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Random Kak 2 by Trevor Romain: More Memories About Growing Up in South Africa

Random Kak 2New from Penguin, Random Kak 2: Living, Loving and Laughing in South Africa by Trevor Romain:

The hugely popular Trevor Romain is back with more random memories about growing up in South Africa in the 70s and 80s.

In this follow-up to Random Kak I Remember about Growing Up in South Africa, he offers a humorous and unique take on some of the sights, sounds and experiences that have made living in this country so inspiring. Remembering what it means to be South African has never been as lekker as it is in this illustrated memoir of a colourful past.

About the author

Trevor Romain is a best-selling author and illustrator of an award-winning series of self-help books for children, as well as a sought-after motivational speaker. Romain was born and raised in South Africa and is currently based in the USA where he hosts a popular television series. His books have sold more than a million copies worldwide and have been published in 16 different languages.

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Potgooi: Ilse Salzwedel gesels oor haar boek oor die Oscar Pistorius-saak, Van sprokie tot tragedie in die kollig

Van sprokie tot tragedie in die kolligIlse Salzwedel het met Esté Meyer-Jansen van Maroela Media gesels oor haar boek oor die Oscar Pistorius-moordsaak,Van sprokie tot tragedie in die kollig.

Salzwedel het aspris nie die gevalle held se naam in die titel gebruik nie: “Vir my is dit die essensie van die saak, die kern van die saak. Dat hierdie twee jong mense, daar was al die elemente van ‘n sprokie in hierdie verhaal en toe word dit oornag ‘n tragedie, letterlik in die middel van die nag.” Sy sê Reeva en Oscar kon Suid-Afrika se Posh en Becks gewees het, maar toe “raak dit skielik ‘n moordsaak”.

“My boek is nie afhanklik van die hofsaak nie,” sê Salzwedel en verduidelik wat haar benadering tot hierdie ware verhaal anders maak as die talle ander boeke. “Dis glad nie ‘n herhaling van wat jy op die TV gesien het nie.” Sy fokus ook veral op die media se (dikwels negatiewe) rol in hierdie saak.

Luister na die potgooi:

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Podcast: Marguerite Poland on the Sense of Isolation and Desolation that Inspired The Keeper

The KeeperMarguerite Poland chatted to Nancy Richards on SAFM Literature about her new novel, The Keeper.

Poland said the story first occurred to her when she was just 14 years old, inspired by a schoolmate who gave a talk about being the daughter of a lighthouse keeper: “It was an absolutely riveting talk, not because of what she did, but the sense of isolation and desolation that came through. It wasn’t romantic, it was just so different.”

The author says the story stayed with her for many years before she decided to write The Keeper.

“It was not writing about a place as much as a state of mind,” she says. “I wanted to get into what would it be like to be that isolated.”

The conversation starts at 10 minutes:

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Don’t Miss Philip Haslam and Russell Lamberti’s Presentation on Global Money Printing in Johannesburg

When Money Destroys Nations

 
When Money Destroys NationsPenguin and The King’s School would like to invite you to a presentation by Philip Haslam and Russell Lamberti, authors of When Money Destroys Nations.

Haslam and Lamberti will be discussing how global money printing affects ordinary people.

The presentation will be at The King’s School Robin Hills on Monday, 27 October at 6:30 for 7 PM.

Don’t miss it!

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Vital Advice on Social Media at the Launch of Emma Sadleir and Tamsyn de Beer’s Don’t Film Yourself Having Sex

Book Launch: Don't Film Yourself Having Sex

 
Don't Film Yourself Having SexWelcoming guests to Emma Sadleir and Tamsyn de Beer’s launch on Wednesday, Love Books owner Kate Rogan said Don’t Film Yourself Having Sex is the book she’s been waiting for.

As the mother of “digital natives” (as the glossary describes people who grow up with social media) Rogan acknowledged the difficulties of explaining to them the consequences of overstepping the boundaries on social media. She mentioned the example of Paul Chambers, whose story appears in Chapter 2: “If it’s not on Facebook it didn’t happen”. He tweeted his frustration with travel delays from an airport in 2010, ending by saying he would “blow the airport sky high”. Two years of lawsuits followed. Rogan described the book as sassy, witty and an enjoyable read, despite the seriousness of the subject matter.

