The Fairy & the Farm. Part VI: The Dreamweaver

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A mere stone throw away from the Turkish bath was a hair saloon. Moscow Carmine, she read in bright red letters on the door to the saloon, as she opened it.
The saloon was empty but for a barber who was busy cutting with his scissors in the air.
“Hi.” The fairy said with a hesitant voice.
Mr Moscow - the barber - didn’t notice and continued with what he was doing.
“I’m looking for the Dreamweaver.” She exclaimed. Mr Moscow froze in mid-air and looked like a petrified starling. He laid down his scissors and turned to the mirror in front of the empty seat where he stood cutting.
“We’re done for today.” He told the empty seat, and as the fairy peeked into the mirror she saw a pale woman seated in the chair in front of the mirror.
“But you’re only half done barber!” The woman in the mirror answered indignant, and looked as if she would create a scene.
“Your vanity will have to wait for tomorrow princess Radziwill. We both know you’re trapped here, swindling Mr Rhodes for eternity. Just don’t go down to Muizenberg tonight to see him, and no damage is done. See you tomorrow.” He answered with a steadfast voice.
Offended, the ghost of princess Radziwill stood up and quickly disappeared, and while doing so, she dropped a bone-white scarf by mistake, which the fairy noticed through the mirror.
“She’s my most faithful customer.” Mr Moscow began.
“She comes every day and has her hair cut and shampooed, but every night as the clock strikes four, it grows out again so she has to come back the next day. She double-crossed Cecil Rhodes, a paunchy and slightly suspect giant of the Victorian empire, and was jailed and later hanged for that. “The barber explained seriously. They both stood contemplating this for a short while, then the fairy broke the silence by finally asking:
“So do you know where I could possibly find the dream weaver?”
“But of course.” The barber answered with a smile.
“It is me.”

