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Colour in my historic apartment

So, what do you do when you move into an apartment that is beautifully decorated in neutrals, and you are a colour person? Especially when it’s an historic apartment on loan to you that you can’t really alter much?

That was my predicament at the beginning of the year, when I moved into this amazing apartment in Guimarães back in March 2019. Here is is, in all it’s neutral glory…

Living room small

The real challenge was the wooden partition consisting of the exposed structure of the original wall that divides the apartment. Interesting, and attractive as a museum artefact, but hard to live with.

Well, I found a way to introduce colour.

Here’s what I did with some scraps of fabric, cardboard (thanks, Ikea) and cold winter nights with scissors, glue, needle and thread.

IMG_20191124_114218 (2)

I cut cardboard panels to fit the (very irregular) spaces in the partition, collected some fabric off-cuts in related colours and glued and sewed the fabric onto each triangle.

The covered card is simply wedged into place in each opening, so as not to damage the historic construction. They are reasonably solid, except in the face of vigorous vacuum-cleaning.

Some details of the different panels

I particularly like the line of purple triangles along the top. I think they echo the ramparts of the local Guimarães castle.

Here’s to a colourful time in 2020!



Cute lion cubs and bad feelings

Last night, my insomniac meanderings through social media brought me to this super-cute video ( Great animation!

Canned lion cub

Of course the video has a nasty twist at the end that leaves a bad feeling. Made worse by having actually gone out of my way to play with the lion cubs. (You can sign the petition against canned lion hunting here.)

This is why I generally ration social media and filter ruthlessly. I don’t like the way so much of it induces bad feelings. Especially when those bad feelings are laid like a trap at the end of what promises to be a good experience. (Who doesn’t love a cute young feline?)

But there’s a lot of bad stuff in the world and just running away from it, putting your head in the sand, is not always possible, or desirable. Those bad feelings ought to motivate me to do something, to make the world better. Right?

It made me think about all those paperback books I paged through, left behind by my partner’s parents who fled Nazi Germany, that pondered how “looking the other way” allowed great evil to flourish. We need to bravely face the things that create bad feelings in order to act.

And that made me think about the guilty luxury of holing up here in peaceful Portugal, far away from South Africa with all it’s pain and turmoil.

And that made me think about Maria Phalima, the South African doctor who walked away from her profession. You can watch her story on YouTube (

Maria Phalima

She describes a healthcare system where doctors are overwhelmed and burned out. As she explains, she had become someone she did not want to be. Her choice to leave was about choosing wholeness and fulfillment, choosing not to suffer. As she says: “The world needs us at our best.” (Here’s a non-affiliate link to buy Maria’s book Postmortem: The Doctor Who Walked Away.)

She describes her experience in public healthcare as “hellish” and that’s pretty much what South African higher education started to feel like in the last few years. Not that people were dying around me (although some were beaten up), but that the under-staffing, pressure to do more, student protests, and bitter tensions over race obscured the reasons for what I was doing. I had lost all compassion for students, where once I had believed that teaching had to be underpinned by love. It was a time filled with bad feelings.

I took early retirement from a tenured academic position in South Africa’s top university, and retreated to Portugal. I love Maria’s idea that I have a right to well-being, to thrive instead of suffering.

But how do we deal with the bad feelings that come from facing ugly realities, without feeling overwhelmed? How do we act responsibly while still allowing ourselves space and energy to contribute positively to the world?

In fifty-eight years on the planet, most of it spent compulsively learning (five degrees, two graduate diplomas and any number of certificates of competency to show for it), the most useful thing I’ve learned is how to do a grounding meditation and let bad feelings flow away into the earth. (I learned that from Jeffrey Allen through Mindvalley. There are cheaper ways to learn it.)

That practice allows me to start each day with a clean slate, with energy to enjoy life on this beautiful, crazy planet. But my meanderings, from pure mathematics to the hippy world of energy, have also taught me a more valuable lesson.

The troubling thing about the cute lion cub video is that it sets up the hunter as the bad guy: the fat white American (of course he’s American, or maybe German) with a gun, who is, after all, the cause of this evil canned hunting.

The petition says that “Those who conduct canned hunts should pay for their actions, as they heartlessly take innocent animal lives.” Actually, they do. They pay handsomely for the experience and in the process, they create jobs.

