No matter what, I will not lick Bono.

So I went to the Calabash in Soweto to go watch a small Irish rock band play to about 100,000 people and I was struck by the fact that some people spent good money to come and get completely blitzed on Heineken long before the concert started. Oh, the poor girl whom we all had to clamber over as she slumped in the middle of the walk way contemplating whether she should throw up or die. The old man who dropped his beer can down the ramp and stumbled after the damn cylinder. Oh, let's not forget the girl who passed out behind us, right onto one of our own. Then there were the two low jean wearing, sideways baseball cap with fat bills wearing, gold chains slinging, carat"ed" ears adorned and clearly clueless about this kind of music. They finally gave up halfway and sauntered off. Oh and the poor guys who'd brought their girlfriends along as a pre-valentine trip I suppose. And they too dozed off as their girls squealed and jumped when the only three songs they knew boomed all around the stadium.



Why bother? Just to say you saw U2? Eh, too each his own.

Ok, I'm off to become an activist. And I must remember not to piddle my pants this time when I meet him.

After a prolific start to the year, I'm finally on a much needed break away and once again back in Suid Afrika! I love it here, except for the crime bit. But that is so prevalent and a fact of life that everyone, if not themselves, knows someone who has been victim of unkindness, sometimes violent. And you just get on with it. Fact, the day of my arrival, we were walking down to a restaurant near we live and passed a couple of cop cars parked in an open garage in a fairly affluent neighborhood. Being the recent victim of a burglary, my sister asks a passing officer whether it was a another robbery in the area. He replies casually, "No, he killed himself." Aghast at this openess, I stare back in horror at the the fabulous scene of the crime. Sister presses on, "How?" Officer continues to disclose, "He shot himself infront of his girlfriend. They were doing dregs." he drawls in that fascinating southern accent. We continue walking toward the buzzing and happening street where we were meeting friends and sister turns to me, "Is it wrong that I was more concerned that it was a burglary and feel less about the guy offing himself?" As a victim of a meth head burglary in Terre Haute, (not sure what the meth jargon is for a crackhead)I totally understood where she was coming from. Security had not been compromised despite the crime. That feeling of being safe is very important.



On a brighter note, had an amazing meal after I'd regained my appetite. Impala on a bed of gratin potatoes, peas with a red wine reduction and some alfafa mustard goodness on top. I'm going to come back with some kilos and a lighter wallet this trip, that's for sure!