Monday, 19 May 2014

Motorcycle trip to Namibia: Day 2 - Into Namibia

Clearing the formalities at the border post offered us more than merely access into Namibia - it actually set us free.


We – Adriaan, Willem and I – came to explore a part of this vast country. And as our motorcycles headed West on the gravel road closely following the lazy flow of the Orange River, we realised in awe that we will be getting more from this wonderful country than what we could ever ask for. 

"Barren moon landscape" was an understatement of what we saw and experienced for the next 160 km. With the river and water permanently to the left of the road, one would expect lush vegetation to the right. But the absence of vegetation was simply amplified by the rigid and barren low mountains with exposed black rocky surfaces and loose boulders which continued for kilometre after kilometre. A pale half-moon above, clearly visible in the midday sunlight, added to the eeriness that surrounded us.





Depending on the angle of the sun, the black shiny surfaces at times reflected a golden shine when viewed through my Polaroid sunglasses. "Would the gold be a promise of what was waiting for us for the next eight days?" I wondered as I negotiated the wavy, twisty road.

At a control point close to Rosh Pinah, we were waved down by a police member and two soldiers who were managing the post. After completing formalities, I politely asked if I could take a photograph of them. The abrupt "no!" confirmed that my policy of first asking permission before taking pictures of people was still appropriate. And I realised that it was even more correct to do so if those that you want to have in the picture, were wearing camouflage uniforms and semi-automatic rifles. 

North of Rosh Pinah the landscape offered wider, open spaces with low mountain ranges still prominent. But now, for the first time, dunes on the outskirts of the Namib Desert – the oldest desert in the world – started to appear in the distance to the West. And gradually it dawned on me why I had to undertake this journey. As I was entering a new phase in my personal life, I had to be here to rediscover myself against the backdrop of something else that was new to me. What I needed was not another new city where the neon lights flash "fool’s gold, fool’s gold" in rhythmic cycles, but a new environment of open plains and magnificent dunes anchored in history as old as the world itself, Namibia and the Namib desert.

We were traveling on a tar road now. And as the rhythm of three BMW boxer engined adventure motorcycles carried us further and further into the beckoning hinterland, I was humbly looking forward to the life refreshing experience that awaited me in this country called Namibia. 



Sunset at the end of a perfect day of riding


Sunday, 18 May 2014

Motorcycle trip to Namibia: Day 1 - Heading North

Stellenbosch, Klapmuts, Paarl, Malmesbury. Towns with soft on the ear sounding names located in a moderate Mediterranean wine-producing climate, were gradually replaced by towns in a harsher climate with less tranquil names as three motorcyclists on BMW R1200GS adventure motorcycles gradually made their way North on the South Africa/Namibia national road. 

Not only did the riders observe the change in climate as they moved further away from where they started, but also the effect that the change in season had on nature as they went along. The brown, dying leaves of the vines appropriately dressed for fall, were replaced by lush green orchards of orange trees in the Olifants River valley 200 km North of Cape Town. Here they witnessed the approaching winter life of growth and abundance as they already could see glimpses of orange coloured fruit, as if in a shy manner and trying to hide their metamorphosis, amongst the trees mostly still carrying their loads of unripe, green oranges.

Further North towns named Nuwerus, Bitterfontein and Garies started to reflect the harsh and arid landscape that the riders were now traversing. Even though the foreign traveller may not even understand these indigenous names, the mere sound of them would be enough to make them realise that these desperate names had something to do with hardship. Having to beg for water in these dry surroundings at a fountain with probably no or very little water was probably good enough reason to name a remote spot in this part of the world Smeekfontein.

But then, in spite of the barren landscape that they were navigating, they started to appreciate the beauty of it. Shortly after leaving Bitterfontein, the landscape changed from flat and barren to files of low mountains for as far as the eye could see.

"Did mother nature indeed create this special world of sheer and barren beauty with the distant mountains looking out of focus? Was it my eyes, or did she really manage to layer them on top of each other in shades of blue and grey as they disappeared into the never-ending distance?“ it flashed through the mind of one of the riders as he observed the panorama that kept on changing as they were speeding along.

And all the time they were heading North, their destination Namibia. They were on the first leg of their journey to experience an eight day motorcycle travel adventure in a country known for its raw splendour - ancient desserts, barren coastlines and wide open planes – a venture that most people can only dream of.

