El Jobo

Here we are sitting in the boiling heat in the little house in El Jobo. I don’t really know everyone in the house-but all are relatives. They come and go and there is a constant banter in Spanish–much of which I only half understand-but it seems to be enough to keep everyone very happy–including myself.

My visit to my mother-in law is long overdue–seventeen years to be precise.

Gloria is bedridden, but in reasonable spirits under the circumstances. She is very frail and completely immobile and I would say she has not much longer to go. No help here from medicare or social services. She should be in a nursing home . She is looked after by her daughter Sofie and grandson Adrian.

She remembers a lot about me and for some reason  has always liked me-although I can’t  think  why: in 1983  I stole her daughter and took her far away and Maria and her mother are incredibly close-I've never seen anything like it. I am third: first comes Mum-then the 'children' and then myself:thats the deal for the man. But I'm not complaining...Ha!

I’ll never forget the day 31years ago when  we arrived in Veracruz  together after 24 hours travel from the Yucatan by bus. I was sick and could hardly speak a word in Spanish-just enough to ‘tell’ (not ask) Gloria I was going to marry her daughter and take her away to Ireland, which I did a few weeks later.

Gloria didn’t bat an eyelid . She must have known she would see little of her favourite daughter again as  this ‘Gringo’ would likely take her daughter far away.

Gloria  was sad to hear of the death of my brother and asked of my other brother. She made a trip to Belfast in 1986.

I haven’t met Marie’s brother since before I was married in 1983. He is staying with us for a few  days. He works on luxury yachts as a fisherman in New Jersey on short contracts.

Sofie, Marie’s sister is crippled with both knees ‘gone’ and walks like a robot and with difficulty. She is Glorias’ chief carer, but she does not complain and we hope she will be operated on herself soon by some free service from a group of  visiting ‘gringo’ doctors-I’m not quite sure how it all works. Marie supports Sofie financially a little-although I don’t quite know how.

Sofie’s son Adrian has just completed his training as a teacher–he is 32 and hopes to get a job soon. He lives with his Mum and  Sofie and he helps look after them  both. The house has an air-conditioner in the room of Gloria and another in another bedroom which I am sleeping in at present. This is a huge change from the last time I was here.

The little house in el jobo is much  the same after 17 years –and there are a few  signs of improvement if you look carefully. Some neighbouring houses have been renovated. The kitchen has been made a little larger and there is now hot water.

It all makes me realise what a privileged life I have led.

We like it here and it is our preferred place of retirement because we feel welcome here–something we don’t feel in Australia. they say the first generation migrant may find it difficult -I agree with that-but the second generation will do well. I'm not so sure...

However, there are many obstacles in the way of such a retirement  plan, not the least of which is the huge distance between us and our offspring in Australia.

The Journey took 3 full days because we came via Dallas and Mexico city. From Sydney to Dallas was 15 hours and-the last six  hours  were on the bus from Mexico city. We spent one night in Mexico city with friends of the family. The city has not changed at all and it is ok but I never really liked it that much.

Life is cheaper here but there remains the problem of the distance. Retirees are now  seen by  Governments  as ‘units of consumption’ in the economy-retirement is no longer  an entitlement, service  or  reward for work.

We like it here because we have family and an extensive network of friends of the family- even though we haven’t ever actually  lived here for more than  a few months 30 years ago. In Australia our network is so limited. So many ironies and paradoxes in the situation


We are both  really relaxed here-just like I was in Africa. So retirement here is a real option.

However there are many obstacles in the way of such a plan, not the least of which is the huge distance between us and our offspring in Australia.


But, at the end of the day, there is no point in being  unhappy.  Can you imagine an old and  more miserable me!


It is 6 pm and the humid heat has subsided a little now and people are coming alive again. Soon, we all sit outside and take the breeze on the street with a beer.

One of Gloria's six half brothers has just come in to see her. He hasn't seen me since the day of our wedding. He says I haven't changed

Bueno!

I now regret not having been able to come more often to Veracruz for the last 17 years

Asi es la Vida!

I

Here is something for you to read if you have nothing better to do on a rainy afternoon. This is my description of a scene in Veracruz Mexico where I recently spent a month with the family of my wife, Vedo. Gloria is my Mother-in-law and Adrian is my Nephew, the son of Sofie-my sister-in -law. The little house in El Jobo is very small and in need of repair.

