Words by Brendon Bosworth & Photography by Sydelle Willow Smith
It is seven, still dark on Baden Powell Drive, a beachfront road that connects the suburb of Muizenberg to the Cape Flats. A white VW Citi Golf with only one headlight, its hazard lights flashing, negotiates the dawn traffic. The sole occupant of the car, psychiatrist John Parker (48), is on his way to meet Kurt Meavers, a mechanic in Strandfontein. The Citi Golf is in need of repair. John is clean-shaven, wears glasses and has a small silver earring in his left ear. He has been up since five. Each morning begins with a meditation routine, either inside his Noordhoek home or outside in his daughters’ Wendy house during the hot summer months. The early morning quiet is important to John, who devotes time to cultivating mindfulness, the ability to be in the moment and pay attention in a purposeful and non-judgmental way. The fruits of this practice are recognisable: the doctor holds the space around him when he speaks in his metered and thoughtful manner.
John pulls up outside the mechanic’s house. Meavers, an affable man with neatly trimmed beard, comes out and greets John with a handshake and a hug. They met two years ago when Meavers saw John standing by the side of the road next to his car—it had broken down—and have become close friends. Meavers says he has learned a lot from John during their conversations whenever he has had to drive the psychiatrist to nearby Lentegeur Hospital, a specialist psychiatric facility in Mitchells Plain, where John has worked since late 2003. The hospital was established in 1987.
“He’s too calm, man,” Meavers tells me. He wears a T-shirt with “My God is an Awesome God” written on it. “It rubs off on me because I can see it. Before I say a thing, I look at it first, take ten or 15 seconds, and then say it—then it will come out right. That’s what I learned from him.”
Others who know John reiterate this sentiment: John is mindful, easy to relate to. And his thoughtful demeanour, as well as the strong sense of self-belief he projects, helps the psychiatrist navigate the broad range of human emotion and experience he encounters in his work. It has also served him well in confrontational encounters with psychotic patients. Like the time he talked a burly patient out of hitting him with a chair, or when he got a knife-wielding patient to hand over his weapon—both events took place early in his career, when he was based at Fort England Psychiatric Hospital in Grahamstown in the Eastern Cape.
“It’s something I’ve discovered in myself,” says John. “I can engage with someone who’s completely psychotic.” For instance, someone who is hearing voices and screaming. “I can go in there, and I’ve done it a lot of times, where no one else will go near the person, and I can walk in there and make peace,” he says. “It’s about learning to speak to the human deep inside there—learning to let your human being engage with that human being at a very deep level.”