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ISBN:0798139021
Herman Charles Bosman
Publisher:Human & Rousseau

 We read this book during secondary school and I loved these stories of “Oom Schalk Lourens”…”oom” means “uncle”… I think I should get myself this book again! I know I have one…packed away…very old copy…my dad used to go around at bookshops…when he was young…think I take after him in that way…lol! 

Herman Charles Bosman was one of South Africa’s best (yeah, I know I always call the story writers and poets the “best”…because I try to focus on the best if not the “very” best! lol)… classical story writers….read on Wiki about him… see you later…

Herman Charles Bosman (February 3, 1905 – October 14, 1951) is the South African writer widely regarded as South Africa’s greatest short story writer. He studied the works of Edgar Alan Poe and Mark Twain, and developed a style emphasizing the use of irony. His English-language works utilize primarily Afrikaner characters and point to the many contradictions of Afrikaner society in the first half of the twentieth century.

Bosman was born at Kuilsrivier, near Cape Town to an Afrikaner family, although he was raised with English as well as Afrikaans. While Bosman was still young, his family moved to Johannesburg where he went to school at Jeppe High School for Boys in Kensington. He was a contributor to the school magazine. When Bosman was sixteen, he started writing short stories for the national Sunday newspaper (the Sunday Times). He attended the University of the Witwatersrand submitting various pieces to student’s literary competitions.

Upon graduating, he accepted a teaching position in the Groot Marico district, in an Afrikaans language school. The area and the people inspired him and provided the background for all his best known short stories; the Oom Schalk Lourens series and the Voorkamer sketches. The Oom Schalk Lourens series features an older character with that name. the Voorkamer series are similarly all set in the Marico region.

During the school holidays in 1926, he returned to visit his family in Johannesburg. During an argument, he fired a rifle at his stepbrother and killed him.

Bosman was sentenced to death and moved to Death row at the Pretoria Central Prison. He was reprieved and sentenced to ten years with hard labour. In 1930, he was released on parole after serving half his sentence. His experiences formed the basis for his semi-autobiographical book, Cold Stone Jug.

He then started his own printing press company and was part of a literary set in Johannesburg, associating with poets, journalists and writers, including Aegidius Jean Blignaut. Needing a break, he then toured overseas for nine years, spending most of his time in London. The short stories that he wrote during this period formed the basis for another of his best-known books, Mafeking Road.

At the start of the Second World War, he returned to South Africa and worked as a journalist. He found the time to translate the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam into Afrikaans.
Read
HERE on Wikipedia…more about him…

Herman Charles Bosman’s best-loved stories about the Marico District are published here for the first time in the form intended by the author. This text of Mafeking Road – edited by Craig MacKenzie – is the first to appear from the original versions, with an introduction and notes on the texts.

Bosman’s storyteller figure Oom Schalk Lourens takes us into the world of the concertina-player who leaves the Marico for fame and glory; the girl who returns from finishing school to dazzle and dupe the Marico yokels; the Boer War soldier with a tragic story to tell about his son; the legendary leopard of Abjaterskop; the man who kills his wife and buries her under the dung floor of his voorkamer …

Jealousies, hatreds, loves and betrayals – the entire range of human emotions are laid bare in a manner at once humorous and satirical, romantic and ironic. Mafeking Road reveals to us a world quaint and distant … and yet powerfully familiar.

Herman Charles Bosman, who died of a heart attack in 1951, is one of South Africa’s most famous story-tellers. This is a classic collection of his short stories. As a person he had a unique way of seeing life, an intense excitement that he managed to convey in his stories. His books are pre-eminent in the field of South-African literature.
Read on THIS SITE more and you can view more books written by him in English as well as in Afrikaans.
You can order the book HERE from Kalahari.net….


Please click HERE to visit the Groot Marico on your next trip…this is HC Bosman-world…and read about Patrick Mynhardt…
Patrick Mynhardt was the Honory Life President of the HC Bosman Literary Society.

If you like this, you’d also like…

(for the witty teller of folk-tales:

-Mark Twain, “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County” (1867) and other sketches and stories.

-Sholom Aleichem, Tevye’s Daughters, and other stories (c.1905-1916).

-O.Henry, Heart of the West (1907).

Click on THIS LINK to read more….

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Harrismith

This pic is from the BBC’s website, taken near Harrismith, South Africa

When I was at Primary School I had to know this poem. I’ve translated this poem as I’ve thought it’s just a brilliant poem to be shared and enjoyed by English readers too. Update 2011: I was lucky that this translation was chosen as part of a Reading Series in South Africa. I’ve just received my booklet from the publishers in South Afria. The series: Enchanted Stone Series – Wonderful Verses by F. Viljoen & L. Southey. The book is a Reader 3 Level 6-book.