But it would probably turn out to be more than only an adventure. Already they could sense an element of a pilgrimage growing in their guts and the hope of finding more than merely a tourist experience. Without saying it, already there was the anticipation of again finding their true selves far away from the rushed everyday world that they were now leaving behind.

And as the three riders traveled in unison at high speed in close formation, the late afternoon sun on their left casting their longer and longer growing shadows to their right, they had only one direction to follow – North, North, keep going North to where Namibia beckons... 

The three riders - Willem, Johan and Adriaan...

...and their motorcycles

Monday, 28 April 2014

The universal fear

From different directions they came. All were heading for the same destination, all yearning for something new and the hope of finding the delightful, foremost in their minds.

“I have to go through with this” she whispered to herself, unwittingly gripping the delicate items in her hand closer to her body, the white on her knuckles even whiter than her already pale skin. “I need this and I owe it to myself,” she repeated time and again as she was drawn closer and closer like a moth to a flame.

Briefly scanning the environment, she could sense the same measure of anxiety from those who were now closer and around her. “I cannot turn back now.” Her thoughts trembled as she deliberately pushed forward.

Procedures at the control point were rather swift and uncomplicated, no questions asked, no comments made. She was simply allowed access with no option to opt out from what she feared most – the change rooms!

“Why must it always be like this?” she thought as she braced herself in the queue, waiting for a cubicle to become vacant. “Always the darkest corner of the store, always the loudest music, always the lack of air-conditioning...”

She dreaded the next step which would be to enter a cubicle. “The curtains! Why slapdash curtains and no proper doors? And those merciless lights! So bright, so exacting, so unforgiving!” Like a champion chess player, she could already visualise a series of moves as her mind raced through the ordeal that was awaiting her.

And then it was her turn. She entered the booth where the already stale air was now accentuated by the odour of the body that had been there before her. She closed the curtain behind her, desperately trying to cover all the openings to prevent the peepers from looking in. She knew that her efforts would be futile, though. Somebody would anyway rip the curtain open while she was trying on the new garments.

She did not expect anything different. Still the lack of space, only one small hook on the wall for the selection of items in her hands and the absence of a bench to sit on, came as a shock. “I need space for my bag, hooks for hanging things, a place to sit on. I need space for myself!” Her thoughts echoed through her already overloaded mind while her body shivered from the effect of claustrophobia which the constricted environment enforced upon her.

And then, realising that she could not postpone it any longer, she reluctantly turned around to face her worst nightmare – the mirrors. Without even looking she knew that it would make her look fat from more than one angle. “Why can’t they fit optically correct mirrors!” it cringed within her. “Why torment me with a deformed, disfigured and warped image of myself! Why do I walk in here, trying to feel like a million dollars, only to walk out on a vengeful mission to starve myself for the rest of my life? Why? Why?”

Later, in the cafeteria over a strong cup of coffee, she unwittingly pictured the supreme change room in her now tired mind. Spacious enough to change her clothing and not change her mind. Good, accurate and if it exists, skinny mirrors. Decent, subdued lighting and solid doors that lock. Soft music and fresh air. A floating table for her handbag and at least four solid hooks (not behind the door!) where she can hang the garments while changing. The option to ask someone’s opinion or ask for another size. And, as a bonus, heated floors with gorgeous soft carpeting, silk drapes and a beautiful velvet upholstered French styled chaise lounge.

But as she snapped out of her never to be fulfilled contemplation, she looked up and across the clothing department’s floor to where the change rooms are. She saw fresh ones coming from different directions, all heading for the same destination, all yearning for something new and the hope of finding the delightful, foremost in their minds. She noticed the stark faces and tense bodies, unwittingly gripping the items in their hands closer to their physiques.


And as she stood up, she reluctantly picked up the bag with the new garment that she had bought shortly before, knowing that had she been in her dream change room, she would not have made such a wrong and in the end, disappointing choice. And she briefly hesitated at the returns counter before she walked out.  

Saturday, 22 March 2014

The Queue

The thick layer of yesteryear’s glossy green oil-based paint appeared like a despondent attempt to make the gloomy hall that I walked into, look better. As with too much make-up on an aged skin, the paint on the walls did not work. It merely accentuated the age and worn-down appearance of the building and echoed the aura of despair that I saw outside in the neighbourhood.

