I love stories that start with “long ago and far away”. My favourite (sardonic) one says: One day, long ago, there was a good wife who listened to her husband, fed and bathed him and catered to his every whim. But as we said, it was only that one day and very, very long ago.
But I am not in a flippant mood, so I shall regale you with the story of Pandora from the Greek legend of the same name. Pandora is reputed to be the first woman on Earth. She had beauty, wit, charm, tact, encouragement, cooking skills and caring skills – in a word, she was a perfect woman.
On the day of her wedding, she received many gifts from the many people who admired her. In addition, the gods gave her a box containing extra gifts, but they cautioned her never to open the box.
Predictably, her curiosity eventually got the better of her and she opened the box. She immediately realised that she had released illness, trouble, pain, regret, remorse and every other human failing and tragedy one could imagine.
Being a good soul, she hastily shut the box to stop the rot. Ironically, she closed the box just before the last item, Hope, could escape. She shut the lid, trapping Hope inside. The irony is that the condition continues today because nobody wants to open a Pandora’s box for fear of what it might contain.
The beautiful story has the ominous undertone that there might be other unseen horrors lurking inside the container. Hence the pejorative connotation for what could have been a joyous gift, a thing of beauty.
To pursue the metaphor: there is an urban myth that one day, God spoke from Heaven and said to mankind that He had a gift to help them solve the problems of the world.
This was a time when the only inhabitants were light-skinned and dark-skinned people. On the day, God appeared in the sky, holding two parcels, one largish and one about hand sized. He brandished the gifts before the two protagonists and told them to make a choice that could not be reversed. The only assistance He rendered was that he was going to throw down to Earth the large parcel first.
The dark-skinned guy jostled and shoved and insisted he would be the recipient of the first parcel. Down it came, and he grabbed it with glee. The light-skinned person wryly accepted that the smaller parcel was his.
Then they sat down and opened the packages. The dark-skinned guy found a pick and a shovel in his large gift. The light-skinned guy opened his present and found a golden Parker fountain pen. I will leave the story just there.
There are other urban legends that can address our present-day, three-decade-old dilemma. The two I told typify that monster we created, the ANC. The ruling party. The government. They are guilty of all the bad choices and neglect of logic, patience, and any kind of virtue that could help us forgive them for the mess we are in.
But my column will not reduce to a diatribe of accusations that don’t do much to improve things. Madiba famously said: Those who say a thing is impossible only get in the way of those who are doing it. I would insert the other applicable absent words, like “already”, “cleverly”, “hopefully”, “bravely”.
I’ve had my own share of failures and gremlins in my day. Each time, the God of my understanding pointed out to me that much of what happened to me was what I allowed. I was always reluctant to take the blame, to take ownership, roll up my sleeves, apologise for being an unsavoury orifice in the body, and then getting on with the job.
For veracity, I end with a public confession that I stopped drinking alcohol exactly 41 years ago. Many of my troubles, problems, fears, failures, disappeared.
Is there anybody out there listening to my message?
* Alex Tabisher.
** The views expressed here are not necessarily those of Independent Media.
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