This is my translation of the poem…”Dans van die reen”

Read my translation on this link too…

http://allpoetry.com/opoem/121576-Eugene-Marais-The-Dance-of-the-Rain

The Dance of the Rain
Song of the violinist: Jan Konterdans
translated by:Nikita

The Dance of the Rain
Oh, the dance of our Sister!
First, over the hilltop she peeps stealthily
and her eyes are shy
and she laughs softly
From afar she begs with her one hand
her wrist-bands shimmering and her bead-work sparkling
softly she calls
She tells the wind about the dance
and she invites it, because the yard is spacious and the wedding large
The big game rush about the plains
they gather on the hilltop
their nostrils flared-up
and they swallow the wind
and they crouch to see her tracks in the sand
The small game, deep down under the floor, hear the rhythm of her feet
and they creep, come closer and sing softly
“Our Sister! Our Sister! You’ve come! You’ve come!”
and her bead-work shake,
and her copper wrist-bands shine in the disappearance of the sun
On her forehead, rests the eagle’s plume
She decends down from the hilltop
She spreads her ashened cloak with both arms
the breath of the wind disappears
Oh, the dance of our Sister!
©~~ Nikita
—————

DIE DANS VAN DIE REËN – Eugene Marais
Lied van die vioolspeler. Jan Konterdans.
Uit die Groot Woestyn

O die dans van ons Suster!
Eers oor die bergtop loer sy skelm,
en haar oge is skaam;
en sy lag saggies.
En van ver af wink sy met die een hand;
haar armbande blink en haar krale skitter;
saggies roep sy.
Sy vertel die winde van die dans
en sy nooi hulle uit, want die werf is wyd en die bruilof groot.
Die grootwild jaag uit die vlakte,
hulle dam op die bulttop,
wyd rek hulle die neusgate
en hulle sluk die wind;
en hulle buk, om haar fyn spore op die sand te sien.
Die kleinvolk diep onder die grond hoor die sleep van haar voete,
en hulle kruip nader en sing saggies:
“Ons Suster! Ons Suster! Jy het gekom! Jy het gekom!”
En haar krale skud,
en haar koperringe blink in die wegraak van die son.
Op haar voorkop is die vuurpluim van die berggier;
sy trap af van die hoogte;
sy sprei die vaalkaros met altwee arms uit;
die asem van die wind raak weg.
O, die dans van ons Suster!

[Uit: Versamelde gedigte - Eugene Marais]

On THIS LINK you can read more about him and read one of his books online…”The Soul of the White Ant”… a study of termites…

Image: hickerphoto.com…Eagle..symbol of peace

Read HERE on BBC about the death of the rain queen in 2005. She was the sixth rain queen…Makobo Modjadji, the rain queen of the Balobedu people.  And… THIS is the “valley” of the rain queen…

Rain Queen…Modjaji

More about the Rain Queens on this link…..Please click HERE to read more and to see whereabout the Rain Queen lives!

Visitors to the area always brought Modjadji gifts and tribute, including cattle and their daughters as wives, to appease her so that she would bring rain to their regions. The custom is allied to an emphasis on fertility of the land and the population. The name Lobedu is thought to derive from the practice, referring to the daughters or sisters who were lost to their families. The Rain Queen extends her influence through her wives, because they link her politically to other families or villages. Her status as marrying women does not appear to indicate lesbianism, but rather the queen’s unique ability to control others.
During the Mfecane, which took place in the early 19th century, Modjadji moved her tribe further south into the fertile Molototsi Valley, where they founded the present day Kingdom
p1270864.jpg
In South Africa they sell these little African dolls and I love them…I want to call this doll my little “rain queen”… lol!


This is a children’s story book about the rain queen…it can be found on this site:
http://www.childlit.org.za

Read on THIS LINK about the Balobedu people…
Beautiful song! called the “Rain Dance”… by Adiemus


This song’s title is also called…”Rain Dance”…by Michael Chapdelaine

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Image…Wikipedia
Click HERE on this post to read my translation of his poem “Dans van die reën” in English…The link will open in a new window. “The Dance of the rain”…and you can read about this book on the link too.

Dance_in_rain_peerflydotcom

EUGÈNE Marais was a South African poet, a story-teller, a journalist, a lawyer, a psychologist, a natural scientist, a drug-addict, and a great genius — an abused and forgotten genius, and the world is the worse off for that.”
Read “Soul of the Ant” HERE online.

 

Eugene Marais was one of  South Africa’s more talented writers/poets. I love his poems although I haven’t read his books. I borrowed “The Soul of the Ant” one day – when I was at Primary – but I guess I was too young to read such a book, so I didn’t finish it and read only the first few pages. Some of his poems is about nature, like the “Winter’s Night” (translated in English here) and the “Dans van die reën” which is -translated: “dance of the rain”… and in this poem, he describes the animals’ reaction when the rain is on its way…and he describes the rain…and her “dance”. Marais is just brilliant in the way he played with words/metaphors etc..sadly, he committed suicide in 1936.
Read
HERE on Wiki  more about him. The link will open in a new window.
On the bottom of this post you will find a link to a post on my blog – in English – about Eugene Marais…he was a naturalist, scientist, writer and poet. He made a study of  ants and you can see the book he wrote “The soul of the Ant” on that link…and his other book…”The soul of the Ape”…
 

Author: Julee Dickerson Thompson
ISBN: 865432597
Binding: Paperback
Publisher: Africa World Press (March 1997)

The following translation of Marais’ “Winternag” is by J. W. Marchant:

“Winter’s Night”

O the small wind is frigid and spare
and bright in the dim light and bare
as wide as God’s merciful boon
the veld lies in starlight and gloom
and on the high lands
spread through burnt bands
the grass-seed, astir, is like beckoning hands.

