Brazen Princess's Open Salon Blog

Back

Mon, 1 Apr 2013 13:04:11 -0400

Here I am, back on OS as an American.

Strange.

I had to change my profile and felt a sadness about not saying I live in South Africa, even though I am glad to be home.

But I am home...I even have a smart phone... and a car.

Help...

Emirates Airlines IS Blowing My trip Home!!!

Wed, 13 Mar 2013 19:03:48 -0400

When I moved to South Africa we started really racking up frequent flyer miles. With every airline we had an account; they all knew us as a number and treated us with the same mutual disdain they treated all their economy class clients.

Emirates was the exception and quickly became my favorite airline. Their planes were the and amenities were similar to all of the other airlines we travelled, but there was one special something about their service. The food was better onboard; the flight attendants were wonderful and the greatest attraction - airport lounges – shone like diamonds, especially in Dubai.

I started booking Emirates flights each time, eventually becoming a “Silver Rewards Member”. With Silver status I was awarded the Silver lounge on our Dubai layovers; food, cocktails and internet hook-ups included with the bathrooms and showers. Ahhhh!!!

This is where I need to tell you that I have slowly fallen out of love with Emirates; the same way that one slowly falls out of love with a mate that is not the best match for them. My main complaint, as I write tonight is they have too many times treated me badly in Dubai.

It has been my experience that my Silver membership in the Skywards club (frequent flier) is not worth as much as it used to be. The last three times I have flown Emirates their Silver lounge was “under construction” and I was “compensated” with miles in my account.

This is not a fair trade at all; the points are miniscule in comparison with the airport lounge conveniences.

Tonight, Mario (sick with food poisoning) and I arrived in Dubai after spending quite a few frequent flier miles on an upgrade to business class. We loved the flight, but when we tried to enter the Emirates Airport lounge a young receptionist denied us. Our business class upgrade was a thing of the past and we were now “only economy passengers” (her words). I was told I could use the lounge but Mario (not a Silver member) would have to wait outside in the airport.

I asked politely (citing Mario’s weakened condition), even offered to pay for an upgrade but the girl stood firm, suggesting that we try the lounge above the Burger King – about a ten minute walk away. We complied, realizing we were getting nowhere... she told us if I were a gold member I could bring Mario in with me. As a lowly silver....not a chance.

At the next lounge the young man recited the same mantra: “You are only a Silver Member...If you were Gold he could come in with you.”

“What if he upgraded to business class?” I asked him.

“I can’t do that here,” he smiled. Mario had to use the bathroom and so we went downstairs again to find one. By now Mario was tired, but I was not giving up.

“Is there a way Mario can upgrade to Business class?” I asked. The young man shook his head.

“If you want to do that you must o to the next lounge that way,” he said, pointing us even further.

“I called before we made the flight yesterday morning,” I told him. “They told me I would have no problem bringing Mario into the Silver lounge.”

“Who said this?” He asked, scrunching up his nose.

“This was Emirate customer service in South Africa,” I said. Why does it matter?

“That’s not true,” he said. He continued checking in the important business class members.

“You know what is sad?” I finally said. “I have flown Emirates for years and lately it is not worth it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. He didn’t seem too awfully sorry. “You can’t stay here because you have an unusually long layover and it gets really busy.”

At the next Emirates airport lounge (another 10 minute walk away – schlepping luggage) could possibly help us upgrade, he said.

When we got there Mario could not go any further; too weak. The woman behind the counter at least knew what we were talking about and helped us into the right line.

“You can try over here,” she said, leading us to the Skywards counter. “This is where they will see if this is possible.”

The woman behind the Skywards counter was as unsympathetic as all of the other receptionists...barely making eye contact with us. While I was asking if Mario could use the lounge another man was asking if he could upgrade. The girl helping him was giving rote answers in a condescending manner.

As we waited for the receptionist to upgrade Mario, it hit me: Emirates had become just like every other airline. All of the normal cheap habits that airlines have, Emirates now adopted just to make a profit.

