EARLY MORNING: MIDNIGHT DRAGONS STARING AT ME FROM THE DARKNESS

 EARLY MORNING: MIDNIGHT DRAGONS STARING AT ME FROM THE DARKNESS

Sketch of my right foot - I injured it when I was about 4 or 5 years old and the scar is still visible

EARLY MORNING: MIDNIGHT DRAGONS STARING AT ME FROM THE DARKNESS

The midnights dragons were staring at me from the darkness of the night. I looked at them. I decided the best way to confront them, was to get up and stand on my feet. Then I went outside to my shower room and have a shower. They don't have a leg to stand on when I am showering. 

I showered with the most wonderfully hot water running down my back as I stand with my head against the stone wall. The warm water flows over my back while I wash my body, and each toe individually. It is an unhurried process. The warm water runs over my body and down the drain. Foam. The scent of the shampoo. A clean body. My beard washed thoroughly.

Thoroughly rinsed.

Drying off.

Each toe.

The foot.

The ankles.

Left leg.

Right leg.

Left arm.

Right arm.

Face.

A bald head with little or almost no hair.

The beard. Shaving: the left side. The right side. Under the chin. Between the lower lip and the edge of the beard. Drying off.

Applying skin cream.

And I look at my feet: 76 years and a few months old.

And my hands. Just as old.

Thank You Lord God for that.

Sketches of my hand

They have carried me to many places: murder scenes. Theft cases (shoplifting). Abortions. Weddings. Divorces. Births. Prisons. Death-row cells in Pretoria. Church services. Baptisms. Prayer gatherings. Libraries: the Vatican Library. Court libraries. Friends. Family. Municipal libraries. Private libraries. Mostly my own library with my own familiar books—and quite a few that I still have to read.

Then, as I dry myself, I am grateful that I can dry each toe on my left foot and on my right foot individually.

The heels.

The soles of my feet.

The Achilles tendons.

The calves.

The kneecaps—each one—and grateful that they are in good working order.

The seven openings in my body that function well. During the flu, my nose worked particularly well.

The empty dishwasher

I am still exorcising the early morning demons.

Then I stand in front of our dishwasher. Grateful that I still have the eye-hand coordination to pick up each cup, each saucer, each teaspoon and tablespoon, each fork and knife. To place them on the tray, then walk around the corner and put each one back in its own designated place, knowing exactly what I am doing. And while I do this, I can still pray for my people—my people who read my blog. I do not know who you are.

Why do I think of you?

Why do I pray for you?

Just because? No. Not just because.

Because Jesus Christ encourages me in His Word to pray for everyone—and you are part of everyone.

Wherever you may be.

And you read my blog—thank you very much. The very least I can do is pray for you.

I have no idea who you are or what your personal circumstances may be.

There you are, and there is your connection with the God of Truth and the God who loves you.

If you feel so inclined, write to me at neelscoertse@wirelessza.co.za

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BEES BRING HOPE AND TIRELESSLY LABOUR IN CREATION

 

Painting by my wife, Annemarie Coertse

 This morning, I went to my "maternity ward" to make horse-manure compost tea. I use what is foul and smelly to bring new growth to my plants. As I filled three refuse bins with water to cover the dry horse manure, thinking about many things and praying for my people, I heard a sound directly above my head. And the sound kept buzzing.

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ.

It was the sound of creation continuing its work of creation—that was my very first thought: creation was taking place here in my maternity ward. And I am privy to such a phenomenal drama.

Using horse manure to make compost tea is one thing; the buzzing was another.

Every now and then I stopped filling the bins with water just to listen.

Listen carefully.

Then I looked up at my neighbour's cypress tree peering over the garden wall.

I stood perfectly still.

Listening.

Watching.

Painting by my wife Annemarie Coertse

Then I saw how creation carries on: bees already circling, buzzing, diving and rising, diving and rising. Bees bring hope. They keep working regardless of what is happening around them; they know nothing of the Madlanga Commission.

