Lending colour to the brain
Clips of Justice Raymond Zondo on the bench causes my mind’s eye to see a sweet-smelling smoke haze enveloping him. His benchmark decision sparks a light grey, depicting moodiness and showing no emotion.
No, I’m not on the weed – haven’t hit such a low yet – but suffer from synesthesia. It’s a condition happening when a sense, such as sight, triggers another sense, like smell.
A gift or an affliction? Probably depends on what is seen and sensed.
When witnessing the Bokke being hammered, I see blue and faded jerseys without the Bok emblem. But when they have the All Blacks swallowing their tongues instead of sticking them out at hapless opponents, I see a rainbow and smell freshly cut grass.
However, when espying the political scene, I not only see colours, but come out in zits around my belly button, causing severe itching.
My synesthesia at times becomes subject specific. Whenever I see a photo of a smirking Zuma, I smell cattle dung and a streak of blue lightning strikes my brain. Scratch.
Hearing the name Gupta raises the sense of smell to new heights. I see rotting carcasses being gorged by fat brown rats.
Just the voice of Fikile Mbalula is enough to cause the zits to swell and scratching to increase. And I see yellow smiling emojis.
Juju Malema elicits pillar box red (for danger) and the smell of dust off grabbed arid farmland.
The zits are ready to ooze. Scratch. Scratch.
Thankfully, there are some good combinations.
Like with my gardener Cliff Number One. He insists I’m Number Two. I see bright yellow (cheerful and optimistic) and inhale the smell of roses. The zits and scratching immediately recede. It is he who transformed a poorly neglected garden into one ready for the Chelsea show.
When I hear the voice of Louis Armstrong singing What a Wonderful World, I see merlot, and the smell of leather fills the air.
All in all, synesthesia isn’t a bad thing. And I reckon most of us have it to a greater or lesser degree without realising it.
Try this exercise. Close your eyes and picture a parliamentary sitting. What do you see or smell?
I don’t wanna know.