Gratitude, Love and Life

On May 5, 1928 a baby girl was born to Muhammad Osman Ghoor and his young wife Mariam Tayob out in the sleepy Transvaal town of Potgietersrus. Born as second to an older brother, she would grow up to be the eldest of five more sisters and five more brothers. Today, 84 years later, I revere her influence and inspiration in my life. She is my beloved grandmother, restfully living her reflective days in Durban, SA. This is why the east coast city holds just so much fantasy for me, I admire and envy it for the job it has to have my granny living there.

Ma calls us the cream of her life, because she says, children are the milk of life, and so grandchildren are the 'malaai', i.e the cream of the milk; the delicacy, the luxury as it were. I last visited her in Durban in mid-Feb, and so a visit is long overdue, and she shared with me that she had begun writing down her thoughts about her life, not so much memories or autobiographical accounts, but rather reflections on the journey. And then she sent me to the drawer where I would find the notebook and bits of card on which notes had been scribbled in her signature, classic scrawl. She asked me to read them out loud, and I did, stopping every so often to ask a question or to listen when she prompted me to, so as to give her a chance to add or annotate her notes.

I'm thinking about those notes now, and wondering how much more she has gotten to pen in the last few weeks. It's such a thrill to know that she's actually writing! I hope the muse will allow me the luxury to do so for the next 50 years :)

Happy Birthday, to my darling grandmother. May the Beauty we love in you always inspire us to generate more of it in the work that we do, in the love that we share, in the life that we live.

Cape Town launches Belly of Fire (2011)

Dear All, We're on our final leg of the 4-city book tour, and the Belly of Fire team will be in Cape Town next week, 23rd Nov. See below for details and feel free to send this invitation to any erstwhile booklovers out on the West coast, whom you think might enjoy spending some time with us at WordsWorth Books, V&A Waterfront. Many thanks, Shafinaaz

WordFire Press SA, and Wordsworth Books V&A invite you to the launch of "BELLY OF FIRE: an anthology of hope, forgiveness, redemption, and reawakening" (2011) Compiled by Shafinaaz Hassim Guest Speakers/Co-authors: Dr Nazia Peer (medical doctor, novelist), Nielfa Cassiem-Carelse (book designer/poet), Luqmaan Rawoot (engineer, poet), Dr Lubna Nadvi (author, poet) and Shafinaaz Hassim (author, publisher) Venue: Wordsworth Books, V&A Waterfront, Cape Town Date: Wednesday, 23 November 2011 Time: 6 for 6:30 pm "Belly of Fire" is a metaphor for the anxiety and fear that we hold within ourselves; the voices of those who are disempowered by racism, poverty, war and gendered abuse, voices that remain silenced, are housed as fire in our bellies. Themes of abuse, xenophobia, war and displacement, forgiveness and reawakening are unpacked here in a collection of seven reflective, compelling stories intertwined with no fewer than thirteen contemporary poems that bring out the essence of the themes developed in the narratives. Fifteen voices are profiled altogether, to reveal the strength of stories that stand together against the structures that try to oppress and maim the individual.

Islamic Relief's Book Day 2011

Dear Islamic Relief South Africa

Thanks again for the opportunity to be a part of the IR Book Day. I am passionate about reading and loved the opportunity to witness the great efforts that IRSA is making to engage a love for reading with young learners especially in an organisation such as Osizweni place of help, where it seems that primary care givers are not parents necessarily and resources are stretched. Your aid and support to such courses as a team, highlight the methods taught to us as in the prophetic model.

I can only commend you and your team for the immense inspiration that I received by being present there. Bright faces filled with expectation are nothing less than looking at the glory of a clear blue sky. I feel glad that the work that is being done will fulfill these expectations and ignite the love for both reading and storytelling in children. Children have a natural capacity to dream, to wish and to fantasize. If reading helps to stretch their fresh imaginations to new limits, and then also if we are able to encourage them to write and tell their stories, I believe that we will give birth to a whole new generation of writers, storytellers from the colourful blend of cultures that we have in SA. And the idea is also to write and orate these stories from different languages other than just English.

The way I see it, IRSA's Book Day efforts have struck a match, and that spark that has been fired up in the kids hearts and minds is exactly what we need to give rise to a whole generation of new thinkers and dreamers!

With appreciation,
SH

Mustafa

How insane is this passage of time?
About a year ago, my sister and I were running around getting 'last minute things' done; visiting a friend who we'd intended to visit as she had been widowed after a car crash, packed my bags as I was leaving for Cape Town before the end of week, and done other basic errands; we'd even managed to get a lunch outing in along with some shopping. Later that night, she went into labour and in the early hours of the next morning, 25 May 2010, my nephew, Mustafa Ebrahim/Gaba was born.