Don’t Film Yourself Having Sex was written by Sadleir and De Beer, two South African lawyers and friends, both of whom have Master of Law degrees from the London School of Economics, specialising in media law. They now do educational work with companies, schools and universities on the responsible use of social media. They consult on defamation, privacy, data protection, revenge porn and online reputation management.

Sadleir noted how dramatically the way we communicate has changed in the last few years. When she was at school (not so long ago) the only way to be heard was to write a letter to the editor of a newspaper: “Nowadays everyone with access to the internet has instant global power”. But people need to understand the laws and the delicate balancing act between freedom of expression versus the right to privacy and dignity, Sadleir said.

De Beer explained that the book contained four key sections. The first deals with the law, privacy and intellectual property. The second is a common sense section, from which they chose the title for the book. One of the examples used here is that of a young woman whose then partner filmed them having sex without her knowledge. Five months later, after they had parted, this sex video appeared on porn-sharing web sites and mentioned her name and the company where she worked. Her only recourse was to change her name. This section also has chapters dealing with online dating and what happens to your information when you die.

The third section concerns social media in the business world and the workplace. Sadleir mentioned the case of a first-year candidate attorney who loaded a photo of her desk on Facebook, showing the pile of work she had. Unfortunately the names of two of the firm’s top clients were visible on the top of the pile. British Airways emerged as an example of a company who sends CVs of all job applicants to a company who specialises in digital clearances. There are serious consequences to breaching your company’s good faith, which extends to its clients and your colleagues as well. Sadleir cited the case of a woman who was involved in a road accident and loaded three photos on Facebook with the caption, “F*****g K****r Taxi …”. She happened to work for a prominent company and was fired by 10 AM. Another casualty was the woman who tweeted “Going to Africa. Hope I don’t get AIDS. Only kidding, I’m white.” She was met by a hostile “lynch mob” at Cape Town International Airport.

The fourth section deals with children. Parents are often too quick to give their children powerful communication devices without the tools to keep them safe. De Beer mentioned the dangers of cyber-bullying and how anonymity allows a greater degree of malice, which is permanent and inescapable. It is also much more public and has led to children committing suicide. This section also mentions “sexting”, where children as young as nine are sending nude pictures to each other. The law regards this as pornography and a 17-year-old was recently convicted for doing this. The reputational harm this causes cannot be undone, the authors pointed out.

There are new laws coming into effect, such as the Protection from Harassment Act, which can provide some online protection, and sites like justdelete.me give step-by-step instructions about how to delete online content. However, the authors advise that anything posted online should be treated “like a tattoo”. There is no “untweet” button. There is the potential for anything to go viral. In the digital age, everyone is a celebrity and every potential employer is Googling you. “Apply the billboard test”, Sadleir said. “If you don’t want everything you post online to be seen on a billboard on the side of the highway, don’t post it.” As Facebook’s Mark Zuckerberg says, “Privacy is no longer a social norm.”

* * * * * * * *

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Don’t Film Yourself Having Sex Author Emma Sadleir: The Pistorius Trial Taught Us About Social Media

Don't Film Yourself Having SexEmma Sadleir, social media consultant and co-author of Don’t Film Yourself Having Sex and Other Legal Advice For the Age of Social Media, spoke to The Guardian about the consequences of Oscar Pistorius trial being broadcast live on television.

Sadleir had a slot on the 24-hour DStv channel that covered the trial, in which she answered viewers’ questions, sent in through Twitter. She says she was surprised how little South Africans knew about their legal system: “People asked the most rudimentary questions: Where’s the jury? Who is that sitting next to the judge? For me it was incredible to see people’s reactions to what was going on, to see justice being done. Before this they’d only see it in Hollywood movies.”

She also speaks about her experience with the “Pistorians”, vehement supporters of the former Paralympian.

Juries were abolished in South Africa in the 1960s and so there was no risk of jurors being swayed by the cacophony of voices. Instead it was a free-for-all for journalists, pundits and anyone with an opinion and internet connection. There was plenty of humour, with spoof Twitter accounts and rap songs featuring Nel and Roux. There were also the “Pistorians”, an international, mainly female group who fiercely champion the athlete and often lash out at his critics.

