{"id":1935,"date":"2020-11-26T13:27:56","date_gmt":"2020-11-26T11:27:56","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/jgf.org.za\/?p=1935"},"modified":"2020-11-26T13:27:56","modified_gmt":"2020-11-26T11:27:56","slug":"","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/jgf.org.za\/af\/l-am-undecided-as-to-where-my-base-planet-is-audrey-jantjies\/","title":{"rendered":"","raw":""},"content":{"rendered":"","protected":false,"raw":""},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false,"raw":""},"author":2,"featured_media":1936,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_en_post_content":"<em>Audrey Jantjies was one of the writers in the mentorship programme for upcoming novelists, presented in partnership with NB Publishers. Suzette Kotze-Myburgh was her mentor.<\/em>\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_1936\" align=\"alignnone\" width=\"400\"]<img class=\"wp-image-1936 size-full\" src=\"https:\/\/jgf.org.za\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/11\/audreyjantjies.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"400\" height=\"492\" \/> Audrey Jantjies[\/caption]\r\n\r\nAfter spending the past week at 49 Paulet House, I am battling to return to my normal. My suitcase is still unpacked two days after arriving at my home. There is this fog over my brain, almost as if I am orbiting around two planets simultaneously and l am undecided as to where my base planet is.\u00a0 I have to return to base, because I have an orbit to complete here.\u00a0 The more I tell myself this, the more I want to still hover at 49 Paulet House. I keep touching the books and painting I was gifted with reverence almost, and I lack the energy \u2013 and will \u2013 to just start being normal again.\r\n\r\nAt around 15h00pm, I remove my chipped nail polish in a desperate effort to continue with my life as it is. I overhear my elderly pa asking my ma what day it is today and finally the fog starts lifting and the recall commences.\r\n\r\nThe Jakes Gerwel Foundation found me. Via some higher intelligence far beyond my own understanding, I became part of the mentorship programme for emerging writers. I became part of a diverse family that has absolutely nothing to do with bloodlines. We simply connected. \u00a0There is no pretence here. Around this group of people, in this residence, I found myself. I am no longer afraid to be odd and stand out. I can speak my Afrikaans in my dialect and<em> bry<\/em> away. Their effort in understanding me, astonishes me at times. They hand out advice to me, they compliment me, they inspire me, they encourage me. \u00a0We birth new life rythms in each other, we \u2013 each in their own language, which has nothing to do with linguistic abilities \u2013 are heard and understood by one another. It wasn\u2019t always perfect, but if it was, there wouldn\u2019t be much to tell, would there.\r\n\r\nWe discuss the house and it\u2019s origin and hear things go bump (and boooo) in the\u00a0 darkest hour of night and then have fervent discussions of whether the presence at any particular night was friendly, or whether the hostile one was just making a conscious effort to try and block our creativity and in thus manner keep us from continuing our devine purpose and the legacy of Jakes Gerwel . We tell this angry spirit, try again later <em>bradder<\/em>, <em>nes my Derrie s\u00ea die sentrale het vir hom ges\u00ea toe hy mammie op haar selfoon bel om te hoor hoekom sy so lank draai innie dorp so paar weke trug<\/em><em>J<\/em>\r\n\r\nWe pray at the dinner table \u2013 yes, we gave thanks for all of this Grace. Deidr\u00e8 recited simple prayers in Afrikaans, English and Isi-xhosa and on the last night ended it with the \/nuu welcome and with the inclusion of the latter, it felt like I have come full circle\r\n\r\nI sat by myself through a thunderstorm on the enclosed <em>stoepie<\/em> next to the main bedroom and watched and heard all life go into hiding in the face of it so that only the \u00a0roar of the skies were audible and the pattern of red lightning strikes in the ominously dark skies took my attention away from the serene beauty of the garden and involuntarily elevated my eyes heavenward. And then I watched and heard the life return in the cacophony of a perfectly synchronised song of cocks, crows, other birdlife and the sound of life giving water \u2013 flow, in the aftermath of the storm.\r\n\r\nI explore the house anew and lay my hands on books I previously only saw virtually and I wished fervently I had time to read all of them right there what I assumed was JG\u2019s chair.\u00a0 Then I looked in awe at the published works of those who recently were there as residents.\r\n\r\nI see all the doctorates on the walls and then look at the photos of Jakes Gerwel and the intensity in his eyes, and a restlessness and crazy urgency roars within the deepest crevices of my soul to start continuing this great legacy.\r\n\r\nOn the day of our departure, we had time to take a walk through the Bosberge.\u00a0 We left the house at around 08h00 am. I could hear secret whispers when the slightest breeze picked up quite eerily only in certain parts, and I tried my damndest to understand the lingo, but then surrendered to it rather than attempt wasted deciphering.\u00a0 I saw the completed transformation of some exotic kind of worm curiously first in the whitest shade of white and then a few metres away, curled up in more or less the same position was the same worm in the blackest shade of black, a hitherto unbeknownst to me shade of red in the centre of it\u2019s coil. We encountered cows and I was wondering what on earth they were doing so high up and the silent communique when they just went still until we passed, left me breathless. \u00a0Near the cross we looked over the town of Somerset East and I was astounded by the expanse of the town \u2013 there were so much more than meets the eye.\r\n\r\nOn the cross someone wrote \u201c D + M 4Eva\u201d in the centre of a heart and \u201calways my queen\u201d was written in the centre of \u00a0a circle. \u00a0And I couldn\u2019t help but wonder when they wrote that and who they were.\r\n\r\nWe went downhill from there and I slipped, fell and got up twice. And from there we continued on level ground.