"You're a vegetarian? But...why?!"

It's a question I get asked at every sit-down dinner or gathering where food is consumed. And at first, I must admit that it gave me a little glow of pride at being singled out, having people interested in an important part of my life. Now...well, it's actually just annoying. No matter what answer I give, or how I try to explain the health benefits it has afforded me I am greeted with a scoff, sarcastic remark or ignorant judgment. Honestly, some of the reactions I've had have been just plain rude and insulting. I'm not a new-age hippy, I ate meat for many years before I made my well-informed choice and I really don't feel like I have to justify it. Don't get me wrong, when a person asks me out of sincere interest I am more than willing to answer and have a bit of a debate. I get it, like I said, this is a fairly recent change in my life, I considered bacon a food group all on its own. I considered chicken to be a vegetable. And then, like all human beings should do, I evolved personally (I'm not in any way shape or form saying that if you aren't a vegetarian you aren't evolved). I had wanted to stop eating meat for years, but like most carnivores, I feared that I would live a life of constant deprivation, frothing at the mouth everytime I smelled a boerie roll. And I would be remiss if I didn't say that occasionally I get the odd craving for bacon (usually when I'm hit face first with the aftermath of a heavy Friday night). But overall, it has been surprisingly easy.

I eat well. I don't get bored, except when faced with the minimal choices of a restaurant menu (can't tell you how bored I am of tomato-based pastas) but even then you just have to put it down to a lazy, uninventive cook. In fact, I know that the repertoire of culinary delights I am able to prepare has increased exponentially. I used to get home from work, throw some chicken in the oven, steam a bag of veggies and make a bowl of student-favourite Smash. No more! I am the queen of vegetable pie, I can make a veg bolognese to write home about and my Paad Thai rocks... if I do say so myself. I look and feel healthier than ever and keeping my waistline in check is much easier (provided I watch my pizza intake). I have a few friends who tell me that they tried to 'go veg' but became really ill and chalked it down to their change in diet. And I won't argue, simply because they know their own bodies. I am, however, trying to gather information as to why this occurs as I had no problems at all. Quite the opposite.

So, without further adieu, my personal reasons:
I love animals, always have and I hate the thought of anything/one experiencing an excruciatingly painful death for my benefit. I also hate being a hypocrite and I feel that I have no authority what so ever to decide who is worthy of living, or not 'cute' enough to die of natural causes. The means by which these animals die is not humane. It can't be, if it were possible that a humane method existed, it would slow down production to a near standstill. I have included a video (if you're brave enough) showcasing some of these methods. If I had any doubts about my choice, they were swiftly cut down after I watched it. The more I consciously focused on what exactly it was I was eating, the more I become repulsed at the reality that I had some dead thing's flesh in my mouth. I also believe that us humans have done more than enough damage to our environment, immediate and at large, without destroying more forests to  plant crops, to feed cows, who create atmosphere destroying methane. Ok, so maybe a little new-age hippy, but I do wash and own a BlackBerry, surely this absolves me? Anyway, I've decided that the next time I'm at a braai and some indignant person demands to know why I'm a vegetarian, I will look them in the eye and demand to know why they aren't. 

I am living proof that not only do you not need to eat meat, but that your health can, will, actually improve.  I could really go on, forever, but in the interest of keeping this short (I'm aware that I've failed that undertaking already) I'll stop there. Before I wrap this up though, here are just a few facts, from various sources whose research was corroborative:

