Time

Time is to be; as we drift through unknown dreams of primitive form in dark, warm wombs.

Time arrives like the dream-like smiles of dawn's first golden etching on the very grand rock of ages.

Time burps with endless mindless energy as insights accumulate alongside impatient friendships.

Time becomes cyclical as lessons are re-learned and existence becomes a drag on timelessness.

Time shift into dusk as insights deepens and new energies abound; as understanding becomes emotionally dense and personally secure; as light takes intriguing shape and form.

Time disappears as golden clouds turn dark and ominous; as failure confronts; as time shifts out.

Time becomes endless as myths provide comfort and ancestors real.

Time heals as cycles repeat; as lives become distant and then non-existent.

To what extent do you live now?

Where time is the cuddle of a puppy; the infectuous happiness of a young bundle of child; or the impossible serenity of a life lived in the now?

Where time is the note you tap on a keyboard, with a lingering smile to guide the knowledge of a mind alive; active, creative.

Perhaps you live in your memories?

Memories play tricks as happiness dominate and sad notes drift into the mist. Memories etch bitter as old despairs erupt in decay. Memories become shifting sands as closeness make way for distance. Memories get stuck in old forms and old notes, in old values and old confusions. Memories confuse foundations for living rooms, where cold winds batter truths.

In your dreams?

Psychedelic distortions litter the chambers that are visited night after night, but never known. Dreams build hope, but where is the structure of the now? Dreams become repetitive, in new forms, but then plastic, as cynicism forces the resignation of mind.

Time is a memory in horror of dreams deferred. Time is a dream in defiance of memories diffused. Time is the Now and the Now is Time; but the best time is the time of play. To play is to live; to be new; and play is an option in all: anytime.

Do you live in your memories; do you live in your dreams; to what extent do you live in the Now?

Framed by mud

Dawn arising, Cwebe village, South Africa.

Integrating livestock into nursery operations

My approach to both landscaping and propagation is heavily informed by a 20 year long engagement with the concepts and principles of Permaculture - I like the idea of multi-functional, integrated and intrinsically healthy localised ecosystems. Therefore the integration of livestock into my propagation processes was merely a matter of planning and time, not of debate.

I've finally been able to do just that. The garden - serving as home and motherstock nursery - is surrounded by a hedge of Dovyalis caffra (Kei Apple), and backed (closer to the fence) by a mixture of Acacia tortilis, A. karroo, A. robusta, A. sieberiana, a large diversity of Aloes, Scutia myrtina, Tecoma capensis and Asparagus falcatus. The purpose of this security hedge is 5-fold: specifically it must prevent local youth from raiding my large number of fruit trees (a very practical problem in South Africa's rural villages); generally it must serve the colloquially described purpose of being a 'Stop Nonsense'; it must provide wind protection as well as be a privacy screen; and finally it must create a suitable habitat for chickens, ducks and geese to scratch around underneath or have some protection from the elements. This hedge is now maturing, and serving its multiple purposes. Alongside the hedge is a path, right around the garden, which in turn is separated from the yard as a whole with a tall fence. Immediately adjacent to the fence are a large variety of indigenous trees, shrubs and ground covers - these serve as the propagation mother stock to the landscaping business.

I've introduced 2 batches of chickens. Twenty layers will mature and provide me with eggs for a minimum of 1 year; at which point a second batch will come into production, and the first batch will slowly be culled, in keeping with actual production rate. But more interesting is the introduction of broilers. Fifty broilers get introduced to one of 3 camps every 6 weeks. The camps are mulched heavily with (freely available) sawdust. At 6 weeks, 30 of the broilers are sold off at R60 each in the village where I stay (R20 below the market value). This is a return of R1,800 (for 30 chickens) against total expenditure of R1,700 (for all 50 chickens) on all food, vaccine, heating & lighting (parafine lamps for 3 weeks) and equipments (waterers and feeders), but excluding labour. Labour is a fairly incidental component in the daily routine of one of the nursery employees. The remaining 20 broilers get eaten over a six week period by all on the yard, including the propagation nursery staff. Virtually free protein, if all goes well. The food starts out as the usual broiler starter and finisher mixes, and then graduates to a hormone and medicine free mix of grains, leucaena and lucerne; so that these elements - drenched in every chicken bought in urban supermarkets and restaurants - can largely be eliminated.

But I'm yet to get to the primary reason why I grow chickens. It is to make compost. I have ample access to sawdust about 7km from site (transportation and labour being the only costs); but manure - particularly quality manure - is a major headache. The chickens solve that for me (to be supplemented in due time by rabbit, goat and other manures), and the result is that I can produce 68 cubic metre of compost a year, using both the layers and broilers.