I am not defending hunters. I want to live in a world where life, in all it’s glory, is respected. But demonizing the hunter is not going to get me there. I have a much better chance of that world if I can regard the hunter as yet one more of the infinitely variable shapes of human. That will allow space for me to engage with the hunter, to understand what makes him tick and why he chooses to do this. That will allow space for the hunter to be receptive to my world view.

And that’s the real problem with social media. It creates barriers to communication by presenting fixed positions, by “othering”.

And that’s the beauty of learning to meditate. It not only helps me to deal constructively with bad feelings, it also allows me to cultivate compassion for those “others”, which opens up paths of communication.

I look forward to the day when these skills are taught alongside reading and arithmetic, as fundamental tools for being good humans. I hope, one day, to be proficient enough to be able to face more of the world, without letting the bad feelings overwhelm me.


One brain to rule the city

I’ve been watching YouTube videos of Alibaba’s City Brain in action, and I must say I’m impressed.

The City Brain is an attempt to take all the data generated in a city and to use that data to manage the city by making intelligent decisions in real time.

So, for example, cameras trained on a road intersection produce massive amounts of data, but it’s in a format that is very hard for people to use effectively. This data can be interpreted, using algorithms, to identify the type of traffic and the directions in which it is flowing. The City Brain can then change the timing of traffic lights to improve the traffic flow. It can also identify problems, such as a stationary vehicle blocking a lane, or an accident, and alert the appropriate authority.

Another example is connecting fire alarm systems with street maps and building plans. Instead of just sounding an alarm, a smoke detector can inform the city fire department exactly where a fire is, can work out a route for vehicles to get to the fire, and can control other traffic along the way to allow quick access. It can also give fire-fighters information about the building, how to access it and how to navigate around inside it.

The City Brain combines data from maps of the city, cameras, traffic lights, navigation systems in public and private vehicles, sensors around the city, social media apps and networks. It provides services that include detecting traffic events, predicting congestion, optimizing traffic lights, dispatching emergency services and adjusting bus frequencies based on demand. One of the benefits of the city brain is that it’s a software based solution that uses existing data sources, so its relatively low-cost. The system does not need new infrastructure installed to make it work.

The system was first implemented in Hangzhou, China where it is reported to have increased travel speeds, reduced travel time, reduced emergency response times, and increased the accuracy of identifying incidents. It has since been rolled out in four more cities in China as well as in Macau and Kuala Lumpur. There are plans to roll it out in the Middle East.

All this is cool, but the best part, for me, is that drivers in these cities report that they drive better because they know that they are being watched.

I get excited about this because I’ve tried, too often, to drive out of Braamfontein (in Johannesburg) at 5pm on a weekday. Some drivers in Braamfontein think nothing of swinging out onto the right-hand side of the road (we drive on the left) and facing down oncoming traffic if it gets them a few car-lengths ahead. Trying to drive across an intersection when errant vehicles on your right are crossing in front of you to turn left, is a heart-stopping experience. So I really like the vision of order that a City Brain might bring to urban traffic.

Effectively, the City Brain acts as a panopticon, keeping an all-seeing eye on city drivers that results in them policing their own behavior. Now the panopticon design was intended for restrictive institutions like prisons, factories, asylums and schools, all places which sought to control the behaviour of many with the oversight of a few. Is it a good thing to constrain people so that they feel obliged to drive carefully because they are being watched?

I think so. People are not good at self-regulating. They do stupid things that make life in the city dangerous, so an external impetus to behave better improves the city for everyone at minimal cost to the individual. The City Brain is not trying to limit freedom in the way that a prison (or school) does. Rather, it is trying to make the city a better place in which to live and get around.

Could the City Brain become a monster that tries to control individuals more closely? Yes, it could, potentially, decide that you should not go to a particular part of town and you might find all routes there blocked. So we would need to make sure that important human freedoms are protected.

Does the City Brain make use of personal information in intrusive ways? That’s not clear from any of the information I have seen. I would hope that the use of individual social media data is something that can be opted into or out of. The system ought to be able to work with aggregate data, for example to assess the demand for public transport. But I can also see the benefit of using personal data. For example it would be helpful if an ambulance could be informed that the person involved in a traffic accident is diabetic. Presumably each city can decide which data can be used in which situations, in line with relevant legislation.

I think that big cities are going to find it hard to resist this kind of management tool, if it does deliver the benefits it claims. So a conversation about the potential implications, unintended consequences and where we draw the line for data use, is probably worth starting.

