Finding the Wind

By Janet J. Mills

This is a novel for young people of any age who believe that thinking matters, quite literally, and that it can make an exciting difference to everyday lives.
Thandi has lost both her parents and her focus in life. Through a quest of self-discovery she learns to be compassionate towards herself and others. Her journey spans learning from brick and mortar schools, an indigenous healer, the bush, the ocean, the mountain, and the great saints of both past and present.
The story addresses the question: How should we live our lives? It explores how we can make our world better or worse by being kind or unkind to ourselves, others and our environment. Our choices matter quite literally as they shape our world.
This is the magic of quantum theory – our thoughts write the landscape of our lives. We are participants in the universe, not passive observers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jul 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781398444812

Janet J. Mills

Janet J. Mills lives with her two- and four-footed family in Adelaide, South Australia. They include Michael, her husband; Roobecca, Roobertha, Roodolf (a mob of kangaroos) and Isabella, their cat. Possums have taken refuge in the trees and also play havoc in the garden which they share with the ’roos. Her inspiration comes from the Xhosa people in the Eastern and Western Cape whom she encountered whilst she was growing up and whilst doing research at the University of Cape Town; as well as from those who mentored her research on the border of Swaziland and Mozambique; the Arrernte and Ngarrindjeri in the Northern Territory and South Australia – and connections with Sundanese mentors in West Java. When she was growing up, she experienced living alongside domestic animals, farm animals and wild creatures, such as a variety of bucks, baboons, monkeys, birds and reptiles, and learned the ‘magic’ of transformation by watching tadpoles and learning how silk worms evolve into moths that spin webs of silk. From all her own adventures, sailing, climbing and bush walking, she learned about the interdependency of people and nature. As a child, she read Travels in Southern Africa by her great great-grandfather and was fascinated by his vivid accounts of the countryside people, plants and animals and his early efforts to promote freedom of the press and social justice.

Book preview

About the Author

Janet J. Mills lives with her two- and four-footed family in Adelaide, South Australia. They include Michael, her husband; Roobecca, Roobertha, Roodolf (a mob of kangaroos) and Isabella, their cat. Possums have taken refuge in the trees and also play havoc in the garden which they share with the ’roos.

Her inspiration comes from the Xhosa people in the Eastern and Western Cape whom she encountered whilst she was growing up and whilst doing research at the University of Cape Town; as well as from those who mentored her research on the border of Swaziland and Mozambique; the Arrernte and Ngarrindjeri in the Northern Territory and South Australia – and connections with Sundanese mentors in West Java.

When she was growing up, she experienced living alongside domestic animals, farm animals and wild creatures, such as a variety of bucks, baboons, monkeys, birds and reptiles, and learned the ‘magic’ of transformation by watching tadpoles and learning how silk worms evolve into moths that spin webs of silk.

From all her own adventures, sailing, climbing and bush walking, she learned about the interdependency of people and nature. As a child, she read Travels in Southern Africa by her great great-grandfather and was fascinated by his vivid accounts of the countryside people, plants and animals and his early efforts to promote freedom of the press and social justice.

Dedication

To my two- and four-legged family members. To all those who strive to make the world a better place. And to Adelaide, Olive, Pixie and my own mother, who introduced me to another way of seeing the world.

Copyright Information ©

Janet J. Mills 2022

The right of Janet J. Mills to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398444805 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398444812 (ePub-e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

I would like to thank all those from whom I have learned and the team who helped to make the book possible.

Preface

This story for young people is fiction, but some (although not all) places are real. If the story reminds you of people, organisations, current or past events, then I have succeeded in telling a believable story.

Thandi learns from family, friends, formal and informal teachers and a network of Wisdom Growers who share their experience or their favourite books¹ and explain why they believe them to be important for her quest. She also studies at university and lists some of the authors who have helped her to address the question as to how she should live her life.

The fictional Wisdom Growers and Keepers introduce her to a new way of life and highlight some of the great thinkers (past and present) whom they believe will be helpful to her.

It is up to you to read the original works they mention to help you on your own quest and for you to draw your own insights from these sources, rather than relying on the opinions of the fictional characters.

When you follow up on the titles of the books and web links cited in the text and footnotes, please think about what they mean to you and draw your own conclusions. Do you agree or disagree with the characters in the book?

Although by playing in an orchestra or singing in a choir, you will not achieve the same (fictional) results, you will indeed find it enjoyable!

We shall awaken from our dullness and rise vigorously toward justice. If we fall in love with creation deeper and deeper, we will respond to its endangerment with passion. – Hildegard of Bingen²

---

In some instances, I have cited other books in the footnotes.↩︎

https://quotestats.com/topic/quotes-about-hildegard-of-bingen/↩︎

Part One: Magic and Spirits?

