Waking into a sunshine dawn, I welcome the criss-cross of light through the blinds, stripes of gold on the flagstone floor. Without thinking, I step over them. Of course I know they won’t trip me up but it feels polite not to squash them underfoot. Dressed in shorts and a tee-shirt, I make my way to the main house and coffee. My little room, not far away gives me all I need, a comfortable bed, a tiny shower room and privacy. There are other such rooms and homes on this wine farm but I rarely hear or see the occupants. As is the custom in Africa, a maid will come in daily to clean. It felt odd, once, but not now, not now I know how proud these women are to have work enough to support their own families in the township. Their hair is a mass of black braids, their faces bright and smiley, their characters loaded with sass. Despite their history of ‘domination’ by the white people, they are openly friendly and respectful, and I have yet to encounter a worker in any field, street or shop who doesn’t turn to greet with a ‘Morning Ma, how are you today?’ It feels mellow and right with a sense of togetherness. We move in completely different worlds and yet conjoin in one of mutual respect and genuine affection, often as complete strangers who may never meet again. It thinks me as I remember how comparatively unfriendly the streets and lives of back home can be. We have lost the art of teamwork and become lonely islands. Well, some of us have.

The cats greet me with morning miaows, pushing their soft heads into my legs, curling around them. The big retriever huffs a welcome, a soft toy in his mouth, his eyes asking for play. When I first arrived, the cats looked at me as if I had landed from another planet, scooting away, a get-lost glare in their wake, but now, as they remember me, we can share a space in peace. We respect each other just as it ought to be, could be, can be among humans. When something shifts, a comment is made or opinions differ, we can take it personally, responding thus or not responding at all, slinking away with a head full of furballs, hurting, a spit of questions on our lips. I know this because I have been there, many times, but now that I have learned to separate what I can control from what I cannot, I tend to take a good look inside myself. Not in the search for either self-blame or a cutting response to what I perceived as an attack, but more to read the bones of what just happened, which is where the nugget of truth will lie. And the reason I do this is because I am not a child anymore; I am not controlled by old triggers; I am not under any control save my own over me, and I want to allow, accept and let go. The alternative is a dark tunnel, a very long one.

If I was a cat and didn’t like what another cat did or said, I would spit, yowl and take myself away. This is honest cat behaviour. However, it isn’t quite the same for me. Such a response might get me arrested. In recognising this simple truth, I have human choices, me with my big and clever brain, my heart genuinely loving, my letting go of childhood issues and triggers, my experiential wisdom and my understanding that my perception is not unilateral. However, I do know that it takes vulnerability and courage in situations of discomfort such as a big difference of opinions on a subject we both feel strongly about. It doesn’t mean I concur or demur, not at all because I still feel the way I feel, but in order for anything to move forward we need to team up or the anything gets stuck in a bog. It also doesn’t mean that my only option is to be passive aggressive, defensive, repetitive or opinion-fixed. So, am I open to both opinions sitting beside one another like Tweedledum and Tweedledee? Can we smile over the chasm of our differences and keep moving, stronger together?

Well, if we don’t, then nothing goes nowhere, nor anywhere and we are both lonely.