Drivers in Hangzhou clearly feel that they can be identified, presumably through car registration information. When cars are driver-less, the close connection between an individual and a vehicle will go away. There will also be no need to control the behaviour of the driver. Presumably, driver-less cars will obey traffic rules in the first place and when the City Brain does need to control them, for example to take charge in an emergency, it can be done directly with no messy, conscious, fleshy human getting in the way.

Personally I’m hoping that the whole traffic problem will fade away as private ownership of cars becomes a thing of the past. Shared car services and public transport will be good for the planet, and also for the physical spaces we inhabit once we grass the parking lots and plant trees. I sold my car earlier this year and I hope never to have to own another. In the meanwhile I can’t wait to have the City Brain tackle the traffic in Johannesburg.

Image by Tumisu from Pixabay.

A small city throws a big party

It started with a three-page letter from the municipality in our mailbox. Painstaking translation revealed that there was to be a party, the streets would be closed, and those unfortunate enough to own cars would have to move them for the festivities. There was an offer of alternative parking, for the night.

Then I noticed that the shops along my usual stroll to work were turning white. White pompoms appeared and window displays developed a white theme. White clothing, white stationery, white jewellery, white shoes, white hats, white furnishings. Round signs appeared in the windows: Noite Branca.

I checked online and found pictures of the streets teeming with people, all dressed in white, drinks in hand. Videos confirmed music. I wondered if I could book accommodation in the next town at short notice. Crowds. Noise. Not my scene. But, being recently returned from a trip to Aveiro, I decided that I wanted to be at home. Our apartment faces away from the street. I have earplugs.

Saturday morning, the preparations began in earnest. Men with really long ladders were stringing white balloons across the street as I walked back from the supermarket. Apartment balconies were festooned with white ribbons, cloth, more balloons. The streets were emptying. Restaurants were setting up stands along the pavement. The chains between the bollards that keep the cars off the pedestrians were unlocked and rolled up.

The party was billed to start at 8 pm, so after dinner, we took a stroll around the town. It was about 8:30 pm. There was a festive air. Families were about, dressed in white finery. The children looked especially fine, in new outfits, being posed and photographed against the prettier than usual old city setting. Restaurants revealed large tables, crowded with families and friends, all dressed in white, dining enthusiastically and noisily. Groups in the street were greeting, kissing, laughing, hugging.

Mime artists were setting up, with elaborate outfits and props. I thought the operatic music added to the one performance was a great touch. It certainly drew attention. Hopeful vendors laden with balloons, white hats, and headbands twined white flowers and flashing lights paced expectantly. A couple crossed our path, dressed in black. Was it a protest? Or were they just tourists who packed light and didn’t have anything white?

There were three big stages set up, one for a live band, the other two with screens and sound systems. Music was playing, accompanied by advertising on big screens. The McDonald’s ad seemed really out of place. I am not aware of a McDonald’s here in Guimarães, although there is one, no doubt. It just seems such a remove from the little restaurants with their excellent meals. Fully-stocked bars had appeared on the streets.

We sat on the side of a fountain for a bit, until the relentless bass wore me down and we strolled home for a cup of tea, deciding that the party wasn’t going to start for some time.

IMG_20190706_215126On our second foray, things were hotting up. The streets were full, with groups of teenagers running across our path, parents dancing with smaller kids in the square, and lots of people moving from one square to the next. Shiny balloons with flashing lights distracted me. On the steps of a church a graffiti artist had set up shop, with a crate of spray-paint and paper, he was producing, and selling paintings, on the spot. Twenty Euros each. On a street corner a group of small boys hunched over a file full of Pokemon cards, oblivious. The bars were busy. So were the stands selling food.

At ten, we faded. The bands had not yet emerged. I’m sure they played. The party was billed to last until 3am. I’m sure there was dancing. I was in bed, with my earplugs in.

So here is what I am thinking this morning…

How cool is it that public parties here are for everyone, from the kids we saw everywhere to the ancient woman being pushed in a wheelchair, greeting an equally ancient man and summoning him across the road to talk?

How cool is it that the town puts on a public party? There is no entrance fee. Yes, there are vendors and local businesses all trying to sell something, but the atmosphere, the decorations, the music are all free. What a good way to spend taxes.

I try to think of analogous public events in Johannesburg and I can only think of sports events and music events; mostly with controlled access and appeal to a narrow sliver of the population. Sunday markets perhaps? Again, a particular demographic. Perhaps size has something to do with it? Perhaps it is easier to have wide appeal in a smaller city with less diversity.