O East-wind gives mournful measure to song
Like the lilt of a lovelorn lass who’s been wronged
In every grass fold
bright dewdrop takes hold
and promptly pales to frost in the cold!

Eguene N Marais
WINTERNAG
by Eugene Marais

O koud is die windjie
en skraal.
En blink in die dof-lig
en kaal,
so wyd as die Heer se genade,
le die velde in sterlig en skade
En hoog in die rande,
versprei in die brande,
is die grassaad aan roere
soos winkende hande.

O treurig die wysie
op die ooswind se maat,
soos die lied van ‘n meisie
in haar liefde verlaat.
In elk’ grashalm se vou
blink ‘n druppel van dou,
en vinnig verbleek dit
tot ryp in die kou!

DIE DANS VAN DIE REËN – Eugene Marais
Lied van die vioolspeler. Jan Konterdans.
Uit die Groot Woestyn
O die dans van ons Suster!
Eers oor die bergtop loer sy skelm,
en haar oge is skaam;
en sy lag saggies.
En van ver af wink sy met die een hand;
haar armbande blink en haar krale skitter;
saggies roep sy.
Sy vertel die winde van die dans
en sy nooi hulle uit, want die werf is wyd en die bruilof groot.
Die grootwild jaag uit die vlakte,
hulle dam op die bulttop,
wyd rek hulle die neusgate
en hulle sluk die wind;
en hulle buk, om haar fyn spore op die sand te sien.
Die kleinvolk diep onder die grond hoor die sleep van haar voete,
en hulle kruip nader en sing saggies:
“Ons Suster! Ons Suster! Jy het gekom! Jy het gekom!”
En haar krale skud,
en haar koperringe blink in die wegraak van die son.
Op haar voorkop is die vuurpluim van die berggier;
sy trap af van die hoogte;
sy sprei die vaalkaros met altwee arms uit;
die asem van die wind raak weg.
O, die dans van ons Suster!

[Uit: Versamelde gedigte - Eugene Marais]
Read on THIS LINK on my blog more about Eugene Marais…Article in English…The link will open in a new window.

dvdreen_laurinda

I don’t know Laurinda Hofmeyr’s music, but she’s got an album with the song…”Dans van die reen”. I hope one of my blogger-visitors from SA would be able to tell me more…
Snitte:

1. Lied van die bruidegom – Johan Myburg
2. 26 November 1975 – Breyten Breytenbach
3. Op reis na die Suide – Breyten breytenbach
4. Inbrand – Breyten Breytenbach
5. Die dans van die reën – Eugène N. Marais
6. Kind – Rabindranath Tagore
7. Ek sal sterf en na my vader gaan – Breyten Breytenbach
8. ‘n Halwe engel – Breyten Breytenbach
9. Last grave at Dimbaza – Fanie Olivier
10. Die reis – Breyten Breytenbach
11. Lied van die bruidegom (improvisasie)
Click
HERE to read more about this album and Laurinda Hofmeyr.

frog-on-leaf
http://tploy.com
I thought this was a cool pic of a froggie in the rain…

 

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Today…15th October 2008…I’ve received this msg from Wayne Visser…(see his poem and site in this entry too….(poem about Africa)…and if you’re interested in his request…then please contact him…he’s looking for people writing poems..but about Africa!

Hello again I thought I’d let you (and your lekker vriende) know that I’ve launched a “Poets of Africa” blog – http://poetsofafrica.blogspot.com/.Just email me on wayne@waynevisser.com and I will give permission for you to post. www.waynevisser.com

 Afrikaanse digters welkom!    
Kwa heri Wayne”
Links will open in a new window.

Today…21st March 2008… is World Poetry Day! I do love poems, I love to read poems and I like to write my own too. On my blog at the top you will now find a page saying…”My poems…gedigte”…a few of my own poems…also you will find a couple of English poems which I’ve translated from Afrikaans…beautiful poems…one from a famous writer/poet/scientist/naturalist…Eugene Marais…”The Dance of the Rain..” take a look and enjoy! also one by Totius…his little daughter died after being struck by lightning..in his arms and he wrote a poem about her…very sad poem….or you can read it  HERE …the link will open in a new window.
You can also read “The Dance of the Rain” on  THIS LINK it’s a very powerful/beautiful poem…full of metaphors…and read about Eugene Marais and the Rain Queen…on that link. The link will open in a new window.

enjoy…the Dance of the Rain!..originally in Afrikaans…”Die Dans van die Reën” by Eugene Marais. If you click on the page saying…”My Poems/gedigte”…you will find more of Wayne Visser’s poems also one which he has asked me to translate…and some of my own poems too, also the poem of the girl that was struck by lightning is to be found on that page. – see the top of my blog for the page-link and I’ve translated Wordsworth’s poem (from English to Afrikaans)…I wandered like a lonely cloud…