I know it has been a very long time since I last worked on my blog. But when I heard how tirelessly creation carries on, I simply knew: this is the day I must write. The fact that I have not written anything for a long time does not mean I have done nothing. On the contrary, I have accomplished a great deal. Much of what I have been busy with will eventually find its way into my blog.

In particular, I have been reflecting deeply on my life of faith.

The painting of these bees was done by my wife, Annemarié, and she gave it to me as a gift to share with my readers.

I send you my greetings and prayers for God's blessing.

Please write to me: neelscoertse@wirelessza.co.za

    

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THE JOY OF TOUCHING MY BABY BAOBAB TREE

 

My two days old baobab

THE JOY OF TOUCHING MY BABY BAOBAB TREE

Have you ever touched a three-day old Baobab tree? Not? Me neither; except for this morning, touching my own little big-tree. I now battle to think law, to think about my “mob-justice” matters and murder and serial rapists and so on. How difficult to think on the ConCourt’s latest judgment on the doctrine of common purpose; ten judges sitting; five in favour and five against.

What is now on my mind?

My baby baobab. Two days old.

Or, for that matter, have you ever touched a sprouting Franschhoek Oak tree [that is in all probabilities an off-spring of the South African oaks growing in Delville Wood cemetery, that in turn hails from our flagship botanical garden in Capetown, Kirstenbosch; the oaks there, were originally brought from France to my country during the 1600’s] and now growing in Rivonia where Nelson Mandela was hiding at Liliesleaf; my Oaks at just on 2 years old are far too small for anybody to hide under or to sit in its shade; I have to sustain them otherwise … no, I don’t want to think about the ”otherwise.”

Or, have you ever touched a baby Mopani tree sprouting somewhere?

Or a baby impala lily tree?

What about a sambokpeul-tree? Well, I don’t even know what it looks like, yet I am growing it.

All of these “babies,” except the Oaks, are a couple of days old. The oaks are almost just on 2 years old and doing well.

I am not a botanist, nor an arborealist or a gardener of longstanding. In fact, I am at 74 years a very young gardener: I only started gardening with five vegetables [tomatoes, basil and something else] on the 1^st of January 2013. Later on, my gardener brought me five “Malawi-pumpkin seeds” that turned out to be ordinary butternuts and that, you can buy in abundance from your local grocer. The second lot were indeed from Malawi and I tended one that grew and grew and grew. During covid-19 lock down, I donated it to MES to make food for the street people: 15 kg pumpkin soup. Several others were averaging 7.5 kilos.

Then my sister, who lived in Wellington Western Cape passed on, and, on the way back from the funeral we stayed over at Franschhoek on a kind of a farm and that’s where I picked up the oak seeds.

My wife: “What are you doing?”

Me: “Picking up oaks.”

She: “What for?”

“To grow.”

“It grows slow and gets big.”

“I know.”

“The root system are huge and probably extremely invasive?”

“Yes.”

That was just more than two years ago and my five oaks are still babies standing on a home-made, tailor-made trestle-table for my maternity ward plants; during winter they lose their leaves, just like their big brothers and big sisters; come spring, they spring into life with new leaves just as their big brothers and sisters. The first seasonal change from summer to autumn, all their leaves fell off; I was heartily disappointed in myself; that was the definitive proof of me being a failure to grow oaks. My brother-in-law, put my mind at ease: “Don’t worry, that is what oak trees do in winter.”

Then we attended a 70^th birthday party and met other oldies having a whale of a time with weird and wonderful stories and using cell phone cameras sending WhatsApp images to their children in New Zealand [or other places] bragging that we oldies can have parties and we can enjoy it; eating ice-cream, drinking coffee or perhaps tea, some even had rooibos. Some oldies were sharing pills that were prescribed by their doctors, whom are the best in South Africa, and helped them a lot; “you should try it as well, my brother tried it and it was spot on, try it.”.