Sadleir, co-author of Don’t Film Yourself Having Sex and Other Legal Advice For the Age of Social Media, was among those who felt their wrath. “The trial has been an illustration of everything good about social media and an illustration of everything bad about social media,” she said. “It was one of the most seminal moments in our legal history. As an educational thing it has been absolutely brilliant. It is a natural extension of open justice and will set a precedent.”

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Video: Meet John from Zimbabwe, a Case Study in When Money Destroys Nations

When Money Destroys NationsEconomists Philip Haslam and Russel Lamberti have shared important lessons that cannot be ignored in their recently published book, When Money Destroys Nations.

Together Lamberti and Haslam look at how hyperinflation ruined Zimbabwe’s economy, explore how ordinary people survived the financial crisis and offer warnings for nations mimicking Zimbabwe by printing money to cover debt.

The book trailer, shared below, offers a short summary of When Money Destroys Nations with an animation of Zimbabwean citizen John, who, after his country started printing money, was left poor and destitute.

Watch the video:

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PJ Powers by die bekendstelling van Here I Am in Prins Albert: “Ek is gelukkiger as ooit”

Here I Am“Vandag voel ek ek het ’n tweede kans gekry. Ek gryp dit met albei hande. Die gigs rol in. Toere na Amerika en Australiё is reeds beplan. Die boek maak deure vir my oop wat ek nie geweet het bestaan nie. Ek is gelukkiger as ooit.”

Só het PJ Powers onlangs by die Prins Albert-bekendstelling van haar memoir Here I Am, geskryf saam met Marianne Thamm, gesê. Marlene Malan het die geleentheid bygewoon en nie een nie, maar twee artikels daaroor geskryf.

Die eerste een het vroeër in September in Die Hoorn, ‘n koerant vir al Oudtshoorn en die Klein Karoo se mense, verskyn. Die tweede artikel is Sondag deur Netwerk24 geplaas en bied meer besonderhede van die bekendstelling. “Sy het die mense vergewe wat haar ingeloop het, wat haar nie aanvaar het soos sy is nie. En sy het haarself aanvaar. Sy weet wie sy is, wie haar vriende en ondersteuners is,” skryf Malan.

Lees die artikels:

Sy vertel met humor dat haar “talent vir liedjies skryf saam met my hare en my stem gegroei het”. En so ook haar seksuele bewussyn, dat sy tot vroue aangetrokke is – iets wat in haar jongdae ’n taboe was.

Vandag weet sy wie sy is, sê sy. “Ek het Penelope Dunlop, die groot, onaansienlike meisie, agtergelaat. Dan was daar PJ Powers, die luide vrou wat gefloreer het op adrenalien en die kollig. Maar daar is ook die een van wie ek die meeste hou – Thandeka, wat in die Jabulani-amfiteater in Soweto gebore is, wat onvoorwaardelike aanvaarding en liefde in die stukkende townships van ’n oorloggeteisterde land gevind het.”

PJ Powers, een van Suid-Afrika se bekendste rocksangers, is al 40 jaar op die voorgrond in ons musiekbedryf. Haar musiek verraai dit egter nie, haar styl verraai dit nie én haar voorkoms verraai dit nie.

Trouens, sy’s mooier as op 17 toe sy dié mededingende omgewing betree het. Weg is die los klere wat moes bedek. In die plek daarvan sit sy netjies in swart jeans. Weg is die “groot” hare van die 1980’s – nou rond ’n pikante kapsel haar af.

Op 54 is die selfvertroue wat sy uitstraal nie uitdagend of ’n muur waaragter sy wegkruip nie.

Van alle plekke kies sy toe Prins Albert in die Wes-Kaap om Here I Am bekend te stel, wat die teenoorgestelde is van die grootkonsert-arenas waaraan sy so gewoond is.

In ’n knusse restaurant stap sy en haar bestuurder-lewensmaat, Yvonne Johnston, in.

Boekbesonderhede

Tamsyn de Beer: Don’t Film Yourself Having Sex is a Quirky Title but Also Serious Legal Advice (Podcast)

Don't Film Yourself Having SexTamsyn de Beer, one of the authors of Don’t Film Yourself Having Sex, spoke to Sue Grant-Marshall on her Radio Today show, Reading Matters.