Image:tploy.com

The Dance of the Rain
Song of the violinist: Jan Konterdans
translated by:Nikita

The Dance of the Rain
Oh, the dance of our Sister!
First, over the hilltop she peeps stealthily
and her eyes are shy
and she laughs softly
From afar she begs with her one hand
her wrist-bands shimmering and her bead-work sparkling
softly she calls
She tells the wind about the dance
and she invites it, because the yard is spacious and the wedding large
The big game rush about the plains
they gather on the hilltop
their nostrils flared-up
and they swallow the wind
and they crouch to see her tracks in the sand
The small game, deep down under the floor, hear the rhythm of her feet
and they creep, come closer and sing softly
“Our Sister! Our Sister! You’ve come! You’ve come!”
and her bead-work shake,
and her copper wrist-bands shine in the disappearance of the sun
On her forehead, rests the eagle’s plume
She decends down from the hilltop
She spreads her ashened cloak with both arms
the breath of the wind disappears
Oh, the dance of our Sister!
©~~ Nikita

This next poem was written in Afrikaans by Ingrid Jonker and adapted by e.e. cummings…many of her wonderful poems were translated in English and other languages. I love her poems!

 

 

Image:johnfenzel.typepad.com
Somewhere I have never travelled – Iewers het ek nooit gereis nie
Ingrid Jonker
…..adapted by e.e. cummings
+
somewhere I have never travelled,
gladly beyond any experience,
your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which I cannot touch because they are too near
~~~~~
iewers het ek nooit gereis nie daardie groen verte
verby alle herinneringe jou oë dra hul stilte
in jou geringste gebaar is daar iets wat my omsluit
of wat ek nie durf aanraak nie iets te ná
~~~~
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though I have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself
as Spring opens(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
~~~~
jou oë van landskappe sal my maklik blootlê
al het ek my hart gesluit soos twee hande
jy ontvou my keer op keer soos die lente
bedrewe en heimlik haar eerste roos
~~~~
or if your wish be to close me, I and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
~~~~
en as jy my sou verlaat geslote dan
sou my voorhoof sluit mooi en onmiddelik
soos die hart van ‘n blom sou droom
van ‘n wit sneeu wat alles oral bedek
~~~~
nothing which we are to perceive in this world
equals the power of intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
~~~~
niks wat ons in hierdie wêreld kan versin
ewenaar die krag van jou broosheid die tekstuur
van jou oë tref my die groen van sy veld
een bevestig die ewige en die vir altyd met elke sug
~~~~
(I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;
only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
~~~~
ek weet nie wat dit is wat jou laat vou
en ontvou nie ek verstaan net êrens op my reise
die stem van jou oë is dieper as alle rose
nee nie eens die reën nie het sulke hande
On THIS LINK you can read more about Ingrid…a link to Wikipedia…there’s a Youtube-song to watch…Afrikaans song…one of Ingrid’s poems…and there’s another song to listen to! The link will open in a new window.
and….on
THIS LINK you can read more about e e cummings…the link will open in a new window.
If you’re a teacher THIS SITE is really a great site to use for poetry/literacy…try it- the link will open in a new window.

image:worldgolf.com/images/destinations/africa/southafrica.jpg
This next poem is written by Wayne Visser…you can read about him on THIS LINK …the link will open in a new window.

I know a place in Africa…
Inspiring poetry written by Wayne Visser,
a South African currently based in Nottingham, UK.
I know a place in Africa
Where I can feel the sun on my back
And the sand between my barefoot toes
Where I can hear the gulls on the breeze
And the waves crash on the endless shore

I know a place in Africa
Where the mountains touch the skies of blue
And the valleys shelter vines of green
Where the trees spread out a cloth of mauve
And the bushveld wears a coat of beige

I know a place in Africa
Where I can hear the voice of thunder gods
And watch their lightening spears thrown to earth
Where I can breathe the scent of rain clouds
And taste the sweet dew of dusty drops

This is the place of wildness
Of evolution and dinosaurs
Where life began and mankind first stood
Of living fossils and elephants
Where lions roar and springbok herds leap

This is the place of struggle
Of desert plains and thorn trees
Where pathways end and hunters track game
Of horizons and frontiers
Where journeys start and sunsets bleed red

This is the place of freedom
Of exploration and pioneers
Where darkness loomed and light saw us through
Of living legends and miracles
Where daybreak came and hope now shines bright

My heart is at home in Africa
Where the sound of drums beat in my chest
And the songs of time ring in my ears
Where the rainbow mist glows in my eyes
And the smiles of friends make me welcome

My mind is at ease in Africa
Where the people still live close to the soil
And the seasons mark my changing moods
Where the markets hustle with trading
And Creation keeps its own slow time

My soul is at peace in Africa
For her streams bring lifeblood to my veins
And her winds bring healing to my dreams
For when the tale of this land is told
Her destiny and mine are as one

© 2006 Wayne Visser

Enjoy this next poem by Edgar..Poe!

Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Edgar Allan Poe


Image…http://project1.caryacademy.org
 

The next poem…by Ingrid Jonker…
The Child
The child is not dead
The child lifts his fists against his mother
Who shouts Africa ! shouts the breath
Of freedom and the veld
In the locations of the cordoned heart
~~~
The child lifts his fists against his father
in the march of the generations
who shouts Africa ! shout the breath
of righteousness and blood
in the streets of his embattled pride
~~~
The child is not dead not at Langa
nor at Nyanga not at Orlando
nor at Sharpeville
nor at the police station at Philippi
where he lies with a bullet through his brain
~~~
The child is the dark shadow of the soldiers
on guard with rifles Saracens and batons
the child is present at all assemblies and law-givings
the child peers through the windows of houses and into the hearts of mothers
this child who just wanted to play in the sun at Nyanga is everywhere
the child grown to a man treks through all Africa
the child grown into a giant journeys through the whole world
Without a pass