Al Estilo Mexicano 

Sofie, Vedo's sister is back from  the hospital after her knee operation. She is prostrate on the couch stubbornly refusing to do her exercises to the consternation of all..



Gloria's sister who is 84 and almost as frail as Gloria herself, has been taken to the emergency department this morning. (See Photo taken last week)



Gloria remains uncomplainingly prostrate and immobile on the her bed.



There are more nappies in the house than you could poke a stick at-and there aren't any babies



So...Vedo..who has been running the house-cooking, cleaning and washing will have to disappear to visit her.



The 7 of us will just have to fend for ourselves.



My idea is to escape as soon as possible-but it is a blazing inferno outside. A bookshop sounds good.


and the water has stopped flowing from the taps..


I'm off with Adrian!


Numero 8, a family friend of 60 years arrived last night wants to be the centre of attention!



Arriving at midnight from Mexico city she wanted to spend hours talking when everyone elsewas dead beat.


This morning she had breakfast where I normally sit..que poca madre!



Later....



I'm back from the town centre.  It was so hot after a few minutes I just collapsed into an air-conditioned restaurant, drank coffee and watched the football while I recovered.


In the interim Numero 8,  had 'taken over ' in El Jobo.


Now she won't allow the boys (and most importantly myself) to watch the football!


What fascinates me is how things are negotiated  without open conflict. In my culture there would be bad feeling and tantrums over such things. But bad feeling is avoided here at all costs. In my experience Mexicans share this ability to negotiate domestic conflicts with Colombians, Africans and Asians. Maybe this is why the Aztecs had ritual sacrifices-to express their repressed violence? That is what some conservative 'first world' anthropologists might say. Maybe they're right.


These things make me think I am so selfish...I wouldn't put up with any of this bullshit on my home turf.


Is this meanness I have-in my genes-or is it cultural?


 Or is it just me, the man?


All these people in the house are much more spontaneously  generous, thoughtful and considerate and care more about their family than most westerners seem to. This  is simply an observation: they are also more spontaneous and know how to enjoy themelves and life better than we do in the west.


In spite of the hardships-they are happier than we are..but westerners don't seem to see this.


Yes... we westerners are better organized and produce the necessities of life more efficiently than Mexicans do. That is another factual observation-even Mexicans will agree with it. But what do we do with our goods? We hoard them for ourselves instead of sharing them with our friends and family (much less with  strangers such as refugees)

50% of Australians will have suffered from a mental illness before they are 21. I don't know the comparable figure here but it will be much,much lower. So.. who is the  happier? Who is doing better?


It has always astonished me that so many Mexicans, Colombians and Africans continue to want to come and live in Australia. But I see now that  war and poverty are pretty good reasons for leaving your homeland.


We in the west have learned how to create political and economic stability but at what social cost-at what cost to well-being and happiness?  Is there not something wrong with a culture where many adults value their dogs more than their children?


I  don't make an appointment, arrangement  or wait for an invitation to come stay with my family in El jobo. I simply tell them when and for how long I am coming. This is something Centrelink (social security) will never provide.


Surely there must be  a better model to promote happiness  which includes the best of both the third world and first world social systems. I don't see any sign of one yet. The First world seems to be saying  say: its either/or; us/them - be like us or bugger off-we have nothing to learn from you!


There are 8 of us in the house now. As a result of the arrival of numero 8  I am not sitting near the fan, but in a pool of sweat as I write this. There is no air-conditioner in the living room. 17 years ago there were no air-conditioners at all in the little house-now there are 3-one in each little bedroom.


My nephew Adrian says it is much hotter than it was 30 years ago when Maria and I  were married here because of global warming.


What would Tony Abbott say about that? He would say it was 'crap'. He should come to El Jobo for a visit.


Because of the arrival of numero 8  I am not in my usual sparkling good humour.

The 8 of us are now all surviving the 'desmadre' (no equivalent in English-closest I can think of is 'chaos')

There are 5 I-pads are operating furiously as the football drones in the background

.. and vedo is still cooking in the kitchen

but wait....Numero 8 has other ideas for Adrian


 She has just got up and ordered him into the car to take her to the bank!


Banks are a big thing in Mexico. Adrian said a recent study has shown that Mexicans like queuing in them mostly because they are able to show off and also because they don't trust internet banking. Maybe.. but I also think it is because the banks won't employ enough tellers.

Adrian gets in the car and drives...

