From cyberspace to an ancient space ...

I am blown away!

Just when you think no one cares about some over-the-hill pale male hack who had his arse kicked for venting his frustration in cyberspace, you find out people care. A lot of people care a helluva lot.

My inbox quite literally reeled under the load of messages of support after last week’s sacking. Even the you-reap-what-you-sow comments are appreciated — even if they’re such a tiny minority.

From all over the world — London, Vienna, Zurich, Sydney, Houston, Helsinki and Washington, DC — emails have been pouring in; mostly outraged that symbols of the rainbow nation can treat free speech with such disdain.

These sentiments are cause for hope. And I am humbled that so many real opinion formers, even heads of mining companies, have taken the time to say “Hang in there, boykie.” One telling thing, though, folks — my firing for blogging has attracted more attention beyond our borders than within. I wonder what that says about ZA? We can debate that later, though.

Two bit of news: 1. The notice of appeal against the findings of my disciplinary hearing has been lodged, so the ball’s in the Sowetan’s court now. Let’s see where this goes, but rest assured, this barney’s only just begun.

And: 2. This blog spider will be quiet for a while. My son, Chayse, my two dogs, Vulcan and Gaia, and I are heading off in a few hours’ time to our old family farm (actually it was sold some time ago, but my uncle and the wonderful salt-of-the-earth Roman — Afrikaans-speaking Khoi — family still live there) on the other side of Postmasburg for a few days.

It’s no electricity, semi-desert, spit-thirsty land where chanting goshawks sit on telephone poles to scan the meerkat fiefdoms and ancient gnarled camelthorn trees patiently bear the weight of gigantic nests housing thousands of sociable weaver birds. And the odd cobra. You carry a torch at night in case there’s a puff adder between you and the long-drop crapper.

We will do much walking, much talking and much thinking. Maybe drive up through Bergnaaspad to Witsand to see what men have done with the brilliant white roaring sand dunes God left one day when He was feeling playful. Hope the soldier boys and girls at Lohatla army base have got their trigger fingers under control — or at least point their errant anti-aircraft guns towards Kuruman and leave us alone.

On days when the wind is still, you’ll swear you can hear the grasses and kapok bushes and anthills and the very stones themselves gossiping. And when thunderheads build up south-west towards the great Gariep, there’s more anticipation than on Christmas Eve. Even the air crackles and ripples with electric expectations.

Wish us peace and wisdom and some insight from the ancestors. And the ancient land. And thanks again.