The presence of seemingly disinterested security guards that were hanging around made me realize that the glaring notice outside in the parking lot – ‘High crime spot. Lock your vehicle!’ – should perhaps be taken seriously. The uneasiness inside me became stronger. I did not want to be here, but I had no choice.

Already I could sense the stale air of too many bodies in the unventilated room where I was waiting in a long queue to find out where I must go to. This, together with the hall’s ineffective lighting, amplified the apprehension inside me – this is going to be an unpleasant experience. At the same time I tried to convince myself that the itching that I felt on my lower legs was only my imagination.

Somewhere a baby cried.

The many queues consisted of people sitting on rows of chairs. When it was the person in the front’s turn to go to the counter, the rest would each move one chair forward. Very few really stood up while doing so. Most moved in a hide-behind-the-bush manner, only slightly lifting the lower part of their bodies without raising the rest. With their eyes staring at some imaginary object in the distance, their feet would shuffle sideways until they placed themselves down onto the next chair.

Not a word was said. The blond model shared space in the row with the overweight mother who was discreetly trying to breastfeed her crying baby. Further down an elderly man was completing a crossword puzzle. Every now and then his pencil would drop to the floor. Was he falling asleep? The teenager was chewing gum.

The wear-and-tear on the vinyl floor tiles beneath their feet and the dirty black areas on the wall where too many bodies have leaned against in the past, were proof of a multitude of people that had been here before, all of them hoping to be helped as quickly as possible, only to find that nobody gets precedence here – the shuffling rows determine the pecking order.

The robot-like staff behind the counters processed one client after the other as the rows spewed them out. No emotion, only automated response….and a hint of impatience now and then.

Walking out of the room was like being set free. The fresh air towards the exit raised my spirit. The blue sky that I started to see brought new life into me. And the makeshift handwritten notice on my way out gave me hope: “Department of Home Affairs soon moving to a new venue.”     

Friday, 14 March 2014

Oom Vên se Liggies

Bultfontein is waarskynlik die laaste Vrystaatse dorp wat elektrisiteit in die sestigerjare gekry het.

Dit was altyd met groot opgewondenheid wanneer ek saam met Pa en Ma by die familie in Brandfort gaan kuier het. Brandfort het elektrisiteit gehad en die nefies elektriese Scalectrix renmotortjies waarmee ons die ure omgespeel het.

Daar was weemoed in my hart wanneer ons die renmotortjies aan die einde van die kuier weggepak het. Ek het geweet dat ek nooit die voorreg sal hê om ‘n Scalectrix-stel te besit nie, want Bultfontein het nie elektrisiteit gehad nie.

Eintlik het dit nie gegaan oor Bultfontein wat nie elektrisiteit gehad het nie. In werklikheid was die probleem dat Bultfontein nie liggies gehad het nie. Ek onthou hoedat ek daaraan gewoond was om by die gelerige lig van ‘n paraffienlamp in my kamer huiswerk te doen. Ma het ook ‘n Alladin-lamp gehad. Hierdie wonderwerk van ‘n lamp wat ‘n suiwer wit lig gegee het, was hoofsaaklik in die eetkamer gebruik, en in die sitkamer wanneer ons kuiermense gehad het. Ander mense het selfs sulke lampe gehad wat opgepomp moes word om dan met ‘n agtergrondgesuis lig te verskaf. Maar, dit was nie liggies – elektriese liggies – nie.

En tog hét Bultfontein liggies gehad – Oom Vên se liggies.

Oom Vên van Niekerk was ‘n elektrisiën. Ek kon nooit verstaan wat ‘n elektrisiën op Bultfontein gemaak het nie, want daar was dan nie elektrisiteit nie. Sy besigheid se naambord “Van’s Electrical” het uitgestaan op ‘n dorp waar selfs die Joodse winkeliers hul besigheid “Horwitz en Levitt Algemene Handelaars” genoem het, waar dieselfde Joodse handelaars keer op keer die biddag vir reën in die NG Kerk bygewoon het en waar Engels slegs in Mnr Wright se Engelse klas by die skool gehoor en probeer praat is.

Oom Vên se werkswinkel het meer na ‘n motorwerktuigkundige s’n gelyk as díe van ‘n elektrisiën. Motoronderdele het gesaai gelê en in die een hoek was genoeg meganiese rommel om dit na die begin van ‘n skrootwerf te laat lyk.