Thea, her husband Pierre was officiating at our mutual friend’s wedding 45 years ago, was telling me how she collects seeds; always collecting; always stopping her vehicle to get out and to harvest seeds; not only collecting but cultivating them at the retirement village, later on planting them out into the wild. She re-introduced trees that were extinct, on her brother-in-law’s farm; new life sprouted around these indigenous trees and wildlife is returning to where they belong.

She sent me three different seeds using a very unwilling, recalcitrant “courier” an ex-professor in geology who promptly lost the seeds. “Who does she think she is to use me as a courier? I’ve got better things to do” [yes, he is an expert on searching classical music on youtube]. Renosterkoffie-tree, huilboerboon-tree and pronksterttuitpeulboom-tree [on the list of threatened trees]. Undaunted, she couriered other seeds, using a willing and well-paid courier and three days later I got them: VanWykshout-tree, sambokpeul-tree, kremetart [Baobab], adenium lily [impala lily], koraal-tree, mopani tree and a snail vine tree.

Now, my baobab seeds are starting to sprout, and already my friends are worried about the space it is going to fill: “You obviously forgot it is going to be gigantic?” I think their worries are unfounded and definitely pre-mature. My baobab is only two days old. Have a heart. And when my tree is an adult, I won’t be here to tend it. When this tree is mature, nobody who is alive now, will be around to look after my tree. When it reaches old age, nobody for the next 400 – 450 years will be around. Stop worrying. In the meantime, I would ask somebody to look after my trees: “Please cultivate my trees with a long-term view of life and of trees.”

Let’s get back to the baobab. I touched the sprout this morning. I am an ordinary guy who is intrigued by this thing we call LIFE. Life is very simple: you either grow a baobab in your backyard [aka a maternity ward], or you don’t. Easy and simple.  

What is so strange about growing an acorn from Franschhoek?

Is it strange to grow a baobab in “captivity”? Goodness knows where the seeds came from originally. What matters now is that it is growing in Rivonia Johannesburg and it is in its pot in my maternity ward among my other plants. My neighbour is kind to me; his angel’s trumpets are crouching over the boundary wall, guarding over it with its bright yellow trumpets that last a day or so – then others get the opportunity to guard over the very young baobab.

Looking on at this lot, I am flooded with emotions: can it be true? Can it be real that I am growing this tree? I have seen very young upside-down-trees in Zambia who look like teens hanging around in Hyde Park, sporting an iPhone – trying to look and act as if he/she is an adult. When I was driving past them in a rental car on my way to Kariba Dam to see for myself the dam that the Late Queen Elizabeth II visited in the 60’s, I never had the faintest of an idea that many years later I would grow some [I am still waiting for four seeds to sprout].

The story of a baobab? Do you really expect me to tell you that? No, I am not going to, because I know that you, my reader, have already asked Prof G. O. Ogle for an expert opinion. Or, if you use chatgpt, it gives you more than you can chew. How to grow a baobab from seed? How to tend it? And lots more. These artificial intelligence guys will tell you that you should soak the seeds in hot water overnight [how do you keep the water hot?]; I haven’t because, so my reasoning goes, it does not happen in the veld, so why should I do it? My seeds love me for not soaking them.

My neighbours angels trumpets

At this point, I am just basking in the sunlight shining on my two baobab seedlings and my five Franschhoek acorns and on my impala lily and my Vanwykshout-trees and my sambokpeul-trees and others that are still labouring under the crust of the soil to break free to see the light. Walking this morning in my maternity ward, I was welcomed by my neighbours bright yellow angels trumpets voluntary. If you worry about me and my trees, for instance where to plant it, I am of the opinion that you are pre-mature. Or, if not premature, why don’t you think SMALL for a change? That is what the Japanese are doing for centuries: thinking small then you are really thinking big.

All of a sudden it makes sense, not so?

If you are suffering from being a left brain-cerebral-type-only, click on this link for starters:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adansonia

Neels Coertse

Rivonia

Wednesday

23 October 2024

E-mail account: neelscoertse@wirelessza.co.za

 

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Week 22 SOUTH AFRICAN LITERATURE?