But there are more benefits. The blood, legs, innards and bone (all cooked), form part of my cats' and dogs' diet (in 20 years of breeding and keeping Jack Russels and Golden Retrievers I am yet to have a problem from feeding chicken bones - broiler bones are too soft, and mature chickens' bones simply need to be screened: no thin, sharp bones). The feathers go into special compost mixes for special plants. The hedge gets fertilised from the natural rainfall-driven nutrient leaching process, and the garden as a whole benefits from the selective and planned release of older layers into a garden sub-divided into camps.

The whole process outlined above does have the downside of keeping me locked into a battery system of sorts - endless replacement of day-olds, endless bags of dubious feed. I'd like to move away from pre-mixed broiler feed (and largely feed my layers natural grains and greens). However, the nursery is a commercial concern with intense input needs, and a base requirement for cost efficiency. Modern broilers are large birds within 6 weeks. I'd have to switch to a combination of very hardy local birds, bred out to combinations of both larger (for meat) and smaller, more efficient lines. I'd also have to produce a very substantive part of the diet cost-efficiently on a small space, with delicate management requirements. That's my aim. For now, I've re-introduced livestock into my overall system.

In short, this is illustrative of the Permaculture approach at its best - great multiplicity of benefits, and minimisation of labour; and self-sustainability as goal and eventual reality. It takes time and effort to set-up; once done, its a pretty smooth process. Of course, it doesn't deal with the ethics and morality of a carnivorous diet. As a former fruitarian, I've long come to grips - for myself at least - that I'm part of a species of chimpanzee (the third chimpanzee, Homo sapiens) that have not quite evolved away from meat - yet.

Aliens and the little monster

I didn't like roses. They're overdone; they're soft as aphids; and they require far too much care. Then I learnt to eat rose petals in salads (the old types are much better); found a use for rose hips (in health teas); and saw the most stunning security fence imaginable around high-value fruit farms close to Cape Town (endless lines of rambling roses, completely covering the original razor wire fences, next to the highway).

And really, roses are not that soft. Select for hardiness and plant in a large hole with masses of compost - and you've got pretty carefree rose gardening ahead of you. You only do indigenous? Need an excuse? Make it part of your vegetable garden - not too many vegetables are indigenous anyhow! Besides, they'll draw aphids away from your more valuable veggie crops.

Finally - if you've got a healthy mixed garden and don't use chemicals, you may well see the lovely surprise pictured here: a reed frog!

Its a hip-hop migration through the sandstone of Afrika...

"How we see a thing – even with our eyes – is very much dependent on where we stand in relationship to it."

To some very close friends, hip-hop merely meant the flash bling gangsta rap of Hollywood and a self-defined American underclass. It was being violently replicated in the gangster infested Cape Flats of Cape Town - and seemed little else but imitation rap, with a vile eye for sexist objectification and crude, venomous drivel. Look at the bling car with the distorted jukebox coming by and see a rapist, a pathetic violent excuse for a human.

I had a different take. I didn't like the Cape Coloured hip hop explosion - I didn't like the Afrikaans vernacular with its unsmooth sharpness - but embraced rap. I heard the melodic rhythm, the underlying beauty and above all the freedom to define: "I am. Fuck you." Of course it was a confrontation with power, with being defined - and it might have been mindless (but it might also have been yet another small, essential, moment of definition of place in the journey to enact the symbolic phenomenon that is Obama). At about the same time I started immersing myself in both house and the more pulsating and intriguing trance genres.

As a South African, I am exposed to deep house as the dominant (black) youth beat; and to trance as an extremely challenging and fast-evolving niche beat with significant (white) middle-class consumer appeal. But South African hip hop has become mainstream; its moved out of its coloured origins, and straddles both African ikasi (township) and multi-cultural middle-class worlds. I personally love hip hop; its as potentially challenging in its sophistication as trance, as melodic as the best that generations of black Americans have given the world; and its integration with poetry, with dancing, with explosive variations of leisure (from skateboarding to graffiti) has both revitalised music into a global showcase of fun, and re-connected with the much older African traditions of theater, oral history, music, symbolism, event and defining of community.

Local hip hop came off age - to me - with Hip Hop Pantsula's Omang Reloaded. Here was this lali kasi (village township) boy with the smooth Setswana rap, the new sound, the local RRROOTS, and the post-liberation attitude - loxion (township) life reloaded, a new vibe defined, music that moved the soul, the mind and the body. At-ti-tude; where you been? Suddenly the Cape Town Old Skool became more relevant - where could you find a finer technician and creator of turntablism than DJ Ready? And here's a brother that really understands - and builds upon - the roots of hip hop culture.

South African Hip hop is quietly present rather than visible in the flow of tackling social issues: be it gangsterism, AIDS, unemployment or the virile wave of Xenophobia that swept Mzantsi (South Africa) during 2008. Music is a powerful transmitter of what's cool and what's not; and many hip hop artists were quick to condemn the xenophobia. (Unlike the media; the political powers-that-be; and Street Joe.)