 

Ingrid Jonker March 1960
(Translation of: “Die Kind” ) Poems now owned by Simone Jonker…daughter of Ingrid

On THIS LINK you can see podcast-videos of her poems in both Afrikaans/English…worth visiting! The link will open in a new window.


Image: http://farm1.static.flickr.com

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afrikaans-monument1.jpg
The Afrikaans Language Monument and Museum, Paarl, Cape Town

 

 

  

I love you….in Afrikaans…”Ek is lief vir jou”..
Read on Wikipedia about this monument and on THIS link there’s more info about it. Why Afrikaans is not an African language and I agree 100% with the writer of this article.
Read on
Wikipedia more about Afrikaans.

Afrikaans

Die taal wat ek liefhet

Afrikaans

Die taal wat ek praat

Afrikaans

Die taal waarin ek dink

Afrikaans

Die taal waarin ek droom

Afrikaans

Die taal van my hart

Afrikaans

Die taal wat ek koester

Vir nou en altyd

Afrikaans

Jy is myne

Afrkaans

Jy is nou

Afrikaans

Jy is besonders

Afrikaans

Jy is uniek

Afrikaans

Jy is getrou

Afrikaans:

My denke
My wese
My lewe!

~~Nikita~~

lily

Dat alle liefde
Dat alle liefde moet verlore gaan
en wegwaai in die wye lug,
waar hierdie dooie ster sy norse vlug
neem deur die stiltes van sy baan -

dit is die vrees, dit is die eensaamheid
wat my, geboe, met die hande krom
rondom die kersie van ons liefde, stom
laat skuil in kleinlike verlatenheid.

(deur: N.P. van Wyk Louw)

 WAGHONDJIES (Jan F. Celliers)

Ek is hier, en Ma is hier,
Ons twee lê op Baas se baadjie.
Wie is jy?
Kom, loop verby,
Anders word ons knor ‘n daadjie -
Kry jou bene dalk ‘n hap.
Kry jou broekspyp dalk ‘n gaatjie.
Mooipraat? Nee, ons ken jou nie.
Weg jou hand en raak ons nie!
“Oppas,” het die baas gesê,
“Tot ek weer kom, hier bly lê.”
Op ons pootjies lê ons kop,
Maar ons hou jou darem dop.
Toe-oog slaap ons op die baadjie,
Maar ons loer nog deur ‘n gaatjie -
Een oor plat, en een oor op,
PAS-OP!!

Amanda Strydom, South African artist is having a conversation in Afrikaans with a Dutch TV/Radio presenter. Both of them understand one another!

Coenie de Villiers and Steve Hofmeyr singing Afrikaans

nikita.jpg

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Read here about the book :”Circles in the Forest” and about “Big Foot”…


Afrikaans…scroll down….
Dalene Matthee was one of South Africa’s most talented authors, the best popular novelist that I know….. She wrote mainly in Afrikaans, but many of her books were translated into 14 other lanuages, such as Italian, Hebrew, Spanish, German, French, English, Icelandic, etc. Two of her books were filmed, “Fiela’s Child” and “Circles in the forest”…  Her first children’s novel…”Die Twaalfuur stokkie”… “The Twelve o’clock stick” was written in 1970. I LOVE this story and used to read the story to children in London-schools! They loved to listen to the Afrikaans Language and I explained the story via the pictures to them. It’s the best children’s story I’ve come across to explain to little children – age about 5-8 – the concept about time and the earth spinning around the sun… by using a stick in the sun. Read also about the memorial that was unveiled in Feb 2008 in honour of her!
Click
HERE to read about Fiela’s Child, the movie.

Please click HERE to read about Dalene Matthee.

SA writers mourn Dalene Matthee
20/02/2005 21:20 – (SA)

Dalene Matthee – 1938-2005

Dalene Matthee dies 

Laetitia Pople , Die Burger

Cape Town – “Maybe she just held out until her new book, Die Uitgespoeldes, and its translation was done,” Dalene Matthee’s daughter Amanda said on Sunday after the author died in her sleep. The 66-year-old Matthee died in the Bayview clinic, Mossel Bay, early on Sunday morning. She was admitted to the clinic for heart failure on Thursday.