I'd had a dream about him just that evening. I dreamt that I was in a meeting and that I was introducing a tall suited man beside me as my nephew :)

And today, just past his first birthday (amid a week long celebration between grandparents and the rest of us), I'm sitting here wondering, where did this year go to?

All I can be certain of is the greatness of life, love and precious moments. And full appreciation for the gifts that come our way.

Write in the Vines: Franschhoek

A short few weeks ago, when the opportunity arose to enter a sample of my writing into a literary competition, little did I anticipate that I would be the winner of the writer's residency, and to be treated to the five day retreat, the delights of a fabulous little town named Franschhoek and a grand literary festival to follow, there.

I guess I only really believed that it was happening, when I was on the flight to Cape Town on Wednesday, 11 May.
And when I received a text from my as yet unknown co-residency writer, Verashni, that she had heard my flight boarding and that we would meet for the first time, on the other side (Cape Town Airport), the surreal was made tangible in some way. If one regards words as tangible, as I do.

Writing out in Franschhoek was nothing short of a spectacular experience. Not so much that I produced volumes, as this was not the case, but that I found my centre. I rediscovered that place inside that allows me to be one with my writing; with reason and motivation for the biography project, and with a renewed clarity of purpose. It had much to do with the people that I met from the time that I touched down in Cape Town. Verashni Pillay, a sparkling soul and talented writer, who was to be my housemate for the retreat and the gem of a woman with a passion for the musical talent in this country, Kerry Friedman, who was to transport us through the strawberry fields and vineyards to Franschhoek.

On arrival, we met our mentor and the retreat facilitator, Barbara Nussbaum. Lesley and Robert were to take care of us during our daytime hours at their guesthouse estate, Le Auberge Chanteclair; a place of beauty, designed for rest, inspiration and contemplation if I ever saw one.

By some coincidence perhaps, the four writers who had signed up for the retreat were all women, and included Michelle Watts from the UK and two Kaapenaars, Elsibe and Penny. It doesn't take years of studying group dynamic to be both enthralled and swept up in the awesomeness that was to embrace us in the days to follow.

And then, we were led to our place of rest; the 17th Century manor that Verashni and I (as the winners of the retreat) were to use as 'home' for the duration of our stay: Boekenhoutskloof Manor.
Set in the Boekenhoutskloof vineyards, in a valley encased in mountains and the scent of rejuvenation, we were treated to a rustic, beautifully decorated house fitted with all the modern luxuries imaginable. This included under-floor heating in the bathroom and a flat screen TV (the latter totally out of it's league, in my opinion). Sprawling front lawns and leafy vine-covered awnings surrounded the house to ensure that poetic content was well-balanced within artistic context. And wooden floors and gables enclosed antique four-poster beds to cradle us after a long day of writing.

Flighted as the gourmet capital of South Africa, Fanschhoek also made certain to take care of our taste buds. Allora made available ample food and transport to and from the restaurant. I'm definitely going to be trying out their Sandton branch.
The famed Reubens served us a gourmet finger lunch at Le Auberge Chanteclair on the first day. I think I just had bad luck with them afterwards, for having ordered a vegetarian meal, got served a beautiful looking salad with dried helpings of bacon chips all over it. And then the refusal, later on, to cash any of our vouchers. Still, it was generous of them to have written out so many free vouchers, whatever the resulting confusion had been. Salmon Bar's divine Franschhoek trout held some fascination as did the goodies I got to take home to Johannesburg. And in my walks around the town, I managed to discover the Village Bookshop and an local art gallery where I gathered an armful of books as well as painted greeting cards made by a local artist. She also happened to be the owner of the gallery, and when I enquired about the artist, she said, in fact that she was the 'poet' of the works. How enchanted, I was! I bought about 20 pieces, which I will write little notes of my poetry and send around to my dearest ones. I think I want to start by writing to my nieces and nephew. Just feel this urgency to pen for them; or to them. One day, they may just read all of it. Or they might feel the energy of the intention. Or something...

On the last day in Franschhoek, Verashni and I had yet to cash in our vouchers at an courtyard pub called the Elephant & Barrel, which turned out to be this convivial restaurant next to the Village Bookshop with tables and chairs set up in a courtyard behind the village shopping main road. We lunched there, with Nielfa and Razeen, and Khaya Dlanga of the twitterverse and other such media wonders, fame. Okay, not so tongue-in-cheek as it sounds. After having reached the ORT Airport, I have images of all these writer's mulling about waiting for bags to arrive, checking mobile phones and doing odd things like trolley-skating their way out of the baggage claim area ;)

Franschhoek. After those immeasurably inspired days in the vineyards of the Western Cape, I'm finding resistance in getting back into the swing of things in the city. Thanks to Razeen and Nielfa, I made my way through Maccassar on the way to the CT Airport, to stop for a few moments of contemplation at the Karamat of Sheikh Yusuf; all in keeping with the essence of the biography that I am writing, especially because there are - as I'm slowly discovering - these links between mutiny and spirituality.