Maria is still  cooking furiously and just realized that she has forgotten her 'arrangement' with her friends at 6pm.


Another young cousin has appeared. He looks about sixteen but is actually 20. I remember him as an  exceptionally obstreperous young boy of 3 when last saw him 17 years ago. He is extraordinarily polite to me and a perfect gentleman. He calls me 'Uncle', makes conversation with me and brings me food.


How did this transformation happen?


Maria (Vedo) panics and texts her friends. They reply with  'Que reunion?'  (What appointment?)


Everybody dissolves in guffaws of laughter of self-derision


Al Estilo Mexicano!


Numero 8 is back from the bank and has realised she's bored and so has just invited herself to crash Vedo's appointment  with her friends. Adrian drives them away.  I would have told her to get knotted. I hope Vedo can get a word in edgeways.


Adrian's back after dropping Maria to her appointment. Numero 8 didn't like the look of Vedo's friends and came back.


Adrian missed his football. I know he takes it very seriously as he made me buy and wear a Veracruz football shirt to watch the match.


What's really important here?


The imminent passing of Gloria' sister? Sofie's constipation after the operations; my nephew Adrian getting to see his football? The transformation of my cousin from beast into gentleman? Numero 8's selfishness? My own selfishness?


How much of my antipathy to numero 8 is her selfishness or  just a projection of my own meanness?


I don't know.


Maybe none of the above


Later..


I had a surprisingly stimulating chat with Numero 8 last night before bed. Her daughter lives in Switzerland and it turns out she agrees with me about a lot of things: we both agreed that many westerners have stronger relationships with their dogs and cats than their children.

One of the things Vedo and I talked about before coming to Veracruz was getting a dog

Maybe numero 8 is not so bad after all.


It has been a privilege and a pleasure  to meet my family again after 17 years


They're just putting a tampon over the scar on Sofie's knee.

Adrian's friend Nesdor is a pharmacist and says he recommends this to his customers.


 Al Estilo Mexicano!

Written on Mon, 10 Aug 2015 01:31:59 +0000

Sibling Rivalry

Dreams are not of course literal or logical - they use symbols to represent powerful emotions.

I had a dream last night that I was in a two-man race race which, contrary to my expectation, turned out to be a marathon cross country race. 

I remember my own expectation and that of others was  that I  would not even finish the race. However,  I kept surprising myself and the other taller runner on my right shoulder by havin g the stamina not just to keep going but to actually  keep inching ahead of him. He kept expressing his surprise by whispering his surprise that I was still in the race.

At the end we came to a hill which I recognized as being similar to  the old moat near my home in Ireland and I continued to surprise my self as my stamina held out and  I climbed the moat to the finish and won the race.

But the finish was an anti-climax-as there was no-one there to applaud my win and  my feat remained unacknowledged. Instead of elation I felt disappointment.

When I awoke I  was thinking of Anne Frank's comment..

'People send flowers to you in your grave  when you are dead rather than when you are alive because regret is a stronger emotion than sympathy'

You don't have to be a rocket scientist to see that the marathon  race is a metaphor for life. 

It has left me wondering if the 'finish' for me  is imminent? I sometimes catch myself  wishing it to be so.

Maybe the dream is telling me to expect heaven to be a disappointment!

I think my brother was the taller runner on my right-shoulder?

A suitable metaphor for an estranged elder brother

2015 Adelaide diary 1

When I was 15 after reading George Orwell's 1984 I went out onto the road outside my home in Belfast  and wrote "Big Brother is watching you" on the lamposts with a piece of chalk. 

I have had a guilty look on my face ever since...

A week in Utopia


Lies, corporate greed and thousands of ‘Big Brothers!’

So I get a call from Origin energy yesterday…

Telephonist:

I’m calling from ‘Origin energy’ your energy provider to save you money……

Not..

Excuse me!  I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you?….

or

Is this a good time for you to speak? 

Not even 

Hello?

A scene from George Orwell’s book ‘1984?’ 

No…much worse…in the good old days, in the real 1984–even in 1994- I remember  they would still have at least been polite ..they would have requested my permission to speak in some way. 

Hello, sir..is this a convenient time to hear  about an offer etc etc.?

But no, the corporate pimps of 2015 have trained the young salesgirl to be ‘assertive’ (and of course cheerful) at all times!

So..  she’s just straight into it as if I was the one who had called  her and  was asking her to do me a favour...

