Cape Town, Days 4-5: Slugs, thugs, and mugs

Thursday, Friday, 8-9 July, 2010

I headed down to the National Library again on Thursday and Friday, but before I talk about my continued research, a photograph of two of Cape Town’s main attractions:









The so-called Wheel of Excellence, right next to the Mound of Indifference.






My remaining time in the National Library was spent going through children’s literature and oral literature. I’ve made a few discoveries along the way, including a terribly racist Alice in Wonderland imitation, but nothing too dearth-shattering. As Mrs. Baba told me, the indigenous material is rarely published, and as I have found out reading about children’s literature in South Africa, most of it only sees one printing and then disappears or is eaten by toothy children. Just as the India market for English books has been dominated by books from the UK, so English-speaking South Africans have been only too happy to import their books from abroad, and so native publishers rarely would solicit more indigenous material. Jay Heale writes that before 1985, there were so few children’s books published in South Africa as to be “derisory,” and he gives the grim statistics for post-1985:

Year Total books for children’s published in South Africa
1985 26
1986 59
1987 134
1988 121
1989 109
1990 105
1991 84
1992 78
1993 102
1994 92
1995 76

(from Heale, Jay. from the Bushveld to Biko: The growth of South African children’s literature in English from 1907 to 1992 traced through 110 notable books. Grabouw: Bookchat, 1996. p. 3)

Things have been getting better since then, thanks to writers and artists like Niki Daly, Gus Ferguson, Philip de Vos, and Piet Grobler, but there is still (as there was in India) far too much Enid Blyton on the shelves.

On Friday, first thing in the morning, I met with Gus Ferguson, who, in addition to being a pharmacist, a top-notch poet, and a cartoonist, is the Cosmic Life President of the Snail Liberation Underground (SLUg?), and the erstwhile publisher of Slug Times, a magazine of slimendous proportions. I thought that perhaps it would only be fitting for an upright member of the Society for the Prevention of Sense (SFPS) to collaborate and conspire with the SLU(g), and so, to make our First Contact as smooth as possible, I set out to liberate a snail (and to document it fully). I scoped out a colony of indentured snails toiling away in the park near the library, and, while pretending to be one of the Hairytrees that inhabit this land, I swooped in and liberated the snail. But, as I have learned from The Herding of the Snail, it is not enough to liberate a snail. One must tame the snail, take it home, play with it, and by these processes, transcend the snail and self to achieve Enlightenment. And this is what I did.



As you might imagine a meeting between two self-less and snail-less beings can only be harmonious, and so it was. Gus was kind enough to bring many of his books, and we talked much about this and that, nonsense and Fook Island. I also discovered that there is a “Slug Award,” a shining beacon of slugness, given by his august Underground movement, and that Niki had in fact won it. I can only hope, some day, to be worthy of the Slug Award.

Cape Town, Day 3: Meetings and bleatings

Wednesday, 7 July, 2010

Today, on the way to a meeting at the Centre for the Book, a division of the National Library of South Africa, I happened down Dorp Street, happened down Dorp Street, dorp dorp dorp. You must forgive me, but if there were ever a Dr. Seussian street, it must be Dorp Street, happened down Dorp Street, dorp dorp dorp. One day when I’m older and twenty pounds colder I’ll cycle to Berklee down Dorp Street. And when one bikes home in the dusky alone it then naturally turns into Prod Street.

Well, my dreams of Dorp Street (happened down Dorp Street, dorp, dorp, dorp) will have to wait for another day, for this morning I had a meeting with Mrs. Nombulelo Baba, the Project Coordinator of children’s literature programs at the Centre.





But I almost turned away from this charming old building. You see, after climbing the outside stairs, I was confronted with this sign hanging in the door:



How odd, I thought, since the weather seemed quite nice, if a tad chilly. Could these South African winters really be considered so bad as to close buildings? It was unlikely, but the sign seemed clear enough. Still, I had to look inside, just in case. Sitting at two reception desks were two receptionists receptioning receptively (respectively). I walked in and made a little joke about the sign: “I thought you were closed for the weather… so cold! Heh heh.” Receptionist number one replied, “No, only the doors are closed.” Well I’ll be a boer-sausage strudel! If there is one thing Kevin and I learned last year, it was never to take anything for granted when traveling hitherward and thitherdorf!

