Latest Stories...

"I can only tell you things that happened as I saw them, and what the rest was about only Africa knows." – Oom Schalk Lourens

William Kentridge South African artist

A lament

Fireside stories. Warm, fuzzy—the kind of tale you want to use as a nice, comfy pillow when you drift into dreamland under a magical star infused sky. The reality is, though, that when talking about South Africa, about home, it’s not all warm and fuzzy—is it?

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Moving day

Thirteen years ago, we arrived in London with a suitcase each and have there since morphed into a family of seven with stuff to match. It’s LOL funny, when you don’t have to pack and carry it.

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Malva Pudding

Malva Pudding

There it was. Delicious, spongy, oozy, drippy, squidgy Malva Pudding. And then it was gone. Obliterated. Not by an army of South Africans “after the braai” but by one wily 20-year-old.

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Bronze statue in Marseilles

The immigrant’s void

Often, I have to fight the feeling that I am passing on to my children a vague silhouette, an inkling, a ghost, of something that shaped me, that is important to me, that lives in me but is not really real, anymore. And yet I need it to be real. I need to remember…

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black woman and white child South Africa

The other side

Why couldn’t they live close by? What did you think about it?—That your maid’s family was so far away and she was taking care of you? The words that followed; I remember the look of shock on her face…

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1999 collage

Left Behind – Matric Dance Vibes ’99

Hastily, we rushed into separate rooms to swap our formal kit for more comfortable party attire. I walked downstairs after finally accomplishing my feat of finishing a magician’s change of clothes, only to realise that I was in an empty apartment…

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