I am overwhelmed, still, when I recall the events of the past week that were strung together, in the way in which they played out, and the discourse that has been lent to me. I am centred, once again, and even as the pendulum swings, I know that I will return to this, time and time again.

The writing journeys on.

It all began in Africa

It's a truly fabulous time for South Africa.
The force of soccer fever, the undeniable collective awesomeness of the moment is a glue that has begun to fill superficial holes in our social sphere.
Two weeks ago while I was in Cape Town for a bookreading of Memoirs For Kimya, I attended the screening of 'The Killing of the Imam'. Just last weekend, I attended a gala dinner in honour of the late struggle hero Ahmed Timol. On both occassions, I was reminded of a time when brave men stood for justice and lost their lives; rather, they were decimated by mere suspicion of being a threat to the regime. Men like Imam Haron, Ahmed Timol, Babla Saloojee, AbdulHay Jassat, an MK operative and numerous others were tortured in detention. Timol's body was recovered with his nails removed, burn marks dotted his corpse. AbdulHay Jassat survived, his escape was facilitated by Defiance Campaign leader and struggle tactician, Maulvi Cachalia, but has fought epilepsy for over 40years as a result of the electric shocks he received while he was held in detention. The dinner event is dotted with reminders. The Timol's are seated on various tables. Babla's widow is seated on the table in front of me. AbdulHay waves in my direction, distinguished in a tweed jacket. The late Timol's friend, His Excellency Jo Jo Saloojee, the Pahad brothers, Mosie Moolla and Advocate Bizos are seated together. The stories pile up on my desk, too horrendous to swallow all at once, too numbingly numerous to do justice to in a blog post.

And after rummaging through piles of notes that remind and echo the dark age of apartheid, the squalor of a time that easily categorized ordinary South Africans by the colour of their skin, and then dehumanized them to a point of little recognition, it is a warm and generous celebration; a momentous occasion, to welcome the world to our shores.

South Africa has come a long way since the days of darkness, days in which ordinary citizens simply of darker skincolour could not walk freely in the streets; the overflowing streets and stadia of 2010 are wholly evident of our pride in leaving a draconian apartheid legacy in the mud.

Of course, there are remnants, economic and structural poverty lurk as bitter reminders that we have yet to overcome, and some fear that the current FIFA state will do little to turn the tide. South Africans living in informal settlements will not have the electricity to watch any of the soccer matches on television. Ordinary South Africans will miss the glory of this world spotlight, because they have already been decimated by poverty. And so this is our condition today. On the one hand, the insatiable joy of being the soccer podium for the world to look at, and on the other a sacrifice, an allowance for an exclusive sporting event that will fall beyond the affordance of many. The ambivalence is grating, and yet the sheer exhuberance of nationalism brought on by having the world spotlight on South Africa is something that we're bound to bask in for a while.

Right this minute, we are a little piece of Europe. We are collective African soul, we are African soccer on African soil. We are the right place at the right time. And the wonder of a moment like this affirms our status in the world with much to offer the international arena.

And while the world shines its torches and sits back watching our sport fields, let us remember that it is a moment to display our genuine South African hospitality. Let's allow the visitors to go back home with precious gifts of the African spirit, that will resound in all the corners of existence for a long time to come. And all the while we need to build on the idea that there is a way for us to take the benefits down to ordinary citizens who have yet to feel the presence of such a great and powerful event in our midst. If hosting the World Cup in South Africa is an expensive (and rather exclusivist) event, we need for once to step back and look at these as opportunity costs for greater economic relations with other nations. Our ports and our gateways are now open for opportunities. But all of this grand national pride only makes sense of we are able to take it back down to the foundations in order to strengthen the infrastructure towards breaking the socio-economic inequalities apparent in this country.

Ke Nako! The Time is Now.
This is where it all began; and now the world has come home to Africa!
Let's make it count for ordinary citizens, South Africa! Let's make it count!

words like honey

today was one of those thirst quenching days.
i read the words of a fellow poet and floated about
for most of the rest of the morning.
mostly because he is one of my favourite contemporary writers.
he spins words into threads of gold. beauty!

and the request was to read the new manuscript
and then to write the foreword for the soon-to-be-published work.
i am astounded by the profound offer.
and humbled.
and honoured.
and delighted!

"We are the leaders we've been waiting for" -WLC 2010

I attended a conference of diva hotseaters late last week. If there is any reason to re-awaken the potential we all know that we have lurking inside us, then the best way to go about it is to surround yourself with women who challenge themselves everyday, women who break with regulatory myths, women who trample unsavoury stereotypes; yes, women who change the world, one day at a time.