In our meeting Mrs. Baba and I talked nonsense for quite a while, and I was able to get a better understanding of the children’s book scene in South Africa. Apparently there are still precious few books that record (let alone translate) indigenous oral literature, particularly that of children—nursery rhymes, lullabies, game rhymes, etc.. The Centre tries to encourage those who might not normally publish to do so, but because it is underfunded, this task is challenging. Still, from what I saw, they are doing excellent work so far. Mrs. Baba was kind enough to spread the appeal for nonsense to her colleagues and to the greater group at the Centre. Many thanks for her kindness.

I spent the afternoon at the National Library, continuing to go through whatever literary and native oral literature I could find—and I did make a few interesting discoveries, including one nonsensical mathematical limerick from the 1920s (the nonsensical nature now having been confirmed by my redoubtable numerical neighbor Eric, whose mathematical chops are deeply fried and served with applesauce).

I walked back home to prepare for the big meeting, one I had been anticipating for two years. It just so happens that, in 2007, I thought I would have the opportunity to meet Niki Daly, author of A Wanderer in Og (which he writes under the perplexing pseudonym “Nicholas Daly”) one of the finest nonsense books to come out in recent years in any country. We were not able to meet at that time, and I was lucky to have this second chance. To make things all the better, Niki was able to rope in Philip de Vos, a very fine South African poet (both in his native Afrikaans and in English) and another one of those rarest of birds: a nonsense artist. Interestingly, and as is often the case with nonsense artists, both Niki and Philip have significant experience as musicians. I was positively atwitter. When I walked up to Time-Out Café (which, appropriately, has a wall painted in melting clocks and mincing, nightmarish forks), I saw Philip sitting, and even though our eyes met for a few seconds, it seemed as if I wasn’t at all what he was looking for. It turns out that I wasn’t at all what he was looking for. Apparently, when he had googled me, the first photos to come up were that of my eternal name-nemesis, I. Michael Heyman, the ex-director of the Smithsonian Institution. Ira Michael Heyman is probably around 80 by now, and so, once I introduced myself to Philip and learned of the confusion, I understood perfectly.


[Not me]:


We sat down and began to sink our teeth into the nonsense when Niki came in, and sure enough, he also looked somewhat strangely at me. As I soon learned, he was, in fact, expecting to meet a brightly turbaned, extravagantly mustachioed India man (which admittedly, I almost am sometimes), as this was my profile picture on Facebook.

[Also, not me, but certainly closer historically, spiritually and follically]:

And so, despite the initial disappointments (for my true appearance, especially since I shaved my own extravagant whiskers from last summer, is not nearly as inspiring), we managed to salvage the evening with much merriment and discussion of nonsense, its relation to music, footballies, and operatic sunsets. Philip gave me some of his nonsense books (like gold to me) and a few CDs of his poetry and music efforts, some public and some not (like double gold). Niki gave me a copy of The Herding of the Snail, a brilliant work which I’ll talk about later, and a pile of his A Wanderer in Og, which I can distribute to those who eat all their peas and, rather than being naughty or nice, are particularly ogfull. It was a great pleasure and an honor, and I floated away in a cloud of sudorific sand…

Cape Town, Day 2

Tuesday, 6 July, 2010
Cape Town

I had heard tell of the Fearsome South African winter, but rather than my usual habit of chewing the facts to gluey pulp and spitting it up for your easy digestion, I present to you photographic data with which you can make your own decision:



Today was the day I had tried to avoid far back into my trip-planning: the World Cup semi-finals game in Cape Town. There was nothing for it however, and so I would have to face to vuvuzelas.


In the morning, after some writing and various business backflips, I walked into town (no longer backflipping, but occasionally backflapping) and, after some awkward soccer banter with the bag-check fellow (despite my lack knowledge, I faired fairly fair, all told), I plopped myself down at the National Library.


Over the next several hours I poured through everything that the various librarians and I had picked out: various books on oral literature, some meek and mild non-indigenous nursery rhyme collections from the early twentieth century, folktales, and several books by Niki Daly and Gus Ferguson—but more on them later (the next day I was to meet Niki and Philip de Vos—stay tuned!)


