Richard Stupart

I am starting to suspect that Bronkhorstspruit (of buddhist-temple-in-africa fame) may be haunting me.  It all started on Wednesday of this last week, you see, when Olina, our long suffering maid (given the sheer volume of mess that John and I can produce at times) had her father disappear. He had been sick for some days and the department of social services, in their infinite wisdom, had taken him to be looked after and nobody had seen him since. It was a mystery, one demanding to be solved with the utmost urgency. The only clue we had to start with was that he had been in Bronkhorstspruit at the time, and that the social worker who took him had said something about a Sizanani Hospital.

Read the rest of this entry »

It’s not my quote – that one comes from Fight Club, so you will have to give Chuck Palahniuk credit for so eloquently expressing angst with our short time in the world.  It’s a quote that has stuck with me since I watched the movie again recently (and then felt the need to rant briefly against the world). But being all angsty about the fact that I will not be here forever simply for the sake of wanting to vent has never really been a productive pastime.

Read the rest of this entry »

The Chief is the Man

There are so many more intellectually, emotionally and creatively interesting things to blog about. And they will be blogged about in time. But like a red flag to a bull, so I am with advertising materials from the supernatural side of South African life. I had thought with the chronicles of the previous magical healers’ flyers that I had written, the matter was at an end. But nay. Yesterday in the traffic, a challenger has arrived on the magical healing and penis enlargement circuit. Yes, for some reason a large and performing penis is a magical thing. Makes you a regular unicorn to have one.

With the omission of being able to make demands of your friends using a mirror, Chief Al Qudra appears to be targeting a more niche clientèle.  His flyer did, however, contain a most glowing testimonial from Patrick Verwoed. Who, I am sure, bears no relation to the Verwoed of damning Apartheid policies fame. If for no other reason that I am sure he would sooner have named his son Tebogo than Patrick. But I digress.

If you need to unlock your life, need help with your court cases, bad luck or (cough) the size of your unicorn horn, then Chief Al Qudra is your man.

A Fu Dog. You can't take pictures of the Buddhas inside. :(

I have had a bad cough for the last few days. Something to do with an allergy apparently, but not much fun from my point of view. Loud coughing is not appreciated in polite company generally – but even less so in the Buddhist temple of Nan Hua in Bronkhorstspruit. Which was where I happened to find myself coughing this afternoon. I’m not really sure why I went back this weekend. Mostly a desire not to spend a weekend indoors I guess. That, and to see what I missed in the whirlwind tour with my brother a few weeks earlier.  Treading carefully over the polished wood of the main temple building, with the gaze of three titanic Buddhas over my head, I hated that cough.

Read the rest of this entry »

I’m not taken too often to publishing sappy writing on this blog, and am even less prone to posting simply to show a link. But some stories are too beautiful not to be told, and pushed upon you, the reader. For the girl from Portugal I met for exactly one night and spent years learning Portuguese for, though I never saw her again. For someone loved more than she will ever realise as she goes to save the world. For every simple. honest story like those which may reside in your own life, do yourself a favour and read this damn link.

I’ve always loved that image, from Alice in Wonderland, of the rabbithole that goes on and on.  Far beyond where a rabbithole should really go, until you find yourself in a place that no rabbithole should contain.  If you pick the right rabbitholes, the whole enterprise can be rather rewarding.

Read the rest of this entry »

I’ve met God across his long walnut desk with his diplomas hanging on the wall behind him, and God asks me, “Why?”  Why did I cause so much pain?  Didn’t I realize that each of us is a sacred, unique snowflake of special unique specialness?  Can’t I see how we’re all manifestations of love?  I look at God behind his desk, taking notes on a pad, but God’s got this all wrong.  We are not special.  We are not crap or trash, either.  We just are.  We just are, and what happens just happens.  And God says, “No, that’s not right.”  Yeah.  Well.  Whatever.  You can’t teach God anything.

Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club, Chapter 30

Read the rest of this entry »

Last weekend was spent in Swaziland. If you have no idea where that is, then you would be forgiven. As long as you are not South African, in which case knowing the names of the landlocked nuggets of independence that constitute Swaziland and Lesotho really is expected. But I digress. Aside from such bizarre experiences crammed into 48 hours as a massage in a nightclub and watching a man dressed in an admiral’s outfit jam to the tunes in a club called House on Fire (Swaziland is landlocked. No I am not making this up), we also had a near brush with death on the first night traveling to the border.

Read the rest of this entry »