly/rDi04d

PS: My passport is still for sale. Discount offered.

 
 

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Yesterday the African National Congress shoved a big fat middle finger in the face of democracy and all of those who died, bled, cried, fought and suffered for a free country with among other things a free press Look, I am not going to talk much about yesterday. By now pretty much everything has been said about the day that will go down in history as “Black Tuesday”. I have written two blogs about it, which you will find here and here. Here are some pictures though, to show you what went down in Cape Town yesterday. Enjoy. PS: If you for some reason like my pictures and want to use them for something, please don’t be a douche by ripping them off my blog. It would make you a thief as these are my images. So please ask first. 

 

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The ANC giveth, the ANC taketh it away


I woke up with an uneasy feeling in my stomach this morning. On November 22 1995, South Africa was celebrating the first draft of South Africa’s new constitution. A constitution incorporating rights like media freedom. Sixteen years later, it is Black Tuesday. This afternoon the South African Parliament will cast their votes for the Protection of Information Bill (POIB).

An “all thumbs up verdict” would mean a first step towards the dismantling of the precious democracy so many people fought and died for.

What a way to celebrate such memorable occasion.

The more I think about it, the more angry I get. In the process, a couple of tears have bitten the dust since my alarm clock went off at voetsek o’clock (I tend to do that when angry).

I have not done any work today. I just can’t put my head to it. The thought that these so-called freedom fighters of the ANC intend to bulldozer one of the four pillars of democracy – media freedom and access to information – makes me sick to my stomach.

What did not help, was a story in Beeld. The report stated that MPs will be forced to vote along party lines and that their votes will be checked. In other words, it is not only media freedom that will be given a firm kick in the groin.

The freedom to choose is facing a similar destiny. May I note that this practice is very common in dictatorships like Zimbabwe and ex-dictatorships such as Libya?

“Why should I bother, as I am not a journalist?” you ask. If you by now do not know how the Protection of Information Bill will affect you as a member of society, you must have been hibernating for the past two years.

Read this while you are at it. Steven Friedman sums it up rather well.

 

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Will we celebrate or mourn SA’s democracy tomorrow?



Copyright Miriam Mannak (All Rights reserved)

Tomorrow could mark a turning point in the history of the New South Africa: on Tuesday November 22 2011, parliament is to vote on the controversial Protection of Information Bill (POIB) despite the protests.

An “all thumbs up verdict” in my humble opinion would mean a first step towards the dismantling of the precious democracy so many people fought and died for.

I am not over-dramatizing the situation. Stifling the media and putting laws in place to control the press is often the first sign that a country going tits up. From the moment a government starts tampering with one of the four pillars of democracy, of which the media happens to be one, it shows that it does not care so much for democracy. Take Zimbabwe.

“But the Protection of Information Bill is not about hiding information, it is about protecting it,” a spokes person said this morning in Cape Talk radio, adding that the media in this regard has not treated the so-called secrecy bill in a fair manner.

Give me a break. In the land of politics “hiding” and “protecting” can be considered one and the same thing. Take Mac Maharaj. Just before the weekend kicked in, the ANC’s spokesperson sought to protect his own interests by making sure last weekend’s Mail & Guardian page 2 appeared with massive black boxes, apartheid style, hiding his dirty laundry.

With a growing culture of splurging, overspending, misspending, fraud, and corruption – combined with a dual-epidemic of Sticky Finger Syndrome (SFD) and Tenderitis – a free media apparatus in South Africa is crucial to keep the government on its toes.

Why you ask? Take corruption and wasteful expenditures. The millions that are disappearing each year are taz payers money. If you are a tax payer in South Africa, than it is YOUR hard earned cash we are talking about. Don’t you want to know what happens to it, and how is spent? If so, that is where we journalists come in.

I am sure that you, one of the 6 million South African tax payers, are paying your dues to make this country a better place in one way or another. I am equally sure that you are NOT giving away 25% to 40% of your paycheck – and 14% of everything you purchase – to pay for the small fortunes some ministers are spending on hotel rooms, second homes and spa visits. Well, newsflash: you are!  (among other things)

In the first eight months of 2010, the government allegedly squandered more than R1-billion of taxpayers’ money on luxury vehicles, expensive hotels, banquets, and advertising. This year was even worse.

Your money, including the cash that has gone awol, should go to the disadvantaged members of our society, people who depend on government support in the form of education, health care and grants for their day-to-day survival.

If the media are no longer allowed to freely investigate and write about these and other issues, including dodgy business deals, tenders, and political connections (from what I can gather the government at any given time can decide which information was supposed to remain ‘secret’), YOU (the member of society) will simply never know what has happened with the money YOU have earned – or deserve.

In other words: the fight against the Protection of Information Bill is not a fight of us media practitioners. It is NOT about OUR right to write. It is in the first place about YOUR right to know.

Please make your voice heard tomorrow, which has been dubbed as Black Tuesday. Please wear black.

For more information: Right2KNow Campaign

 

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The crisis from a freelancer’s point of view


I spy, I spy with my little eye that I haven’t blogged in quite a while. I blame this silly slip-up on the ginormous list of deadlines that is staring me in the eye while I type this. Well, at least I have got work, for now that is. With the 2008/2009 economic crisis in the back of my mind, I must admit that the current situation in Europe / Greece is making me nervous. I’m not sure whether I can handle another “2009″ to tell you the truth.

Normally, we media freelancers – as opposed to big banks and politicians suffering from Tenderitis – never make the headlines when the going gets tough. And that is fine. Most of us rather want to report on stuff, than being reported on.