I managed to crawl out from beneath the pile of books as the library was shutting down and walked back to the center of town, where I met the orange and blue mobs. For those un-hip enough not to know, it was Holland (orange) vs. Uruguay (blue), but the fullest flocks were by far the orange. Marching down the main streets, orange wigs, face paint, bright orange safety overalls, and of course, vuvuzelas blaring, the glowing mob moved like an engorged channel of nuclear waste. For a little while I followed along the flatulent parade, but when the crowd bottlenecked at one of the bridges, I took a northerly turn, back to the Waterfront and my hotel. Just before the game, I took a walk one more time with the crowds down to the stadium (which is not even a mile away), thought for a moment about buying scalped tickets, and then went back to the hotel bar to watch the game. In honor of some very fine VanBronkhorsts I know, I routed for Holland…

Cape Town, Day 1

Monday, 5 July 2010


I woke up, in the darkling July winter, to my first true view of Cape Town, with Table Mountain brooding nearby. My hotel is an ex-prison in the Victoria & Alfred (Albert’s dentigerous second cousin) Waterfront area, and after walking the ramparts, I descended to the docks, which have been transformed, in many ways, into a giant mall. This accommodated my most mundane monotonies and inspired me with a profound sense of itch. The only saving grace was the absence of US Ubiquities (GapSmear1,TargetPetSmart,TubbyRuesdays, etc.). I stumbled upon the following performance, no doubt an entirely authentic tribe that forages and hunts around Stall #49 of the nearby crafts mall.

My mission this day, aside from exploring some of the local fauna and flora, was to hit the National Library of South Africa, who had (perhaps understandably) not replied to my earlier inquiries concerning their nonsensical potential. After walking through the Company’s Gardens, a mini-Central Parkish greenspace covered in giant bamboo, bulbous arboreal artichokes, and tropical turnspits, I stopped by the Centre for the Book, a sprig of the National Library that promotes literacy and indigenous publication projects. The children’s book coordinator was busy, so I went to the main National Library building and started making inquiries. When one of the librarians heard me asking about Alice, dongs, and Travels through Og, she said, “Ah, you’re the Nonsense Person!” While acknowledging the capitals (but not the title), I asked her what she could possibly mean. “We got your inquiry a while back and have been working on it—but it’s not so easy!” Apparently, a team of them had banged their heads against this wall, but the one who had done the most had left for the day. With the librarian’s help, though, I was able to order a stack of promising books and was able to begin to troll through them before they shut their doors for the day.

Back in the park as the winter afternoon faded, I walked around the Jewish section, the “Old” and “Great” (I couldn’t find the “New” and “So-so”) synagogues, and frolicked among some springy grasses that bounced in the fountains. I happened to be a witness to the following scene… the mounted policewoman’s horse seems to sniff something strange about his compadre:


Can a horse lift a quizzical lip? Considering that this horse seems to have discovered the most nonsensical part of the park, I realize that I might change my research plan. Forget these dusty scholars and libraries… I wonder if Berklee might not mind if, rather than return from my sabbatical as required by the contract I signed in blood, perhaps I should enlist in the Foreign Mounted Nonsense Corps.

The last bit for you all today is a shop I passed on one of the main shopping drags in Cape Town.

Now, either they don’t know what “Funkadelik” means, or, even more frightening, you might not want to get near these strawberries.

I ended the day at the Gold Museum restaurant, where they bombarded me with fifteen courses—each one from one of the African countries participating in the World Cup. Along with the singing, dancing, and puppets, it was quite an extraordinary adventure. Onward, Funkadelik Strawberry Soldiers!

Arrival in Cape Town

Cape Town, South Africa
Monday, 5 July, 2010


Welcome! It has been a long time, almost a year ago, since Kevin and I brought you the stylings of our nonsensical peregrinations. For those of you who may be new to this blog, you might want to peruse the entries for July through September 2009 to see our last major excursion into the Fields of Nonsense (Elizabeth Sewell notwithstanding). Last summer and fall we traveled through Eastern, Western, and Northern Europe where we met with a full host of nonsense ministry: scholars, librarians, stenacious stentorians, and artists willing to help us find, translate, and transubstantiate nonsense literature, and our rectory has since been overflowing.

