There was a fluidity to our roaming back then. In and out of each other’s houses and around the neighbourhood—proprietor of secret places and favourite games.
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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
When that overloaded Beetle propelled through a red light and little Kate pointed out the infraction, she was met with a hasty and uncharacteristic, “Shut up, Kate”. It was then that we knew things were serious.
Back in the 90s… school lunch was a mountain of butter on brown bread and a sliver of marmite. And then there were the kids with ham sandwiches or strawberry jam on white bread. I hated those kids.
The lady looked pensive. Her head turned this way and that; too quickly, like a meerkat on the lookout for snapping snakes in the veld.
The palm cast a shadow on the white wall of my parents’ bedroom at night…
His mom glances over at him with a cautionary eye; she sees everything. It feels like forever, this tea arrangement, and he’s eaten all his toast; only crusts are left.
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We arrived at an estate in the bush after driving for hours. It was a private event. We were to serve food (a potjie that had been cooking for hours) and drinks to around thirty guests—cool, no problemo. Except…
We brought the crabs home and loaded some into the garden pond but there were so many that others were offered a bucket-style motel for the evening.
But the best was my uncle’s bakkie – white with a three-tiered rail attached to the back rim, no canopy. The purpose of the rail was to stop stuff from falling out. Way more fun, though, than the safety of the bakkie’s bakkie, was the top of the rim.
Fat Baobabs cast shade in dusty daytimes, giving way to drawling Acacia silhouettes and bright orange sunsets. Before the evenings succumbed to bright starry skies that expanded for eons, we went foraging.