The golden blue waters of the Aegean sea were not seeing this face of mine for the first time. Chania of Crete — one of the Greek Islands — is out of this world. I guess that’s why they call it an island. With the sea hedging one in at every turn, one needs little reminding where one is.
From the city of Aristotle, the aeroplane handed me over to the night of Chania. The darkness gobbled me up and swallowed me whole. The Cretan stars look on curiously — I have not seen so many stars in the sky for a long time. My moody sinus informed me immediately that the air was clean — cleaner that I had tasted in a long time. Half and hour later, the darkness of Chania spat me out into my artificially lit temporary home. My first nights in any place are virtually sleepless. For this I am always prepared. That night I finished reading Mandela’s latest book — Conversations with Myself. I remain unconvinced that this was the most apt title for a book in which Mandela converses with so many people — his wife, his children, his comrades, prison authorities, journalists, his lawyers, his people, etc. Granted, there are several entries where he was making notes for himself. But the book contains a lot more Mandela documents than those he wrote for and to himself.
I am digressing. This was meant to be about my stint in Crete. But watch this space, I plan to do a proper review of the book one of these days.
Back to Chania. At the end of my first night, I woke up in a room looking down upon the vast waters of the swirling and foaming sea. Add to that the flowing hills and mountains which seemed to stand guard over people and water. I was in awe. Why did I go there to work?
Armed with my miniscule pink camera, I determined to extract as much pleasure from business as possible. For example, I tried to beat the Cretan sun in a game of speed. Daily I rose and hurried down to the sea shore before the sun did. There to revere the ebb and the flow as I wait, knee-deep in the waters, for the sun to emerge behind the hills on the other side.
But the Cretan sun is tricky — quick to pop out and sudden to set. To play this sun one had to have tact and timing. Son and sun got to play hide and seek in the Island! Some days I managed to catch the sun unawares. Most times the sun trumped me. Deftly crouching behind the moving cloud, the Cretan sun would suddenly emerge later than anticipated. Only to squat once again behind another heap of cloud just as I took aim with my cheap camera. Who stalked whom? The son, the sun? The sun, the son? From the sea, I could smell Cairo and feel Alexandria — which are apparently not too far from Chania. Crete has bewitched thoroughly.
Pity about the economic crisis in Europe which has all but destroyed the Greek economy. It is now threatening Ireland. We hear that Spain might be next — and that the powerful euro might soon bite the dust. Perhaps the South African government will put together a BEE bid for the Island of Crete — in keeping with the Obama strategy of bail outs. Is South Africa not already doing its own bail outs in the DRC and Zimbabwe anyway? I just wish to place on record that I am willing to hook up with Aurora, Arcellor Mittal and Chancellor House for the Island of Crete BEE deal — if it ever comes. Wishful thinking altogether. I know. Rather like like stalking the sun.
A prince with dignity and determination
Prince Ngarambe’s goals are to become Rwanda’s first transgender model and to uplift the country’s youth
The EFF’s principles are unshakeable
Unlike the ANC, the core values of the freedom fighters do not change with each leader it elects