Hoewel Oom Vên Afrikaanssprekend was, het dit nie altyd so geklink nie. ‘n Mens kon dikwels nie mooi hoor wat hy sê nie en meesal kon mens nie verstaan wat hy met sy skrillerige stem teen ‘n haastige tempo probeer verduidelik het nie.

Oom Vên was altyd haastig. Die heen-en-weer bewegings van hierdie man met sy skraal postuur in sy kenmerkende Omo-wit oorpak, het my altyd laat dink aan die rysmiere wat ek met belangstelling kon dophou. Soos hulle was Oom Vên ook altyd besig. Soos hulle het Oom Vên ook hard gewerk. Anders as hulle het Oom Vên minder struktuur en veral logika gehad in hoe hy dinge gedoen het.

‘n Outydse effens-te-groot gholf-keps wat so effens skeef na agter op sy kop gesit het, het hom laat lyk soos ‘n destydse Amerikaanse bofbalspeler. (Die Amerikaanse  gansters in die swart en wit rolprente wat ons op Saterdagaande in Bultfontein se stadsaal gesien het, het ook sulke pette gedra. Hulle het ook masjiengewere gedra. Oom Vên, gelukkig, nie.) Sy tenger lyf het egter beklemtoon dat hy beslis nie ‘n bofbalspeler (of ‘n ganster) was nie.

Die grootmense het grootoog gemaak wanneer hulle oor hom gepraat het en gesê dat dat hy te slim was vir ons gewone mense om te verstaan. Eksentriek was ‘n woord wat ons toe nog nie geken het nie.

Om redes wat niemand ooit geweet het nie, het Oom Vên besluit om elektriese straatligte in Bultfontein te installeer. Uiteraard kon hy nie die hele dorp se strate elektrifiseer nie. Hy het dus besluit om een straat van ligte te voorsien – Theunissenstraat, die straat waarin ons gewoon het.

Oom Vên moes seker soos Noag van ouds gevoel het toe hy die Ark gebou en mense allerhande vrae gevra het. “Vên, hoekom lê jy straatligte aan?” sou iemand wou weet. Geen antwoord nie. “Waar gaan die elektrisieit vandaan kom, Vên?” sou ‘n waarskynlike vraag gewees het. “Hoekom Theunissenstraat van alle strate? Hoekom nie eerder die hoofstraat nie? Dit is immers Bultfontein se enigste teerstraat.” Ek dink nie Oom Vên het self geweet nie.

En soos mense gewoond geraak het aan Noag wat dag na dag die Ark gebou het, so het ons gewoond geraak aan Oom Vên wat dag na dag in Theunissenstraat gate gegrawe, pale geplant en kabels gespan het.

So het dit dan gebeur dat Bultfontein een straat met elektriese straatligte gekry het. Saans, klokslag as die skemer daal en die aand steurend stil raak, het Oom Vên se Lister dieselenjin vanaf sy perseel agter die poskantoor begin poef-poef en het die kragopwekker wat daaraan gekoppel was, dit werklik reggekry om selfs die gloeilamp op die verste punt van die lang straat ten minste ‘n sinvolle gloed te gee.

Die ligte was nou nie juis van so ‘n aard dat ons die gordyne moes toetrek om die slaapkamer teen slapenstyd donker te maak nie. Ook kan ek nie dink dat die passasiers op SAL se sporadiese vlugte vanaf Kaapstad na Johannesburg hul kaptein oor die interkom sou hoor sê het: “…en aan die linkerkant sal u Bultfontein se ligte in die verte sien…” Feit bly egter staan, Bultfontein het straatligte gehad – Oom Vên se ligte.

En skielik het dorpe se straatligte ‘n belangrike samebindende tydverdryf, selfs ‘n nostalgie, in Pa, Ma en my lewe geword wanneer ons met die rooi Ford F100 bakkie êrens heen gereis het. Op ‘n Sondagaand het ons altyd totsiens gesê vir Kroonstad se liggies wanneer ons die lang bult buite die dorp uitgebeur het na ‘n naweek se kuier by Oom Isak en Tant Martie in Koppies.

Op ‘n Vrydagaand op pad na Oupa en Ouma in Bethlehem was dit groot opgewondenheid om te kyk wie eerste die liggies sien wanneer daardie laaste bult oorgesteek word en die dorp in ‘n panorama onder ‘n mens ontvou. 

