Off we went on our 18 hour journey back to South Africa. While chatting and reminiscing with my friends I kept thinking about home and what awaited me back home. I thought about how much I had missed pap, gravy and home made stew; how I don’t want to see a slice of pizza or a REALLY BIG burger for a while. I thought about the children who played on the street so joyfully while I sat with friends on my granny’s stoop and spoke about how great life is. I thought about going to lectures in the winter rain and taking walks around this beautiful town, Stellenbosch. So many things I missed about home that just makes South Africa a part of  my heart.

We landed in Johannesburg and waiting for me was my mother with a warm arms and her famous “I missed you” smile. Just seeing her face made me glow like never before. Shortly after briefing my mother of all the happenings in the passed five weeks I got onto the flight to Cape Town. When walking out of Cape Town International Airport I was hugged by the cold breeze. I took a deep breath and smiled; I knew I was home and that is where my heart is. I really missed the little things about this country and I’m glad we got  the chance to show the world what we are capable of.

South Africa is me and I am my country. I’m glad to be back.

What remains constant is this video of Japanese business people who have been in Johannesburg for 6 months. Their overall experience of South Africa has been of a welcoming and comfortable place. However, the Japanese World Cup loss against Paraguay still does not sit well with them.

Take a look at the video below.

What has changed for you in the past few days? Tell us in the comments we would really like to know.

Andy and Andre from the Netherlands shared their touching story with us. And they left me secretly rooting for the Netherlands on Sunday.

What will this World Cup leave for South Africa?

I have asked barmen and journalists and politicians such as the remarkable Helen Zille, premier of the Western Cape province. I have ended up feeling like those Monty Python characters who were so foolish as to question the benefits of the Roman Empire. The World Cup not only gave jobs and skills but hope to thousands of local people.

The tournament gave an absolute deadline to South Africa for the introduction and improvement of all kinds of infrastructure – not just sports grounds, but roads and bridges and airports and bus lanes that would otherwise not have been built and which will benefit the country for decades to come. Above all, the World Cup has given this country something intangible but priceless: a deep sense of pride that it has taken on something difficult and done it well.

When they look at themselves in the approving mirror of world opinion, South Africans of every race agree that the first African World Cup is a joyous success, and that success breeds confidence. The rand is rising. South Africans who left for Australia or Canada are starting to return to a country whose banking system largely escaped the recent crisis.

The sheer number of visitors – about half a million – will help to open the eyes of the world to South Africa and its potential for trade and investment; and get this – crime, the crime that has been supposed to be one of the drawbacks of living here, is down 90 per cent in central Cape Town, and there has not been a single serious incident of crime or violence in any of the fan parks.

Of course there will be disappointments, and no one could pretend that the World Cup will solve the economic or political problems of the country. But it offers a sense of unity and confidence to a place with a tragic past. It should help to build the taxpayer base that is so essential to narrowing the wealth gap.

It gives potential wealth creators at least some of the infrastructure they need. Fifa took an inspired decision to give the World Cup to South Africa, and South Africa has responded brilliantly.

For months, no years, I have been watching the scene unfold from my office, nearly every day. The giant construction site, from the air, seemed like a vein weaving its way through Gauteng. Now every South African and visitor to our beloved South Africa will have the privilege of a 12 minute ride between OR Tambo international and Sandton City centre.

For months I have been dreaming about my first journey on the Gautrain. The golden bullet which travels at an average speed of 160 km/h commenced its operation on Tuesday 08 June 2010, making history as the first high speed urban train on the African continent. Now Johannesburg, Africa’s business hub, takes yet another step towards realising the ideal of  world-class city travel.

Reports of the first day were pouring in and it seemed  it went exceptionally well. A record 11000 commuters reported to have used the service on the first day.

I could no longer resist the temptation of travelling on our proudly South African Gautrain. An sms to my friend, who was in Hong Kong at the time, catalyzed the process. Yes, she is landing early morning and yes she will have breakfast with me in Sandton!

We carefully coordinated our meeting and purchased our tickets without any fuss or complication. The ticketing system is similar to that of the high speed train in Hong Kong and the London underground. The friendly Gautrain staff were visible and eager to advise and assist. Not that it was necessary but I loved the feeling of being a tourist in our lovely country.