My hackles gradually rise at the increasingly patronizing and presumptious tone of this corporate skylark.. but in mitigation, I realise its not her fault. She’s not the problem-its her pimp (the corporate trainer)  and the  corporate management policy with its army of ‘trainers’ who are to blame . So, I control myself..

Oh yes… and how might you be doing that?

By  replacing  bla.. bla..halogen bulbs… with lower energy bulbs!

The bogus conversation continues with fifteen minutes of  humiliating me with her technical explanations. This is part of the  corporate script to make me feel intimidated, more compliant and hence more likely to buy her product. After touring the whole house  I told her I had  7 bulbs....

Oh.. sorry then ..piped up the skylark… but you will have to pay 30 dollars as you have less than 10 bulbs. This is a fact which the corporate trainer (Pimp) had told her to carefully conceal from me until she had wasted 15 minutes of my time getting me hooked.

So there was the catch–the lie.

Pimp: (Corporate trainer)  Tell them its free, get ‘m hooked and then reel ‘m in! ( make ‘m pay) 

The young telephonist is basically a prostitute-she has to tell lies and follow this script because her pimp–the corporate trainer tells her to. She doesn’t have to sell her body but she has to sell her dignity by trying to manipulate and trick people.

To make the prostitution process more efficient she will probably have shares in Origin. The pimp corporate trainers do for sure. Both of them probably own corporate shares somewhere. The saddest part of this process is that the skylark and many people like her in entry-level and low-level positions in corporates everywhere  actually are persuaded to volunteer to buy these shares themselves–nobody forces them to do it. 

What a sweet system for Origin: it is the perfect model to obtain compliance and make profit from Origin’s point of view-and it is the corporate model used the world over.

Schools used to teach us our ethics-and there was some democratic accountability as to how they behaved through parents and democratic voting. But now, corporations do it-and they are only accountable to their shareholders They have taken over. George Orwell was right about big brother being the Government- but we now  have thousands of ‘big brothers’ - not just one.  


 And Its legal.


In order to sustain the corporate predator lying has become essential and legitimate in the corporate world of 'Newspeak'.  Orwell was right..the end justifies the means.

There has been a sea change in our cultural values.

A sea change that no-one has seen (no pun intended)


Why have the values changed? Not because of a ‘decline’ in religion but because of the corporatization, commercialisation and bureaucratization of every aspect of our lives; from  work and political life to our social life. Even language has been corrupted: we talk of ourselves like prostitutes…I was ‘hired’ to teach English. 

The production process has become  so ‘efficient’ and our corporates so wealthy that life has become a scramble  for the rest of us to get a share of this  wealth.


Sounds simple-but In order for this to happen we have  to ‘comply’ in so many aspects of our lives -and and scratch each others eyes out in the employment ‘market’. 

In politics the colonialists used to call it ‘divide and rule’-but now it is in every aspect of our lives including the workplace. 

I don’t like it?

‘That’s the way it is’ has become the norm-the stock answer to anyone who questions the increasing power of corporate cultures. 

If you think of it, it is the same model the drug cartels use in Mexico-give everyone a stake in the profits, lie if necessary and make people fight against each other. ‘Divide and rule’ and ‘the end justifies the means’


It’s the model used by a corporate provider of language services at a University in South  Australia..

On Monday I thought I was ‘hired’ ( corporatespeak) to teach  Monday and Tuesday for ten weeks.

I have worked there for 3 years as a teacher and external examiner on and off.

On Monday (the Monday of the second week) the Director of Studies called me in to the office and said

“Apologies Don, but the classes are too small-I have to collapse yours”

Thump! Thump!

A left hook followed by an uppercut

I was stunned…

Er..?  I said not really knowing what to say…

No, I was stupified..

Later, I was to realize that I could hardly remember the next few hours after this rather  bland statement. I have a vague memory of re-entering the staffroom to collect my things-the Deputy Director was looking at me guiltily while he pretended to distract himself from the dirty work  at hand by talking to another member of staff.


I packed my things and made my way to the Mall in a daze. I can’t remember most of the train journey home or the rest of the day.

I hadn’t felt this bad since…well since ?

Well, since when exactly?

Since I failed the first test I had ever failed in my life?

Yes… and that was?

My driving test …in Belfast

Your driving test??!!

Yes…my driving test. Afterwards I locked myself in the bathroom and wept. I was 17. It was the first time I can remember being made to weep in my life by one of the slings and arrows of misfortune. 