 

Hollow City

On our way back from Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens in Capetown, I decided to concentrate on Afrikaans literature for at least the next 12 months – and this is in my mind a very broad concept. It includes translations from other languages into my mother tongue; and it includes literature that originated on this huge continent called Africa. And it includes legal literature.

And I am going for it. Having said that, I am also writing notes on my iPad of the literature I am reading.

Here is a list of literature I have compiled in the meantime:

1.   HOLLOW CITY by Tim Haynes and photographer David Edwards. I found it to be brutally honest, that is both the write-up and the images. Moving and disturbing all at the same time. This is my city that I know very well. When I was a young law-student at the erstwhile Rand Afrikaans University, I was doubling up as chauffer for the South African Airways [as it was then known] and as such I got to know this city and surrounds very intimately. And has changed but completely and it hard to say and even harder for me to admit that these changes were not for the better, in stead it has deteriorated dramatically and I have to admit, against my will, that it is murderous and rapacious den of vice. And there are still wonderful people in their trying their level best to improve life deep inside the city: people like Tim and Dave.

 

A Home on Vorster Street 

2.   A HOME ON VORSTER STREET deur Razina Theba. A very brave lady this. In light of her being of Indian origins, and South African, she writes with an honesty that is sobering and enlightening.It is appalling what happened to them and that it was meted out by a supposedly Christian Government of pre-1994. Her parents succeeded to raise their children fairly normal in abnormal circumstances – I salute them and I salute you.

 

3.   RACCONTEUR ROAD Shots into Africa by Obie Oberholzer; a photographic essay of my country. I take only five pages every now and again to read it and I read the photographs as well. How do I read a photograph? With my magnifying glass; then I take my time to scour it up and down and left to right and diagonally bottom left to top right and bottom right to top left – slowly and deliberately and just looking at the detail.

 

4.   VREEMDE STORIES UIT AFRIKA [Foreign Stories from Africa] by Johann Lemmer who live in the Groot Marico district. That is the habitat of Charles Herman Bosman – the doyen of the veld and stories of that area and era. Johann Lemmer was also a sculptor in his own right and I saw his sculpture of ANNA KROTOA.

 

5.   DINK VERDER [THINK AGAIN – a very loose translation] by Hibbe Van  Der Veen who lives in Kempton Park Gauteng. One thing is for sure and that is that he does not aspire to be awarded a Nobel Peace Prize for literature at all. He writes short “stories” and he just dots down his thoughts as and when it strikes him.

 

6.   Citizenship rights in Africa: http://citizenshiprightsafrica.org/

 

7.   The South African Government White Paper on International Migration:  http://www.dha.gov.za/WhitePaperonInternationalMigration-20170602.pdf

 

8.   GOD EN WETENSKAP EN ONS WAT GLO [GOD AND THE SCIENCES AND WHAT WE BELIEVE] by Prof. Isak Du Plessis. I’ve read it years ago and am due to read again.

 

9.   THE PROMISE by Damon Galgut the 2021 Booker Prize winner. It is due to be read again.

 

10.       A SHORT HISTORY OF SOUTH AFRICA by Gail Nattrass.

 

11.       COUNTRY OF MY SKULL by Antjie Krog. Due to be read again.

 

12.       NERVOUS  CONDITIONS by Tsitsi Dangarembga. Due to be read again.

  

13.       DIE MOOISTE MEISIE IN GENUA Ilja Leonard Pfeijfer translated by Advocate Fanie Olivier during 2019. I only purchased it yesterday [22 June 2023].

 

Kuier in 'n plaaskombuis

14.       KUIER IN 'N PLAASKOMBUIS resepte en stories van gister [Short visit to a farm kitchen, recipes of yesterday] by Nico MOOLMAN. He tells me that he wrote it for his children and then only afterwards started publishing it.

This list is not complete and I am working on it.