Fact of the matter is that not too many people realize that many of their news providers were hit by the economic crisis of 2008/2009.

1) As the global economy twitched and shivered, and South Africa entered its first recession in 17 years, newspapers and magazines and other publications around the world (well, those in the countries affected) saw their advertising revenue streams shrink like a silk scarf washed at 150 degrees. This impacted freelance budgets. As a result, freelance rates remained unchanged and often dropped (BTW: after the crisis, these rates were often NOT increased to pre-2008 levels). Or equally bad: there was less room (or no room at all) for freelance contributions.

2) To cut costs as a result of falling revenue, scores of fulltime media people were faced with retrenchment. Others did not have their contracts renewed. Forced by a persistent lack of vacancies, many of them joined the mighty army of freelance media professionals – who were already fighting over a shrinking pool of work. You get the idea.

All of the above was applicable to me. Well, everything apart from being retrenched.

As my editors kept their hands tightly on their purse, I was forced to take on what ever I could get, at what ever rate. And so I filled my days with brainless and severely underpaid online copy writing work for printer dealers, an online second-hand car portal, insurance companies and even an arms manufacturer. Yes, we are talking guns and war equipment, not prosthetic limbs. Yes. Me, the Pacifist. Look, I am not proud of that particular work, but I had to do something to prevent the boat from going under like a Big Ass Titanic. There were bills to pay, including the one for the extension of my Temporary Residency Permit (R12.000).

All in all, 2009 was my personal iceberg, but I managed to sail around it. In the process, I had to give up my office space as I could not cope with the monthly cost of R2000 + internet + phone calls. Having to look thrice at every rand before spending it, turned into one big frustration. But in the end I was lucky. I know of a couple of freelancers who had to revert to drastic decisions, including selling their cars / house and canceling on their life insurance and medical aid, simply because work had dried up.

As the year 2009 (aka as The Bitch) progressed, the news journalist in me got more and more frustrated: there was plenty of news in South Africa, but my editors did not have /did not want to spend money to take my contributions. I think I might have written about ten news stories in the whole of 2009.

The only positive thing about 2009 was that at some stage the rand stood 14 to the euro (some of my work is paid out in euros).

Then 2010 came, bringing the 2010 FIFA World Cup. That event in many aspects was my saving grace. In the first weeks of 2010, the first pre World Cup Assignments sailed into my mailbox: the whole world seemed to be interested in what was happening in South Africa. I also started a world cup blog, which drew people to my website and lead to more work.

I am not sure what my point is of this blog post, apart from the fact that I am feeling uneasy about 2012. While South Africa’s financial system remained intact in 208/2009, we too were a victim of the global financial crisis. Anyone who thinks otherwise is an ignorant dumb ass: the crisis which affected all sorts of industries, including tourism and the manufacturing industry, cost 1.17 million jobs. That was mainly as a result of declining export. Yes, from Europe and the US, our two main destinations for our export products.

According to my calculations this means that South Africa will be hit at some point if Europe goes tits up. So let’s send that part of the world some good vibes (or send it prayers, if that is your cup of tea).

 

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100% Dutch Shame


Yesterday the Christian Democrats (CDA), the majority party in the Netherlands, have voted Angolan asylum seeker Mauro Manuel off their precious little island.

This means the 18-year old, who came to Holland as a ten-year old kid, will not be granted a residence permit and faces deportation back “home”.

The fact this young man barely speaks Portuguese, that he’s managed to integrate himself fully into a flipping difficult society, the fact he speaks Dutch fluently (probably better than the average politician), and considers his foster family his parents does not seem to matter. The authorities do not seem too concerned with the fact that sending Mauro back to Angola means he will lose everything he has: a  loving family, a home, stability, an education and a genuine chance in life.

Mauro is black, he is Angolan, and Angola is no longer at war – so off he must go.

Angola might no longer be at war, the country is not one for sissies (by this I do not mean Mauro is a sissy, btw!). Just Google ‘Travel Advice Angola‘ or ‘Safety Angola‘ and you’ll see what I mean. No need to explain further. You do the math and ask yourself: would an average 18-year old European be able to survive there on his own? So why would Mauro be able to do so? Again, he has left that country almost ten years ago!

Oh, and please note that the Dutch government, the same one that considers Angola safe for asylum seekers to return to, discourages its own nationals from traveling  to this part of the world for safety reasons.

In other words: It is okay for black Angolans to get stabbed/robbed/mugged, but not for pale Kaaskoppe. Eish.

The worst thing is that the CDA’s decision to kill Mauro’s permit application could very well have been fueled by the right-wing Party van de Vrijheid (PVV). Rumour has it this party made threats to collapse the cabinet in case of a pro Mauro decision. I am not suggesting this was indeed the case, but I would be surprised.

The CDA however said it showed its ‘humane’ face by probably allowing Mauro to stay in The Netherlands to await the outcome for his study permit application. According to the rules, one has to apply for such visa in one’s country of birth. Bunch of hypocrites. If you can make an exception regarding a study permit, why not making an exception regarding the residency permit?

Anyway – I have as from this morning emotionally distanced myself from my citizenship and I will continue to do so until the political landscape changes. I do not want to be associated with a regime that allows itself to be ruled by a bunch of racists led by – how my Grand Mother calls him – Führer Geert Wilders (she survived the second world war, so she is allowed to say this) and one that choses to stab humanity in the back.

Rules are rules, sure, but sometimes there are exceptions. Mauro should have been one of them. Over 70% of the Dutch population shares this view, by the way.

Next time someone asks me where I am from, I will tell them I am from Sweden or something.

 

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