ikhaya lam

   Winter 1968 Wat is beter: om te weet jou pa gaan dood of om hom onverwags te verloor? So wonder ek en my neef nou die dag. 'n Ander niggie, wie se pa onverwags weg is, reken sy sou enigiets gee vir nog net een gesprek, vir die kans om te kan afskeid neem. Ek sê ek weet nie. My pa (middel agter op die foto hierbo) is dood ná twee maande in 'n hoësorgeenheid. Hy het sy hoeveelste hartaanval oorleef en sou moes terug hospitaal toe vir 'n hartomleiding wanneer hy sterk genoeg was. Een keer was dit ámper. 'n Dominee in 'n bruin poliësterpak roep my eenkant toe in die intensiewe eenheid. Hy wil weet of daar iets fout is tussen my en my pa. Ek voel oorbluf. Ek kan nie sien waarop die gesprek afstuur nie. Die magswanbalans tussen outoriteitsfiguur en sestienjarige laat my onseker staan. Nee, hoekom? Want dit lyk of jou pa nie wíl lewe nie, sê hy. Ek steek die geheim weg dat ek en my pa baklei. Dat ons nooit praat oor my dooie ma (heel regs op foto bo) nie. Dat hy drink e...

  For Nomzamo     who ended her brilliant life on the 8th of April 2021   All unborn life is sacred they say except in case of rape or incest or when the mother's life is at risk   Then you may kill the child who would want to carry that product of violence that evil spawn for nine months push it out between your legs   Would you?   Some of us, ill-conceived yet unaborted, Eros and Thanatos in constant tug-of-war   You sentence us to death a thousand times then mourn when we kill ourselves            ❤     https://medium.com/the-understanding-project/the-ancient-dance-between-eros-and-thanatos-492afb747ef

  The title of the story will be “Ek het niks hier verloor nie”. The title will be ironic.   A Farm with No Name   I will write about how there’s nothing left of the homestead I grew up in, nothing to go back for. How Africa is reclaiming the garden, and how it is fitting that way. Nature takes over from neglect and erases my father’s footsteps from the farm. It demolishes my mother’s vegetable garden and the exotic mulberry tree that fed my silkworms. I listened to Springsteen's Magic while driving the roads of the Eastern Cape earlier this year: "This is what will be, this is what will be".   Entry to the Vegetable Garden. There was an enormous mulberry tree next to the gate. My mother bred Boerboel dogs and Landras pigs, and found time to nurture an alcohol addiction in between. My dad ploughed fields and drank a lot of coffee. There used to be this ad in the Huisgenoot , it showed a big clock with a cup of Ricoffy at every hour. I think my fa...

dit brand soos ‘n pyl in my. Die mense sien daar niks nie van, en die Here alleen die weet wat ek ly. Die dae kom en die nagte gaan; die skadu’s word lank en weer kort; die drywerstem van my werk weerklink, en ek gaan op my kruisweg vort. https://gedigteboom.co.za/totius/o-die-pyn-gedagte/     I know at least seven women who have lost a child.    I, myself, managed to lose someone else's child.    "How do you do that?" I hear you ask.    You take in a six-year old when his mother's life falls apart and you keep him until he reaches high school, after which the arrangement becomes permanent and one day you realise you've become a single step-parent to a teenager. When you divorce his father many years later, you also lose the only "child" you'd ever known.    That is how you lose someone else's child.   It was not until I found Buurman that the possibility of a human baby crossed my mind. The Bulldog ...