The Slave Lodge. On an extremely hot day. The building always grasps my attention; despite its history I'm drawn to the elegant architecture, which to me makes it much more attractive than the many other nearby buildings and some eyesores conjured up by architects over the centuries.
Slavery apalls me: I struggle to get my head around it. Also the fact that the Cape Colony was - according to my understanding - the one African 'country' to import slaves. I'm also aware that millions are entrapped in modern slavery.
The temperature in the city bowl, at almost 5pm, is hovering on 38 degrees: it's a dry, searing heat that (most unpleasantly) cooks my face skin as I beat the tar in a pair of jeans that I resent wearing, but shorts at work are out of the question. It's so hot that I'm squinting.
Today I've slogged through two double sets of lectures and spent the time inbetween and around them at my desk: mostly cheerfully I've worked my butt off while enjoying through my office window the view of The Mountain and its cable car etched against a holiday-blue summer sky.
However, today, I also had one hour-long meltdown moment when I questioned my relevance on this planet and felt rage seethe through my veins and arteries at the thought that I'd perhaps battened down my hatches and had lost my sense of adventure.
Because my life must must have meaning, or else it's not worth living, my prayer for today was for fire in my spirit, and to lead an extraordinary (in the humblest sense I emphasise) life.
It is done.
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