1.

The Bubble

In an ordinary living room in an ordinary Australian suburb there was an air of expectancy as a computer screen beamed and winked the result.

Magic. The numbers are on our side at last, gasped Thandi’s³ stepfather David taking a sip of tepid tea that had been made by his stepdaughter.

Well at the moment anyway, he added as an afterthought as he stared at the screen showing soaring stock prices. His worn, worried face looked surprised and happy for a change.

What do you mean? scowled Thandi doubtfully. Ever heard of the bubble and crash? It would be crazy to ‘up sticks’ and take leave of absence for two years…

You don’t sound like your mother; she had a sense of adventure, retorted David. It means that we can think about our lives and spend some time together.

Oh yeah? said Thandi. Surely, we have spent enough time together already during the pandemic and the markets are out of whack with reality. You have said it yourself. So many people are unemployed at the moment!

I know it is a crazy system and there are ups and downs. Your mother thought the market was governed by greed and fear, gains for the few and pain for the rest. She was right of course, but when my broker sells some of these today, we will be able to get back to Africa. She always wanted us to travel to Africa as a family.

He mentally kicked himself for using the word ‘family’ and for sounding so pleased with himself. Mary had been right about the roller coaster ride of the share market; and he knew only too well that Thandi was not coping, even though the accident in the Philippines had occurred almost three years ago.

The image of the overloaded ferry still haunted both of them. The months of lock down during the Covid-19 pandemic had not helped.

As stepfather he needed to try harder. He felt a nagging sense of anxiety as he reminded himself that his so-called ‘broker’ was only an old class mate who had been given a post in his uncle’s firm and that he had never been a close friend at school. Once upon a time he had thought his class mate a little bit rash, without the ability to think through the implications of profit at the expense of others—but in recent years, after the terrible ferry incident when he and Thandi had both felt crushed, he had been impressed by his friend’s breezy confidence and his apparent willingness to grow his small nest egg.

In the last few years, grief for his wife made him keen to take a break from his career. His head ached as much as his back from pettiness and the daily grind during a recession and then the pandemic. Just recently a few things had started to change, and he was determined to make things better. Thandi’s attitude to life was bleak. Besides there was the promise he had made to Mary years ago to re-connect Thandi with her roots. He felt guilty about the new and unexpected relationship that had blossomed with their neighbour—but three years had passed since Mary’s death and Sibyl had been kind and helpful – even if the cooked dishes left on their doorstep had been a bit clichéd.

You would like that wouldn’t you? David asked hopefully, looking at Thandi, who looked past David at the beautiful woman on the balcony behind him.

Why would you think I would want to do that? Just because my name is Thandi and just because I was born in Cape Town doesn’t mean a thing, said Thandi staring blankly. Lately she had grown to dislike her name and vowed she would change it. Why wasn’t she called something plain and appropriate like Jane? At least she wouldn’t need to explain that it was the foolish whim of a father whom she never met. She was aware that David was more than grateful to Sibyl. He was not the most eligible of widowers and clearly the attention was both welcome and flattering, she thought crossly.

No matter how far you travel you cannot escape the present, she said, making no attempt to hide her feelings.

A good point, responded David evenly, trying his best to connect with Thandi who sat there hunched looking like a fowl with wet feathers.

But a change will do us all good. And it will give you a chance to spread your wings a little, persisted David, thinking he had succeeded in masking the exasperation in his voice. What more could he do to help his very troubled stepdaughter who was clearly angry and still grieving?

That would be wonderful, purred the New Woman. Thandi could hardly bring herself to even think of her as Sibyl or as a prospective fiancée – or heaven forbid – a future stepmother.

We will be leaving Adelaide on Friday, said David with determination and handed Thandi a tattered copy of Kenneth Grahame’s Wind in the Willows.

It was your mother’s copy and I think the themes are so relevant as we are going to have an adventure together. Perhaps you would like to read it again now you are older? he asked gently. Thandi received the book glumly.

What about your commitments at the Development Bank? asked Thandi sourly. What about my Year 10 exams?

We only live once, he said dredging up the old homily and regretting his tactlessness. He jokingly said, We must dust ourselves off and get back on our bicycles, hoping this would strike a better chord with his stepdaughter who pulled a face at him, as he tried to cover his embarrassment.

We need a break, a fresh start, continued David looking into Sybil’s eyes for encouragement. Thandi, feeling ignored, made no attempt to show any enthusiasm. Since her mother’s death in the ferry accident three years ago there had been too many changes. One of the worst had been the recent arrival of the New Woman. Men, her stepfather in particular must be really stupid, she thought. What could Sibyl see in him? What had her mother seen in him for that matter? In her opinion, he was domineering and pasty faced; when he swallowed his Adam’s apple jutted out. Feeling just a little guilty at her nastiness, she conceded that his eyes were definitely his best feature.