As we watched the electronic updates on the trains’ arrival, the minutes couldn’t tick by fast enough as Gerry and I eagerly waited for the Gautrain to pull into OR Tambo station. Then as if it has done it a thousand times before the golden bullet silently sails along its tracks into the station. Seconds later, the cameras are clicking away at the rate that makes the Gautrain look like the celebrity of the century. You could just feel the energy of excitement as journalists, tourists, children accompanied by their parents board the train for the first time.

Fifteen minutes on the beautiful golden bullet and we step into the heart of Sandton. The train station is conveniently located at the Nelson Mandela Square and the Sandton Shopping Centre. In our excitement we hopped onto the Sandton circular bus never realising that we were right where we wanted to be to enjoy our intended breakfast! Of course we needed to familiarise ourselves with Sandton!

As time goes by, the novelty of the Gautrain is sure to wear off but gone are the days of stressful traffic jams or rushing to make your flight ar OR Tambo International. The Gautrain with its seamless, steam less operation is here to serve you!

Besides the fabulous overhaul of Cape Town Station (as well as my local Plumstead Station – now known as Plumstead Precinct), new shuttles have been introduced in the city centre that make hopping about the city a real pleasure. The overhaul is not only evident in the infrastructure of our city, but also in the happy, smiling faces of everyone we see. Capetonians are extending a very warm welcome to all its visitors, but are also treating each other with warmth and familiarity that comes with the euphoria of being hosts of this important, historic event.

I’m still amazed at the infectious vibe that is present everywhere I go. I’m not a football fan, but I’m starting to feel the green and gold in my blood come to life as my spirit soars to the heavens with the cacophony of craziness that pervades every conceivable space. Vuvuzelas can be heard early in the morning till late at night. I reckon the supporters blowing them need the practice – foreigners and South Africans alike! In St Georges Mall today, hundreds of supporters from all over got a taste of things to come as they blew horns, whistles, sang and danced together in celebration.

The 2010 World Cup fever is hitting me hard. I’m feeling a strange desire to paint my face in my country’s national colours and ululate at the top of my voice.

I plan to be at the Fan Park on Friday as the first match kicks off so I can add my bit to the football fever gripping the world. I’ll be the one in the Bafana Bafana T-shirt with a flag for a face, a vuvuzela for a voice, and doing the Diski Dance!

Last weekend one of the world’s greatest ultra marathons took place on our doorstep. The Comrades Marathon is a 56 mile endurance event from Pietermaritzburg to Durban that started at the crack of dawn on Sunday morning and officially finished twelve hours later in the old Kingsmead cricket ground in Durban. Runners have been in training for months, as part of running groups, with personal trainers or with friends and family members. They have had weekly targets in the run up to the race of how many miles they need to run in order to be fit enough to run two marathons back to back. Regardless of their physical condition many fail to finish because the battle, as I have been told, is in the mind.

One of the ladies in my office block ran it for the first time this year. She trained very hard, pushing her body to its limit and preparing herself mentally for what she termed her  ’greatest challenge’. This morning she told me that just past the half way mark she felt a searing pain in her leg which a fellow runner diagnosed as Iliotibial Band Syndrome (ITB). Basically the muscle on the outside of her thigh was inflamed and rubbing against the bone. She had to stop for a while, allow one of the doctors to have a look and decide whether or not to continue. With another entire marathon-length of a run left to complete, and in incredible pain, she took a deep breath and chose to push herself to the finish line. Another Comrades runner once said that, ‘It is a coward that once beaten does not return’. By completing the race in the face of such adversity, my work colleague proved that she is definitely not a coward.

I wonder what the Comrades marathon founder, Vic Clapham, would have made of this and the many other tales of overcoming incredible odds to finish the race. Originally from England, Clapham moved to South Africa as a young man and went on to fight with the 8th South African Infantry from 1914 to 1918. So burdened was he by the suffering he witnessed as his battalion traipsed for 1700 miles across African savannahs that he was unable to move on without finding a way to mark the bravery of his comrades. The idea of a marathon came to him while he tried to think of a way for future generations to experience something of the perseverance and determination required to be victorious. The League of Comrades of the Great War resisted Clapham’s idea and refused his application two years in a row. In 1921, however, they gave in and on May 24, 34 runners took their stand at the starting line.