What has happened to us, Emirates? You once had a reputation with us as a wonderful, caring airline that took care of us; now you have lost that lovin feeling!

Tonight was the nail in the coffin- while customer service has been slowly slipping; the condescension is inexcusable. They will us will lose us as customers.

This was not the best way to leave out of South Africa... next time I’ll fly another airline.

To see more customer complaints click here

Leaving Dumisani

Mon, 11 Mar 2013 02:03:42 -0400

Dumi and Mario

Last night we delivered the Toyota Camry we have been driving for the past six years to its new owner: Dumisani.

It was after a day (a week - a month) filled with non-stop activity of saying goodbye before we leave South Africa.

Mario and I are staying with the Wiggills (Terry and Bonnie) before we board a plane on Wednesday; our house is a mass of boxes and crates, a state of disarray that is unlivable.

Back to last night - we had arranged to drop off the car with Dumisani so Terry lent us his bakkie (pickup) to do it.

Dumisani, Dumisani, Dumisani! That's how I greeted him for years. His name means "Praise" - specifically to God. His mother, when he was born praised God for a fine young boy to carry on the family name, his life became a praise to God.

We met him and his wife Monica when we first got here. Monica and I clicked, fought, feasted and hung like real gal-pals; hailing from different cultures that made us always love but never fully understand one another.

Dumi and Mario had a steady, Men-of-God relationship. When it was time for us to have a service in Diepsloot, Dumi and Mario teamed to reach the community with the Gospel; the full Gospel. We worked side-by-side, strategized and hosted many events together. For all who have built a church, you understand the day-to-day bonding that becomes teamwork and friendship at the same time. Prayer takes on a new level; faith is a shared something.

Six years of close friendship; not just obligation, but friendship that endured the highs and lows that all friendships go through. When Monica died last year, we all grieved deeply together....

Last night we said goodbye.

We handed off the keys to the car and insisted we would be back; he would come to us; this was just "see you later"...etc, etc, etc.

I kissed the top of the kids heads and made my way back out to the car.

"Are you leaving this week?" Timna, Dumi's five year old daughter asked me.

"Yes, honey," I smiled. I have learned how to smile during goodbyes.

"Will you come back?" Lebongo asked.

"Definitely this year," I said. God willing....

Dumi walked us out to the car, his figure lit up by the street lamp in front of his house. I turned back to say goodbye, lifting my hand to wave. I saw him - in my mind's eye I still see him - lit up and waving.

We drove back to the house, wordless. Tears on our faces.

These goodbyes are killing me.

Leaving Africa...

Thu, 28 Feb 2013 23:02:06 -0500

This is the last in a series I call

"Top Ten Things I Would Have Never Said in America"

I know it's long, but it's worth it.

Me and Portia outside of the Junxion Center

1. My best friend lives in the township.

When we first moved to South Africa it was to join a larger team that was already here – a team of people who worked into all of Africa- rugged folk that drove 4x4’s and said things like “All for Jesus” and lived it.

We did a “trial move” before we moved out here permanently- South Africa was a place we had only visited and we were advised to see if we could really live here. The last nine posts have illustrated the “subtle differences” between life in the USA vs. life in South Africa.

On our trial move, we hunkered down in Joburg and started attending Junction Church, a cutting edge church that had its population split right down the middle: half were folk from Northern suburbs (the upscale neighborhoods that surround us) and half were from Diepsloot (the local township).

I have not stated the obvious in my last posts: the disparity between rich and poor; white and black; have and have-nots here in South Africa was a bucket of ice water in my face. It was shocking and terrible and most days I screamed within myself; demanding why the world around me wan't as shocked as I was.

Junction Church seemed to be breaking through economic, social, and racial barriers more than any other church we saw here. We learned so much in that first year about the whole country. Our teachers came mainly from the eldership.