I’ll never forget the driving instructor: sixties, tweed jacket and trousers, dark greasy hair combed back and down impeccably. The deadpan look and the humourless monotone. He was creepy and looked like an undertaker. It was 1969. My hair was too long.


Why did I fail, sir? (I was still a schoolboy)


 Without humour, he droned in his deep bass voice…‘You nearly knocked the old lady off the pavement while you were reversing, Mr Nixon’


Bad feeling-very bad man indeed. I will never forget his face–or his tweed jacket-or the humourless look on his face. The undertaker didn’t know how I felt. Nobody knew.

But that feeling of failure is different from what I feel now. Then it was the sense of failure which floored me. In those days in school we were taught how to succeed–no one ever thought of teaching us how to fail –how to cope with life’s failures. Nor did anyone tell us there are more failures in life than successes. Perhaps they didn’t want to discourage us.


We didn’t fail–only losers failed. .

But in this case there was no personal failure on my part. I already knew this place was a scam. It was  the injustice of the act and the casual brutality of its delivery coupled with the subsequent helplessness  which made me feel so ANGRY.

This was not about my competence or hers. I was stunned by the impersonality of this act by a kindly person for whom I had respect. I felt betrayed.

And I still am angry-one week later-because injustice is not easily forgotten (especially by the Irish!)

You’re very sensitive today, Don…..a kindly colleague once told me.

Don’t overreact Don!....many of the  well-intentioned (and some of the less well-intentioned) have said to me on numerous  occasions


The Director looked at me with just a hint of impatience because she was a good  person and felt guilty.

‘Yes I do apologise, but that’s the way it is, Don’

It is the corporate policy  and a condition of her contract that she dismiss people in this way even though she feels guilty about doing it. (That’s why she used the word ‘apologise’ and both she and  the Deputy Director had guilty looks) 


Its about numbers. 


She likes me and I like her . I am competent so is she. But this doesn’t matter. 
Neither do my 3 years of loyalty to this corporate entity.


Nor do my painstaking and successful attempts to coordinate this 20 days of teaching (my sole income for the year)  with the company  count for anything.


Nor do my experience, my skills, the needs of the students (ha!)


Nor, least of all perhaps, my own professional or personal needs (Ha Ha!).

As far as my corporate employer is concerned it is ok for 'Blind Freddie' to teach these Chinese and Indian students once the money has been taken off them (before they get here)


The fact that this pleasant and competent, but fallible Director had stuffed up her timetabling-so that it was too much trouble to change doesn’t count either. 


Teachers of almost school-leaving age were kept on rather than change the timetable to keep me on.

It was too ‘hard’ to change it

Simpler to ‘let me go!’ Problem solved!

And the silence of my colleagues? 

This lady has been a good boss and I have a lot of time for her–but she is forced to behave as a pimp for her corporate bosses.

So why is she doing this to me?

Its a rhetorical question: the answer of course is corporate greed.

This multi national company feels unable to contract itself for twenty days to an experienced and competent teacher because of  corporate greed.

How much money has this company  saved by this 'insignificant' act? (Insignificant for company,maybe,but not insignificant for myself!)

Mightn’t they have waited at least one more day and given me the Tuesday of this week? Did it have to be so ‘instant’ ?


So …to whom go the plaudits for this scenario? 

Yes..its congratulations to all you mighty Thatcherite/ Liberal/ Free marketeers who believe in efficiency and unbridled selfishness as the determinants of infinite productivity and at least (your own ) happiness? 

The fact that the world has been sufficiently  ‘productive ‘ enough to satisfy its needs since 1930 seems to have entirely escaped your attention. You want more efficiency, productivity, more competition, , more houses (one is not enough), more cars, boats, more comfort, more holidays, more safety, more excitement, more power, more winners…and some losers


 …..and of course the Conservative wants  some losers. For the mighty Conservative with a capital ‘C’ there have to be  losers - so he can blame them for all his problems! Neat!

To the Conservative without some ‘losers’  you can’t have well… more.

And what a brainwave to get people to buy shares–especially in the company in which they work

‘Divide and Rule’ 

Sheer Genius!

No wonder my colleagues said nothing to me



So now I’m watching the cricket- this most boring of all sports on the planet. It is the first day-night test match with the pink ball..

And why do I listen to the cockatoos: the worn out ‘has been’ celebrity cricket commentators–so absorbed with themselves and their own wit that they talk through the bloody ball when it is being  bowled!?