This year, on the 85th anniversary of that day, race organisers had to enforce a cut off of 22 000 runners. People come from all over the world to run the Comrades, each of them setting an incredible goal of running for 56 miles. Many of them ran for charity, others for the memory of a deceased friend or relative and some, like winner Stephen Muzhingi and my friend at work, because they know that they have what it takes to overcome physical and mental difficulties and stay the distance.

Watching those who finished the race cross the finish line in Durban, I was amazed by how ordinary they looked. Ranging in age from early twenties to late sixties, men and women of all shapes, sizes, skin colours and nationalities made it to the end in one piece after an entire day of running. It was inspiring to watch the pace and purpose of so many determined individuals and to see that the spirit of the very first Comrades Marathon lives on to this day.

The final of the Super 14 rugby series (played between the 14 top teams from South Africa, Australia and New Zealand) was played at the Orlando Stadium in Soweto. The Blue Bulls Company was kind of forced to find an alternative stadium for the final, and in fact for their semi-final match against New Zealand’s Crusaders the previous week, as they had by then already handed over their home field, Loftus Versfeld to FIFA for final preparations for the 2010 FIFA World Cup™.   Orlando Stadium, to date better known for hosting football finals, was their choice.   Well done to the Bulls leadership for breaking the mould and going against the expected, the trialed and tested, the mundane.

Orlando was the perfect setting to witness how far our country has come and how patriotic we are in supporting our sports teams.  No matter where they play, we will follow them, as they are our pride and joy – the ones that make us proud. So come on South Africans let’s do the same for Bafana Bafana and get behind the boys!  They too will make us proud.

The past weekend also had a downside though.  Being a Stormers fan, it was painful to see my team lose to the Vodacom Bulls.  Very painful, I tell you! But at the end of the day, I have to admit that the best team won. Well done Bulls!

Now for Bafana Bafana!  The time is near for the players to know whether they are in Mr Parreira’s squad or not.  The team’s performance has improved and there is renewed optimism in the South African football fan base.

MY squad, whom I think should represent South Africa will probably not differ that much to Mr Parreira’s.  I personally think that some players have through their performance gone from being squad members to being in the starting 11 – notably Bongani Khumalo.  Please Mr Parriera start this boy as he has a good future ahead of him!

My squad for the World Cup is:

Goalkeepers-     Itumeleng Khune
Moaneeb Josephs
Rowan Fernandes

Defenders

Siboniso Gaxa
Aaron Mokoena
Tsepo Masilela
Bongani Khumalo
Bryce Moon
Matthew Booth
Lucas Twala
Siyabonga Sangweni

Midfielders

Steven Pienaar
Kagisho Diagacoi
Macbeth Sibaya
Teko Modise
Reneliwe Letsholonyane
Siphiwe Tshabalala
Thanduyise Khubani

Strikers

Bernard Parker
Benedict McCarthy
Katlego Mphela
Surprise Moriri
Siyabonga Nomvete

Good luck boys. Go out and make us and yourselves proud!

ROCK ON!

Fast forward three days to Sunday afternoon.  The sound of singing carries down the corridors of the hospital wards. Crowded round the bedside of the lady with the poisonous blood is a group from her church in starched white robes and animal-skin headdresses.

They sang songs in isiZulu to the glory of God and the depth of his love  in four part harmony as other patients and nursing staff looked on. The woman lay screaming on the bed but unresponsive when anyone attempted to communicate with her. In the background a doctor from the intensive care unit was carrying out an evaluation. If the patient met the stipulated criteria, she would be transported into his ward and given 24-hour supervision. Her life might be saved, her blood would be pumped with oxygen until she could breathe more easily and she would have her fluid intake closely monitored.

