The Oude Leeskamer is neither a standalone residential home nor an office park. It is neither a gallery nor a restaurant. But it is somehow all of these things, and that includes the cozy writer’s room perched on the north-eastern side of the property.
The phrase which the Jannie Mouton Foundation (JMF) has chosen to encapsulate all of these, as Google Maps will attest, is cultural centre. I think that’s true. A place that enshrines a way of doing things: slowly, mindfully, with deliberate engagement of the senses – sight and taste.
I think it generally true that it’s the people who make a place what it is. To give you a feel for it, then, let me tell you about my hosts.
As the first ever JMF resident writer, I interacted mostly with Delani Spies.
Delani, vivacious and hazel-eyed, moves about with both purpose and elegance. She was not only my primary point of contact but also doubled up as an informative campus guide when we did an impromptu walking tour of Stellenbosch University. We were navigating through the Drama building when she said, “My superpower is that I make things happen.”
Yes, it is. Before I knew it, I had booked a coffee date with the head of the Centre for Applied Ethics (which I’d indicated was of interest to me since I’ve been researching ubuntu and development), met the costume designer at the Drama department (who happens to be a friend of Delani’s), and gotten a short primer on the history of the Journalism department. And that was just in one of the three hours, on one of the numerous days.
Clara Babette, who curates the JMF gallery, struck me as being in equal parts extroverted and pensive. We switched between academic talk and easy informal banter with ease. On the day she took me mountain biking, we strolled down Church Street and covered, in the 10 minutes between the Leeskamer and the bike hire shop, what it means to be an academic (she lectures courses on photography and curatorial practices at Stellenbosch University), living in Joburg versus Stellies (the latter won by unanimous decision), and the importance of having partners that balance our laissez-faire temperaments (we both think adulthood is overrated).
During the biking itself, I was giddy with excitement. I can hardly do justice to the sensation that shot through my body as we hurtled downward through what was a dizzying array of steep curves and “chicken runs”. We probably only did 12 km/h at our fastest, but it felt to me like being strapped to a jet fuel rocket with two wheels and a handlebar.
There is no time to think. You negotiate a corner, then another comes at you, and after that, you must decide whether you’ll ride the hump which will launch you off the ground for about one second – which actually feels like five – and then, when you’ve absorbed the impact after landing, another corner beckons.
I had what seem like endless adventures during this period. One morning I was chauffeured off to Franschhoek for an unplanned breakfast. We stopped at the Huguenot Monument, where I took pictures on my phone while Delani consulted dr Google about the meaning of the symbolism.
“The three high arches symbolise the Holy Trinity: the Father, Son and Holy Spirit,” she read.
Snap, snap, snap, I pressed.
We drove up to the Haute Cabriere restaurant, a dim-lit eatery set in cave-like formations, and which offers breath-taking views on a glass-themed terrace. If you notice I used one too many hyphens in that previous sentence, it’s because of how dense the beauty of the whole place is; one struggles to compress it into concise descriptions.
Delani, who evidently was also a photographer in one of her many lives, directed me to pose for a picture with the mountains in the background (or did I ask for it?). I later posted it on my WhatsApp status, and my younger sister promptly expressed her jealousy.
***
Back at the writer’s room, Carin Bailey, always stylish, always warm, with a natural poise, was easy to talk to. Together with Clara, they provided my unofficial morning podcast as they caught up in the kitchenette adjacent to the writer’s room, usually while making their pre-work morning boosters of coffee. They had asked me to say something, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
The hourly toll of the NG Moedergemeente church bell gave a rhythm to my days. The question I’ve gotten most often from friends and family is whether I did any actual writing; this was, after all, a writing residency.
I did, eventually. The first week or so was spent haggling over the urge to produce, but I was often reminded that recuperation and experiencing the place I was in was also a part of the process. On day ten of my stay, just after the bell signalled the third hour of the afternoon, I sat down, switched my phone to flight mode, and just started writing. The idea was to let the words tell me what was inside of me, instead of trying to write to a pre-existing idea or structure. The session was 90 minutes long. I did that for four consecutive days, and believe I’ve hit on the seed of my next project. Let us see.
***
This kind of irresolution, this open-endedness, inconclusiveness, is something I’ve had to reckon with in recent years. While it is jarring and unsettling sometimes, I recognise that the same openness is what led me, for example, to apply for the residency when it seemed like a long shot. The same capacity to allow this sentence to form without having a sure end to it is what allows me to create. It is a continuous call to the uncertain, but the uncertain, thankfully, does not always have to be unknown. There are truths I arrive at, things I learn, by jumping off the ledge time and again. This is all it takes to be an artist: patience with the “what now?”.
Isn’t that what it takes to be human?
***
Perhaps unknowingly, the Jannie Mouton and Jakes Gerwel foundations provided me a shelter to experience these things I’m trying to communicate through words. To hold the uncertainty I’m talking about, you need a sort of safe space to do it, because risk inherently feels scary. So, I am thankful to both organisations, which is to say I am thankful to a particular group of people for directing time and resources toward making this residency possible. Theo Kemp and Angela Briggs continue to be sources of encouragement. There is a whole machinery to both organisations, but Carin, Clara and Delani were the ones I got to know, so I’m especially grateful to them. For the Oude Leeskamer, whatever else it may be, was a soft landing place for a writer who, with all his doubts and fatigue, could begin to savour the very material any writer needs: an experience.
Zama Moyo lives in Johannesburg. He completed his honours in international relations at Wits University. While busy with his honours, Zama was selected as an intern at the South African Institute of International Affairs (SAIIA). He completed his MA in ideology and discourse analysis at the University of Essex in the United Kingdom. Zama has always loved words and penned a number of reflective essays on his personal blog Thought Box. He has also written on a broad range of issues related to current affairs. In 2013 he was selected as a finalist in the Global Human Rights Essay Contest which focused on ‘Human Rights Cities’. He is currently working on his doctoral thesis – On the intersection of ethics and public policy – at the University of Pretoria.