Of course, we have not been entirely idle since then, as you can see from the various and sundry postprandial-peregrination blog entries. We met some fellow nonsense searchers, such as the Most Noble and Magnifulgent Juana Inés Dehesa Chritlieb, whose knowledge of Mexican nonsense was one small force in baffling and snaffling the Redneck Brigade Patriotic Brotherhood whose erstwhile gunslinging still echoes in amber waves of pain across our southern borders. And then there was the most delightful Nonsense Tour of Harvard (which, to my discredit, couldn’t hold a dandle to the nonsense tour of Lund given to me by Frederick Tersmeden) with Daniela Almansi, a not-quite-tonsured nonsense non-monk who breezed in from London, and who has opened doors French, Russian, Italian, Zingbangian, Zoroastroturfian, and possibly other Z-languages in her ample bouquet. Our working manuscript has swollen to over 150 pages thanks to the kindness of all of those willing to selflessly fling themselves like the Dart of Harkness into the Anthology of World Nonsense.

It is time once again to shake the dust of the West off our shoes, to pursue the Land of Snod and the ever-elusive Moustache Island (despite my no longer being a member in good standing-on-end)—this time, in Africa. Thanks to the Newbury Comics Berklee Faculty Fellowship, I am able to spend the last gasp of my sabbatical here, in Africa. Unfortunately, Kevin is not able to join me, and he will not only be much mussed but also mulch missed. I begin here in South Africa, mosey on over to Kenya, and end in Uganda, which will take me to the very end of July. As I mentioned in my last entry, there are some incredible nonsense adventures awaiting me, and I will faithfully be blogging with my regular irregularity.

Late last night I arrived in Cape Town and shall spend the next week poking asnout in libraries, having meetings with local looninaries, including Niki Daly, Gus Ferguson, and Philip de Vos, some of the brightest nonsense stars of South Africa, and assiduously avoiding the footballie follies. My hotel is a vuvuzela’s call away from the stadium here, and come Tuesday night I expect the vuvuzela flock to descend fully upon my window sill. Until Wednesday, then, I shall be keeping under cover, scouting out the less-flocked features of this fair city. Stay tuned!

Africorn! Africapricorn! Africapricornponepie!

Greetings and bleatings to everyone from Nonsensicapricorn to the Sibilant Sea! My Africa nonsense-gathering trip has been gathering bream and will be baking many a Boston bream pie soon. Thanks to the efforts of some Very Solid Persons in South Africa, Kenya, and Uganda, plans are being pronged and nonsense beasts chummed (I believe they chum such creatures with amblongous artichokes and veal cutlets, though things have changed since my father's time as a Boer Bear Baiter, 2nd Class). I am preparing a Perfectly Perpendicular Pith helmet, from which I will sail round the Cape of Good Hamhock and hopefully come back home by way of The Horn of Slapricow. Along the way, I should be meeting with various luminous nonsense noses, including nonsense writers and blighters, media mudpie masticators, scholars of children's literature, folklorists, musicians, mad mudpie makers, and librarians. If they don't ride me out on a snail, I will be giving a paper at the conference in Mombasa of The International Society for the Oral Literatures of Africa. I shall be attending oral nonsense competitions, observing cultural crampon rampages, and various and sundry other nonsense-gathering-related activities that I can't begin to list right now. To find out the delicious and deliquescent details, you will have to tune into the blog come July. I will be blogging faithfully, fragrantly, and flafricantly, whenever I am able to tie one on to the Interknot. Stay tuned!

Meanwhile,
I shall remain,
your 3rd Class, Petty Bear Baiter,
Michael

ps. Thanks to Grimm_Cild for the refugricated drawing above!

Around the dial... the Anthology of World Nonsense hits the radio

With good reason, discussing our project of questionable reason, Kevin Shortsleeve featured, on April 10th, in the Virginia Public Radio show, "With Good Reason," interviewed by Sarah McConnell. Click here to hear his discourse, articulate as an artichoke (minus the choke) on our Own Dear Anthology of World Nonsense. His part of the interview is the latter third, so you may want to fast forward a bit... Enjoy!