\r\n\r\nWe passed a horse encampment. The others kept walking. I stood for a moment to capture the horses on my phone and then they started getting restless suddenly. One of them took the lead and started a wild <em>runnik<\/em> and stamping his right front hoof. I thought it was their excitement at seeing us, and walked on slowly, but I kept on looking back as they now have become almost anguishingly restless and the one whom I assumed to be the leader, was now perched on his back hooves \u2013 it was here that time stood still for me, because coming from the front were three riders on horseback and it hit me like a ton of bricks \u2013 the horses in the encampment were not excited to see me \u2013 they felt the earth\u2019s tremble with \u00a0their friends\u2019 return long before they were visible \u00a0\u2013 I shudder at the level of my conceit and also just the vastness \u00a0of things that was way beyond my understanding \u2013 to think I was so arrogant to contemplate that these animals were acknowledging me. The unearthly quiet way in which the front rider looked at me, catapulted me straight into James Lee Burke\u2019s novel,\u00a0 In the moon of the red ponies. I hovered in that world for a moment and returned to the reality of my ancient African rhythm when I heard dogs barking at the front.\r\n\r\nI walk on perturbed and it is still on the forefront of my thoughts two days later.\r\n\r\nAn hour before we left, I took a last sabbatical walk, if you will, around the garden. I took off my shoes because I wanted to feel the crispy grass under my feet one last time. I wanted to take in the herby smell of the garden and to literally smell the roses. I continued my walk to the birdcage and stood there for a moment, just like I did seven days ago and I was enthralled anew by their dialogue and song. I called Lebo over and asked her to share in this moment with me, just listening to them. I noticed that as I was talking to Lebo, the birds became quiet and as soon as I stopped talking, they picked up and continued their conversation, as if they gave us a chance to join in on theirs. They were perched in the very same position as seven days ago. The two directly in front of us constantly kissing, the most beautiful one shying away in the right corner and two of them flying directly in full view. And I can\u2019t help thinking about Maya Angelou\u2019s I know why the caged bird sings: \u201cThe caged bird sings with a fearful trill, of things unknown but longed for still\u2026\u201d\r\n\r\nWhat, will you perhaps ask, have wild things and worms and stray cows and caged birds have to do with the Jakes Gerwel Foundation and mentoring writers.\r\n\r\nWell, for me it is in one of many lessons Suzette taught me \u2013 namely that the markings of a good writer is in capturing the detail. And finally, Lebo Mazibuko summed it up perfectly when she said, and I quote her:\r\n\r\n\u201cYou have to live many lives to be a writer.\u201d\r\n\r\nTo my fellow mentees, Miriam, Lebo, Deidr\u00e8 and Zama \u2013 we know what we know now - may we keep on knowing.\r\n\r\nTo Stevlyn Vermeulen \u2013\u00a0 it was with you this all started for me, thank you.\r\n\r\nTheo Kemp, many thanks for the conversation and all that you do to keep this legacy alive.\r\n\r\nTo Suzette \u2013 my respect and admiration for you is boundless, thank you for everything.\r\n\r\nThank you Cae, an angel if ever there was one \u2013 command your seat, <em>my darlieng<\/em>. Thank you Gilbert for your easy way and lovely food and all the little extras. Thank you Gogo, your quiet reassuring presence reminded me so of my ma. Thank you Justin, for expertly taking us around those treacherous bends \u2013 no one can ever accuse you of not being punctual.\u00a0 Thank you Angela for keeping us giggling. Thank you Nisa<em>.<\/em>\r\n\r\nThank you Donovan<em>, ek het vir Derrie die foto\u2019s van die tuin gewys en hy s\u00ea wat ek vir jou ges\u00ea het, nl dat hy trots is dat jy voortgaan met dit wat hy nie meer kan doen nie.<\/em>\r\n\r\nMiriam, thank you for seeing beneath the surface.\r\n\r\nThank you Marguerite.\r\n\r\nZama Moyo, my friend, my brother \u2013 I am in awe of you.\r\n\r\nThank you, Mrs Phoeb\u00e8, I have yet to find adequate words for you.\r\n\r\nLastly \u2013 kai gangans boeta Jakes. Just kai gangans \u2013 tuum est Victoria.","_en_post_name":"l-am-undecided-as-to-where-my-base-planet-is-audrey-jantjies","_en_post_excerpt":"","_en_post_title":"l am undecided as to where my base planet is \u2013 Audrey Jantjies","_af_post_content":"","_af_post_name":"","_af_post_excerpt":"","_af_post_title":"","edit_language":"af","_price":"","_stock":"","_tribe_ticket_header":"","_tribe_default_ticket_provider":"","_ticket_start_date":"","_ticket_end_date":"","_tribe_ticket_show_description":"","_tribe_ticket_show_not_going":false,"_tribe_ticket_use_global_stock":"","_tribe_ticket_global_stock_level":"","_global_stock_mode":"","_global_stock_cap":"","_tribe_rsvp_for_event":"","_tribe_ticket_going_count":"","_tribe_ticket_not_going_count":"","_tribe_tickets_list":"[]","_tribe_ticket_has_attendee_info_fields":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-1935","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-news-photos","8":"czr-hentry"},"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/jgf.org.za\/af\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1935","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/jgf.org.za\/af\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/jgf.org.za\/af\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jgf.org.za\/af\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jgf.org.za\/af\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1935"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/jgf.org.za\/af\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1935\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1937,"href":"https:\/\/jgf.org.za\/af\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1935\/revisions\/1937"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jgf.org.za\/af\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1936"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/jgf.org.za\/af\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1935"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jgf.org.za\/af\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1935"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jgf.org.za\/af\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1935"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}