OPINION: How can we be excited about new developments in our town if the tendency amongst the inhabitants and residents is to, firstly, destroy what has become old and shabby, and secondly, not maintain what has lost its pristine newness, writes Lance Fredericks.
“MENEER, ons vra iets om te eet.” The girl asking for something to eat was, I estimate, about 16 years old. Her friend carrying the baby could have been the same age, and the toddler, the little boy, with them could have been about four.
I went inside and made up a few sandwiches with some of the previous day’s fish pie, grumbling to myself that I would not be having more of the scrumptious pie for dinner. However, I consoled myself that at least there was a jar of peanut butter in the grocery cupboard.
Give me peanut butter and life is good.
I wrapped the sarmies in some foil – the foil that had covered the pie dish – and placed the foil-wrapped sarmies in a plastic ziploc bag. As I handed the sandwiches to the young girl, I said, “Do me a favour please … When you’re done eating, please don’t litter. Put the foil and the plastic in a bin.”
She nodded and assured me that they would. But as she walked away I realised that she had probably lied to me; not intentionally, and not because she was a horrible, dishonest, untrustworthy litterbug, but because in our neighbourhood there are no trash cans on street corners where people can dispose of unwanted litter.
Even if they were told to, and wanted to, do the right thing – which in this particular case meant not littering – the suburb where these children found themselves did not lend itself to supporting those good intentions.
Yes, I realise that I am nagging about our city’s litter problem. To be perfectly honest, I am sick to death of my constant grumbling, moaning and complaining. But until I can see some hope of an actual solution or at least a commitment to solve this city’s chronic litter problem, I may have to keep on griping.
If people cannot remember to stop littering, maybe they need to be reminded, even reprimanded. I remember reading an article in a magazine, it must have been around 40 or so years ago, about a traffic officer in the little town of Aliwal North on the banks of the Orange River.
This ‘spietkop’ was the terror of travellers through the town, according to the article. Transgress any traffic law in the sleepy town and you would be fined; no mercy, no compassion, no second chances. The officer’s reputation was so intimidating that cars would crawl through the town, drivers being terrified of having the khaki uniform, mirror sunglasses and stern moustached face appear ahead of them.
And you thought the apparition at Uniondale was scary? I drove through Aliwal North a few times during the early 90s. It was, I must confess, terribly stressful. You never knew where the ‘cruel konstabel’ was stationed, so you behaved yourself till you were well clear of the town.
Think about it – If one man could do his job so well that it could make a difference in an entire town, imagine how much good could be achieved if more people simply did what they were being paid for.
But now I am afraid that far too many of us could fall into the trap of thinking that “if only people could stop littering, our city will rediscover its sparkle”. Sadly, this is not the case. Maybe we should be reminded that littering is merely a symptom of a bigger problem, a deeper illness.
New buildings are springing up all over the city, and this is a good thing; consider, for example, the impressive university campus and its sports grounds. It warms my heart and thrills me to see the development. And this is but one example, there are others – my mind turns to the area opposite the Gariep hospital where something impressive is taking root.
However, in the very same city there are schools, libraries and community halls that are being dismantled, demolished and destroyed by both vandals and a more sinister threat in my opinion … neglect.
How can we be excited about new developments in our town if the tendency amongst the inhabitants and residents is to, firstly, destroy what has become old and shabby, and secondly, not maintain what has lost its pristine newness?
I mean, for one example, look at how the Judy Scott Library and the area surrounding it is being neglected and vandalised. At one time the grounds where the library, the Civic Centre and the clinic are located was a pleasure to visit. These days it’s just another sad indicator of our inability to cherish and maintain anything.
Before we build anything new, should we not perhaps address this problem? Should we not first learn to appreciate and look after what we have before splurging on new things that will eventually become old and also eventually be neglected?
We can try to rebrand our city as an adventure-, wildlife-, conservation- or even a shopping destination, but at the end of the day, Kimberley is a historical town with a deep, rich history.
Tourists would come to see and experience what they had read about in history books. But sadly those pages can just as well be torn from those books as the historical buildings, monuments and structures are steadily falling into disrepair or into the hands of metal thieves.
Yes, new is good and fancy is fantastic but … I recently read a story that could just sum up what I have been trying to say for a while now.
There was a time in ancient China when a group of elderly, cultured gentlemen met often to exchange wisdom and drink tea. Each host tried to find the finest and most costly varieties, to create exotic blends that would arouse the admiration of his guests.
One day, when the most venerable and respected of the group had his turn to entertain, he served his tea with unprecedented ceremony, measuring the leaves from a golden box encrusted with jewels.
The assembled epicures praised this exquisite tea commenting on the notes, flavours and aromas.
However, when they had done, the host smiled as he told them, “The tea you have found so delightful is the same tea our peasants drink. I hope it will be a reminder to all that the good things in life are not necessarily the rarest or the most costly.”
You see, to me a delectable fish pie sandwich is not much better than a peanut butter sarmie. Similarly, maybe to many residents, give them a well-maintained city rather than a modern one and they’ll be happy enough, and I think there’s wisdom in that.
Ralph Waldo Emmerson perhaps said it best: “The invariable mark of wisdom is to see the miraculous in the common.”