The death of Matthee – who was especially well known for her forest trilogy, of which the first, Kringe in ‘n Bos (Circles in a Forest, first appeared in 1984 and was reprinted 22 times – is being described as a huge loss for the Afrikaans reading public. “She was one of the most well-loved popular novelists in Afrikaans. “With her books such as Kringe, Fiela se Kind (Fiela’s Child), Pieternella van die Kaap and, more recently, Toorbos, she got the general Afrikaans public reading again, and she successfully bridged the gap between quality and popular literature,” said Eloise Wessels, chief executive of NB Publishers, on Sunday.

Novelist Elsa Joubert agrees. “She succeeded in getting people who never read Afrikaans to read in the language, and that’s been a wonderful contribution,” she says. The literary expert Wium van Zyl believes she was like Langenhoven.

“Like him, she had something to offer the intellectual reader and for the everyday reader. “She exposed the reader to various challenges. She was an ecologist and a mild feminist who considered the poor with attention and respect.”

If there’s someone whom the entire South African writers’ community mourns today, it would be Matthee, said Abraham H de Vries. “The voice of one of the best storytellers has fallen silent.“Only she could have written those forest stories – no one else could.”

Film-maker Katinka Heyns, who directed the movie based on the book Fiela se Kind, remembers how she spent two hours with Matthee in the Knysna forest. “The forest would tell Dalene if I may make the movie. She did not say a word and only sat listening. “And then I had to wait an enitre night before she gave the answer.”

Matthee was famous for the rigorous research she did for her books. She researched only her forest trilogy (Kringe, Fiela and Moerbeibos) for seven years, and Pieternella took three years’ research.

Matthee’s books were translated into 14 languages, including French, German, Spanish, Italian, Hebrew and Icelandic. She won the ATKV prize for good popular fiction four times and was honoured with a Swiss literature prize for her “energetic literary work and her passionate interest in nature conservation” in Zurich in 1993. Die Uitgespoeldes is the story of Moses Swart, a foundling raised by an Afrikaans family after being found under a jacket on the beach. Matthee is survived by her three daughters, Amanda and Hilary Matthee and Toni van der Walt. Her husband, Larius, died two years ago.
Origninal news article HERE as it was reported in 2005.


The forest novels
Kringe in ‘n bos (Circles in a forest) (1984)
Fiela se Kind (Fiela’s Child) (1985)
Moerbeibos (The Mulberry Forest) (1987)
Toorbos (Dream Forest) (2003)

Other published works
Die twaalfuurstokkie (The twelve-o’-clock stick) (1970)
’n Huis vir Nadia (A House for Nadia) (1982)
Petronella van Aarde, burgemeester (Petronella van Aarde,Mayor) (1983)
Brug van die esels (The Day The Swallows Spoke) (1993)
Susters van Eva (Sisters of Eve) (1995)
Pieternella van die Kaap (Pieternella from the Cape) (2000)
Die Uitgespoeldes (Driftwood) (2005)

 Dalene Matthee Memorial

 

Wow! I was sent SANPARKS-link by a blogger-friend, Chris after he’s read my post about Dalene Matthee and I want to thank him as this is really fantastic!
Dalene Matthee Memorial Unveiled at Wilderness National Park
On Saturday, 23 February 2008, close family, a few selected SANParks officials and the press witnessed the unveiling of a memorial in honour of the late writer, Dalene Matthee. It was Matthee ’s fervent wish to have her ashes scattered in the Knysna Forest and her three daughters saw it as a fitting remembrance to their mom, to have a special memorial erected in the place Matthee so loved.


“After three years this project has fallen into place and the family will be eternally grateful to the Wilderness National Park staff for making it all happen”, says Hillary Matthee, the writer’s youngest daughter.

SANParks contribution included the building of a boardwalk around the memorial, the renaming the big tree to the Dalene Matthee Big Tree and the marking of a circular hiking trail to the “Circles in a Forest” trail. The memorial, tree and trail will now form part of the park’s cultural heritage programme.

Matthee based many of her books, especially Fiela’s Child, Circles in a Forest and Moerbeibos on the life and people of the forest. Her books have been translated into 14 languages.

Dignitaries at the unveiling ceremony included Mvusy Songelwa (Regional Manager of the Garden Route National Parks) who unveiled the memorial, Edgar Nevuvhalani (People and Conservation Cultural Heritage Manager) and Dr. Razeena Omar (Executive Director: People and Conservation), who befittingly mentioned what an honour it is for SANParks to house a memorial for a woman who has done so much to bring nature and the forests to the hearts of all people who read her books.