And safety of course. In South Africa we’d never let our kids roam free they way they do here. I learned this week that Portugal has been ranked the third safest country in the world. Maybe it’s the frequent partying that engenders good will, fellow feeling and that elusive social cohesion. Imagine tackling crime by throwing parties.

An apartment in Guimarães

Moving from a four-bedroomed, stand-alone house in Johannesburg, complete with wonderful folding doors that open up to a large tree-filled garden, I was apprehensive about how a small apartment in Guimarães would compare. We discussed it on our flight over. What were we hoping for?

I was actually looking forward to living in a smaller space. I was tired of the work involved in a large house and the amount of stuff that accumulates to fill it. I was also excited about the prospect of living within walking distance of shops and restaurants.

There were two considerations that were really important to me. First, I wanted light. I get easily depressed and even more quickly in gloomy surroundings. Already we would be giving up the brilliance of those endless African skies and so the thought of small windows was terrifying. Second, I wanted high ceilings. If I had to live in a smaller footprint, I at least needed space above me to be able to breathe easily. After that, my only other hope was for a view that included some greenery to make up for the garden I was leaving behind.

Guimarães of course, is famous for it’s beautiful old medieval buildings. Like these. This is the street outside my apartment. I was worried about what old buildings might look like on the inside.

Our street small

The view down our street

What we have has exceeded all our expectations. Our apartment is one large room, 10 by 12 of my normal walking paces. The ceiling is high, the walls are white and there is plenty of air for me to breathe. One whole wall is taken up by four giant glass doors that open to one of the characteristically narrow balconies that adorn Guimarães buildings. It’s just wide enough to stand on and fits a chair, perfect for my morning meditation.

Living room small

The living area

The cherry on the top is that our balcony overlooks a walled garden with an assortment of small trees. Looking up we have a view of colourful buildings and the Montanha de Penha with the Santuário de Nossa Senhora do Carmo da Penha at the top. Facing away from the street also means that the apartment was quiet last night (Friday), although the street was bustling.

Walled garden small

We look down into a walled garden

The sun rises to our left and fills the room with light in the morning. I estimate that the windows face South-South-East, which is great for optimising light but avoiding the worst of the afternoon heat. We turned on the heating yesterday evening as things cooled down, but today the apartment has been warm all day.

The building we are in is newly renovated. Renovations here mean keeping the outer façade of each building intact, while modernising the interior. There is a small kitchen area and a bathroom, cleverly constructed with cupboards in front and an opaque glass wall dividing them. All very modern. In our apartment is a divider of the structural wood from the original building. At the door is a plaque with information about Senhora da Oliveira who the apartment is named after. It’s a bit like living in a museum, which is, I guess, what a heritage village is.

Apartment name small

Our apartment is named

We are the first tenants to move in, which has resulted in some excitement. Last night we had a visit from the owner of the shop downstairs to say that when we showered, she was getting water pouring into her shop. This morning we were called back from our shopping to let the man in to sort that out.

We arrived to new furniture and linen and a well-fitted, but totally empty kitchen. So this morning (Saturday) was spent buying essentials – a chopping board, mugs, a saucepan and spatula. Having spent the past six weeks getting rid of stuff, I am very wary of filling up this pristine space, so it really is only the bare essentials. We managed to cook up a pasta meal for lunch, and make tea, so I’m now quite comfortable.

The décor is very plain. Cream sofa, cream curtains around the bed. Those of you who know me will appreciate that at some point I’m going to have to bring some colour in here, or go mad. We’ll be doing that in time. For now, it is enough to have a comfortable bed to catch up on sleep and rest.

We are right bang in the middle of the old city and surrounded by tourist attractions. Walking home from our foray to buy local SIM cards we pitied the tourists who had to take all this in during a short trip. Our nine months means we can take our time, savour the streets and churches one at a time and try more of the myriad restaurants and pastry shops.

So far, the omens are all good.

View of the hill small

View of Montanha de Penha from our window

Relief and renewal in 2019

I woke up to 2019 with a sense of relief.

Last year was a difficult year for me. I was diagnosed with two medical conditions. Nothing life-threatening, but both hard to live with and necessitating uncomfortable changes. I had to navigate dementia in someone close to me, making care and financial arrangements. I found myself weirdly estranged from one of my closest friends. I did virtually no art, and felt the loss. It’s been hard.

So relief was my first sense. This year can only be better.

And yet, 2018 was also a good year.