• Growing grains and pulses to feed to animals is much less efficient than eating them ourselves. The livestock industry uses huge amounts of land, water and fossil fuels, while producing 18% of the world’s greenhouse gas emissions and all sorts of other pollution.
• A vegetarian diet is cheaper. 
• The number of people worldwide who will die as a result of malnutrition this year: 20 million
  The number of people who could be adequately fed using land freed if Americans reduced their intake of meat by 10%: 100 million. 
• Over 1.3 billion human beings could be fed each year from the grain and soybeans that go to livestock in the United States
• It takes 7.5 pounds of protein feed to create 1 pound of consumable hog protein; and it takes 5 pounds of protein feed to create 1 pound of consumable chicken protein. Close to 90% of protein from wheat and beans is lost to feed cycling.This means that an enormous amount of resources are dedicated to producing wheat and soy just for the purpose of feeding it to animals, which will be slaughtered as "a source of protein"--even though they only provide about 1/5 of the amount they consume.
• People on low-meat or vegetarian diets have significantly lower body weights and body mass indexes. A recent study from Imperial College London also found that reducing overall meat consumption can prevent long-term weight gain.
• In 2007 the World Cancer Research Fund report recommended limiting the consumption of red meats such as beef, pork and lamb because of a ‘convincing’ link with colorectal cancer. Links have also been found between high meat diets and obesity and heart disease.

If you're a meat eater with a conscience who's not quite ready to undertake a meatless existence, here's an excellent compromise that might do much to shut the mouth of the holier-than-thou vegetarian at your next braai...

www.supportmfm.co.za

Did I stutter?

Me: Smiles, makes eye contact. "Hi, how are you?" 

Cashier: Nothing. Not a word, just a disinterested, grumpy scowl.

Me: Blood rising.

Cashier: Sighs.  No eye contact. "Cheque or savings?" 

Me: Packing away my shopping. "Savings please."

Cashier: Hands me slip and slams pen on counter. 

Me: Signs slip, hands back to cashier. "Thank you."

Cashier: No reply.

Me: Blood boiling. Pick up my groceries, still smiling, look at cashier. "Have a nice f**king day."

This used to happen to me every other day. And yes, that is really what I used to say, those words actually came out of my mouth, loud enough for everyone around me to hear. The only thing I never said that I really wanted to - there never seemed to be enough time - was "I'm sorry, did I stutter?!" I wasn't always this vocal, I just got to a point where I thought, "why the hell not?". Rudeness is my pet hate. I just don't understand its purpose or what it aims to achieve. 

Now I don't know if this has anything to do with it (although I have a sneaking suspicion that it does), but these occurrences used to happen to me in my former province of residence, Johannesburg. Or, Jozi as it is lovingly referred to by its ever-so-tolerent inhabitants. I relocated to the beautiful little town of Hout Bay in the Western Cape almost a year ago. Nestled on the edge of the world (not really, we have a Woolworths and everything), Hout Bay is a haven of kindness, a true reprieve from rudeness. 

In fact, I will share a little story with you. I went to the bank yesterday. Hang on, that wasn't the whole story! I wasn't looking forward to it (one rarely does) and I walked in with tension already nesting in the sinews of my shoulders. I expected, like so many of my fellow 'Vaalies', to receive less than stellar service and a crappy attitude. But blow my flip-flops off if I didn't walk out of there in a better mood than when I'd walked in. Not only were the ladies polite ('please' and 'thank you' were candy, handed out freely) but they  were sweet and helpful, hell, they even cracked a few jokes.

Now I can appreciate that being a cashier (or a bank teller, for that matter) cannot be the most fun or well paying job in the world, but does it really, truly make you feel better to be rude to me? Do you really think you're ever going to earn more than minimum wage with an attitude like that? I think not, personally.

Maybe I'm being unfair, after all, I do live in a coastal town where time tends to standstill if it's a blessedly windless summer day and work productivity is determined on whether there is a surf-able wave. But that's not going to make me feel guilty for appreciating the lovely, friendly cashiers at my local Spar or my favorite two ladies at the bank ( I really love them) and the fact that their good manners put me in a mood that doesn't warrant swearing or tantrums when I get into the safety of my own car.

So well done, ladies, you really live up to 'service with a smile' and I for one, appreciate it from the bottom of my deprived heart.

Beloved

1994. My living room was filled with people, eyes glued to the screen, watching 'The Inauguration'. I was ten years old, sitting on the floor with a piece of white A2 cardboard in front of me. On it I was attempting to draw children of different races and nationalities, holding hands in a circle. This wasn't homework or a school project. It was the product of being swept away in the romance of a movement far beyond my comprehension.