Portia and Thembe's White Wedding

The Junction eldership (the people who steered the church) were as diverse as its membership – I had never met a team so different in personality and giftings. One of the elders, Thembe, we had previously met when we did a trip to Malawi. Thembi and his family lived in the “church house” – a place that was on the site of our future church building.

Thembe was from Zimbabwe, married to a young bride named Portia. They had two children: Darely (pronounced “Darrell”) and Ebenezer (Ebi) – young kids that clung close to their mother. Portia was incredibly beautiful and it was easy to see that she and Thembe were very happy – despite having gone through an already challenging life together.

“You are older than Portia,” Mario joked with him one day. “How did you get her to marry you?”

“I am secretly very wealthy,” Thembe joked back. “Portia spends all my money.”

We relied on Thembe for something very important: he translated the Diepsloot culture for us. Should we give money for someone who is asking us at church? Should we not? Why are funerals held on Saturdays? What is the importance of tribal practices to the people vs. Christian beliefs?

Thembe never tired of our questions. He had a slow, deliberate explanation for everything. All the while he smiled.

After our trial move we decided to come back and live in South Africa.

When we came back to South Africa, six months later, Thembe was very sick. He was remarkably thin and had contracted TB. The whole church was concerned.

“Thembe, you must get well,” Mario told him one day when he took him to the clinic. “When you do, we’ll take you and your family to the ocean.” Thembe and Portia had never seen the ocean – ever.

“When I get well,” Thembe said, weakly. “We will go.”

Six months later he weighed so little that Mario would carry him into the clinic when they went. One day, during a visit, Thembe asked Mario a favor.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to see the ocean,” he whispered, weakly. “But will you take Portia?”

Mario came home weeping. Two days later Thembe died.

All of Junction mourned.

A giant hole was left where he once was. Then there was the issue of Portia – his young bride. Darely and Ebi – his kids. They buried him in Zimbabwe during the time of starvation under Mugabe’s rule, taking in supplies for the family.

We checked in with Portia every other day for weeks. I would visit and just sit there, not knowing what to say. I couldn’t very well ask her how she was. She was messed up.

“What can I do for you?” I once asked her.

“Pray,” she smiled. “All we can really do for each other is pray.”

She meant it.

Portia soon moved into Diepsloot. The church house was being leveled in order to make room for the new building. I wondered how she would do it.

“See, there is the tap,” she beamed as she showed me around her new place. She had a new home close to a tap.

Portia’s new home was a converted boxcar, surrounded by shacks in extension 9, one of the outer extensions. It was big enough to hold her bed, her dressing cupboard, a couch and chair and a cupboard for dishes. It was decorated tastefully, even having curtains just like ours.

“Did you get those from Georgine?” I asked.

“Yes,” she laughed. “I saw you have the same ones at your place.”

“All of our curtains are from Georgine,” I said. “We have a lot windows and when we first got here she covered all of them.”

Mutual friends; mutual interests; a shared love for God. Portia and I slowly started to get to know one another better. When Diepsloot was out of water we would “fetch Portia” to get some. We watched her come out of her shell and take a job with ITCC, becoming proficient on the computer.

She was coming into her own, we would say in the States.

“Do you want to come over one night and watch a movie?” I asked her. We had a movie projector and I knew the boys would like it.

“It’s too late for me,” she laughed. “I fall asleep early.”

“I’ll pick you up at three and then you can spend the night,” I told her. “Then when you wake up we can go to church together.”

She considered it.

“Alright,” she said, once she thought about it. “It will be nice to have one night out of the township.”

The movie nights on Saturday turned into monthly times together. Darely and Ebi became like adopted grandchildren to us. We would have pizza making nights; hamburger making nights; KFC nights; parties for the boys’ birthdays… Parties for Portia’s birthdays.

We especially celebrated when Portia turned 30.

30!!

“I finally have made it,” she laughed. “Now when Craig calls up all the young kids under thirty I don’t have to go up there.”

I laughed at the stuff she would say.

“I’m getting fat,” I’d tell her.

“I’m worse,” she’d say. We’d laugh together.

