Daily Life – The Slow Movement

Have you heard of Carl Honore? He of “In Praise of Slowness’” fame? https://www.carlhonore.com/

I’m reading his book on my Kindle.  Slowly of course. Very insightful.

He promotes us all slowing down. This surely is a good thing? In Italy, I understand, there are cities that strive to transform themselves to Slow Cities. A meal there, for example can take an age deliberately.  One must not arrive hungry, because they probably only start harvesting your grub when you order.

I personally have very fond memories of spending the whole day at Clube Nautico Restaurant in Beira with friends. Completely inappropriate conversations that lasted the whole day.

The Italians, I further understand, are also known for their very fast driving. This, of course, is somewhat incongruent to the slow movement ambition.

Africa, is not always burdened with an enormous sense of urgency. The nation must have read this book and fully embraced it. Amanhã will do in Mozambique for sure.

When I moved to Mozambique from corporate Johannesburg almost a decade ago, I thought I would go mad. Or have a stroke. Of course, it was me that had to adapt to some extent. Finding a balance between high standards and not giving myself and everyone around me an ulcer.

But perhaps this is an attitude we should all embrace.  So much competitiveness and a need for speed.  Can’t be good. We need to be more Mozambican, or Italian maybe.  Wine and good food. I’m in.

However, there is clearly a fair bit of Italian in a Mozambican. Once they are behind the wheel of a car, it’s a race. Every second counts. One must get there urgently and then relax back into a snail’s pace.

Speed bumps and potholes do not in any way deter most drivers in Africa. These things are to be navigated in top gear. Like pulling off a plaster really. Do it quickly and put the jarring, shuddering pain behind you.

I used to drive hellishly fast. Was proud of my behavior too. Aggressive. I wasn’t going to take any nonsense from anyone. Johannesburg cured me of that. Along with realising I was going to give myself a heart attack, my aggression resulted in a confrontation I had to back down from. Road rage is not clever, and you don’t want to meet someone that is prepared to take it through to the end.

So, by the time I was driving in Mozambique, and indeed Zimbabwe, I was in the right head space.

And it’s always about head space, isn’t it? Everything really.

My lovely man is an excellent driver. He’s a good deal more assertive than me, and more inclined to nip around and push himself into spaces. Despite this, I feel very safe with him.

I suspect; however, he does not feel the same when I drive. And, when we do long distances, I often drive more. He’s got this bum thing going on that when he drives or sits in a car for a long time, he gets a pain in the bum.

He is, in fact, a pain in the bum when I drive. Nervous and critical. And his brake foot pumps excessively and impotently in the passenger seat.

A lot of calling out to Jesus to save him.  And the irritating ‘watch it, watch it’

Just close your eyes and relax I urge him. I can’t he tells me, who will watch you.

At least, he says, we are likely to go together.