Sometimes You Just Need Cheap Tea

Or, a Wednesday musing

I love tea. I also appreciate the differences in different teas even more after reading For All the Tea in China by Sarah Rose a while back. I try to keep a few different types in the house – I love English Breakfast, but sometimes need something a bit stronger. Or I go in the opposite direction and drink Darjeeling. And I really need to cut down on my caffeine, so I also drink a lot of rooibos. Some would probably say I drink tea completely wrong by adding milk and sugar to everything. But this weekend I found myself wanting one specific tea and only that tea. It was, in fact, the one my grandmother always had in the house – and the one I drank before I even knew you got stuff like Darjeeling and Assam.* And this weekend I felt especially nostalgic.

Doctor Who mug by Ophelia's Gypsy Caravan

I needed that tea. It’s a strange thing when you sit at a place you haven’t been to in years and then suddenly bam! Everything that ever happened there suddenly hits you between the eyes – the good, the bad, everything. You start to think about everyone you haven’t seen in years, the ones who passed away, the ones you left with your heart breaking in a million pieces. And the only thing I wanted was comfort tea.

I guess it’s a good thing the tea we always drank wasn’t an expensive one and that you can find it in every supermarket. So, when I picked up some cat food (because Sir T now decided he only wants to eat that specific flavour of food and nothing else) I decided to get a pack of the tea as well. Because, you know, it’s silly to go all the way to the shops when you already have tea in the house...

And somehow, curling up with that and a book, it made me remember the good times. And even the bad times suddenly didn’t feel quite as bad. Sometimes you just need a cup of cheap tea.**

* I grew up in my grandparents' house.

** I’ll rather not give the brand name – they may not take too kindly to me calling it “cheap”.

Flash Fiction: Nooitmeer

This was written for a Flash!Friday competition. The prompt was “freedom” and Brokopondo’s photo.

Nooitmeer

Nooitmeer waited on the turbid river’s bank. Behind him stood a doorway as ruined as his life.

He’d seen Watervrouw once as a child; hiding hungry and tired in the mangroves while the moon cast grey-silver ghost shadows. She rose from the river, pulling her body and shimmering tail up between the mangrove roots. A golden comb shone in her shadow-black hair. The wind fell silent and shadows hid. Nooitmeer was left mute; his voice caught in the other world.

Berlijn Plantation, Commewijne, Suriname. Public domain photo by Brokopondo    

Watervrouw smiled at him before slipping back to Waterwereld. Her comb remained between the roots. Later he dropped it in the water. Stolen gold wouldn’t buy his family’s freedom.

Now he stood at the same, but different, river – clothes torn, hands calloused, heart empty.  Turbid water rippled silver as shadows hid.  He saw her face and dark hair spread in a halo upon the water. He’d no use for gold.

Nooitmeer let out his breath and fell into her arms.

Flash Fiction - Friday Double Take

For the 8 August Flash! Friday, I ended up writing two pieces (although I only posted “Beyond the Woods”). Both were in some way inspired by the illumination from The Talbot Shrewsbury Book.

Beyond the Woods

Maggie placed lilies on Henry’s grave. The locket around her neck showed a faded photo of them on their wedding day. Sixty years had passed without her truly noticing. No one had told her that was what it would be like. They’d vowed to stay together forever. Even after death.

Leaning heavily on her cane, she walked over to the ancient oak tree where they’d met. She took a small red book from her pocket and read out the unfamiliar words. The air rippled silver as a doorway opened.

The mortal years fell away from her as she stepped through into the woods of the world she’d left behind. She stared back at the grave where she’d left her heart. No one told her that forever could be so short. No one told her life could be so long. No one had told her the price she would have to pay if she ventured beyond the woods.

From The Talbot Shrewsbury Book

My Margaret

Alfred stared at the finished illumination in front of him. The wedding of the king and queen was important, he reminded himself. But it did not fill him with any emotion. How could he deliver his best work when all he though of was the new grave that didn’t even bear a name.

“It does not look like the queen,” John said, peering over his shoulder.

“Of course it does,” Alfred countered. It looked like his queen, his Margaret. He tried to forget that her beauty would soon only be bones in the dirt. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

The small portrait of her he carried around was half-worn. In it her face was as young as the day she married another man. But she had worn the posy he’d left for her. She would always be his.

This would be the Margaret people would remember. In the heavenly paradise he’d see her again.

“My Margaret,” he whispered.

Bloody Book Week - Lunchtime Readings

Last week the annual Bloody Book Week was held in South Africa. Lucky for me I could attend the lunchtime readings at the Exclusive Books close to work.

On Wednesday (6 August) Jacques Steenkamp read from his book TheGriekwastad Murders, while Mandy Wiener read from her and Barry Bateman’s upcoming book Behind the door: The Oscar & Reeva Story. Steenkamp’s book is also available in Afrikaans, and sentencing took place yesterday. Steenkamp, Wiener, and Bateman are respected South African journalists and their coverage of breaking news can be followed on their Twitter accounts (click on their names).

Jacques Steenkamp & Mandy Wiener

 

On Thursday (7 August), Deon Meyer read from Cobra, the English translation of his new novel. Kobra was nominated for an ATKV-Woordveertjie award (a prestigious Afrikaans award). Meyer’s books are extremely popular and have been translated from Afrikaans into a number of languages.   

With him was Dr David Klatzow, who spoke about his book Justice Denied - sure to be a fascinating read, and definitely on the list of books I want to read. Dr Klatzow is one of the few forensic investigators in South Africa, lectures at Wits University, and has played a part in a number of high profile cases.

Deon Meyer reading from Cobra

Deon Meyer and Dr David Klatzow

Deon Meyer & Dr David Klatzow

I hope I can attend more of the readings and panels next year!

Photos courtesy of Madré Mostert.*

* My blurry pics will never see the light of day. I really must remember to take a proper camera along next year.