In the months preceding this day I had been listening intently to the adults, through my child's ears, as they predicted, pontificated and even prayed. At school we were learning the new anthem, it was fun, it made us feel included in whatever was going on in the big, crazy world. Things were changing, there was electric excitement in the air and I couldn't understand why all these adults looked so serious. So scared.

I remember looking up at the t.v and seeing a smiling Nelson Mandela dressed in one of what was to become his signature technicolour shirts, waving proudly to the masses. I loved his gentle looking face. He made me want to smile too. He was our new president, our new black president and I thought he was brilliant. He was dancing! How could anyone be afraid of a man like that, dancing and smiling and waving to masses of happy people?

A year in and the subsequently unfounded fear had seemed to have (mostly) dissipated. White South Africans relaxed a little and the stocked-up cans of food collected dust in the garage.

As I grew up and I began to learn more about the history of my beautiful country I came to respect and adore this remarkable man. He fascinated me and his teachings of acceptance, unity and peace are codes that we can only try to emulate. The years of his presidency were filled with hope and peace and real progress.

This morning I read that Our Madiba, beloved of not only a nation, but millions all over the world is in hospital. For now there is only speculation, but I don't want to miss the chance to say that it astounds me that one person could do so many courageous, beautiful, meaningful things for the rest of humanity, in one lifetime.

When I have children of my own, I will tell them his story with reverence and humility. And when I think back on that day in 1994 I will feel lucky that I was alive in an era of hope and pride.

Apprehension...

I have no idea why, but I have been putting off (really) starting this blog for a ridiculously long time. Embarrassingly long, in fact, for someone who calls herself a writer. Yes... a writer. I've come full circle, and this is why.

I walked out of my college a freshly graduated copywriter, with my idealistic heart pinned loosely to my sleeve. I was going to do good things, I was going to do important things... I was going to be a creative director before my 30th birthday. Man, life really does have other plans doesn't it? Plans that just don't align with yours at all. No, you're right, I made my own bed, I won't blame poor life for my choices. I got a job before I had graduated. I couldn't wait to start creating award winning work! Not that I cared about awards (insert scoff here). A year and a half (and a few bad choices) later and I was on a plane to foggy ol' London Town - home of many a disillusioned 'Saffa'. I had a bad taste in my mouth and I couldn't wait to get as far away as possible from home to spit it out. I was going to tend bar, watch bands and float about, vagabond style. And wow, did I watch some amazing bands. Not on a bartender's salary though. No, I sold my soul to a corporation and went to work (9 - 5 nogal) as a copywriter. Damn, I had been so adamant about getting away from all of that. Bottom line: it was what I was experienced and qualified in and that certainly helps in the UK. Enter, once again, that bitter taste...

To my surprise, I loved it. I am highly creative (if I do say so myself) and I get bored so very quickly, but I loved my corporate job. I met some truly fantastic, diverse people working in the Woolworths PLC marketing department, I did, I just decided (quite suddenly, as I am prone to do) that I wanted to backpack around Thailand before I went home to the warmth of South Africa. So, I gave in my notice and off I went a month later with a full paycheck, Pounds Sterling - can you say shopping spree? Pity about all the bureaucratic HR red tape, though, other wise I might actually have some proof of the 10 months that I worked there. Oh, did I mention that 8 months before I had managed to destroy my hard drive, the only place I had stored my whole portfolio? That combined with my awful previous experience of the advertising world equalled my overwhelming feeling of  "over it".

I came back and decided to work with kids, teach pre-primary, do something noble. I was determined to find some meaning, some purpose to my life and naively I thought that turning away from my passion, the thing I have truly loved doing since I was physically able, would do that. It didn't. I have been banging my head against the proverbial wall and all it's done is give my a bladdy headache.

I thought (copy)writing was pretentious. I thought I was better. My confession? Really, I was afraid. Afraid of starting again, of admitting to my bad choices. Sure, I love kids! I plan to have some, someday. But I want to do what I am good at, in my own capacity. I refuse to feel any more self-imposed shame for it. So I am painstakingly building up a portfolio again and making every effort to make better choices.

I am a writer. And this is my comeback.

Also... I promise that my subsequent blogs won't (all) be this serious.