What do you read at the moment? And what do you intend to read for the next 12 months?

Please write me your story: neelscoertse@wirelessza.co.za

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Week 21 DONKEYS

Plumtree, Zimbabwe

Donkeys.

Donkeys

Strange animals those things and yet so useful and …

My late dad used to tell the story that only the very poor people, during the Poor White Problem in South Africa, had donkeys. And they had.

Early 2017 I visited our gardener in Zimbabwe to find out for myself how he is doing; the rumours I heard were that he was suffering from epilepsy and that is serious.

Some years prior to him “retiring” to his home “town” in Zim, he was severely assaulted by a vicious man with a brick; that brick struck Leonard on the left side of his head and caused a lot of traumas. He was hospitalised for one night and was discharged on the pretext of being drunk and the wounds were not too severe. I am not a medical expert at all, but my take on it, is that the mere fact that he was struck with a brick on his head, warranted extra caution from the medical specialist examining him; I hasten to add that it was on a Friday night that he was injured and that it is the normal time for this to happen. And these medical specialists are probable traumatised themselves.

We got to hear of this incident the Saturday morning and we immediately went to the Hospital and found him on the pavement. He was dying, so it seemed to me.

Well, he underwent brain surgery at the Johannesburg Hospital and he mended satisfactorily.

Then he got seriously ill and once again I took him to another hospital and they saved his life.

His brother took him back to Gwamagwama in the South West of Zimbabwe; that is deep rural.

The people have cell phones and TV’s all connected and charged with solar power. But there were elderly Black people who never saw a white person in person at all. My presence caused a stir. As we were driving past, you could hear the excited shouts: “Mlungu. Mlungu.” They would jump up and down, arms and hands waving excitedly and them shouting “Mlungu.”

His brother, Norman told me afterwards, that he reached celebrity status in his village for hosting a Mlungu; he was even enjoying eating groundnuts that were specially prepared for him. Norman had to show the visitors, who all came from far to listen to this story first hand, where the Mlungu sat down and where the shells of the groundnuts were “stored.” He was an instant celebrity for hosting me at his homestead.   

And I found donkey-carts as a common way of transporting goods and people.

Modes of Transport in Zim

I want to take you on a journey thru that deep rural part of Zimbabwe called Gwamagwama; will go into a kitchen and we will listen to Bollywood music deep inside the South West of Zimbabwe where they have telephone poles and telephone wires without the service to use telephones; there is better and more reliable connection with internet than non-existing telephones. They charge their phones and TVs using solar power and solar technology while they roast the groundnuts in tin cans over a log-fire in a mud-hut with a thatch roof.

Gwamagwama Zim

Please write me a letter at neelscoertse@wirelessza.co.za 

 

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WEEK 20 LIFE IS DIFFICULT; LIFE IS A FANTASY; LIFE IS A MYSTERY

Video taken of the Star Wars Millennium Falcon 

during load shedding in South Africa

The first three words in Dr. Scott Peck’s book THE ROAD LESS TRAVELLED, are: “Life is difficult.” [My cursive]

Well, well, if you buy that story, then I think you are precluded from complaining even in the face of load shedding in South Africa; maybe from life threatening illness? Why is that? I submit to you that these words LIFE IS DIFFICULT takes out the sting; it takes out the “why me, Lord?”; it takes out the bite: because life is difficult. And complex. And a fantasy [not always resembling Tim Burton’s NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS]. A mystery: just have a look at your own life and ask what would have happened if you did not take the turns that you took? Well, that is maybe too far fetched a scenario. Let’s stay at the place where you and I are; let’s be acutely aware that we are alive and not dead [unless you stopped living before your actual death; you stopped laughing; stopped doing new and fresh things; stopped developing and stopped developing your mind; stopped being in awe of life; stopped looking at the symmetry in plants; stopped looking at stones and so if you stopped living you are in trouble.

No. I don’t want you to resemble my life or to do what I do or to think how I think. I hope you get the drift of my argument.