“In the days I work as a barber here in the saloon but at night I weave dreams.”
“How do you do it?”
“Well dreams are not like thoughts. Thoughts - although they’re mere electrical impulse - manifests as brick-like units. That’s why we dream-weavers think of psychologists as thought-masons. They’re laying out the foundation of you with thick square bricks, using emotions as mortar. We, on the other hand, work in a much more refined manner since dreams take the form of long filaments we call sleep-hyphae. These sleep-hyphae can travel through space and are invisible to the naked eye. All these millions and millions of sleep-hyphae I weave together into a huge web of dreams.”
“As you can see on the street outside my saloon, it’s full of daydreamers. I also collect the excess of their brooding and every now and then I find a broken dream on the street that I collect, too. From them I extract hope, joy, tranquillity or excitement and add to the weave of dreams.”
“Did you know that at times when you’ve had very vivid dreams they manifest in the real world as cobwebs. If you look close enough at a cobweb - before the dew has dried - you’ll see your very own dream pattern.”
“Wow, I didn’t know that.” The fairy answered amazed and didn’t really know what to say, so she started to look at the interior of the dream-weaving barber’s saloon. Her eyes wandered along the walls, beholding all sorts of bric-a-brac and ephemera and eventually landed on the scarf the invisible woman had left, that was only visible through the mirror.
The Dreamweaver followed her eyes and as he too saw the scarf in the mirror he charmingly exclaimed:
“Finders keepers! That’s princess Radziwill’s scarf. She misused its magical power to swindle Mr Rhodes; that’s what it does to humans, it dupes them. But give it to an animal - they have far stronger souls - and it will strengthen their identity instead. Give it to the first nonhuman being you meet, and you’ll have a true friend for the rest of your life.”
“What about my wings? Do you think you could weave them back on again?” The fairy asked, now a bit impatient from the Dreamweaver’s babble.
“No I can’t help you with that. The yarn of dreams is a powerful yarn indeed, but meant only for its sole purpose. To mend your broken wings, only King Proteus - the ruler of the Fynbos Kingdom - can help you.” The Dreamweaver explained.
“So how will I find him?”
“Do you see that mountain over there?”
“Yes.”
“That’s Lion’s Head. Down towards the waterfront you’ll find the Lion’s Rump, the Fynbos Kingdom is perched in the Lion’s Heart. But don’t you worry about finding the kingdom, the kingdom will find you.” The fairy didn’t get all the Dreamweaver said but kindly thanked him, put the scarf in her little bag and walked out of the store to the street again. Outside she looked at Lion’s Head and decided it would be a good idea to walk in that direction. Few steps did she take before she heard two laughing voices.
“It must be she!”
“Not he?”
“Who, me?”
“No, see!” A woman and a man were talking nineteen to the dozen and held a big horn from which smoke rose and spread like a serpent all the way to the fairy, where it vanished.
“Drivel and prattle, let’s not start a battle, let’s see who she is or we turn into cattle.” They said in a chorus that turned into a loud giggling and then they approached her by jumping and dancing down the street.
“Hi! Hi!” They said with one voice.
“Hi.” The fairy stuttered a bit hesitantly.
“It seems that we are here to collect you.”
“Collect me?” The fairy answered even more puzzled.
“So it appears. The horn has found you!” The woman explained with a smile.
“See, we are the hunters and gatherers, well, not so much hunters any more but we sure do gather.” The man quickly said and smiled a toothless smile.
“Every morning we leave our hut with the first rays of the dawn, and we search the city for lost souls.” They said, once again in unison.
“It’s so easy, we just follow the horn.” The woman said rapidly and held out the horn for the fairy to behold.
“What is it?” The fairy asked.
“It’s a medicine horn.” The man laughed and started explaining.
“See, we insert this thread into the fat of the medicine horn.” He held out a partly burned thread with two clumsily tied knots on it.
“We light the projecting end and hold the horn against the wind, and the direction in which the smoke blows tells us where we must seek out strayed souls or lost companions. Then, just as the flame is extinguished on the knot of the thread, so will we make halt on our march and find what we seek, do you see?”
“In a bit yes but…” The fairy was abruptly interrupted.
“We are the Flipperty Gibbets.” The woman said.
“Yes, she’s Madame Windbag - she’s got the gift of gab. She can chew the rag.” The man quickly explained.
“Jaw-me-dead o’ dear, you old flannelmouth.” The woman said in a blue streak.
“And this is Mr Ratchet Jaw, he’s a perpetual chatterbox.” He nodded excitedly as the woman introduced him to the fairy.
“So are you coming along then?”
“Where to?” The fairy wondered.
“To the Fynbos Kingdom!” They answered.
“Do you know King Proteus?” The fairy asked.
“The man whose body has a brass coloured backbone and a beard of ivy; the Tsui, Goab Eixa Nabiseb; the king that averts evil; Toosip - the rain-giver that summons the rainwind if he so wishes and the whole country ought to swim in water; or King Proteus - the son of Neptune, as he is also known to many.” They said almost singing.
“So do you actually know him?” She asked once more.
“Of course, we are the gatekeepers of the Fynbos Kingdom. Follow us and we’ll take you to him.”
“I don’t know, the seals in the harbour told me to go in the footsteps of the Masaai warrior.” She faltered.
“The Masaai warrior is walking back to southern Kenya; he stayed here at the laughing Fynbos court for a year but is now on his way back to his family. Luckily he gave us his shoes. So technically speaking you would walk in his footsteps by following us.” They explained and for no reason broke out in laughter.
“Ok let’s go for it. I’m happy we met then.” The fairy reached out her hand.
As they walked, the fairy explained all that had happened to her and although she was interrupted more than once - the Flipperty Gibbets listened (as carefully as they could) and suggested different solutions to her problem.
They walked uphill into the neighbourhood of Tamboerskloof and eventually found themselves at the end of a road. The fairy looked up.
“It’s just a farm!” She exclaimed in a tone of disappointment.
“To the untrained eye, indeed, it is.” They explained in chorus.
“Come and we shall open your eyes.”

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Photos

Those were the days
The good old days of full-body swim-suits for men. The municipal Swim bath next to the Turkish bath has had a face lit in the last 100 years. But are still down with the swim-suit trends of the 1930.

The Dreamweaver
Just like Odin gave up his one eye to drink from the well of wisdom, so did the Dreamweaver. His wisdom expands over vast fields of knowledge e.g. hairgels, hairstyles, haircutting and hairy movies.

Princess Radziwill
Not as photogenic since she died, she's still regarded as one of the pretties ghosts in Cape Town. Especially with her paranormal haircut.

