Building starts: 17 August!
(just a note/disclaimer/apology of sorts: You have probably received some notice from Google alerting you to this blog-and yes, all my fault because I picked you to be on the list, thinking/hoping you would be interested! If you replied to that 'alert/email', just remember; I didn't get it...please post a comment on this blog, or write to me at francoisdbee@gmail.com , if you want to comment privately! You could, of course, also beg me to take you off the list, but then I'll probably sulk and/or never buy you a present. Again.)
No one has
the teeth for another long-winded intro, so I will allow the story to
get straight to the point, where Noel and I walk in circled around a
heavily-laden old Landrover, wondering if we'll make it to Delft. Noel
is the coolest staff member I know at UCT (and not just because his hair
is slightly longer than mine). We have been friends for 10 years or
more...and I more or less just expected him to be enthusiastic about the
project. Smitten he was , immediately. I am a bit disoriented,
muttering incessantly and going over the list of materials I think
should have been packed. It's a habit of short-attention span folk like
me, and it doesn't really help either. Noel chuckles at most of my
jokes, as he has been doing faithfully for the last couple of years (I
think he sees it as some form of community service..)
We leave. The whole car smells of fresh ciabatta. I
have baked 6 loaves to impress the team at Delft. My own sons, however,
ate 2 before I left the house. There is also a garbage bin filled with
builders sand, trowels, levels, spades, a four pound hammer, a cold
chisel, a short wooden beam (for compacting the sand), 4 (big) bags of
clay, and 25 clay-bricks for the oven floor (did I really think we'll
get there today?). On my to-do list is to write to Gary, of Jenkor
bricks near Kommetjie, who kindly donated the bricks. And David and
Christie, from Corobric, Durbanville, who gave me 8 bags of clay for
free...
There are numerous half-empty plastic buckets and
containers, a spirit level, and of course, a portable battery-powered
amp for music while building (the 16 gigs of jazz and R & B on my
phone should more than suffice, I thought).
We chat. I force Noel to read out aloud from Kiko
Denzer's manual on how to build the clay-oven while I drive. Noel thinks
it funny but complies enthusiastically. We figure out the radius issue
and before we hit Hindle road we are professional mud oven builders.
Enter Delft south: it is busy and bustling with people and activities.
We park at Derek's place, and we are immediately met by a bunch of young
men. Derek is obviously happy to see me, and we all exchange
handshakes. I am glad Noel is with me, he seems to have a natural
connection with the brothers. I suddenly wish I had a tattoo or
something on my forehead (instead of this vast fleshy landscape which
can barely be covered by the average cap) to make me look more hip. The
team consists of 9 men, and apart from Derek, they are all quite young. I
think Bradly could be the oldest, at 25 years. The carry all the stuff
from the Landrover, and stand in a big circle while I make my first
pre-building speech. I tell them about the project, the oven we are
about to build, my passion for bread. I don't really know if I'm
connecting, but I have brought too many things to stop now, so I carry
on. I say things like if you think baking is for women only then perhaps
you must not be here. No one leaves, but I think it has more to do with
fresh ciabattas, jam and cheese that are on display on one of the
crates.
I get tired three-quarters through my prepared
speech, and Noel looks bored too. We decide to eat bread first, then
start working. The ciabattas disappear quickly, and everyone seems to
agree that artisan bread is the way to go. I explain as best as I can
the lay-out, foundation and first phase of the construction that awaits
us. We find a piece of rope, an old nail, and make a four-and-a-half
feet circle as per Kiko's instruction on page 15 (reinforced by Noel's
hysterical en route recital). The first clay mix turns out to be a
complete guessing game: Kiko's careful guidelines somehow disappear
between Bradley, Elveo and Nathan's enthusiastic spade-mixing efforts. I
drop a piece of freshly mixed clay from chest-height in a test, just as
the book says. It explodes in a 1000 pieces and at least now we know:
way less sand. We end up with a mix of 2 buckets clay, and 3 sand. Not
ideal, I'm thinking, with crossed fingers, hoping that the 3 bagsI
brought along will last. Also, by now the amp has been placed
strategically and my first music mix is received with more of less the
same reaction as the experimental ball of clay hitting the floor (dry
smiles and avoidance of eye contact). I leave with the car and 2 men, to
fetch rubble (Kiko calls it urbanite). On my return the amp is playing
at full volume, but my music has been (not even discreetly) replaced
with another phone.Complete mayhem: thunderous thumping wild sounds of
drummers and singers in distress, but the boys are is singing along.
First lesson for me...when in Delft, we listen to the music of Delft. I
watch how the protective speaker-fabric bounces with every beat and
start praying that the battery will die soon.
Noel has taken the lead. He jives and jokes with
whomever is within spitting distance, and he has the first two layers of
the foundation down before we know it. Trowels and tools are
enthusiastically exchanged, loud advice and directions are barked about
(the music makes it hard to think, let alone hear anyone. I dread having
charged the battery the night before). Still the team seems to be
functioning as though we have been working and building together for
years (I'm exaggerating of course but the other stuff is true). We run
out of urbanite literally every 15 minutes, and Austin and Elveo join me
for the trips to the rubble site a stone's throw from Derek's house.
Small kids and neighbours watch bemused as we make several trips. I am
now also concerned about my poor back, and start wishing I had chosen
the trowel instead. Tonio has joined us (he used to be a cluster leader
in my peer mediation project involving schools in the area), and he can
hardly contain his enthusiasm. He gets appointed camera-person, and I
later discover I have about 10 gigs of photos and video material. I will
never have time to even look at it, but I won't tell him, of course.
By lunch time the base is about a foot short of the
height I was hoping for, but we are running out of clay (again, I'm not
entirely honest here: I was actually hoping that the whole damn thing
would have been finished by now but the cruel truth has dawned. We are
looking at least, at 3 or 4 sessions of just oven-building). I make
another attempt at some sort of farewell speech until next time, but the
left-over ciabattas get far more attention. But the construction looks
good: rugged and strong, and Noel has added a creative and artistic
touch with his positioning of colourful urbanite. We pack and I watch
how the young men inspect their work. They walk around it, as if
inspecting a rare archaeological discovery. This makes me feel good.
Derek's backyard has changed, all of a sudden. There is a weird looking
structure, and about 9 young men not quite sure what to make of it. But
somehow I get a sense that they trust the process, and that they will be
back next time.
I thought about a nice ending for this first part of
the building experience. Something like: 'Noel and I drove back in
silence'. But nothing could be further from the truth, we chatted like
young girls: about the day, how we think it's been incredibly good for
us, and we ended up making more plans than we will ever be able to
remember. It has been a good day.
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