Video of me building the Star Wars Millennium Falcon

I overheard a snippet of a radio interview with this gentleman [listening to his voice, it is clear that he is not a youngster neither is he charismatic] who, very clear and calmly asserted that humans are created to be creative! And I echo that in this blog post: we are created to be creative! Stop complaining! Create something! Anything! Start sketching. Plant a plant and watch it growing. Cut open a tomato and marvel at the symmetry. Think that each and every pip is a potential plant with potential tomatoes.

My daughter and son-in-law gave me an incredible birthday present. They gave me a toy! Yes, at my age at 73, I got a toy as a birthday present. You watched my video I took last night during load shedding of this Star Wars Millennium Falcon. When Eskom allowed me to have electricity at 22:30 I went back to my dining room table and continued building. It was so quiet. It was so dark outside. And me sitting building this outrageous, preposterous and over the top “thing.” No, I am not a Star Wars fanatic. But that thing, the Millennium Falcon, caught my attention and I am in its grip; it is fascinating. The problem with this lot is when you are so deeply involved in building it, it is hard going to bed; you simply cannot “switch off” as it were. Eventually when sleep overpowers you, you go into a deep peaceful sleep.

The next four images show you the construction process going on.

T[G]o play! T[G]o be creative!

Maybe you are interested to built jigsaw puzzles; I am aware that you do get even 3d puzzles. Or you are besotted with cross-word puzzles. Reading is absolutely essential; without it you’ve had it, my friend. It is over with you! Keep on reading and keep on reading difficult literature; why do you want to keep on reading the easy stuff? No, go for the difficult stuff. I cringe when I visit and I don’t see books especially when it is academically trained people – no books any where to be seen? Maybe a magazine!

Keep on reading the latest developments in your primary training career. My career of choice, law, is not static. A guiding principle is that the law is not a chemical process neither is it mechanical; it is people driven. I am driven to keep up with developments in my career choice; at the moment I am rather deeply in researching international human migrations. It impacts heavily on the South African society and our people that are leaving these sunny shores, for other countries are impacting those countries. My country’s roots are deeply embedded in international migration: we are a diverse lot in the rainbow nation.

Migration does have its own peculiarities and its own synergies.

Back to basics: what are you doing with your time? Life is still difficult, not so? But life is even fantasy and most definitely mysterious.

Please write me your story: neelscoertse@wirelessza.co.za

 

 

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Week 19 NAMES OF PLACES IN SOUTH AFRICA ON OUR TRIP TO CAPETOWN AND BACK

My note book with the place names we wrote down

 

How do I translate, or for that matter, how do I explain these names to a person not versant in Afrikaans or the Afrikaans culture?

GANSBAAI?

AGTERTANG?

TIERPOOT?

STOFKRAAL?

SOPHIASDAL?

WOLWEFONTEIN?

BOONTJIESKRAAL?

OORLOGSPOORTRIVIER?

RIVIERSONDEREND?

DWYKASTASIE?

This is just a tiny, random selection of names of places we drove by, my wife and I jotted down in my notebook my friend gave me; he bought it in Athens on their recent trip. In one of my previous Blog notes, I gave you a link to some internet learned discussions on the study of place names or for that matter, the study of names. We once met PHARMACY in a hotel next to the Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe and I had some things to say even about the naming conventions of old: Victoria Falls.  That is honouring a queen that never ever even came close to have a look it – her granddaughter who passed the other day, visited Zimbabwe to officially open the Kariba dam wall and I visited Zambia some years back to have a look at the dam.

RIVIERSONDEREND – this one is easy; I think so. In English [this is a direct translation] it means River-without-end. Does it make sense? Well, it does not make sense to me even though I am Afrikaans speaking. Yes, I can read it in both languages: river-without-end. Is there such a thing? In South Africa, oh yes – no, I have not been at Riviersonderend, but I saw the road sign to it. Are there rivers without end? In other words, it starts somewhere, goodness knows where and it does not end; it goes on and on and on and …

DWYKA STATION?