The Women's Leadership Conference convened at the Sunnyside Park Hotel in Johannesburg on 11-12 March 2010. As luck would have it, traffic into Johannesburg was reduced to a mere crawl thanks to a truck having exploded near the Atterbury exit into Pretoria and traffic was rerouted around nearby cities rather than over and through them. I was on my way into the mega-city having been out of town for the wedding festivities of a friend. It turned out to be a rather testy welcome into Gauteng, if you take into account that losing your cool is not the greatest show of survival of the fittest in a city that collides with the shortness of time and has to digest a population of feisty beings intent on making a corporate killing rather than just surviving on a daily basis. Those below the breadline are a mere mirage, an invisible fringe for the most part. A fantastical media report or two at the most. Such is the plight of the rainbow nation governed by the most TENDER-hearted of statesmen.

Time is money and tangents are costly. So where was I?
Aah. And so it came to pass that I was invited to join this gregarious bunch of divas in this neatly carved space for dialogue in Parktown.
I missed Debora Patta's talk but heard snippets for the length of the conference; she being of South Africa's more outspoken, daring media personalities and unsurprisingly Vodacom's Media Woman of the Year for 2009.
Kristine Pearson envisages a world of 'Women Lighting-up Africa'. She is CEO of the Freeplay Foundation based in the UK, US and SA. Noble cause indeed. And much to be made of the impressive vastness of her not-for-profit international organisation and its intent to more than create awareness of the devil of parafin usage in rural Africa and its insistence on gobbling up unsuspecting children in the impending darkness. She lobbys for clean and renewable energy, lighting and job creation for rural women in Africa.
Day 1's workshop was run by Philipa Namutebi Kabali-Kagwa: The Art of Telling Your Story. A powerful orator, Philipa held the audience in a trance of sorts as she went about her talented renderings and interactive sharings.
I sat on a panel that rounded up day one, along with Nicole Wills, founding partner and MD of award-winning advertising and communications agency Stick Communications SA; and Dr Sonia Joubert, academic and consultant in Creativity and Organisational Intelligence. A beautiful thread of conversation ranged from ways in which we might galvanise our own creativity on a regular basis to how to mentor and be mentored in an environment that encourages and unleashes creativity in others. I was happy to work to the theme of the THINK DIFFERENT ad, thanks to a friendly reminder from a brainstormy friend. Crazy works for me!
This theme pretty much carried forth throughout to the end of the two day-conference. It was more than imagination that confirmed the sparkle in people's eyes by the end of it all...

Day 2 began with an inspiring presentation on the mastery of organisational politics by Mardia Van Der Walt-Korsten, Businesswoman of the Year 2009 who is also the CEO of a German multi-national called T-Systems. Mardia cites her key to success simply as her love for life, and her intention to create an environment that puts soul into IT. Her value for humanity in her workplace is infectious as the direct interaction with a woman whose eyes sparkle when she speaks about her life and her work.

Tali Nates from the Johannesburg Holocaust Centre spoke about building bridges and learning tolerance. She spoke about the awareness of being: are we perpetrators, upstanders, bystanders or victims? Choice and repentance were strong themes in her talk.
There could not be a more fabulous way to end the conference than to welcome Prof Edna Van Harte, Dean of the Faculty of Military Science at the Military Academy in Saldanha at Stellenbosch University.
If it is about challenging stereotypes, and if its about a question of whether or not there is a place for women leaders in the military, then I think that she awakened that potential in more than one way.

The conference rounded up with the message of social movement; believe in something strongly and passionately enough, and get something going! Remember this? The MTN Clap :P

Enjoy. And stay with the magic. Its inside of you. Let it Live!

birthday reflections: a piece of sheesh mahal (palace of mirrors)

gifts of humanity, celebrations of self.

There are few things as refreshing as a few hours in the company of dear friends. Julekha and Nazmeera are sisters, and two of my childhood friends, and I had the pleasure of spending some time in their company yesterday, in celebration of Julie's birthday. This is standard practice for a good many years, as February is birthday month for the both of us. And so, in typical feelgood fashion, momentous celebrations of self usually begin on the 3rd Feb and go on, until the 12th, the day that I was born. In between, we will reflect, go out for a movie, a lunch, a dinner, and just do ritual celebratory things that add to the markers along the path of this fortnight between our respective birthdays. We missed out in 2008 when I lived in Durban, but I think that this is the year to make up for it.

It's also a fascinating double celebration this time around, especially because Nazmeera has set a wedding date roughly a month from now, 6 March. This only means a full month of extended celebration. I'm thrilled for her, because the certainty and joy is a rose grown to fullness in her being. Even more so, because I attended her wedding a few years ago when she married at the age of 21, and then her carefully constructed house of cards fell apart some few months later and she got divorced. I saw her fall ill to the disappointment, the confusion, the hurt and pain. I watched from afar as her sister tried to shield her from the insensitive comments of onlookers, ogling the spectacle. I listened, and tried in vain to humble the experience, without trying to trivialise the depth of the wound. Her parents were phenomenal in their support, as was Julie. I flitted in and out of their cocoon every once in a while. And then we stepped back as she worked her way out of the ditch of misery, and began to bloom, once again.

