There is a large gap between today, the 27th of December 2014, and when I last posted something on here. That gap represents many things. Some of them are classroom things – constructing curricula, fashioning exams from scratch and jumping right into the depths of a completely new ethos at my new school. There are personal things, in that gap – some that I will never speak of here, and others which may one day find themselves adapted into a story.
There is life, in that gap, and learning. I started cataloguing all of the bits and pieces of completely new things I’ve learned this year, and eventually gave up. Tshivenda greetings collide with Steiner verses, mixing into strange concoctions in my short term memory.
The gap holds things said and done, which can never be unsaid or resaid, undone or redone. It holds things unrecorded yet witnessed, observed, internalised. Moments. Ephemera.
In the gap there is a whole continent of intended blogs, stories, poems and observations set down to mature in the cooling darkness of my subconcious. The borders of each narrative are carefully marked to trace the inevitable cross-pollination between the lands of Malachi and Sikhulumi, with small islets showing the journeys through the Inner seas of Aeneas and Odysseus. Theories and hypotheses are kept apart from fiction, but sometimes their boundaries are not too distinct.
And in the gap there is a white zulu, wearing many different hats and masks, singing and laughing and explaining his way around school classrooms, introducing himself to all and sundry in whichever language seems appropriate, telling stories and drawing maps in the air with his fingers. In that crazy gap, there is me.