DJ Nifty: "All you psychotic xenophobic sociopathic suckers this goes out to you / all you wannabes / who feel like men after raping women / after killing pregnant women after attacking children after setting men alight / we have no respect for you / you're the reason why the world is moving backwards instead of moving forwards". (Hype sessions; It's dat heat; CD accompanying SA's only dedicated hip-hop magazine.)

If early South African hip hop was built on a fusion of alienated apartheid-era lyrics and channeling of angry energy into breakbeat dancing; the contemporary reality is a fascinating emergence of new styles and cultures. Township hip hop is about performance - the music, reciting of lyrics, expression of real and perceived African clothing and hair styles. Above all its local; its rooted in the loxion experience, and its very real in its emotion, its enthusiasm. There's a contradictory embracing of the African diaspora (seen in clothing and hair styles; much of it fused with the side-stream rastafarian culture, that's finding hip-hop an emracing environment of content-driven soul music). There's a strong identification with the symbolism of American consumerism - Nike's a uniform, a social statement - Just Do It. Don't sneer from your middle-class command of analytic and cynical overview - what do you really know about the need to project yourself as Someone in a sea of poverty?

Six years ago I worked on a tourism programme setting-up horse trails. I drove a (newish) Land Rover Defender, had long dreads and walked barefeet - I had no need to impress anyone with suits and all the pretences that come with being Mr or Mrs Fake. I quickly experienced - and thoroughly enjoyed - the arrogant power that came with alighting from that Land Rover, barefeet, dreaded, very casual clothing, as Mr and Mrs Fake stared (and then quickly averted their eyes) with disbelief from their lesser cars, poorer existence; uptight lifestyle, clothes and uncool minds. That's the Nike phenomenon. It makes you rise above the semblance of your despair.

The middle class kids live their hip hop lives very Americanised, but they're cool too; far more immersed in the sideshows (cycling, skate boarding, graffiti, break dancing and emceeing; with a full repertoire of Wardrobe America and - of course - the accent). The rap's in English, but don't dish it. These kids freely cross Mzantsi's lingering racial boxes.

Globally, hip hop's a remarkably dynamic fusion-driver: note Wyclef's ground breaking collaborations with artists as diverse as Youssou N'dour and Kenny Rogers (or his Shout Out respect to Pink Floyd; Wish You Were Here to a hip hop beat). Or the very visionary Quincy Jones' 1989 collaboration with rappers.

To the township rappers there's an urgent need to break free - that's not their world, and the first priority is to rap vernacular. Hip hop's about the issues, the life, the environment that you live - so you can't adopt the Alien Other's voice. To break out of the domination of the colonizer's language is to break through the self-perpetuating hopelessness of living a life of fantastical dreams - you want to be the other in the movies, the high-security townhouses of the middle class, the articulator with a smooth English accent, Italian suit, lusted-for 7-series...

Its to regain your own mental universe; that's the greatest strength of hip-hop - and it happens to a great beat.

"Colonialism imposed its control of the social production of wealth through military conquest and subsequent political dictatorship. But its most important area of domination was the mental universe of the colonized, the control, through culture, of how people perceived themselves and their relationship to the world. Economic and political control can never be complete or effective without mental control. To control a people’s culture is to control their tools of self-definition in relationship to others.

For colonialism this involved two aspects of the same process: the destruction or the deliberate undervaluing of a people’s culture, their art, dances, religions, history, geography, education, orature and literature, and the conscious elevation of the language of the colonizer. The domination of a people’s language by the languages of the colonizing nations was crucial to the domination of the mental universe of the colonized."

To Mlungisi - DJ Jeff: thanx 4 showing me that music makes cool now. Finally, here's a Shout Out to my older friends - do not freeze your sense of discovery, of awe, in the loneliness of the past. There are no friends in memories; no life in the comfort zones of the past. Use that as a base, but do not render that your world. The Now - full of warmth and real people - will become incomprehensible.

Both quotes above are from Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o. (1986) Decolonising the Mind

Peace & Chill

Mbanyana estuary, Cwebe Nature Reserve, Wild Coast, Eastern Cape, South Africa. The Nature Reserve belongs to the rural communities of Dwesa and Cwebe, comprising Gcalekha (Xhosa), amaBomvana and Mfengu people.

Drainage & natural adaptation - a plant for every niche

This Crassula ovata variation from the Mbashe area (where the very rare and endemic Aloe Reynoldsii grows) illustrates the basic evolutionary principle that where there is a niche, a species will adapt and thrive.

As a landscaper, I initially struggled with the concept of good drainage for water lovers - I mean, how do you expect to provide drainage in a swampy, wet environment? Observing plants in a natural environment quickly brought the answer - just look at plants rooted in gritty, compost loam on a seasonal waterfall. Indeed, there is good drainage - the water is constantly moving over the rocky substrate, and air is being pumped through the root system.