A vivid weaver
Have a look in our closest eigh-legged friends production, maybe among the drips of dew you find the secret to your inner self.

The Flipperty Gibbets and the legend of Antjie Somers
Their main task is to keep the Fynbos Kindom safe at nights from Antjie Somers. Antjie Somers is said to plunder houses at night and kill the children. Many people believe it's a man dressed in women-clothes. Sometimes "she" would stand and look helpless on the roadside waiting for a ride, then killing the driver; or she would enter a house at night and kill all the children. The Flipperty Gibbets did a brave but good job securing the farm at nights, from such eerie creatures.

Mr Ratchet Jaw
Knowing what to be said, at every time, over and over again. The Flipperty Gibbets could talk. There was no doubt about that.

Madame Windbag
Articulate, expressive and always in discussion. Spotted her singing the old classic "Sweet Dreams Are Made of This" by Eurythmics, Bo-Kaap-remix.

Magic falafelmaker
The Hazif Abdol Malack had gained a magic ring on his Hajj to Mecca. The ring was milk-coloured and protected him from ever being damaged by a blade. It worked so well that he had to take it off every time he wanted to cut a piece of bread or cut his hair. Legend says that the Flipperty Gibbets found the ring with their horn, and it’s now somewhere on the farm.

Tamboerskloof Afternoon
Time stopped on the road up to the farm. 150 metres below the farm on Military Road, a blue car waited for colour to happen.

Vivid Living
The last thing one can say about the houses in Bo-Kaap is that they're dull. The fairy thought for herself as she walked around in the neighbourhood.

How to explain this to your kids?
The racism solution. Apartheid was created to keep the White South Africans in power over the people from the Coloured and Black communities. It was a complete system of oppression spanning from political and economic guidelines down to everyday life; like which park bench you where allowed to sit on. A person that broke the ethnic barriers and engaged with people of different classifications was often brutally punished.

Cape Dutch Architecture
Beautiful Victorian broekie lace balconies, turrets, towers, chimneys and attic windows. Repianted African-style in vivid colours. That's Long street.

Kloof Street
The centre of Tamboerskloof. Kloof street is full of restaurants, stores with expensive trendy products and cafe's more famous as "to be seen at"-spots than good-coffee places.

Signal Hill's on fire
Filling up at the reservoir in Gardens, next to Ashanti Lodge. In the hot summer months there are several fires on the mountain sides and in the Townships. Helicopters aid the burning parts with enormous water balloons. Splash.

Long Street an obvious meeting point.
Just like Khao-San in Bankok is a hub of all the backpackers in South Esat Asia, so is Long street for Southern Africa.The crazy cyclist you met on Angola's broken roads or the tripping' trekker you met on the mushroom-trail in Tanzania, this is where you bumb into them sipping drinks together on a sunny balcony.

The Table Cloth
A cotton-candy nightmare for those on top.

Still life pest
There's no malaria in the Western Cape, but that doesn't mean there are no insects. There are more insects than anyone can wish for.

Zionism - Apartheid. Similarities?
It's easy to draw similarities between the apartheid South Africa and the modern State of Israel today. How the white Europeans where surrounded by suppressed and hostile Bantu-tribes and suffered sanctions against them from the outside world; is unpleasantly familiar to how Knesset acts today against the Palestinians and other surrounding Arab tribes in the Middle East and how they Israelites today, have the world community against them. As the black South Africans were freed, so will also the Palestinians one day.

The worlds biggest timed, culturally segregated cycle race.
35000 madly pedaling fellows, rounding the Cape Peninsula for fun. The prevailing cultural segregation is so tangible while watching events like this. Same thing with the many trance parties in the Western Cape, it's over-predominantly white people participating. If there's a free rap-festival in the Company's Garden, it's with no doubt vice-versa.

And, Action!
During the summer months it's a hectic for the South African movie industry. European and North American movie- and commercials-makers fly down to Cape Town. The warm weather and the clear skies, the cheap labour, the competent staff and the beautiful setting are what draw the film-crews. Not a day went buy in central Cape Town without a movie or a photo-shoot.

Sideways in South Africa
It all started in 1659 with Jan van Riebeck and a few grapes, followed by the settlement of Stellenbosh 20 years later and the arrival of the Hugenottes another 9 years after that. The rest is as the call it "ecport history".