Thandi tried to see her stepfather as the man who had swept her aid worker mother off her feet and not through her own eyes as the ‘mean authority figure.’ In her misery she saw everyone and everything through tainted lenses. Yes, his eyes were certainly sparkling now as he quickly outlined their departure plans. Pity, they seem so cold sometimes when he looks at me, she thought. Thandi eyed the tatty jumper and crinkled trousers David had worn for the past week once he had discarded a business suit and worked from home during the pandemic. She frowned, bit her lip and said nothing. He had also grieved her mother but the next-door neighbour’s constant delivery of casseroles and ongoing offers of care had resulted in David taking a new lease on life.

David laughingly went into what he called ‘planning mode’. Although David was a so-called ‘aid administrator’ he was very disorganized as far as household matters were concerned. Sibyl, a fashion buyer was quite happy to take over home management to help them through the difficult time of grieving. Well to be honest it was David she was interested in helping.

My life is a mess. I am an orphan, thought Thandi. I am just a left over from the ferry accident when Mum drowned, and she was never found. And my real dad, well who was he anyway? A really stupid botanist with a love of rock climbing who selfishly died on Table Mountain and left Mum to look after us both as best she could, until she met David. Why did Dad and Mum call me ‘Thandi’, a Xhosa name, meaning ‘Beloved’? How stupid. It’s pretentious as I am not Xhosa. Why saddle me with a name that’s meaningless to me?

Although she wallowed in miserable self-pity, she was aware that her mother would not approve of her behaviour. After the initial shock and denial her grief tended to reverberate from anger to bargaining and back to depression again. If her mother had been around, she would have told her to acknowledge the grieving cycle⁴ and to be a little kinder to herself and to others. But her mother was not around to give advice.

Thandi heard David saying in the background:

Sibyl could you arrange the tenants, and I will arrange Thandi’s distance learning classes?

Damn, thought Thandi twisting the navy-blue school ribbon that she was obliged to wear with her uniform.

Even if Sibyl did make an effort, the thought of spending a holiday with them was daunting. No friends and plenty of study, what a deal!

Sweetheart, what is the matter? asked David, trying to make an effort as he observed the exaggerated twisting of her fingers and the brimming tears. It was so difficult to connect with the sad-faced teenager who looked not a bit like her mother and so much like the photographs of the father she had never met. He sighed, putting aside the painful memory of his wife’s death.

I am not your sweetheart and you know why I am upset, blurted Thandi, fleeing to her room and slamming the door behind her.

Just hormones. said Sibyl brightly, Quite natural really for a girl of her age and after all she is going through a difficult time.

Thank God you are here. She misses Mary as do I of course, but life must go on, she would have been the first to say so and besides I don’t think I could cope on my own. It’s just so tiring. Grief and adolescence, what a combination. He paused and looked at Sibyl intently. I do care for you, you are an answer to my prayers, but I am glad you are realistic. The situation is what it is, and I must do my best for all of us. It is essential that we all spend time together before we tie any knots. Another change could be too much for her. I really couldn’t send Thandi to boarding school now.

No, said Sibyl quickly, That’s not a good idea. It would break her heart and yours, in all likelihood. But it has been three years and an uphill struggle, hasn’t it? How many times have you had to go down to the local police station and persuade the officers that you are indeed able to manage her behaviour? Well let’s face it, her kleptomania is a problem. How many times have you had to get urgent reports from psychologists to back up your defence that she was acting out from grief and that she suffered post-traumatic stress? It’s a good thing that Thandi doesn’t live elsewhere and that she has you batting for her; she could be facing a sentence by now if she was in the Northern Territory.⁵

Don’t remind me, said David. I can’t bear to think of having her classified ‘at risk’ or remanded. The thought of having to deal with any more misery was quickly ended by David’s suggestion that he would pour fresh mango juice for everyone.

Here’s to us. He raised his glass to Sibyl.

Her glass responded with a little clink of ice.

The next week passed in a blur of arguments and nerve-racking arrangements.

*************************************************

Well, that’s it, said David the following Wednesday handing over the keys to the house sitter.

For away folks. Around the world we go, well almost!

All the arrangements had supposedly been carried out and David’s stockbroking friend had taken over the reins of his small nest egg.

We now have a little freedom to recover from an appalling time, thought David trying to justify his rash decision. Perhaps I am still in shock, he thought guiltily, before quickly brushing the thought aside.

In the overcrowded taxi at the crack of dawn Thandi said nastily:

Well for a so-called share market wizard, perhaps you could have organised better transport to the airport? But I guess I will get used to being a sardine after the flight!