“I spilled my Coke Light,” I told her once. “As soon as I bought it from Dischem I went outside and I spilled it.”

“That’s worse,” she’d say, laughing.

Portia had little sayings that made me guffaw. One of them was “That’s worse,” meaning that life can’t get any harder than that moment. It was always about something trivial, like spilling a coke or bread getting moldy.

In our second year here, one of our scheduled movie nights found us without Mario. He had gone home to be with our family; an emergency that worried me greatly. Portia could tell.

“Let’s go pray while the boys watch the movie,” she said. We walked out to the kitchen and Portia brought her Bible.

“I have a verse for you today,” she said. “It is from first Samuel, listen. ‘And David said, "Is there still anyone left of the house of Saul, that I may show him kindness for Jonathan's sake?"’(2 Samuel 9:1)

I listened.

“I think when God considers us,” she said. “He takes into account that he wants to be good to our family – He wants to show them kindness for our sake.”

I was touched in my heart. Portia had already been praying for me.

Friendship is something that is very sneaky sometimes. It comes up behind you and supports you in a way that you grow dependent on. You even start leaning on it, learning to trust it. This is how friendship happens.

I crossed over from “I feel responsible for Portia” to “Portia is a rather special friend” that night of prayer. I started to ask her for prayer all of the time. I would confide in her and she knew my hopes, my fears, and my dreams. And I knew hers.

One of our sleepovers

She hosted a group of ladies at her house every Thursday night: prayer for the neighborhood. She would participate in all-night prayer meetings; go to other ladies’ prayer retreats where they fasted for a whole weekend.

“You put my prayer life to shame,” I once joked with her.

“Don’t say that, Janet!” she laughed. “I am not performing.”

She wasn’t…she was just inspiring me.

The last sleepover we had with Portia was last Saturday, a night when Dumi and his kids came as well. It was Ebenezer’s ninth birthday.

“You know Ebi has been having birthday parties at your house since he was three,” Portia said on the drive over.

I couldn’t believe it; then I flashed back.

I met Ebi when he peeked over Portia’s shoulder, too shy to lift his head. Darely was still holding on the the edge of her skirt; now he looked just like Thembe. I met Portia when she was twenty five. She was a shy bride with two babies. Now she was a confident young woman; a leader in her community. A woman known for her integrity.

An inspiration to me.

Portia loves me for some strange reason. She has seen me weepy, angry, desperate, selfish and in traffic. She trusts me, even though I have failed her more than once. She prays for me as if she were my sister, my mom or my daughter.

In a way, she is all three.

When I told her I was leaving this year, she was very quiet. We ate dinner afterwards, where she told me that I should have delivered the news after dinner . We were both a mess.

“How am I going to say goodbye?” I asked Mario, tearfully after we went to bed.

“We’ll be back,” he said. “You don’t have to say goodbye.”

On our beach vacation in Scottburgh

I agreed, that we would be back, I just knew that our everyday lives would be different; on a different continent. Saying goodbye to Portia represents saying goodbye to all that is right with South Africa and what drew us here.

She represents a warm-heartedness and “surviving while smiling”. She shines with special-ness, under the toughest of circumstances. She inspires me and has made me a better person; a better friend.

“It’s a shame you can’t take Portia when you go,” one of my friends said to me. It is a shame, a shame for me.

But removing Portia from South Africa would be like shoplifting a blessing from where she lives. As I feel about her, so her neighbors feel in bucket loads. They rely on her maybe even more than I do. She ministers and teaches in her community; in our church; in her family.

She is the egoli of the egoli city.

So I have to strategize how I will tear myself away, knowing that this kind of ripping means I will be bleeding profusely as I leave her.

That’s worse.

This smilebox is one I made of the years I have known Portia. Click on the arrow to play.

Personalize a free digital slideshow

No Power? Not Surprised!

