The world was a strange place. Bad strange? He wasn’t sure. Often, he’d walk and walk; hunting for signs of the fight—remnants of the strangeness.
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"I can only tell you things that happened as I saw them, and what the rest was about only Africa knows." – Oom Schalk Lourens
She ran. The screaming sirens terrorising her legs into motion. Every step a trauma. They all ran. Boys, girls. Lessons abandoned. Books, bags and reason thrown into chaos.
The faux warmth of the heater gently nudges its way through my 4-degree car. Stifling a shiver, I will the beady red eye in front of me to change to a more amenable green…
Have you ever seen a flying car? I have. Well, almost. I didn’t actually see it fly but I know it did. How? My uncle.
I’d sit on the sand. Red and hot. So hot. And scrape my nails along the ground. Digging into the flat, dry earth. Witling time away…
The gardener lifts the fork and turns the snake, like a piece of meat cooked over an open fire, and inspects the specimen.
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She was lying in bed. There was a drip in her arm. She seemed to be of average height—a shapeless mass under white sheets…
As a South African, how many koeksisters have you eaten in your lifetime? Tons, right? And if you’re not South African, well, it’s not your fault and you can make up for it by consuming titanic amounts of our favourite treat (and supporting the Springboks).
I am old now. The moments come to me frequently and infrequently, sometimes in a haze and other times as clear as day. Eons in the past or mere minutes ago. I can’t always tell who is who or when is when. But I know the smell, the sound, the sun, the soil. It lives in me.
How could something so brutal, so ugly, bring so much comfort? I breathe deeply. Alone. Inside the belly of the beast.