The Tide of Change
As we travel through life, it is important from time to time to take stock of just where we are and where we came from. When I was a chief executive of a large company, I recognised that sometimes my most productive activity was to simply sit at my desk with my feet on the table and think through what was going on.
If we do so we can appreciate what we have achieved and who we have become, we can relive warm memories and project ourselves into the future. To do so you have to be still and in some ways alone.
When I was a young teenager, I walked the eastern hills of the Matopos, sat at the feet of tribal elders in Ndebele villages - old men with the Induna’s ring in their hair and white in their beards as they talked of raids into far flung districts, stories of battles and losses. Of their pride as they danced before the King and ran for miles in unison sweeping all before them until the white man – my ancestors, arrived.
Going back to school was like going into exile – putting shoes on and a clean shirt everyday was purgatory and when we were there we dreamt of returning and taking the dogs on expeditions to wild places. We helped drive cattle to and from sales, sleeping in the bush and walking many kilometers. Time did not matter.
That world has gone like so much else to be replaced by a different world with little memory of where we all came from. School, University, work followed and through it all I was an observer of what was going on all around me. Coffee with my Grandfather and General Smuts in Pretoria – I was more impressed with Ouma Smuts than Oom Jannie. My Grandmother, reading in bed with a magnifying glass – a terrifying mogul who ruled the family from her throne in Johannesburg.