Four years later, I have total respect and appreciation for the growth that she has undergone: it shows in the way that her mindset has taken leaps, in her new sense of spirit, in the honours degree that she has achieved, in the person that she has become. Four earth years might look small, but with the right encouragement, support and intentions made by a person, they can be more valuable than a lifetime of careful living, far less destructive than a full decade of self-pity. And clearly, they have been formative years for her realisation of self. She didn't hold back and shared these Eureka moments, gladly. We made mental notes and smiled as we learned from her, shared some of our own messy details, and hoped that we were rising above them.

Lessons learned are burdens on the back of a miser, and veritable bags of gold in the pockets of those willing to share their humanity with others. These are the truest celebrations of self.

Rajasthani Romanticism

Jaipur is insatiably beautiful. From beneath the squalor and decay, can still be felt the pink sands of time and matter that form the legacy of this ancient city that juggles with some grace, the modern and the antiquated.

The cities beauty stands out for me because it is an unadorned one: its certainly not an obvious beauty, in fact its a rather oblivious one.
But at some level, it is also a taken-for-granted regal, yet unnoticed one.
Beauty is in the bones of Rajasthan.

I have the pleasure of being here at a time when the city is host to both a Literary Festival as well as a Heritage Festival. These are run in parallel, creating a rather combustable creative energy. And sparks fly! Like when Prof Nandini Sundar of Delhi University says, "Fuck the State! We will be heard!" or when Hanif Qureshi says, "when all those rather confused pieces come together to make sense of identit(ies), then we call that literature" and even more so when Asma Jehangir says that she's disappointed with India's arrogance while admitting that Pakistan is 'the menace'. Or Girish Karnad's comment earlier today when he said that VS Naipual must have been stone deaf. Why? Because he wrote about India, but he failed to write anything at all about music, and it's indelible influence and meaning in the Indian context.

Sparks fly, indeed, when you find yourself at the core of a melting pot of grand ideas, challenging minds and fanciful collaborations.

I've also managed to see two plays at the Birla Auditorium, thanks to the Heritage Festival and the Jaipur Virasat Foundation. One, 'Salesman Ramlal' is the Hindi adaptation of Arthur Miller's 'Death of a Salesman', and features a cast including Satish Kaushik as Ramlal and his wife played by Seema Biswas... and the other was directed by Naseeruddin Shah. Comprehensive reviews to follow. I'm not quite quenched with this cup of Jaipur dynamism, drink on, drink on!

With much love from my moonlit hotel room,
at almost 2a.m. Indian time,

S

2010

There are many ways to anticipate the advent of good things. It takes more than belief. It takes a certain amount of knowing, at that extended level. Beyond the place of reason and reasonable doubt, even.

2009 need be celebrated for the many gifts it placed at my feet.
2010 will be celebrated for its own reasons. But more so, is that alongside this wonder of the mystery, this anticipation of what is to come, is the firm knowledge that I am blessed with an entourage of angels, my loved ones, my friends, my cluster of souls that alight in the same space within which my life is made manifest.

The inspired choices are endless. The life ahead is pregnant with the promise of more delights, impending potential to be realised, dreams to be met along the way, and doors of greatness waiting to be opened.

One thing is certain, as we begin this new year: We will have our spotlight in the sun. And this is the year for it!

Happy New Year 2010 :)

Interview with Fordsburg Independent; Local community paper in Johannesburg.

Inertia, Utopia, CHaOs

I cannot recall a year that went by so quickly, it felt like it had barely begun. Not for lack of having accomplished anything, though. In fact, precisely because of the years adrenalin-filled happenings, do I feel that sense of inertia still making me reel to and fro, and for the most part, vivid images meld into a belligerent blur.

This is a reflection. Not quite the customary year-end ramble.
Which is probably why I cannot find the words to express the stop-start feeling.
And, as luck and fate and the powers that be might have it,
its not over yet.

Do I sound like I'm complaining?

Hardly that.
I'm reading yet another visa script as I type; ready to set off to a desert rendezvous for a week of partying and festivity to round up the year that was.
While Dubai World crashes around us left to the folly of the markets and wanton players, some with tails between their legs, our lot might do the economy a small boost in our lavish outpourings for the next week. Shamelessly said, I know.
Such is the bane and the boon of the clad and shackled.

Ah, its been a year of abundance.
Words flow.
Joy bursts at the seams.
The trickles of sadness, loss and illness linger; keeping a necessary humility in place.
And the mirage of a brighter future looms at eye level.
2010 will be a year of togetherness.
A year of partnering on an equal ground; the dust on the battlefields will settle.
And it will be yet another year to reflect on, to learn from, and to celebrate for its lavish layers of utopia and chaos, in similar measures that maintain our humanity; that sustain all but a crass sanity.