Selfs Oom Kasper en Tannie Sannie le Roux se paar kragopwekkerliggies op hul netjiese plaaswerf het ‘n betekenis gekry wanneer ons in die aand by hulle gaan kuier het. Dit was aan die einde van ‘n lang, donker en beklemmende bloekomboomlaningrit – so asof dit wou sê: “Kom hier. Hier by ons is lig en vrede.”

Die stad Welkom se liggies, daarteenoor, was nie juis opwindend nie. Die wêreld was te plat om skielik liggies voor jou te sien. Die plek se ligskynsel het maar net helderder geword namate ‘n mens nader gery het.

En wanneer ons laat in die aand van Oom Boet en Tannie Sarie Venter se plaas, Stillerus, op die Wesselsbronpad teruggery het huis toe, dan het ek gewag om Oom Vên se ry liggies in Theunissenstraat vanuit die donkerte waarin ons gery het, te sien. Vir my was dit die kompas wat gewys het waarheen ons op pad was en waarheen ons moes gaan om ons bestemming te bereik – die verligte landingstrook na ‘n huis en tuiste waar daar rus was, stille rus.

Toe Bultfontein later jare Eskom-krag (soos die grootmense gese het) gekry het, was dit, snaaks genoeg, nie ‘n vreeslike gebeurtenis nie. Belangrik? Ja. Aardskuddend? Nee.

Miskien het dit gekom op ‘n tyd toe mense begin agterkom het dat die wêreld ‘n groter plek is as die Bultfontein-eiland waarop hulle hul al die jare bevind het. Miskien is dit gesien as deel van groei wat maar saamgeval het met ‘n nuwe gier om inkopies by Checkers in Welkom en Ackermans in Bloemfontein te doen en wat bygedra het tot die feit dat Horwitz en Levitt Algemene Handelaars op Bultfontein uiteindelik hul deure moes sluit. Miskien was dit die mikro-begin van ‘n nuwe samelewing wat begin glo het dat die wêreld hulle iets skuld en dat elektrisiteit maar net nog iets is wat hulle toekom. Miskien was dit wél ‘n groot gebeurtenis, maar dat dit oor die jare kleiner in gestalte geword het soos so baie ander dinge ook maar oor tyd in die verskiet vervaag het.

Ek het toe nooit ‘n Scalectrix-stel besit nie. Ek het ander belangstellings en veral nuwe werklikhede gehad teen die tyd toe Bultfontein elektrisiteit gekry het. Van hierdie werklikhede het te doen gehad met ‘n kind wat besig was om groot te word – ‘n kind wat gesoek het na nuwe kompasse om die rigting aan te dui waarheen hy as jong man moes gaan.

Die gemeenskap het Oom Vên nie altyd verstaan nie. Tog het hy ‘n onvermydelike rol in ons lewens gespeel deur op sy manier vir ons liggies te gee om ons donker straat te verlig en daardeur ‘n veilige heenkome sigbaar te maak.

En as ek terugkyk oor my lewe, dan verstaan ek dit ook nie, maar sien ek talle Oom Vêns wat in tye toe ek dit nodig gehad het, straatligte in my donker wêreld op die regte tyd aangeskakel het sodat ek kon sien waarheen om te gaan.

Butfontein is waarskynlik die laaste Vrystaatse dorp wat elektrisiteit in die sestigerjare gekry het. Dit was egter die enigste dorp wat Oom Vên-liggies gehad het waar Oom Vên toe, en ander mense in die jare daarna soos hy, die pad vir ‘n soekende kind in hierdie wêreld aangewys het op tye in sy lewe toe hy dit die meeste nodig gehad het…..en steeds nodig het.

Dankie, Oom Vên...

Saturday, 8 March 2014

Teddy Davies - Theatre director who changes lives

(Written in February 2012)

“Am I mad to suggest this?” The hesitant look in Teddy’s eyes and the manner in which he somewhat withdraws, reveal that he knows that he is now asking for the impossible. Yet, the fact that there is profound merit in his suggestion causes Tina to fleetingly consider it before she replies with a candid smile: “Yes, a little bit mad…..but go on, it helps!”

Cape Town based theatre director, Teddy Davies, is reviewing the set design for The Yeomen of the Guard, the Gilbert and Sullivan Society operetta which he will be bringing to the stage. With more than 30 years of experience as a theatre director mainly in amateur or community theatre and having directed productions such as Cabaret, Carmen, Annie Get your Gun, H.M.S. Pinafore and the musical Fiddler on the Roof, Teddy’s focus is now on the new challenge that lies ahead. Even though others would say that he could direct the new performance with eyes closed, this seasoned director still prefers to approach every performance with the same intensity and dedication as he has done when he first started as director.