The memorial, Big Tree and the Circles in a Forest Trail is situated at the Krisjan se Nek picnic site in the Goudveld Forest (close to Knysna), which now forms part of the Wilderness National Park. Jill Gordon, Park Manager, encourages all and especially school groups to come and pay homage to Matthee and explore the beauty of the forests

 

(Circles in the forest)

(Pieternella from the Cape)

(The Mulberry forest)

Nou wil ek meer oor van haar boeke – en ander skrywers se boeke –  in Afrikaans se… omdat ek van dit self gelees het en self ook ‘n blibioteek-onderwyseres is – Ja, ek het vir 9 jaar uit 2 skole se mediasentrums klas gegee…wat ‘n wonderlike tyd!!! voordat ek na Gr3 oorgeplaas was….wat net so ‘n wonderlike tyd was! Duisende boeke aangekoop… die voorreg gehad om die skole se mediasentrum-begroting by Uitgewers te gaan spandeer! Dit was gewoonlik ‘n daguitstappie! Ek was dan by die skool opgelaai…ja! LOL! wat ‘n bederf…dan geneem na die uitgewer (hulle het my kom oplaai…want hulle het mos geld gemaak deur die skole!) en daar het ek die dag gespandeer, – Juta/Human&Rosseau…(glo nie hulle bestaan meer nie…?) boeke uitgesoek, bederf met tee/koekies… en dan is ek terug skooltoe geneem en die boeke was dan die volgende dag afgelewer… ai tog..waar is daardie dae! Dit was my voorreg om vir kinders boeke te kon kies…in my agterkop het ek altyd die kinders gehad en geweet vir wie ek die boeke kies..jy het altyd ‘n sekere kind wat jy met ‘n sekere boek assosieer en net geweet het wie gaan van wat hou. Jong, en daardie gebakleiery oor die boeke sodra dit uitgepak word, nog nuut uit die boks en hulle het dan gestry oor wie lees eerste watter boek..ja, natuurlik is daar dan sommer met die eerste klas ‘n waglys begin en die medialeiers was baie streng met hul waglyste, want baie wou almal lees en as daardie boek nie betyds kom afhaal was nie, was dit maar tiekets met jou en moes jy jou naam maar weer onderaan die lys kry!

So is die volgende  boeke dan van my  gunstelinge vir kinders ouderdom 11-15/16…dalk ouer ook! Die Sakmense!! – Deur Maretha Maartens!  Wat ‘n fantastiese boek!!! Miriam…ek onthou darem nog haar naam!! was ‘n meisie met ‘n donker gelaatskleur wie se familie onder “sakke” gebly het en groente/vrugte verkoop het om aan die lewe te bly… nou kan ek nie eers meer die hoofkarakter se naam onthou nie..in elk geval, sy was ‘n meisie met slegs een nier!! Sy het ‘n sakkie gehad in die plek van die tweede nier! Daarom die titel met ‘n tweeledige betekenis…”Sak+mense”… dis ‘n hartseer verhaal, maar dit leer jou ontsettend baie van die lewe wat so ‘n persoon het om te lei……. Miriam was nie veronderstel om te werk nie, nog minderjarig en daarom het sy ook gejok oor haar ouderdom, net om die werk te kry om die gesin te onderhou. ‘n Wonderlike boek wat ‘n MOET is…al is jy ‘n volwasse persoon…ek het die boek vir kinders voorgelees…om hul te prikkel…en ek kan onthou hoe ek gelees-huil het…waarlik ‘n boek wat enige persoon kan lees… Dan is daar “Potvol Winter“..wie onthou die  boek en die film? 

Die tweede boek is “Die Boemelaars“… ek het nooit die boek gelees nie, maar kan onthou dat die kinders nogal erg was oor die boek! “Plek van die dolfyne“…was gewild…en selfs “‘n Pakkie mieliepitte” ook!  “Die Inkvoel” is weer vir jonger kinders…so 8 -9 jaar…’n goeie boek! “Geagte mej Snob“… het ook heelwat kinders gelees, ook ‘n boek wat ek nog wou lees…

 

Voordat ek vergeet…kry bietjie van Marilee McCallighan se boeke om te lees…daar was ‘n boek…”Wedloop teen die wind!” – dit is ‘n boek vir kinders so 12-17 jaar…ek weet die boek was ook voorgeskryf vir ‘n sekere graad in die Hoerskool…so ‘n paar jaar gelede…dink dit was gr9 of gr10…nie meer seker nie…… Arno is die seun-karakter in die storie …kan ek onthou…sy pa was ‘n prokureur en hy was ‘n puik atleet…soos ek die storie kan onthou, het hy toe epileptiese aanvalle begin kry en moes hy na ‘n spesiale skool gaan, wat ‘n groot vernedering vir die pa en ma was…veral die ma! Hulle was gesiene mense in die omgewing en sy kon nie verwerk/aanvaar dat haar talentvolle seun dit moes oorkom en na so ‘n skool moes gaan nie. Dit is ‘n PUIK boek! Marilee is ‘n suster van een onderwyseres saam met wie ek skool gehou het in Centurion en ek het haar eendag skooltoe genooi om met die kinders te kom gesels…sy is ‘n wonderlike mens en die kinders – ek natuurlik ook – het daardie dag baie geniet… hulle het, soos gewoonlik, miljoene vrae gehad en almal wou skrywers word daarna! :)

Ek wens so ek het “Die twaalfuur stokkie”  – deur Dalene Matthee – die tweede keer toe ons hierheen gekom het, saamgebring, dan kon ek nou sy voorblad hier gescan het en opgelaai het!  Ek was gelukkig om ‘n nuwer uitgawe te kry, kleurvolle prentjies wat pragtig die teks ondersteun. Die kinders hier in London het nou regtig daardie boek baie geniet…