Its not quite goodbye, yet.
But its almost there...

Love and Light,
Shafs

http://shafinaaz.com

Copyright Shafinaaz Hassim (C) 2009

Literary Award Winners 2009

A16: Food + Wine by Nate Appleman, Shelley Lindgren and Kate Leahy
Winner of the IACP Cookbook Awards

Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel
Winner of the Man Booker Award

The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman
Winner of the Newbery Medal and Hugo Award for Best Novel

American Lion by Jon Meacham
Winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Biography

Blue Heaven by C. J. Box
Winner of the Edgar Award for Best Novel


The Land of Green Plums by Herta Muller
Winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature


Tribute by Nora Roberts
Winner of the RITA Award for Best Novel with Strong Romantic Elements

Voices

There are many ways in which thoughts, emotions and the experience of life that flows through us may be expressed or even shared with those around us. Facial expressiveness, and the use of varied tones of voice are perhaps the most obvious forms. Some people paint, or write poetry, prose or stories; while other's create masterworks of cullinary genius, fashion sculptures in the form of fabulous architecture or perform daredevil acts in full view of an awestruck audience.

I write.

I am no poker face, and that is something that I have come to terms with. I dabble in oil colours and do various other things like firewalking and the like. But if I had to really draw that dotted line along my path, then the realisation of who I am is linked by the need, love and joy of writing. I have journals going as far back as those primary school scribble notes in perfumed diaries with delicate locks. I dare not read those for fear of throwing them out. Or something.

These years of journals are housed in a little metal chest that used to be my toy box as a child; and while the journals carry traits of their evolutionary nature over time, the metal trunk lays claim to a history of its own: it began as a carrier for cinema reels that came from the subcontinent back in the 60's, was discovered at some point by my maternal grandfather at the cinema house that belonged to a friend of his, and brought home for mom to use as a storage box for her teenage magazine and music collection. And so I came to inherit it some twenty years later, and it remains with me still, now repainted and revived, albeit almost half a century old.

Hinges of history hold its tinkering walls together to carry the evolution of me; the years of growth in my voice. Aside from the layers of paper dreams, hopes, fears and songs of lament and joy, are to be found those early floppy disks and stiffys of my first soiree into the world of digital media. The only signs of my earlier girly journals on these computer disks of memory, are the glittery name stickers that leave tinsel on my fingertips, and declare just the year of their imprint: "Shafs Ramblings, 2001"

And then, these memoirs were born. For kimya, and for me. Sometime in 2005, when I emerged from years of sociology and more time spent discovering a life of corporate surrealism that I may have been unwittingly groomed for, and found myself to be flourishing in, against my every expectation. It is quite amazing how we might exceed our self-judged limitations.

Memoirs For Kimya evolved in its own right. It started off as a canvas of silence, made noisy only by the echo of thoughts in my head.

Now a trumpet blares. No. Make that, a vuvuzela.

It called to me, once. Now it rages outwardly, to those who will hear with understanding; those who will engage it's ramblings, shared spewing forth of words and all things manifest therein.

And this great sea of voice occurred to me most profoundly when, at the Cape Town launch, my guest speaker, fellow writer and dear friend, Nazia Peer, read two of my newest works out aloud to the booklaunch audience.

I was mesmerized. No, don't get me wrong. Not as if to think, Oh my word, I wrote that! The spark of a soul moment was the realisation that all this time, the voice in my head gave life to these words, and for the first time ever, a reflective post like Revelatory Moments, or an emotive piece like Cut was being read in a voice of someone else, but more so by someone I have had the opportunity to know dearly, and who has been the source of inspiration and soul-coolness to me. Another voice. A loaded moment. A celebration, in more ways than my humble soul can count.

And yes, it all makes sense. This now and where. The why and how.
It all makes perfect sense.

Cape Town: Fiddunya hassanatau (The beauty of this world)

Being in Cape Town taught me a few good things. One, that writing should never be taken for granted, and two, that the low literacy levels in our country will always mean that the work of a wordsmith will always be driven by the need to engage readers. To really create in them a thirst for reading. And to make these readables available and accessible in more ways than one; so its not only about learning how to read, but about creating a culture of reading. And so that reading is also an affordable pass-time. A new initiative by Zukiswa Wanner of 'Madams' fame, called ReadSA is engrossed in this project in many ways.

The nose to grindstone image refers.

Cape Town was also a time of rejuvenation for me. I was happy to be plugged into all that the city had to offer me: the smell of the ocean, the embrace of glorious Table Mountain, which served as a backdrop to the launch of M4K, and the throng of people that I had the delight of coming into contact with over the three days that I was there. It started off on flight. I left Johannesburg at 6:55am Saturday morning. I arrived in Cape Town to meet a group of amazing ladies for breakfast at Origins cafe.
Nielfa, Ayesha, Saarah, Nisrien, Saberah, Haseena and Maryam were my coffee companions; a superb start to a riveting weekend.