De Beer says that she and Emma Sadleir tried to make the book fun and readable, while giving solid legal advice.

Grant-Marshall says that the title is an odd and arresting one. De Beer says it was supposed to be a bit quirky and tongue-in-cheek, but the book also contains serious, vital information. The book is dedicated to a young woman who was the victim of internet sharing so malicious that she had to change her name in order to escape it.

De Beer says that when it comes to potentially harmful personal content on the internet, prevention is better than cure.

Listen to the podcast:

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Storms and Intrigue in an Excerpt from the First Pages of Marguerite Poland’s New Novel, The Keeper

The KeeperPenguin Books has shared an excerpt from Marguerite Poland’s latest novel, The Keeper.

The extract comes from the start of the novel, when lighthouse keeper Cecil Beukes and his wife Maisie get a report that another keeper, Hannes, has fallen and needs to be rescued.

The bad weather – “white horses right to the horizon” – poses a challenge, but more intriguing is what could have made such a careful man fall: “There were two commandments known to all of them: The light must not go out. The keeper must not fall.”

Read the excerpt:

* * * * *

When the call came, Maisie Beukes was alone in the keeper’s quarters.
Cecil had already gone on duty even though it was only five o’clock.
The call, she knew, would be from the Signal Office in the port. It should
have been no different from any other routine call – to relay messages, to list
supplies needed, to send news, to report on the light. The sole link with the
outside world. Island to shore, lighthouse to lighthouse through the medium
of the signalman’s radio phone. One lighthouse on its barren, bird-raddled
plateau – the most forlorn in the world – the other at the edge of a city.
That afternoon, a black southeaster blowing, the static was intense. It was
difficult to make out the words. Even after years of coaxing the radio-telephone
and learning to interpret its sudden startling squeals and plummets – sea
echoes, wind shear – Maisie could decipher little.
‘Hello? Can you hear me?’ shouted the signalman.
‘On and off!’ she yelled.
‘There’s been an accident in the lighthouse on the island. They need a
doctor.’
‘What happened?’
The static crackled again. Maisie turned towards the window to look out at
the bay as if, in doing so, she could make the distance smaller, gaze the voice
into existence at the distant port. It was no day for a boat to be out. There were
white horses right to the horizon.
‘Who needs the doctor?’
‘Mr Harker,’ shouted the signalman. ‘He fell down the tower.’
‘Oh my God! Is he alive?’
‘Yes. But something’s broken. I can’t be sure.’ His voice swooped and
darted. ‘The guano headman called and reported it.’
‘You must send the tug and a doctor. I’ll get hold of a relief keeper to
replace him.’
‘The weather’s terrible,’ the signalman said dubiously. ‘I don’t think the
Port Captain will let anyone sail. And anyway, it’s nearly dark.’
Maisie did not contradict him. She said, ‘Phone again in an hour.’
Goed. Dankie, mevrou Beukes.’ And he was gone.
Maisie glanced out again at the far curve of the bay, the turbulent sea, the
distant dune-fields. On impulse she called the Port Captain herself from the
house telephone in her dining room.
‘Bad weather,’ he said.
‘It’s serious.’
‘Who is it?’
‘The Senior Lighthouse Inspector, Hannes Harker.’
‘It’s dangerous to try and land a man in the dark. The weather will calm down
by tomorrow. Then we can make a decision.’
Maisie bristled. ‘He’s a lighthouse keeper, for God’s sake. If your tug was
going down he’d walk on water to help you.’ She wiped her face with the back
of her hand and drew a deep breath, calming herself.
Only lighthouse people knew; their code was unimpeachable.
‘Has anyone got hold of the doctor?’ the Port Captain asked.
‘I phoned you first.’
Jis!’ he muttered under his breath. ‘This could be a balls-up.’
‘Sorry?’
‘OK, Mrs Beukes, listen. I’ll phone the doc and you find a relief keeper and
I’ll come back to you.’
‘Be quick,’ said Maisie.
‘Stay put.’
Maisie went to the back door and called across the yard. The wind was
strong enough to whip the white-bleached skin of broken shells from the
pathway. ‘Cecil?’
No reply.
‘Cecil?’
