Hanging out at Freeme KZN Wildlife Rehabilitation Centre

I am all brave now that this big boy has been put to sleep.
He weighed in at 11.8 Kg's and I witnessed him tear the crap out of a blanket earlier so forgive my apprehensiveness.

At eleven O'clock on Saturday night I found myself at my parent’s doorstep. I had been suffering from anxiety all day and after a crippling panic attack I knew I had to leave the city. Howick on a Saturday night was just the place I needed to be. After a few cups of tea and a crumpled paper bag later I was asleep.

Awake at five the next morning, my feelings of anxiety came back. I needed to do something, something new. In desperation I decided to take my laptop and sit at a morning function at an organisation called Freeme website, which takes in injured wildlife for the purpose of rehabilitation and release. 

I ended up spending my entire day there. 

The highlight was participating in the release of two adult Serval that had been rehabilitated from a form of feline biliary. They had to be darted, weighed, captured and tagged before being released into Blue Crane farm, a reserve in Underberg. The process was witnessed by UK students who had come to do research into South African wildlife conservation. 

Dr. Ramesh (UKZN Servil studies) and Dr. Ryan van Deventer ( wildlife vet)

I also found myself in love with a warthog that had been brought in on Saturday, he been left with a broken pelvis after being hit by a car. He looked so sad and Roz, the GM of Free Me KZN, commented that he might have been lying on the road for some days. 

Visiting student

The whole concept of conservation in South Africa relies on support and donations. Education is the key to sustaining our wildlife and non-profit organisations like Free Me who work hard to educate, rehabilitate, release and rescue are under increased financial strain. The reality is that the survival of our wildlife depends on our own efforts to stop poaching. This can only be done by supporting organisations that actively work to fight against poachers.

The whole conservation experience really left a mark on me and I found myself wanting to belong to this wonderful organisation. I was exhausted but happy, and for the first time in a long while, I felt like I had a purpose.This is how I want to spend my day. This is my contribution, I will now be doing PR for Freeme KZN.

Just hanging with my new homie, a sweet baby Reedbuck.

For more information or to make a donation:

P.O. Box 48, Howick, KwaZulu Natal, 3290

Tel: 033 330 3036

Fax: 086 6539 658

e-mail: admin@freemekzn.co.za
http://freemekzn.co.za/

Who has more fun?

Two month ago I walked into Hairitage Hair Salon to have my hair dyed back to its natural colour (a dark brunette). An hour later I was blonde! Since then the social experiment has proved very fruitful. Do blondes have more fun? I can certainly say that they do get noticed more. Gone are the days when I waited in queues. I simply pull into a gas station and immediately get served. No coins for the car-guard - no problem. "Don't worry ma-um, next time" they all say. And tossing ones curls has never been so fun. 

Perhaps my new Arian looks have inspired a different lifestyle, I spend more time in the sun (this is crucial for me not to look like a salamander), I surf more and spend a lot of time on the beach. Do blondes have more fun?

Having blonde hair 'forces' me to go and visit the salon more often as I am blessed with the ability of rapid hair growth (wonderful for the hair on my head - not so fab for the rest of my body), which means more head rubs and more time on the massage chair. It also means more consulting time with the wonderful Macheila Purchase who has become therapist and stylist. So I am more relaxed and happier.

As for fun, I will always have fun. 

Before and after. Thanks Hairitage Hair Salon make an appointment see link here 

Crappy

Sometimes you have a crappy day.

You just wake up on the wrong side of the bed, you stub your toe, next minute the gate remote battery is dead and you are late for work. 

If your bad luck streak is still going strong then the morning will see you in  a traffic jam running low on petrol. When you do eventually screech into work you have lost your parking to the new guy in HR, so you have to park in the peasants spot out back where all the stray cats are fed by Deb in accounting. This inevitably leads you to step in their doo doo and arrive at work not only late, but smelling of crap. 

I digress. Sometimes you have a bad day. 

But when I have a day like that, I am reminded of the story of Crappy, told to me by a dear friend to remind me that no matter how bad the day gets, it could be worse.
Forgive me if you know the tale for I am told that the legend has spread far and wide. For those of you who are unfamiliar - let me recount it:

An unsuspecting Rhodesian scholar (that is to say - a boy from Rhodes University) brought home young girl from a local bar. One thing led to another and she found herself straddling him in mid coitus whereupon (and for reasons we can only speculate) she crapped herself. Without a second thought - and without collecting any of her possessions - she jumped out of the window of his first-floor dorm room. BUT - not before taking the time to wipe her arse on his curtain! 

The joke for me is that she was OK with leaving in the way she did, but without wiping first!

Rhodes University is a small campus and news got out. She became so renowned that even when fleeing to the University of Cape Town, the legend that is 'Crappy' followed her.

Forgive me if you are reading this Crappy, but be happy in the knowledge that I too have crapped on a curtain (see the post http://alexsweetcharity.blogspot.com/2014/03/no-dont-push.html) and that you have made so many other people happy.

The point is that when you are having a bad time, be happy in the knowledge that things could be worse. There are no negatives in our lives which we cannot overcome. Even Crappy. She has so many positives going for her - like the fact that we don't know her name. 

When you have a bad day take a deep breath and call a friend, they will know how to make everything better. Thank you to all my wonderful friends. I love you so much.

No don't push!

I giggle when I'm nervous.

The nurse came into my cubicle and pulled the curtains closed around us. I asked her if I should take off my pants. She snapped back that I shouldn't be wearing any in the first place. In one hand she was holding the enema bottle, in the other she had a tube of lube. I started to giggle.