Don’t get me wrong…I love the cricket!.. I adore it!..  I’m a cricket ‘tragic’  if ever there was one – I’m addicted to it, but I only watch it because I have nothing much else to do–and it prevents me from thinking about the realities of life. Like all addictions–it seems to do the trick- and without damaging my health.

But even my beloved cricket has been taken over by the corporate predators who have turned my former heroes into pimps and the players themselves into prostitutes–salesmen for everything from  cricketing goods and their own books to the TV channel sponsoring  the match and to this new version of the game itself. They are all selling something. 


They chatter and cackle like cockatoos and though they used to be my heroes  I now believe little of what they say–because they are always selling something or someone. .


 In fact, I watch most of the five days of the match with the mute button ‘on’.


You can talk about cricket if you are a celebrity and make a load of money–but what do you know about life?


‘Its usually the toughest moments in sport that make a man’ says one cockatoo


All these former test players would have us believe they know  what ‘pressure’ in life is!
But they don’t have a clue . If they failed they were dropped from the test team but they were still able to continue earning their living as shield players. That’s not pressure!


They want to know about pressure? Ask my nephew. Pressure is not having the money to pay for a nurse to look after your mother or your dying grandmother. Pressure is being told your mother will lose her leg if she doesn’t get medication for her infection-and not having the money to pay for it, nor the job to earn it. Pressure is knowing you can’t walk away. Pressure is having no safety net. Pressure is having  no shield game to go to.


So stop yacketing on about the bloody pink ball!


I wish I could just ‘mute’ them by looking at them (I have to move my hand to do it now.. Life is such a bitch)




By the end of the week I had worked up the courage to see the Doctor

Doctor?

I think I need to talk to a counsellor or someone ..I have  depressed about work and family issues

I write letters to my ‘electronic friends’–my virtual friends-but it seems to be not enough for me.
(although maybe its too much for some of them, ha! ha!)


I’m not really sure because I go for years  without seeing some  of them-even those who live a few kilometres away.

Soon, we will be able to have our funerals online or on facebook. How many ‘likes’ did he get?  

Hmmph!  Doesn’t really matter does it?

Yes …there is a panel of medicare psychologists or you can pay privately for a specialist

Pay? I looked away and smirked to myself. (They’re not getting my money!)

Look…I said to him (to myself) 

Is there any way I can influence my choice of counsellor?

What do you mean?

I want a migrant counsellor. I think many of my issues are to do with migrating to Australia..

Actually, I’m not a migrant. I never wanted to stay in Australia-I came here on contract and got stuck here. But most Australians patronize me by treating me ( as they treat all migrants) as if I have lusting to  come here all my life. In fact, Australians believe this is Utopia and that everybody wants to come here.

But its not true-most migrants and refugees  just want to get away from where they are. 
So pervasive is this bogus self-congratulatory Australian narrative that in in recent years I have even come close to  believing it myself! But it isn’t true.

My slick ‘Bollywood’ movie star Indian Doctor was getting impatient-he’s strangely western in his  attitude and demeanour.

There’s a panel–they will see you 

How often would that be?

Once a month or every six weeks 

The air went out of me-like a slowly deflating balloon.

Oh…I’m not sure that that’s enough

“That’s the way it is”

That phrase again!

Or.. I could  give you some pills?

No …thank you.. I think I’ve tried most of those.


Do you want me to do the paperwork  for the referral now ?

He obviously wasn’t really interested in  the ‘migrant Doctor’ thing ..he was losing patience..

Eh…(not wanting to upset him) . No..I think I’ll wait ..thanks, Doctor


I got back from Mexico 3 weeks ago where I was visiting my family.

Two fines were waiting for me in the post from the police.  With all the preparations for my trip to mexico for the first time in my life I had forgotten to re -register my car. I was 9 days overdue. As it happened I had remembered on the 9^th day just before we left for mexico but during that overdue nine day period  (before I left for Mexico) the police had spotted me and then sent me a fine in the post. 


The second fine happened on the  day I arrived back from Mexico. Worried that the car battery might be low I took her for a spin around the block. I was fined for doing 65 in a 60 zone. Again a postal fine.  I remember the road was almost entirely deserted. I have not  had a car accident in 50 years of driving. 
Am I a danger to other road users? Apparently.

Each fine was 450 dollars. 


