A collection of stories from South Africa
A collection of stories from South Africa
"I can only tell you things that happened as I saw them, and what the rest was about only Africa knows." – Oom Schalk Lourens
As dark descended we imagined thousands of impis creeping their way through the long grass, closer and closer to the mission—and then the sudden light upon their faces as the Red Coats set the roof on fire. Guns firing, assegais penetrating; the vicious cries of war.
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The view was incredible, stretching the eye to Langermann’s Kop across the valley. It was dark inside. Gloomy. But in a mystical, magical kind of medieval way that ignores the horrendous hygiene, disgusting food, rotting teeth, dubious medical practise and bubonic plague more typical of the time than any cliché of marvellous masquerades and happy ever afters.
That train cake. It came from a cake book that Patty had—The Australian Women’s Weekly Children’s Birthday Cake Book, which was surely beamed down to suburban South Africa from some sort of 80s party goddess.
The Parktown Prawn is a browney-orangey-reddish colour, with long spiked legs and piranha-like teeth that it uses to eat the meat of its enemies—cats, dogs, people and the odd bird…people. Some reasons why you wouldn’t want to meet a prawn in a dark alley…
For years, I worked hard and saved all the money I could to eventually buy the first (second-hand) Kawasaki KX125 I saw. Large, green, fast, noisy (and missing a kick-starter); I just had to have it. If there is one thing I’ve learnt in life – and I’ve learnt a few things – it’s that you need the right tool for the job…