Thu, 28 Feb 2013 00:02:29 -0500

Please indulge me as I leave my adopted homeland. I am writing a series called

"Top Ten Things I would Have Never Said in America"

2. Do you think we’ll have electricity?

The early masters of electricity, Thomas Edison, Charles Steinmetz and Nikola Tesla were thought to have been in league with Lucifer or as having wizard-like powers by the skeptics of their day. Thank God that electricity took off and we learned how to harness its power of alternating current.

All three of the masters would shake their heads if they were resurrected and had to see their passion completely screwed up by Johannesburg City Power.

Yeah, I said it.

Come and get me.

I dare you.

Good luck finding me in the dark.

I live in Northriding Agricultural Holdings, a picturesque and glorious secret kept from the rest of Northern Joburg. We live on a sprawling property that is like a retreat, green and lush.

Our friends love to come over to drink in the scenery. Our dogs love to roam around the extensive grounds. We love where we live…except for the issue of electricity.

For some reason, the whole electricity of this neighborhood is held together by primitive wiring and repaired by mandatory hirelings.

I have learned to be thankful for every day that we have electricity. In December we had it for ten days total.

I can’t blame City Power altogether. Joburg is cursed with three things: copper thieves, lightening storms, and corruption. That last part is why I blame City Power.

Today I took pictures of my surroundings to prove to you that I am not just whining and winging:

EXHIBIT A:

We have a standing generator at the entrance of the agricultural holdings that is running to power one side of the street. A few weeks ago, cables were stolen by a work crew that said they worked for City Power. They had uniforms and tools and a van, so no one here was very surprised to see them digging ditches, cutting wires, looking busy…you know, City Power kind of stuff.

It turns out they were all thieves: clever ones dressed to not attract attention. They stole cable in the bright of day, while we drove by and waved. We actually thought, “It’s about time the city is getting serious about our problems out here.”

The ditch lays open, a reminder that we can all be fooled some of the time. The next thieves will not get away with it.

A few years ago we had thieves tear into the cable that fed the power box that fed our property.

Six or seven times.

Our neighbor got so fed up that at the moment of the last repair, he and a work crew barreled cement casings around the cables. This is what we call a deterrent.

We also have (as I told you yesterday) thunderstorms that could create such electricity Benjamin Franklin would never have tried that key experiment. It has its way of finding the highest pole and zapping it. We have lost power in the middle of a lightning storm too many times to count.

Mario likes to unplug all of the computers and TV when it gets really bad. In the early days I used to shake my head and call him paranoid. Then one day, lightning stuck and a flash fire popped in the middle of our kitchen. It looked like a genie *poof* with a curl of a flame popping out of one of the outlets.

I ran outside I was so startled.

After that I joined in on the unplugging rituals.

In the USA we loved to talk about the power companies and how they overcharged us; how they took forever to fix things…ya ya ya ya. What whiners! Power in the first world is delivered all the time, and unless you are the victim of a fire or a natural disaster, you have it. It costs a lot, but all electricity is expensive, all around the world.

Corruption is when there is neglect, mismanagement of allotted funds, scheduled load shedding and acting like everything is under control.

This is the way it goes:

ESKOM (the government owned power company in South Africa) converts energy and sells it in units to subsidiaries, like Joburg City Power (the supplier of most of Johannesburg).
Joburg City Power sells it to us - In July of last year, Joburg City Power raised the price of electricity by 12 percent.
We pay for the amount of electricity our municipality says we use - many times their monitors are defective and it is common to overcharge residents.

A few months ago, Eskom proposed another 16 percent electricity hike; according to a report given to the National Energy Regulatory Agency of South Africa (NERSA) that governs electricity .

This means an increase in rates for the consumer. We will pay more money for power we don’t get; monitored by equipment that is not working properly.

Give me a huge, honking, flipping break.

Every night we come home from somewhere I dread walking in to a house with no hot water and lighting candles.

“Do you think we have power?” I ask Mario as we approach our house.

“Oh yeah!” Mario answers, smiling. “I’m just not sure we have electricity.”

*sigh*