With Teddy is set designer Tina Driedijk. Their focus is the first scale model of the set which she has designed. While slowly turning the dinner plate size platform on which a solitary cardboard castle wall stands proud, Tina explains how this feature transforms from the primary focus in the first act, to something different in following acts. Assorted textures and colours cleverly adorn the simple, yet dramatic design. Their discussion is a gentle ballet of input and response, of concepts and practicalities, of dreaming and realities. Not often does one see two creative minds in such intense unison. They are professionals who already live the thrill of a stage performance still to come when they discuss where each actor will be performing on the set. They spontaneously pool their creativity and take hands to ensure that the set design is of the same artistic standard as the operetta that Teddy will be directing.

‘Taking hands’ is perhaps the best way to describe Teddy Davies. Being highly respected in the world of theatre, one would expect of him to come across as important, even be prepared to forgive him if he is slightly arrogant. But no, this modest man who cares intensely about the people that he works with, is at his best when he can reach out and take hands to involve people to create something special.

Although Teddy is modest about his achievements in the world of theatre, he is extremely proud of the people from all walks of life that he has trained and built up and, in so doing, created splendid performances. "I cannot hit a nail into wood, but I have a visual talent and the skill to work with people. This enables me to get exactly what I want on stage. The satisfying part is to mould these amateur performers and bring their talents together to culminate into standing ovations,” says Teddy.

Teddy’s experience is that people become involved in amateur theatre for the love of it, as a hobby or they may have had strong ties with the theatre in the past. Theatre is a dicey occupation and often professional actors look to engage in other more ruminative occupations. Amateur theatre, therefore, offers the opportunity to still draw on the wonderful talent of the actor while he or she is employed elsewhere.

As in professional theatre, the director auditions and selects the best available talent. Amateur theatre, though, has its own challenges. It is easy to miss out on getting qualified people as the actors do not get paid. But then directors often discover talent at auditions to develop and perform to a professional standard.

There are two sides to Teddy when he directs a show. When he conceptualizes and plans the performance, he does it with precision. His detailed planning is evident in his comprehensive working manual. This enables him to still see the full picture during rehearsals, even if a player is absent for some reason.

On the other hand, Teddy also relies on his feelings while doing rehearsals and would make adjustments to his original plan based on his feeling of what is right.

Teddy acknowledges that it sometimes unnerves him if something on stage does not work as planned and immediate changes are required. “But then these are often the most creative moments during a performance,” he concedes.

There is an ongoing build-up in a play from basic beginnings and rehearsals, to opening night and the final curtain. “The players’ expectations vary so much,” says Teddy. “Players may start to feel inadequate and I then need to give them confidence. A lot of excitement happens when the cast starts to work with props and when costume fittings take place. Showing the model of the set on which they will be playing usually leads to lots of discussion. The opening night applause is always the cherry on the top.”

It is clear that Teddy is passionate about the people part of the work. When asked why, he replies: “Without them there is no show! Because it is their hobby, I want them to have fun while rehearsing and performing.  In this atmosphere of trust I often get to hear of personal problems. I am an excellent listener and always try to give support and sound advice.”

A big part of his success is his ability to listen. Being empathetic by nature, he is the one who would notice when a player is feeling down and offer encouragement where needed.

Teddy’s experience is that theatre itself is therapeutic for the players. He recalls how the father of one of the actors unexpectedly passed away during rehearsals. This forced her to leave the cast as she now had other, sad priorities to attend to. However, she soon came back, looking for the healing that the theatre offered her.

On a lighter note, Teddy recalls at least three female actors who had problems to conceive and who fell pregnant while doing a show. He relates this to the fact that the theatre environment is conducive to relaxing and taking the mind off the actor’s primary concerns. Needless to say, because of this, Teddy’s rehearsals are now also affectionately referred to as Teddy’s fertility classes!

When asked how he interacts with the bigger team such as stage managers, lighting and sound technicians, orchestra conductors, chorus masters, and others, Teddy’s answer is simple and to the point: “With the utmost respect. They are the top people in their field - I could not do their jobs.”