I took a very bold step and googled this very peculiar place and found nothing, but I can assure you that we drove by the turn-off to Dwyka station. Change your search parameters is the keyword. And I did: DWYKA and I found something of interest, here is a short quote from Wikipedia:

“The Dwyka River is located in the Karoo region, in South Africa. It flows from the North-west, joining the Gamka River as a tributary at the Gamka Dam. In the 1870s, the Cape Colony government expanded its railway network inland, towards the diamond fields of Kimberley. A station, also named Dwyka, was built where the line crossed the Dwyka river.”

And still, I am none the wiser what does that strange word DWYKA mean? I found a Dwyka Mining Group. No attempt to explain the word DWYKA. They can penetrate the earth and extract our rich minerals to create wealth, but no attempt to tell me what the word means. Maybe some official working at Dwyka Mining Group might read this and respond – oh! I would be delighted and would inform you straight way.

OORLOGSPOORTRIVIER: Funny how places in my beautiful country have the word “river” as part of the name of the place. And “poort” in Afrikaans which means “gate,” “doorway” or even a “narrow pass between precipitous mountains.” Let us proceed and have a look at this place: Oorlogspoortrivier. “Oorlog” means war, and in our country, I suggest that this is a reference to the Anglo-Boer War 1899 – 1902. Here we go: this river was part and parcel of the Anglo-Boer War and it was in a narrow pass between precipitous mountains. List of colloquial South African place names tells me that the place does not exist. Oh no, it does, at least we saw the tag at the turn off.

Bilingual dictionary

BOONTJIESKRAAL. This place is also non-existent according to this list I have referred to above. Once again, we saw the name tag indicating in a direction which we did not go to. Having said that, let us examine this BOONTJIESKRAAL. The word “kraal” occurs in a number of place names in my country. This word is, to my mind, rather rich in its diversity of meanings; my first thought was that I can describe it in relation to where you keep your cattle safe at night and you open the gates early tomorrow morning and the cattle can’t wait to get out into the veld. I challenge you, even if you are not versant with Afrikaans to have a closer look at the photograph; I took a photograph of my bilingual dictionary referencing “kraal.” You might go on a tangent or a “road trip” reading this in Afrikaans. “Boontjies” is Afrikaans for beans. Make up your own story about this lot.

WOLWEFONTEIN. “Wolves-fountain” will be a direct, and perhaps a [c]rude translation. Wolves, what I’ve read about them, are rude and crude and yet refined. This place, likewise does not exist according to the List of colloquial South African place names, and yet, we saw the turn off to that place. Then, I asked myself the question why is there reference to “wolves” in that name? As far as I am aware, we don’t have wolves in SA. I found a website that asks the very question I asked – I will take the bold step and say I don’t think there are real wolves in my country.

AGTERTANG: what for a word is that? I asked my wife and her impression is that it is reference to “backward people” whatever that may mean. Incidentally that was my idea as well, until I grabbed my dictionary and was told otherwise. Agtertang according to my Bilingual Dictionary means: “afterguide [of a wagon]”. Well, well, I never. But there it is. Have a look at the English translation of it, and it is referring me back to “agtertang.” Back to where I started. And nothing wiser.

Colesberg goat

It seems to me as if this word AGTERTANG has got a lot do with farm equipment such as wagons; wagons have been replaced by trailers of all sorts. My story about the goats I saw in Colesberg [remember my photo of that beautiful proud ram with his curly horns?] were transported not on a wagon, but on a factory-built trailer. And I phoned my friend, Leendert Joubert who grew up on a farm in the Orange Free State, as it then was and now referred to as FREESTATE. Our conversation was so far wide ranging that I decided there and then that I have to do further investigation into this word AGERTANG. It brings us in the centre of our cultural heritage in South Africa and that is the aspect that I want to investigate further and then report back. Well then, till later on AGTERTANG.

Please write me you story: neelscoertse@wirelessza.co.za

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