There were two great holidays. I got to visit Ireland for the first time, and spent time with family in London and Scotland. I also got around to a long-planned visit to Mozambique. Both were lovely times – adventure, experiences, old friends, new people, new ideas, time to think.

I took a pottery class. I’d long promised myself the chance to explore a three-dimensional medium and it was as good as anticipated. There is something magical about clay and shaping it with your hands. Although it was a short time, I started to develop a real sense of skill in working the clay and produced some pieces that I’m really proud of.

I read. In 2018 I decided to keep a list of the books that I read and was surprised to find that, despite everything that was going on, I read twenty-one books, seven of them fiction. There were some lovely thought-provoking ideas among them.

I wrote a book – from start to finish. It’s been edited and is just awaiting a cover design. I hope to have it published before the end of this month. I feel good about that.

I also took the momentous decision to retire early. It was not an easy decision to leave a well-paid, tenured academic position, at the age of 57, but a necessary one as the values of the institution and my own were on divergent paths. I’ll work for the next two months, just to get a few master’s students to the end of the their research, but then I’ll be free of the institutional connection. (I’m sure I’ll still be working.) I feel good about this decision.

I hope to include in 2019 more of the things that made last year worthwhile.

I’ll be rearranging my life around writing and art. I’ll be publishing my book and writing another. I want to go back and finish my series of paintings of faces. I want to make time for  “creative nourishment”. I’ll do more reading. I want to make notes on what I read, since I’ve learned that writing things down helps to clarify my thoughts. I want to view more art, spend more time in nature, travel and meditate more.

The horrors of 2018 have made me appreciate the people in my life and I want to spend more time with those who matter to me. I’ll be traveling with my partner. Without colleagues, I’ll be looking for activities that regularly connect me to interesting people. And I have a few vacancies for new friends.

It’s odd how an arbitrary date on an arbitrary calendar can create a sense of renewal. I’m a bit skeptical, but it’s a useful device. So here’s to 2019. May it be a better year.

What changes will you be making?

A better way to learn to code

I caught up with how WeThinkCode is doing at the EduTech exhibition yesterday. I’m told they have around 300 people enrolled on the Johannesburg campus for a free, full-time, two-year course. I’m delighted to hear that the program is working and that numbers are growing.

WeThinkCode is built along the model of 42, a programming school based in France, that offers the opportunity to learn programming through peer learning and problem solving.

When I heard about 42 my first thought was “How can we bring this to Africa?” I even wrote to the school, but got no response and after discussing the idea (somewhat wistfully) with colleagues, forgot about it. So I was delighted to learn that the founders of WeThinkCode had the same thought, but also had the drive to push through and actually do it.

Here’s why I think this model is so great:

  1. The focus on being able to solve problems, quickly identifies exactly the sort of people you want to work on coding systems. (I say this as a veteran manager of large software development teams.)
  2. Peer-learning on projects is the best way to learn programming skills. It makes teachers of programming redundant of course, but that is as it should be. As a skilled programmer I only ever wanted to learn from a programmer that knew more than me in a specific domain.
  3. The two-year full-time format is long enough to encounter deep complexity. I am frustrated that what we can teach at university is only ever the simple stuff – partly because of the small amount of time allocated to coding. Coding is hard. Learning to master the hard stuff takes time.
  4. The intensive focus on coding means a shorter training period, covering more of what you really need, and faster access to real paying work.
  5. There are few people in the world with the conceptual ability to code well. It’s a rare talent. It makes sense to make sure that nobody with the ability misses out because they don’t have the opportunity. So offering this training for free just makes sense. I’m glad to see that companies who depend on programmers see the sense in it and sponsor WeThinkCode.
  6. Programming is one skill where qualifications don’t matter. Its pretty easy to decide if someone has the skill or doesn’t, so not having a degree does not stand in the way of getting coding work. Alternatives to university education are sorely needed and this is an excellent one.

If I were still hiring programmers I would be looking for graduates of this program, not least because the program lists their values as “grit – I keep going”, “curiosity – I ask why”, “connection – I am because we are” and “responsibility – its up to me”. Of course coding is also the ultimate skill for freelancers because there is a steady demand and it pays well, so its a great way to set yourself up for independence.

Some research one of my students did back in 2015 found that high school leavers (particularly girls) don’t consider a career in computing unless they have a relative who works in the field. So a big challenge is to get more people to know about this opportunity and to consider the possibility that they could do it. Spread the word!