We can only speak of the things we carried with us,
and the things we took away.

♥

Beaufort West

I was watching a documentary about Gert Vlok Nel, born and bred in Beaufort West, South Africa.

The ancient San people had a name for the area where Beaufort West is situated; they called it "Karoo" in their language, meaning "land of great thirst".

They could not have described this vast, arid, stark, unforgiving and yet so awesome and dazzlingly beautiful landscape more aptly.

Many years ago I spent a long, hot summer in Beaufort West. As part of my studies I had to do some practical work in an orphanage, and I chose to go to the little village of Beaufort West.

The Karoo is more of a feeling, an experience than a geographical place. Early morning I walked to the orphanage which was situated on the outskirts of the village; walking in a dirt road, the sun already hot and dry and the air smelling like dust and sunshine; the shadows long in front of me. Late afternoon I walked back to where I lodged, the shadows long behind me, blue, blue sky and never a cloud, only the blindingly hot African sun.

And it was eerily quiet, except for the sounds of crickets and the odd, brave bird calling in the heat. I did not hear anything, but in the stillness I also heard everything. The voices of history echoing from the rocks and from the dirt and the dust, millions of years of people and forgotten places, the sun blazing down and blood buzzing in my ears.

Ek het gedink ek het dit alles al vergeet ...


©

Days of ghosts and old roses

Oupa lived in an old creaking house on the banks of the Vaal River.

The house was very big and very old with many rooms where ghosts lived a secret life. They only came out at night, and only when I was there because Oupa said he
never saw or heard them.


My mom grew up in this house. Oupa spoiled her, I think he felt sorry for her because her mother died when she was very young. She used to tell me stories of all the times Oupa took her shopping in Kimberley, buying her the most beautiful clothes. Silk and satin and lace long evening dresses, linen suits and classy high heeled shoes and gorgeous hats and gloves.


My favorite room was the pink room where mom used to sleep. It had dusky floral wallpaper and smelled like old roses and dust. In the corner was a dressing table with a huge round mirror. I would dance around in front of it, pretending to be Alice, dreaming of the White Rabbit and Cheshire Cat.

I loved going there and staying over as my cousins lived there as well. I think Oupa did not know how to keep us busy as it had been a long time since my mom was a little girl of about 5.

We used to play in the cemetery on all the old graves. We played hide and seek and also replaced the dead flowers in the flowerpots with fresh tree branches.

At night Oupa went to bed early, so we had to go to our room and be quiet. Mara, Elsa and I shared a bed. Oupa left a candle burning for us and we would watch the flickering shadows on the wall and in the mirror. We would see the ghosts coming out and dancing around in the room, shadowy transparent figures floating over us and out of the door.

We hugged each other in the dark, too afraid to move or to make a sound until we fell asleep in each others arms.

♫

©

Childhood dreams

Where I grew up on a remote farm in South Africa,
I often would look out the window and wished to go somewhere far,
somewhere exciting.

Little did I know then just how far I would go,
how often I would miss the simplicity of my childhood days

and how exciting my life would be

Life was wonderful

as a child I used to run in fields of green,
my fingers brushing the tips

life was wonderful

For those who believe in God, most of the big questions are answered.

For those who believe in God, most of the big questions are answered.

But for those of us who can't readily accept the God formula, the big answers don't remain stone-written.
We adjust to new conditions and discoveries. We are pliable. Love need not be a command or faith a dictum.
I am my own God. We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system.
We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives
so well that Death will tremble to take us.

~ Charles Bukowski ~

~

My cousin Mara committed suicide by hanging herself on July 3.

A part of my youth, my memories died as well.
I remember how close we were as children, how we played, laughed,
giggled, were punished, cried ...

and then she had to go and die.

My heart break for her, that her life became so unbearable that hanging herself was the best option, the only option for her. What agony she must have experienced in the weeks and days before she eventually decided to end it all?

I hope it was over quickly.

I wish I was there for her.

We had such dreams, such fun.
I am so grateful for those times,
those days of laughter in the sun.

RIP Mara.

I will remember all the good times, all the perfect days we had.

♥