I am no wizard, and I probably cannot afford to take this risk, but a journey is what we all need, said David blithely.

He was determined not to be irritated by his troubled stepdaughter and equally determined not to reprimand her. Even though the sarcasm had been brushed aside, the atmosphere was rather heavy. Sibyl had resisted the urge to say, better to be a sardine than a brat, but had managed to say nothing and to offer to take Thandi’s heavy ruck sack on her lap.

David had noticed and sighed mentally comparing Thandi with her mother whose values he had loved, as much as her irrepressible good humour. He cleared his throat and blew loudly into a rather shabby hanky covered in ink stains.

That outfit (it could only be described as an outfit) in cream linen will become very creased, very soon, thought Thandi spitefully staring rudely at Sibyl whilst trying to ignore David.

Cream suits you, said Thandi, but you will be hard pressed to keep it that colour for long when we are bunched together travelling. You should have worn that shocking pink track suit, said Thandi trying to be as horrible as the worst girls at school who had regularly bullied her.

Actually, the colour is called fuchsia, said Sibyl pertly. She understood that she was being taunted and kindly avoided the bait.

Some hours later when they were ‘happily snug in their seats’ to use David’s phrase, Thandi commented sourly, Well the airline food is as can be expected. She poked the congealed stew and then looked out the window so that she could hide her tears and she cleared her throat angrily. Who cares about food anyway? she thought miserably. It all tasted the same since Mum died.

As she leaned her head against the windowpane studiously pretending to look at the view, Thandi compared Sibyl unfavourably with her own mother. Sibyl was blonde, manicured, svelte and urbane. She was certainly more than pretty. Her own mother was earnest and good looking, she wasn’t frivolous, and she had a very limited wardrobe of clothes. Thandi recalled that she used to say: Ideas are very important; ideas are real and can change the world. She was practical about her beliefs. She lived them. She started projects to help homeless children in South Africa and campaigned for the rights of children in the Philippines. She cared for everyone. Pity I came last on the list. Even as she thought this, she knew it was untrue and that she had indeed been the centre of her mother’s world. But the bitterness of reflux burned her throat. Exhaustion won in the end, and she slept until the end of the flight.

A hot towel and a lukewarm coffee greeted her. David and Sibyl are cooing like lovebirds, thought Thandi miserably.

The pilot pronounced the descent. Look, that’s Harare airport, said David trying to break the silence between them.

Yep, sure is, said Thandi bleakly.

The airport terminal was crowded and smoky. A waiter wearing a white coat, a red cummerbund and holding a serviette over his arm served Sibyl her favourite gin and tonic. Sibyl was delighted and complimented the waiter on his uniform. The waiter could not understand her accent but smiled anyway. Thandi giggled.

That’s better, said David kindly, it’s good to see you laughing. Sibyl raised her eyebrow almost imperceptibly at Thandi and said: Why not freshen up whilst you get the chance?

No, I don’t need to. A track suit travels quite well, and I don’t wear makeup, she said surveying the rumpled linen and Sibyl’s tired face.

Perhaps you are right about wearing a track suit, said Sibyl just a little coldly.

The next stage of the flight to Gauteng and the trip to the Elephant National Park by car only served to underline that Sibyl was in charge, or so it seemed to Thandi. David gave a running commentary (for the benefit of ‘his girls’ as he called them) on South African political history, the details of the places that flashed by as they drove and the dangers of not taking regular breaks to ensure good concentration. But Sibyl made the decisions as to when they would stop and what they would look at. Thandi felt like a zombie, dead in all but name.

That was close, muttered Sibyl stoically as a crowded minibus overtook on a rise and narrowly missed oncoming traffic.

Oh, when will this end! groaned Thandi crossly. But no one took any notice of her until Sibyl had finished opening a box of dried fruit and carefully handed it to Thandi and David. That should keep us going for a few more kilometres, said Sibyl adopting a jolly tone.

Yes, a few more hours, three and a bit to be exact, Thandi, chuckled David through a mouthful of fruit.

Thandi watched the passing scenes flicking past, the city of Gauteng, the affluent walled suburbs, the mound of slag heaps and then the open veldt. Nothing inspired any interest. At best she felt as if she was detached from everything and everyone around her.

Sibyl played navigator and David drove, until it became clear that map reading was not one of Sibyl’s strengths. Thandi was glad that she was sitting in the back of the hired Volkswagen Golf. Normally it was her task, and to be honest she hated feeling David’s tightly reined impatience when she made mistakes. Let her suffer, Thandi thought as Sibyl let David take over the navigating.

Speed sent Thandi to sleep and the sensation of slowing down woke Thandi as they approached the entrance of the Elephant National Park.

I see there is bitumen road now, said David happily. It was