There was no water. So they filled barrels and piled as many as could into the car, and headed for Katlehong.
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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
After some serious debate, we made our purchase and upon arriving (late) at the designated spot, discovered that the car was gone. Had we gone to the wrong parking bay? No. I know my mom. No patience. She’d gone without us.
The waves exploded towards slab and shore as Octo-dad clung to the jagged side like a human barnacle, adeptly extracting the shells; his long hair clasped to his face and beard as he returned with the treasure.
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.
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.
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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.
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…