In neither case was a human being involved in the process. No-one was interested in the facts or the circumstances surrounding these ‘offences’. Just like my corporate employer the beast which is SA Police demanded to be fed and was baying for blood. There is no grace period to re-register the car-even for a 63 year old. What will I be like when I am 83? 

93?

If I had behaved in such an unforgiving way as teacher I would have been sacked  for being such a mean bastard in many places 


But in Utopia in 2015  no human being speaks to me…


Today in my  post–box: a warning form the police. I have been fined twice for speeding in the past 6 months (the other time was 71 in a 60 zone on a road with no traffic). If I am fined twice more in the next 30 months I will lose my license even though I have driven for 50 years without having had  an accident.


Last Christmas I was pulled up by the police for driving too slowly!


I must be a  dangerous man-and the drivers of Adelaide must be protected from criminals!  The government must protect the people from danger! Trust us..we’ll get Nixon off the streets!


Australians wonder why we have one of the highest suicide rates in the world and why half of its young people will have a mental illness before they are 21! I don’t. I’m surprised the figures aren’t worse.

When I am not working it is difficult to get anyone to speak to me. The check-out lady at Woolies is friendly and she likes to talk, but even she is collecting money. Everyone is too busy.  No-one wants to speak except to sell me something, collect money from me or tell me I have broken a rule or committed a crime.


I have been here for 25 years–what must it be like for recently arrived migrants or refugees? No wonder they stick together and ‘don’t integrate’

Most of my Mexican friends love Australia–genuinely. 

That tells you a lot about Mexico. It tells you a lot about grinding poverty and the insidious, vile corruption of daily life

But it doesn’t tell you much about Australia

What the Mexicans won’t tell you is that in spite of the poverty and the corruption in Mexico they are free to enjoy themselves, have a laugh and even stick their arm out of the window of their car while driving. In Adelaide it is an offence. It will soon be an offence to laugh when you are driving. (Then the Mexicans will be in trouble)

No wonder everyone is so miserable

I feel free in Mexico (but the Mexicans won’t say that)

Here, I feel infantilized and defiled – like a criminal. Every social transaction is functional and based on a need. You won’t speak to me unless you need me-and vice-versa. “I need you to fill in this form.. you need to phone back later…” 


I need .. you need…it’s a transaction –a business transaction

This is the Orwellian world of modern-day communication–where no-one ever speaks to anyone else…unless they need to –or are needed.

Banks, shopping centres, workplaces, police, schools, social clubs-even the churches- they are all  designed to minimize people speaking  to each other (as opposed to someone in authority telling us what to do) 

In Mexico (and in Africa and other parts of the world where I have lived) people speak to each other because they like it-they get pleasure from the act itself. Speaking is an end in itself.  In Australia it is increasingly a means to an end. Don’t bother me!

If speaking to each other is not ‘productive’ then why bother at all?

This is the way Governments and the corporates–our big brothers- want us to feel…. If we feel like criminals–like refugees – and are afraid to speak to each other then we can be more easily controlled, will be more compliant –and easier to exploit for profit. We will be better consumers–even when we are old and decrepit.

So what to do?

Voluntary work? –Yes, I do it..but it has  become almost as hard to get as paid employment. It too has been bureaucratised and the culture corporatized by corporates and the Government

I don’t know  

Write letters to my virtual friends I suppose..

I can hear  Orwell groaning  in his grave.

My the three days teaching won’t cover the fines.

Africa and Borneo

I wrote this when I was on my own in kuching in 2011

Boy to Man 

At  23  I was alone in Africa





A boy unformed and unknown, even to himself





 Scared and desperate, yet joyful... and not lonely



 because Africa nurtured me-clutching me protectively to her breast.





I kicked up the dust to hide my fear,





and dared to hope for the thrills of ‘life’ and loves  that would surely come.





 Here I am at 59 in Borneo




Loves unimaginable have come and gone.



I have had it all!





I look ahead with dread and fear






and as hope recedes, I look back





and see a boy





and a man





I tried so hard to like.

Intamacy and busyness

Many people are lonely without even being aware of it: their lives are not touched by other people

These same  people have it witihin their power to touch other people's lives.

But they choose not to-either out of meanness or because they have anaesthetised themselves with busyness or an addiction.

Aussies and the English

Aussies almost never feel sorry for themselves -they are so like the English Public school stereotype-all stiff upper lip. You have to admire them for it.

It makes it difficult for them to feel sorry for anybody else