Let them drink champagne

Let them drink champagne

Cape Town has basked in a string of ‘Best City’ accolades in recent years, but we’re about to become known for something else — the first major city in the world to run out of water. Day Zero, the day the taps are turned off, has been brought forward to 12 April.

Predictably in times of heightened stress and anxiety, there’s been much finger pointing as we scramble to apportion blame. Rumours are swirling that the City was forewarned about this likelihood years ago and failed to act. There’s anger over the City’s unwillingness (inability?) to tap into other water sources (desalination and aquifers) and squabbling over what the different statistics mean (is it the worst drought in 100 years?).

At first it felt like we might be plunged into something resembling a dystopian novel, but with Day Zero looming, we’re getting proactive. Stinky loos, parched lawns and empty pools aside, Capetonians are devising novel ways to stick to the allocated 50 litres a day. Those with the resources are rigging up boreholes and going off grid (though there’s much uncertainty about the legality of this), enhancing their grey water systems, buying machines that make water out of air, and stockpiling boxes of 5l water bottles. There’s been this been-there-done-that post giving us some much needed perspective (it’s okay, we’ll survive, we’ll come out stronger).

Because of course we’re not the first city to be severely water stressed. California has been in a ‘mega-drought’ for years and Australia had its own ‘Millenial Drought’ in the early 2000’s. Droughts are becoming so frequent it’s predicted the next World War will be fought over water.

What sets us apart, as always, are the disparities. It’s a bleak prospect, queuing for water, wearing dirty clothes, being unwashed. But there’s this thing that happens in South Africa, which is that most of the time we’re ostriches, but in times of crisis we’re reminded how the majority of the population live.  When the rug is pulled out from under us, and our creature comforts are threatened, we remember just how fortunate we are. An estate dweller in my nice car, plotting how we’ll leave the city if things go belly up, I’m as guilty of sealing myself off from the realities of life in South Africa as the next person.

Let’s hope this becomes reminiscent of load shedding, where we retrofitted our homes, but then just as quickly Eskom turned the lights back on. Perhaps the soothsayers are right, and we will see flooding in March. We may just scrape through and avoid Day Zero, but our attitudes to water will have been irrevocably changed.  And absolute worst case for most of us reading this — rather than it being some vague notion out there, we will actually have to live the knowledge of what it’s like to be without water, and perhaps there are blessings in that.

 

That old chestnut

That old chestnut

It’s a conversation my farm boy and I have a lot. It came up in our cramped Beijing and Hong Kong quarters; again in our quaint London terrace, and now more than ever it seems, when we’re lucky enough to sneak away for a country getaway.

A night away at Old Mac Daddy in Elgin is enough to send anyone’s hankering-for-a-patch-of-land into overdrive. Country life as the antidote to the stresses and strains wrought by the city? A quixotic idea perhaps, but one I see lingering.

It was bitingly cold, the air was pristine and the light golden. One night in our funky airstream trailer felt like a week it was so restorative; still, it wasn’t enough and we’ll definitely be back, for longer next time.

#BrownIsTheNewGreen

#BrownIsTheNewGreen

My Dad smoked when we were kids and I remember one birthday conspiring with my mom and sisters to get him his dream present, a carton of Camel Filter cigarettes. We were properly chuffed with ourselves. Looking at photos of our parties around the same time, I can’t help but chuckle at the bottles of coke strewn across the table.

These days smokers are pariahs who’ve been banished outdoors and few of us willingly ply our kids with sugar. There’ve been shifts in thinking and we’ve learnt a few lessons.

I imagine our own kids, when they’re adults, are going to be mind-blown by our frivolous attitude towards water. They’ll scarcely believe we watered our gardens and flushed our loos with precious drinking water. Or grew tropical plants in a Mediterranean climate. Perhaps the image of us cavorting in our pools will trigger the same smug disapproval we have when we imagine our mums smoking while pregnant or chauffeuring us sans carseats.

Cape Town is up shit creek after reportedly the worst drought in a century. Stage 4 water restrictions come into effect on 1st June and social media is in overdrive – with sobering official warnings, photos of our depleted dams, and countless water saving tips, much of it quite useful.

If there’s one upside of the drought it’s the conversations we’ve been forced to have, and the solutions we’ve had to implement.​ A mere 8 months ago, as a family, we were quite oblivious, and as a result careless, irrigating with Council water and luxuriating in regular baths. Now, it seems, there’s a new normal as people retrofit their homes and adapt to the water shortages.

But will it stick?

I wonder where we’ll be in say three to five years time, or after a few soggy winters. Reverted to our old ways with our immaculate lawns and sparkling swimming pools? Or will we have wisened up.

South Africa is a water scarce country, the 30th driest in the world. Our exploding population and changing weather patterns are putting huge strain on all our resources, not just our water.

Fan out further still, and it’s hard to ignore the impact of humanity’s demands on our straining little planet. The Water Project estimates that nearly 1 billion people on the planet do not have access to safe, clean water, yet for most of us reading this, contemplating life without water has an end-of-days feeling; it’s a very unsettling thought.

Can we even conceive of what will happen if we open the taps one day and they’ve run dry?

Dunes for days

Dunes for days

dunes4I highly recommend having your birthday over an Easter break — you can gorge on chocolate, guilt-free, the entire weekend. We snuck off to Arniston for a few days of autumnal seaside living, and it was bliss.

We didn’t do that much beaching per se. The wind howled continually so we rugged up and hit the long stretches of coast to collect pebbles and peer into rock pools. But the highlight — especially for my boys — were the sand dunes.

The beauty and enormity of them totally surprised and thrilled them. Our weekend ritual became one of overindulging at the buffet breakfast then racing to the dunes, to trek up and down and get whipped by mountains of pure white sand.

With not a soul for miles, a blazing blue sky and the shrieking of kids creating sand avalanches — it was pretty special for the grownups too.

dunes5

dunes3

 

 

 

 

Babylonstoren

Babylonstoren

 

 

The first time I visited Babylonstoren, two years ago, I was blown away. Having just gone back, with a newfound passion for growing food — oh.my.word. My husband said he could hear my ovaries singing.

All those beautiful strong plants, that soil teeming with microlife, the nooks and crannies amongst the giant sunflowers, prickly pear forests and quince trees. And the blue and white tiled decor. Maybe that’s where its magic lies. It stirs both the grower and the aesthete in you.