With this lovely lot, I got to see the District Six Museum, and the Planetarium. Also got to see the Gardens. Walked by the National Library, and planted myself outside the Slave Lodge until I was whisked away to do some bookish things, and to check out the launch venue for the very first time (I went on a limb with this one! in tandum to my advisory team: Nielfa, Yaseen and Nazia for the most part) But to my absolute delight, this venue turned out to be the most incredible of venues I have used for any previous launches or other social engagements.

Meeting my darling friend Nazia Peer was a highlight for me. The fleeting time we had together was enough to tear at me for some time; the quality of which always makes up for the luxury of 'more' in life. Saturday night also turned out to be the dinner and musical in honour of a cousin whose engagement we were there to attend. Boys side party that lasted well into the late hours or early hours; whichever way you need to look at it. Needless to say, I met friends and family that I have not seen in a good while from as far as small towns around Polokwane, Nelspruit, etc. All colliding at this one festive spot in Cape Town or Rondebosch to be more precise.

And so it came to be that Sunday took us from the Waterfront, where we were staying, to the Athlone Civic Hall in attendance of the grand engagement celebrations. Speeches started at 11am and went on until about 1ish in time for grumbling bellies to be filled to satisfaction. Speakers included Ebrahim Rassool, MP and Mr A.Kays, whose work is cited in Daughters are Diamonds. Thanks to a feisty guest who recognised me as the author of DaD at some point, I was introduced to a friendly Kays saheb. Kays speech was short and sweet and bordered on the quest for Layla (girls name) to finding her Majnun (because he hadnt been told that my cousins name is Muaaz) Rather innovative of him in any event. And at first, I thought he might be named Qais, seeing as the original Majnun in the persian tale is called Qais.

And so I met Qais. Or rather, Mr.A.Kays. A wonderful gentleman. And a writer, of course. I also met Judge Siraj Desai and his lovely wife in that fuss of a moment. Desai declined the invitation to the launch due to prior arrangements to meet with Che Geuvara's daughter. Should that be censored information? He didnt say, and so here you go.

And almost time for the launch. I'm meeting people, still. Friends like Luq and more family... People who know me because of whose daughter I am. People who last saw me when I was just that tall (A wavering show of hands somewhere near my navel to show how diminished I may have been back then)

Brother wants to take a drive up to Micassa. Stepping out of the city for a bit. To subdued realness. A little bit of time travel, to visit Shaikh Yusuf. The views are breathtaking. I may have left a few breathes behind. A dirt road leads up the incline, and looking back in view of raised fortified walls, a curving road and some canons not-in-use, balancing still... the feeling overtakes me, that this is a moment in time that may not be measured by the date on my calendar, or on the blackberry in my bag. I relinquish the offending mechanism to the boot of our car and walk a little faster so as to catch up with the rest of the family.

The launch was nothing short of amazing. My noteworthy surprises were not over. Lubna, another of my dearest friends, stopped over between her delegatory role at the IPSA conference and on her way to her flight back home to Durban. She is officially the first purchaser of pre-launch Memoirs For Kimya at the Jozi Book Fair, and managed to make an appearance at the CT one too. The Bo-Kaap was an apt placement for the bookish event. I loved the energy generated there, the people I met, the quality of engagement, the view of Cape Town that twinkled below our feet in that raised glass box that was Bo-Kaap Kombuis... and the embrace of the mountain in the background. It is very difficult not to be affected by the incredulous flow of inspiration that fills this city. It is incredibly difficult not to fall in love with this place. I feel blessed to be able to visit again, with the launch of my new work, my celebration of soulful writing, and to plant the seed of writing inspiration in others, as I hope I have.


Monday held more for me; a call from Exclusives, Wordsworth books and a visit to District Six for books, books and more books. Also got to lunch with family, make serendipitous stops in town and outside a strangely familiar place called Bingo, before finding my way to a pretentious pavement coffee shop in wannabe bo-kaap to say my goodbyes to Nielfa, Yaseen, Nazia and Muhammad H, my charismatic programme director for Sunday's launch.

*Deep Breath required here for these goodbyes that Im never good with*

Here's to the joy of blessed moments, and knowing that life makes perfect sense being exactly where we are. Here's to Cape Town, until we meet again.

M4K is off to Cape Town...