A faint voice from the shed. ‘What is it, lovey?’
‘Come quickly.’ She peered out. ‘Cecil? I can’t leave in case the phone rings.’
Maisie went back into the kitchen and dragged the old kettle on to the
hotplate of the coal stove. She pulled the tray across the counter, took the
knitted cosy off the pot and emptied the cold tea leaves into the sink.
There were two commandments known to all of them:
The light must not go out.
The keeper must not fall.
Hannes – so competent, so careful, so assured.
Something had distracted him. Or someone.
And who could possibly distract him on that island?
Maisie wiped her face again. A chill ran through her and she twitched her
shoulders and leaned more firmly against the rail of the old coal stove.
– Don’t be ridiculous, woman. She almost spoke aloud.
She made the tea and set two cups. She carried the tray through to the
lounge, a small waddle in her step, side to side, her slippers slapping quietly
on the wooden floor. The back door opened and her husband, Cecil, called
from the porch. ‘What’s the matter, lovey? Are you hoping for a cup of tea?’
He came in, tugging down the edges of his old green jersey, his nose
purple-veined from the wind outside, his knees pinched by the cold above his
long grey socks. He looked at her. ‘Maisie? What’s the trouble?’
‘Hannes fell down the tower. He’s broken something. He must be in dreadful
pain. That fellow from the signal room phoned. I got hold of the Port
Captain and told him to send a tug.’
‘You should have asked me to do it.’ Cecil was admonishing. ‘What’s he
going to think, being bossed by a woman?’
‘Don’t you talk nonsense, Cecil,’ retorted Maisie, the flush deep on her
neck, her chin bobbing. ‘It’s Hannes, for God’s sake.’
‘Of course, lovey,’ Cecil said. ‘Sorry I spoke.’
‘We have to find a relief at once while they raise the doctor. They’ll call
again soon so we must hurry.’
‘Ockie will have to take over there for a while,’ said Cecil. ‘He’s not going
to like it.’
‘You’ll get exhausted here by yourself,’ objected Maisie. ‘Think about your
heart, Cecil, and don’t be foolish. Can’t we phone Seal Point?’
‘Too far,’ he said laconically. ‘It’s Ockie or me. We can’t leave the light.’
Maisie said nothing. She knew the first rule just as well as he.
Cecil went away to the single quarters to speak to his assistant. Maisie did
not follow him to hear Ockie grumble, sucking at his teeth and pulling at his
great ear and glowering. She could hardly blame him. No one ever wanted
such an exile. Even for a week.
Except Hannes.
For him, a posting to the island was always going home.
When Cecil returned he said, ‘Ockie’s packing and then I’ll run him down
to the harbour.’ He came and sat beside her on the settee, waiting: two old
people, grey-headed, the steam from their cups drifting between them.
Then the telephone rang.
It was the Port Captain. ‘We’ll be leaving in an hour,’ he said.
‘My husband will bring the relief keeper down now,’ said Maisie.
‘The doc’s on his way.’
‘Good man,’ said Maisie as she put down the receiver.
‘Of course I’m a good man.’ Cecil reached for her hand. ‘Even your mother
thought so.’
Maisie – comforted – half laughed. ‘You really are a good man,’ she said.
‘No matter all the other things my mother said!’ And she wiped her eyes.
Oh, Hannes. Not another blow.
She rested the side of her head against Cecil’s shoulder. Then they turned
simultaneously and in silence to peer through the salt-rimed glass at the
darkening sea in the bay and the waves breaking as far as the horizon. The
island lies five miles offshore – south-west from the densely wooded cape
but thirty-one miles from port. Between it and the mainland is a channel,
taupe green, cobalt blue. Sometimes that blue is all of the sky and sea,
indivisible. And sometimes the heat bounces off the island rocks, an aura
of fire, and the waves glitter as if scattered with mica chips. Sometimes
the air is a tumult of gannets – a rising tide of wingbeats – and sometimes
it is so still that the piping of a land-bird blown off course can be heard
above the breathing of the sea. But when the southeaster blows, the wind
whips the water to a saltgrey bile. Even its fish must flee the turbulence.
Even the sharks. It is on those days that boats never venture near.
Nothing comes except the wind – a great baleful beast.

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