She told me I needed to turn over and relax. A sharp pain.

"No don't push," shouted the nurse.

"I'm sorry nurse. I'm so sorry. I don't even know I'm doing it," I giggled.

"NO don't laugh, relax or it will hurt," she replied.

It did hurt. I tried to relax. I felt a sensation that I never wish to feel again as the saline solution sprayed into my colon. By now I felt so uncomfortable that my giggles had turned to laughter.

"NO DON'T LAUGH!" was the last thing I heard as I gave out a huge belly laugh which expelled the enema onto the curtain behind me.

"You are NAUGHTY!" the nurse laughed as she repeated the procedure.

I can only imagine what the other patients in the intimate ward of St Anne's hospital were thinking as they overheard all the commotion which ended with a wet curtain in front of them. 

The nurse called my mom back into the cubical. Before walking out, she wiped the sweat off her brow and exclaimed: "Eish! It was bad."

A week earlier I had been to see a specialist. It was to be the solution to months of tests and doctors prodding me and nurses taking blood. I had lived through my worst fears. Completely alone I had to give viles of blood, living through my phobia with the help of kind nurses who dried my tears and gave me suckers and held me when I cried.

Cancer is something that every person can relate to in some way or another. Our family is no exception. We are riddled with a smorgasbord of cancers from skin to breast, stomach, you name it - we have it. Unfortunately one of these cancers is hereditary colon cancer. 

I haven't written in a while because I have been concentrating on getting better. Today I am cancer free and happy. But I am one of the lucky ones. I cannot stress enough the importance of being healthy and keeping a positive attitude. It saved my life. 

My mom said I woke up and asked her to take a photo for my blog!

Valentines

Mamies muffin.

I have just turned down four tickets to a concert at the Durban Bot gardens tonight because I am single and all my friends have dates. Instead I will be reviewing Anchor Man 2 on my own. Perhaps I will spoil myself with one large popcorn and Coke zero combo.

Now before all you couples pity me. Let me be clear: I am single out of choice. I seem to attract ridiculous men into my life. For example: man who got married whilst he was seeing me. Man who was already married with a child and forgot to tell me. Man who pretended that he had killed himself (after I declined a sexual encounter) and then turned his phone off for a day leaving me to believe he was successful. And recently, Canadian man who told me he had washing to do when I asked him to lunch. It does hurt - but at least it's funny. 

I grew up with a grandmother who always told me: "My girl, you need to find a rich man who will look after you". I always replied that I would make my own money and look after myself.
I think it is often the case that we look for anyone to love us instead of looking for the person that we love.

I am ok with being on my own again this Valentine’s day because I know eventually a delicious somebody will be madly in love with my bubble-butt and won't mind my eccentricities. As one colleague points out, at least I don't find myself with someone who is suicidal, with a child or elbow-deep in his laundry.

It's ok though because canteen auntie’s biryani is probably going to give me diarrhea later which would render me useless on a date. So I will enjoy my movie, go home to my own bed and sleep soundly knowing that I am happy, healthy, wealthy, single and ready to mingle. At least auntie gave me a chocolate muffin with my meal so I can say I got something for Valentine's Day.

A month later

It has been nearly a month after Mandela was buried and I had a plan to write about the events that occurred in my newsroom, and in others, in the days following Tata's death. But as the days have passed I have come to realise that I am too loyal to my craft to give away industry secrets. Yes, we all know that Madiba's passing rituals were to some degree planned. But to what extent, even I don't fully understand. What I do know is that his passing was a sad, stressful, but it was also an exciting time for my career.

I was too tired to feel anything until I went to pay my respects to Tata at his capture memorial in Tweedie. I spent the day sobbing and feeling a loss that was so painful it was as if my own father had passed. Madiba had that effect on people.

What hurts me the most about Mandela's passing is the public fiasco that followed the days after his death. It hurts to know that his memorial became a public mockery. But I do believe his funeral was a beautiful tribute to Tata. Perhaps once all the anger and hurt has passed, perhaps then I should share all the background to Mandela's death. For now I will share my personal photos from the week of his death.

I am sitting at my desk with a few staff members who returned to redo the newspaper.
The clock reads 01:50 and the TV is on eNCA. 

My mother and I paid our respects at the Mandela capture site outside Tweedie,
on Saturday 7th December, two days after Madiba died.

Our editor in chief Andrew Trench conducting a moment of silence which was undertaken
 by all South African news agencies at 12:00pm on Friday the 6th December.

This is the team that came back on Thursday evening to redo the newspaper. The Editor Andrew Trench is sitting in front, Robin Crouch , the design editor holds up our front page which he designed and the deputy design editor, Bonnie Parker holds up the insert for which she designed the front page. We dropped all adverts and all of the plugs from the front page and the first four pages, which we dedicated to Madiba. Our masthead remained black until after Mandela's burial on the 15th December.

Happy New Year

My new years eve was spent bar hopping with some wonderful friends.
This is just us intoxicated on the party bus - you missed a good time if you weren't here!

Happy new years to everyone. Thank you for all of your love and support. I know I have not written in a while. For those that know me, you know that the December period is a hard time of year for me. Let us celebrate the start of a new year and new beginnings. 2013 took some great people from us let us celebrate their lives in 2014. 

I am looking forward to this year and to my new resolution: to be more selfish!

I love you all with every fibre - may this be a great year.

Happy faces are the 2014 look!