I have wonderful memories of my first book launch in Cape Town in 2007. Daughters are Diamonds was well received at the Cape Town Book Fair that year, and went on to produce a momentum that resonates still. It's time to visit the shores of this beautiful city once again, with a string of friends waiting there, and of course, with my new publication: Memoirs For Kimya.
Ben Williams of BookSA made special reference to the event here: http://news.book.co.za/blog/2009/10/13/au-courant-three-indie-book-launches-on-our-october-radar-screen/

Also, I will be chatting to Nancy Richards on SAFM (104-107fm) tomorrow at 1:00pm.. or a little after 1.. Tune in to listen or call in if you wish... Audio streaming live at www.safm.co.za

"We move through life as it moves through us. We make up stories in our minds.
And often these stories overlap.
We hope with all our heart.
We dream. We love, often deeply. We experience some gains and some losses.
Each of these moments leave an imprint on the rich tapestry of our souls.
Sometimes the only way to share the awesomeness
is by whispering a few words on the wind.
'Memoirs for Kimya' is a collection of whispers
and a tribute to the many people we meet along life's journey."


WORDFIRE Press takes pleasure in inviting you to the launch of

Memoirs For Kimya by Shafinaaz Hassim

Date: Sunday 18 October 2009.

Venue: Bo-kaap Kombuis, 7 August St, Bo-Kaap; Cape Town

Time: 6:00pm

Revelatory moments

Ive not been up to writing much these few days or weeks, and yet there is so much happening at the moment that I would actually like to share as a way of appreciating, and even celebrating these. So, what's been happening? Not all gratingly physical things as such; more a variety of all things revelatory. Of course, the advent of my new book, its sales and the reception it has received in five weeks since it came off the press is celebratory... Memoirs For Kimya is now available in hardcover; a beautiful imprint that fills me with joy; but there's more.

Life's telling me things these days. Revealing all the answers to all the questions that I have collected like an avid sea-shell collector. Years of putting them to the ear to hear nothing; and now the whispers are more than telling. Revelations are in more than words and sounds: they are accompanied by tastes and colours, vivid images that make for quite a gallery of viewing.

There is no time span when gratitude fills your being. I feel this now. Past and present merge into one. The future feels like an unopened gift, gleaming just within reach of eager fingers. Everything is precisely as it should be. There's really no rush. I am no longer the kitten that chases it's tail. I'm the Cheshire cat with cream on her ever-smiling lips.

Absolutely every human being should feel this, just once.
It's the best of both worlds. It really is.

And of course, everything makes total sense. Revelation is momentary and transcendent at the same time. Kind of like spraying rose water into a space and stepping into it to be embraced by it, to breathe it in and then be soaked in it all at once.

Indeed, His favours are undeniable.
:)

reclaiming authenticity

Standing on the paved concourse just in front of the old Market Theatre complex, a wave of elation washes over me. The wind flicks wisps of hair around my face. Pigeons scatter across the tarmac in front of me; a minibus trundles by. I twirl around to face my host, and the old building proudly bares it's chest to reveal it's status as Museum Africa. This is where it's all being happening; the launch of my new book: Memoirs For Kimya, the networks of creativity and all things bookish, and the energy of the literary arts infiltrating the Jozi CBD.

It's the end, now. Everything has been packed into the boots of our cars, and the backseats heave with some posters and flyers and layers of pink cloth that gave temporary flesh to the skeletons of steel tables. The azaan from the nearby Newtown mosque punctuates the calm air, spreading its sweet fragrance through the Newtown precinct. Calmness prevails. I have so much to be thankful for. To Him who renders me speechless by the Beauty that is revealed in my life.

Cars speed by on the highway within view; we're tucked away underneath the bustle of it all. I appreciate the variance: usually, I am one of those car's speeding between the North and the South on the upper levels of the highway networks, little realising the authentic value of spaces that lie beneath all that craziness. Spaces that wait to be reclaimed as the Real forces of life. Not drenched in hastiness, but rather quenched by contentment and a simple gratitude of the creative life of a city filled with history and activism; a celebration of life in every way.

And this, really, was the theme for this years Jozi Book Fair: the intention to reclaim authentic space in the city. When I met with the organisers for the last time yesterday, accolade was passed between us in a wholesome relay. A general happiness prevailed. And I know for certain that a shift in my consciousness has occurred. And I have remembered many things long forgotten in my choice to take the rollercoaster through my days. Stillness speaks :)

And there's more. Coincidence? You decide: About two weeks ago, I ordered a gift for myself. I knew at that point already, that it was a significant gift to present to myself. A gift of tranquility. A gift of seeking rest. In content, it may seem superficial compared to the symbolism in context. Let me explain...
As a child of five, I remember visiting my mother's grandfather in Potgietersrus in the Limpopo Province. He was a tall man, as even his photo's confirm, and even more so to a tiny person as a toddler might be. He used to call me 'Sakeenah' instead of 'Shafinaaz'. I often asked my mom why he chose to do this, and she would say: He knows secrets that we have yet to learn. And she would smile when saying this. I thought it was meant to pacify me. But sakeenah means tranquility. I may have been the coolness of his eyes... :)

And so in an effort to celebrate my layered forms of self-identification, I bought myself a little work of art by the artist of Soul&Paper. It's called 'Sakeenah', and was delivered to my delight, on Saturday night. Thank you!

Indeed. Stillness speaks!