Bronwyne Scott, a seasoned amateur theatre stage manager who has often worked with Teddy in the past, says that Teddy is a strict director who demands perfection. He is a hands-on person who comes prepared and who believes in a disciplined approach.  “He knows exactly what he wants. He is extremely good at conceptualizing his ideas and he already knows every move before he comes to the rehearsal.”

“At the same time he is patient, soft, caring and loyal. He realizes the strength of people and understands the value of teamwork. His sense of humour is a big part in his success,” says Bronwyne.


Ferdi Oosthuizen who performed under Teddy’s directing before, values his old school approach to theatre. He refers to Teddy as a purist, yet able to successfully introduce modern technology into his work without deviating from the intention of the originator of a play. “He is innovative, yet conservative. His use of original techniques furthermore emphasizes the fact that theatre is a unique form of art in its own right,” says Ferdi.

Graham Boxall who has been working with Teddy for more than two decades now, echoes Ferdi’s viewpoint. He is, furthermore, of the opinion that Teddy’s approach is conducive to making theatre more relevant, thereby attracting younger people to become part of it.

Both of them agree that Teddy’s careful selection of the cast and his balance between being directive and non-directive, successfully allows him to give actors a particular freedom to interpret their roles.

Lead soprano Liesl Hartje in her role as Elsie Mynardt in the forthcoming The Yeomen of the Guard operetta, is extremely excited to be working for the first time under Teddy as director. Based on her experience of Teddy during auditions alone, she already refers to him as an honourable and incredibly devoted person. “There is humour, joy and a beautiful energy in everything that he does,” says Liesl. “I cannot wait for rehearsals to start! I can’t believe it’s real!”

Does Teddy ever get upset? “Yes, I do. It usually happens when I’ve tried everything else and it did not work. There is usually shock when I unexpectedly start to fume, but from then on things run smoothly, even better than expected.”

Teddy recalls an incident one evening when he hurled a chair into the air out of pure desperation when the players did not do as they were told. The next evening someone had lined up a row of chairs on the stage. When he asked what the chairs were about, the reply came from the cast: “It is your ammunition for the evening, Sir!” 

And then there are the ‘Teddyisms’ – the numerous Teddy Davies trade mark peculiarities that have become part of his directing over the years. “Show some zooch, people!” would often be heard when Teddy urges his players to put more zest into their performance. And ‘Doctor Stage’, according to Teddy, is the phenomenon that takes possession of the cast when needed most to ensure that they rise to the occasion.

When asked if he had won any awards in the past for his work, Teddy becomes silent, looks around to make sure that nobody else can hear him, bends forward and with big eyes whispers: “Lots!”


Several professional artists have started their careers under Teddy’s guidance. Comedian Mark Lottering, for example, started in amateur theatre with Teddy in a singing role. So did Angela Killian who performed in the role of Madame Giry in Phantom of the Opera at Artscape in Cape Town. Another successful artist who was first introduced to amateur theatre through Teddy is Craig Downs who went on to become the leading tenor of the Welsh National Opera.

Does Teddy perhaps consider scaling down?

It doesn’t seem so! For this energetic director The Yeomen of the Guard is only yet another new beginning! Following its performance in Cape Town, Teddy will be pushing the limits even further by taking the cast to perform at the annual International Gilbert and Sullivan Festival in Buxton, England. During this highly-acclaimed three week festival of Gilbert and Sullivan performances, they will be competing on an international level against eleven amateur Gilbert and Sullivan Societies from around the world. And it is not without challenges. They have less than a day to unpack, prepare the stage and to rehearse before the evening’s performance. Furthermore, in line with tradition, they will also stage a cabaret directly after the show as a bonus performance for special guests. “Madness! Wonderful!” exclaims Teddy, while rubbing his hands together in sheer excitement!

But in the end when the thrill of the show is over and the cast and audience have gone home, what remains is a man with a passion for what he is doing. The combination of the theatre, the cast, the set, the performance and the standing ovations is only the end result. The engine that drives all of this is Teddy Davies, fuelled by his vision, enthusiasm and love for people to make a difference in the lives of those that he touches with his talents, modesty and gentleness.

“Am I mad to suggest this?” Teddy asked.

“Yes, a lot. But go on – being mad is when Teddy Davies performs at his best!” Tina could have replied, knowing that those who know Teddy, will fully agree.

Saturday, 1 March 2014