The choir struck up a new song, ‘Wophila phakade Izibusiso zoMsindisi Azinakubalwa‘ (He that believes in the Son will live forever; the blessings of the Lord are more than can be counted), as the doctor checked the patient’s vital signs and saw that her lactate was too high and her PH to low. In short, she was too sick to be saved. The decision was made not to admit her to ICU. Oblivious, the singers knelt down beside the bed to pray.

This lady was one of the many unfortunate women in her age group who develop lactic acidosis from an anti-retroviral drug known as Stavudine. It was approved by the US Food and Drug Administration in 1994 and South Africa was one of many countries who bought it in bulk because it was inexpensive and easy to use. However, in November last year the World Health Organisation released a statement recommending that the drug be phased out due to its toxicity. Britain and America immediately took it off the shelves and replaced it with less toxic ARV medications, but countries in the developing world have not followed suit. This is understandable considering the low cost of Stavudine and the deadly spread of HIV and AIDS in these parts of the world. In South Africa’s case, they still have years’ worth of stocks and the percentage of women who die from lactic acidosis is nowhere near as high as the percentage of people who require affordable ARV’s.

The only hope is that women in their forties who are on Stavudine will go more regularly to the hospital to have their lactate levels monitored so that it won’t be too late to save them if the time comes.

Rounding the bend on Jan Smuts Avenue in Parktown I belt out the refrain from the well known mid 18th century nursery rhyme “Polly put the kettle on, polly put the kettle on, we’ll all have tea.”

You see a fabulous new friend has invited me to spend Saturday afternoon enjoying high tea at the Westcliff Hotel in the northern suburbs of Johannesburg.

As I make my way through the heavily ornate cast iron gates a suave bellhop directs me to the parking bays from where I am escorted to an awaiting shuttle and whisked off up the hill. The serenity of the apricot coloured units, rose bushes and the countryside-feel of this very exclusive hotel soon have me captivated, stilling all the silly refrains in my head.

At the top of the hill the shuttle comes to a stop. Our driver jovially announces that today is a good day, as this afternoon he joins his friends at Soccer City for the historic rugby match between the Blue Bulls and Crusaders. He laughs and winks as he says, “Today my blood is blue.” I laugh and wish him a fantastic game.

I am then led into the Polo Lounge past  many more fragrant rose bushes. The atmosphere is serene and calming.

My friend has already arrived and welcomes me with open arms and a hug. Patrick, who will be looking after us, seats us at a window.

The 180 degree view of Johannesburg is stunning.  Autumn is in full swing, the world’s largest urban forest a riot of orange, red and lime green. It feels as  if the sun is out just for me this brisk afternoon.

Patrick brings the menu and shows us the buffet table. I silently wonder if the Monarch herself will be joining us. Everything from the silver milk jug to the crustless cucumber sandwiches to the salmon and cream cheese mini wraps look like they are eagerly anticipating her arrival.

I get lost in the tea menu. So many fragrant and delicious blends. Rose and hibiscus. Moroccan spice. Lavender. I finally settle for a cup of oolong from China.

The teapot arrives and with it a whole new way of drinking tea.

The pot is of fine clear glass, with a cylinder in the centre. The cylinder houses the leaves, long, fragrant and curly. Patrick pours boiling water over the mixture and sets it on a glass burner. He advises me to let the tea develop.

I watch as the water slowly mingles with the leaves. It turns a bright lemon yellow, then amber and finally black. I am mesmerised. Suddenly life has taken on new meaning, hours have stilled to minutes and even seconds matter now. I take a deep breathe and feel my lungs inhale the fragrant tea. With a huge sigh, I sit back and relax.

Four cups of tea, one more fragrant than the other, an assortment of savouries and the best death-by-chocolate gateaux, next a slice of ganache cake, then more than one decadently decorated marzipan petit-four, and I finally put my fork down.

By now my new friend and I have become old friends. Lapped in luxury, we have bared our souls, shared our dreams, and buried our regrets.

As I wipe my mouth with the linen napkin  lying across my lap, the sun is setting. The sky is streaked with orange, red and purple. Birds chirp in the distance, and for the first time I notice that the room is filled with other people. South Africans of every hue and background are enjoying the age old European tradition of high tea on a late Saturday afternoon.

A slow knowing smile spreads across my face… South Africa is truly Alive with Possibility!