During those long summers when life seemed endless and the
magic was always happening around us, I was, as I am now, always trying not to forget the stories, Nowadays a sound, a smell, a comment, or
even a thought can take me back to those few years on the edge of the
forest.
It was as if there was only us, me and the kids, and there was a whole world to discover and create. Behind our house was another bywoner family consisting of a mother and father, a sixteen-year-old daughter, a younger twelve-year-old daughter, and two even younger ones of six years and eight, one of whom was born blind. Because they came from the Freestate, their Ouma used to visit a lot. She liked her port wine and long conversations under the African sky. She helped to look after the children who were not allowed outside the gate. They had a beautiful Dalmatian called Spot.
In those days it was always recommended to be neighbourly. They were friendly Afrikaans people who were really struggling financially, especially to keep their son in the blind school. Occasionally I walked down the road to have a cup of coffee with the artist mother and Ouma, of course. Mary Jayne and Andrew used to come with me and play on their swing. They had a swing which was really just a big rope with a knot tied in the end of it. They also had a small stream in front of their house, which supplied them with a never-ending number of frogs. The little blind boy, Johannes, was the most adventurous of them all. He was always getting little scrapes and cuts by falling on his hands and knees. It never seem to stop him though; he was fearless. He used the Dalmatian as a guide when he walked. He was always full of life and chatted away to anybody within distance. Occasionally I would see Bully guide him as well. It was ironic that the most adventurous child was the one who couldn’t see.
Johannes was sitting on the wall one day, his dog at his feet. His mom had just dashed inside to get the coffee. Feeling a little awkward, I asked him about his experiences at school. He laughed and said to me, ‘Tannie, you don’t want to ask me that. You want to ask me about my pockets filled with dreams’
He had caught my attention. He knew it too. ‘Okay, tell me about them’, I said rising to the challenge.
‘I dream in colour’ said the little boy who had been blind since birth. ‘I dream about the paintings my mother paints. I can see the trees and the birds my mother painted against the wall. I can even see the little fairies she put on the toilet rim. I feel her energy and smell her paint. I can smell different colours and I can see her as she hums to piano tunes. I dream about ‘groot dinge’, Tannie, like playing the piano and becoming famous. The music puts colour into my head. It feels baie lekker, die lekkerste lekker’
It was as if there was only us, me and the kids, and there was a whole world to discover and create. Behind our house was another bywoner family consisting of a mother and father, a sixteen-year-old daughter, a younger twelve-year-old daughter, and two even younger ones of six years and eight, one of whom was born blind. Because they came from the Freestate, their Ouma used to visit a lot. She liked her port wine and long conversations under the African sky. She helped to look after the children who were not allowed outside the gate. They had a beautiful Dalmatian called Spot.
In those days it was always recommended to be neighbourly. They were friendly Afrikaans people who were really struggling financially, especially to keep their son in the blind school. Occasionally I walked down the road to have a cup of coffee with the artist mother and Ouma, of course. Mary Jayne and Andrew used to come with me and play on their swing. They had a swing which was really just a big rope with a knot tied in the end of it. They also had a small stream in front of their house, which supplied them with a never-ending number of frogs. The little blind boy, Johannes, was the most adventurous of them all. He was always getting little scrapes and cuts by falling on his hands and knees. It never seem to stop him though; he was fearless. He used the Dalmatian as a guide when he walked. He was always full of life and chatted away to anybody within distance. Occasionally I would see Bully guide him as well. It was ironic that the most adventurous child was the one who couldn’t see.
Johannes was sitting on the wall one day, his dog at his feet. His mom had just dashed inside to get the coffee. Feeling a little awkward, I asked him about his experiences at school. He laughed and said to me, ‘Tannie, you don’t want to ask me that. You want to ask me about my pockets filled with dreams’
He had caught my attention. He knew it too. ‘Okay, tell me about them’, I said rising to the challenge.
‘I dream in colour’ said the little boy who had been blind since birth. ‘I dream about the paintings my mother paints. I can see the trees and the birds my mother painted against the wall. I can even see the little fairies she put on the toilet rim. I feel her energy and smell her paint. I can smell different colours and I can see her as she hums to piano tunes. I dream about ‘groot dinge’, Tannie, like playing the piano and becoming famous. The music puts colour into my head. It feels baie lekker, die lekkerste lekker’
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