May is one of the best months to be in Durban. The day-time temperature is in the low to mid-twenties, it is cool enough at night for a light blanket, and the days are gloriously sunny. Having said that, I recently started my day in a short sleeved light shirt and shorts, by lunchtime I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and trousers and wondering if a jersey might be necessary! Fortunately, the day warmed up.

On my first Sunday back in South Africa, I was invited to lunch with a group of Waterford alumni in Hilton, a small town just beyond Pietermaritzburg, in the Natal Midlands. The occasion was a visit to South Africa by Monica Smits from the Netherlands. Gideon Tumner drove Monica and Catherine Hunter down from Joburg. Other alumni present were Jane Ross, Mbali Maiten from Durban and, of course, Tracy Stark who hosted the gathering. Apart from meeting up with people I had not seen for ages (in one case at least 55 years), it was so interesting to hear how their lives had turned out, and their plans as they move toward retirement. I was the eldest person there; they were all two or three classes below me at the school. That made a big difference then, but it seems like nothing now!

Three were children together on the Roma Campus of the University of Botswana, Lesotho and Swaziland in the 1960s and 70s. Having the Waterford experience in common means we have a similar political persuasion and immediately picked up as though there were no intervening years, never mind decades. Catherine spent time in prison under the apartheid regime which was deeply damaging – mind you her brother was locked up for 5 years by the racist government. She and Gideon met at a Waterford reunion and are now a couple. This is the longest distance relationship I know of. He is based in Canada and is a long-distance truck driver. I wished we had more time to talk and get his views on events in North America as he is really at the coal face.

Also present were Jane Ross, a teacher on the KwaZulu-Natal north coast; Mbali Maiten, a South African gynecologist in Durban who was in exile in Lesotho; and the host, Tracy Stark who teaches singing and runs a music studio in Hilton. At the gathering I learnt of the death of classmate Morabo Morojele. It was deeply sad to learn of this passing. There is an obituary in The Conversation where he was described as a renaissance man. He was a jazz drummer, novelist and development scholar, who went to the London School of Economics. He died at just 64.

I remember a whole clan of Morojeles, who all went through Waterford. If I am correct their father was employed in an international agency based in Rome. Morabo’s first book, How We Buried Puso, published in 2006 at the height of the AIDS pandemic, was deeply moving and totally true to experiences of the time. The obituary says: (the book)

“starts with the preparations for a brother’s funeral. The novel – set in Lesotho – reflects on the diverse personal and societal meanings of liberation in the “country neighbouring” (South Africa) and at home. How new meanings for old practices are forged, and how the personal and the political intertwine and diverge. All set to Lesotho’s lifela music”

Rest in peace Marobo.

Tracy lives in the KwaZulu-Natal midlands about 90 minutes’ drive from my flat in Durban. It was a really tough journey on the very busy freeway. The stream of heavy trucks was endless. For friends in Canada, think of the 401 from Toronto to Waterloo, people in the UK can refer to the M25! An additional challenge were the roadworks, which frequently brought three lanes of traffic down to two. It was not a pleasant drive, and I made sure to leave early enough to avoid driving in the dusk. Nonetheless it was worth it to reconnect with people I had not seen for eons. Hilton was especially chilly for the Durban crowd, I kept my jacket on the whole day, but still managed to leave a jersey behind. Oh well!

This trip reminded me why old friends are so important. However I am happy to say it is possible to make new ones. In Durban I frequently have coffee with Andries Botha and his apprentices, or as I call them ‘the familiars’. Andries is an artist and thinker of note. I always come away from our discussions with many ideas. I got to know the art team by bumping into Jess at the coffee house – the Glenwood Bakery. She lived opposite me in the block of flats. When I first met her, she was wary, thinking I had ulterior motives. In fact, I did, Rowan, my daughter, was planning to come and live in the flat for a Durban experience. I thought Jess, who is a contemporary in age, would get on with her. I am happy to say it worked out, and they remain in touch.

I continue to dabble with the memoir I am trying to write. I actually sent off the outline and a couple of chapters to a publisher, using their online submission system. I was not surprised to get a polite letter back saying they would pass. I had really helpful comments from a couple of people who read it and the main takeaway at the moment is that as currently framed, it is boring. Of course, it is a typical Alan Whiteside academic offering. The story runs chronologically, beginning with some family history and then following the story of my life from zero to 24. The cut off date was partly determined by the fact the manuscript exceeded 80,000 words, but it was also the age when I began my professional life and headed for Botswana. There will be a second volume from 1980 to, well, I am not sure when.

I have attended writing courses through the National Centre for Writing in the spectacular Dragon Hall in Norwich! The website says “Dragon Hall, King Street, Norwich is a unique, Grade 1 listed, medieval trading hall dating from around 1430, renowned for its spectacular timber crown-post roof and intricately carved and painted dragon. It is one of the ‘Norwich Twelve’, the iconic buildings of Norwich, and is symbolic of Norwich’s historical role as a major textile production centre and as a city of national importance”. It is a stunning building and conveniently located for me. It is incredible to learn in such an important historical site.

The main lesson has been I have a great deal to learn, but I am okay with that. Of course I have a bookshelf full of academic publications: books I have written, edited, co-edited and contributed to; journal articles going back decades; reports for governments and international agencies; and even a few policy manuals. This is all grist to the mill, but writing for commercial publication is an entirely different kettle of fish.

I think that my generation will produce more memoirs and biographies than ever. We, the boomers, have been very blessed, and as we move into retirement we document and share this! The key question is: can I turn this into something a commercial publisher will pick up. At some point soon I am going to get a proper editor to look at it, but we are not there yet! I think my academic publishing is helpful, mainly because two of my books were what is called ‘trade’. This means that unlike most academic books they are pushed to the public. The best sellers were Very Short Introduction to HIV/AIDS (Oxford University Press), and AIDS: The Challenge for South Africa (with Clem Sunter, Tafelburg Publishers).

One of the best ways to hone skills is to read. I devoured numerous memoirs and biographies recently. I reviewed Anthony Akerman’s self-published Lucky Bastard in September 2024. I have previously been sniffy about self-publishing, but this is a deeply moving, well written book; the story being put up for adoption in Durban in 1949 and finding out he was adopted when he was ten. At the moment I am reading Marita van der Vyver’s A long letter to my daughter, (Tafelburg, Cape Town 2021). I bought her last book Still Breathing at the airport the last time I left South Africa. I was enchanted. It is about old friends who get together with children and grandchildren at a beach house on the West Coast. They have not been together for 25 years, and these are their stories. Van der Vyver is a couple of years younger than me, and apart from the overlay of apartheid, these are my people and stories. I found the book at a second-hand stall at the local shopping centre.