As jy nou regtig wil lag dat die trane loop…kry vir jou “Koningskind” deur Anita du Plessis…H&R was die uitgewers… en dit gaan oor ‘n Engelse bulhond…ek het my slap gelag saam met die kinders vir die hond en die boek is uit die oogpunt van die hond geskryf… Keiser.. was die hond se naam… dit was my eie boek wat ek altyd vir daardie laate 5 min van die periode gespaar het en ek kon partykeer nie lees, soos ek gelag het! veral die hoofstuk oor “kalkoene en kerk”…. Keiser het geglo hy moet die kalkoene oppas en soos hulle groter geword het, het hy geglo HY het hulle groter “gekyk”… kry die boek en lag ‘n bietjie… die orrel word in die hoofstuk “die gehuil” genoem… die dominee wat so preek en tekere gaan , het hy geglo wil die “gehuil” stil maak… en Keiser wou hom help!! hehehe…dis snaaks!!
nikita.jpg
http://rpc.technorati.com/rpc/ping

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On THIS LINK and on THIS link you can read more about the British/Boer-War. You can also view some War-Art… and HERE you can also read  about the War.
On THIS LINK you can read more about General De La Rey….

Words of the second song in English….

I’ve asked Jasper to translate the song in English…so, enjoy his translation!

On the hill tops at night
In shadows and darkness we wait
The night chills te mud and the guts for my bed
While the rain and old rags sleeps with me

With the life that they burned
from my farm to take pride
in capturing me
They opened my soul to the flames
That fans the dark furnace in me

De La Rey, De La Rey
We need you to show us the way
De La Rey, De La Rey
General De La Rey
United we’ll fight till we fall
General De La Rey

You could hear the Queens force
mocking an end
to this brotherhood of men
Cornered by cliffs they did think
For us it’s the end

How they failed to conceive
The heart of a man
That they came to call Boer
Beware the pale horse from the west
The Lion that comes for his kin

De La Rey, De La Rey
We need you to show us the way
De La Rey, De La Rey
General De La Rey
United we’ll fight till we fall
General De La Rey

In the dark camps of death
My wife and my child pays the bill
For in the footprint of Khaki’s
This nation will rise once again

De La Rey, De La Rey
We need you to show us the way
De La Rey, De La Rey
General De La Rey
United we’ll fight till we fall
General De La Rey
(c) Jandre Neethling

Discrimination!! this song is forbidden to be sung on Loftus Versfeld in Pretoria!! oh my DEAR!!! can you believe it!! South Africa, wake up!!! It’s a SONG about HISTORY!!!!!!!

http://www.news24.com/Rapport/Nuus/0,,752-795_2070988,00.html
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Gister en vandag

Ek sit met gedagtes wat loop
gedagtes van hartseer tot by die bo-loop
van gister, gister se nadraai
van herinneringe wat is – oorlaai

Gister se herinneringe – vars in my geheue
en ek koester die seer in my hart gedweë
ek wil onthou, onthou die mooi
wat nie meer in my is – die mooi

Die bedding van my hart
is deurtrap en bekrap
met spore van ink
van gedweë en dink –
ek het nog nie gevind
die liefde wat wink

Vandag, na gister – vandag
‘n dag van liefde en lag
Verby is die seer en terug die lag
ek’t gevind die liefde van my hart!

Liefde wat gewink het
 wat ek gevind het
 in aandskemering
tot in die môre – volbring!

Vandag, na gister – vandag
met ‘n hand vol sterre
sien ek in die verre
net die geluk in pag!
©Nikita ~~

PS:  Die gedig is ook geskryf in dieselfde tyd as die “Paaie…” gedig…as jy die ander een gelees het, dan kan jy dieselfde tema hier raaklees! Kommentaar…gooi dit! Jy hoef nie skaam te wees nie…ek kan dit hanteer!! lol!
Jy kan “Paaie van herinnering HIER lees en nog meer op die bladsy-link bo-aan my blog gemerk met “my poems/gedigte”. Enige kommentaar sal verwelkom word!

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English readers…link to my English poem is at the bottom of this post…and there’s more on “my poetry/gedigte”-page-link on top of my blog.
sun.jpg
Paaie van herinnering
Ek wandel op paaie van herinnering
in die laataand van my skemering
seer is die felle herinnering
opgewonde die blye ontmoeting
Ek klop aan die deur van smart
ek het nie vergeet die liefde van my hart
en drink soms die beker van smart
wat soos kanker bly vreet in my hart
Ek steek nie al die kerse aan
die brand — jy sal verstaan
as jy laat in die aand
net een kry wat brand
Net een wat steeds brand
vir ons liefde se stand
wat lank nie is: bestand
teen die wette van vanaand
~~~ ©Nikita


To read my English poem….please click HERE and feel welcome to drop me any comments! The link will open in a new window.

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As you know, I was tagged by Meghna ….…to do a meme! Read what a meme is….(pronounced like in “dream”)…on a post of 2 days ago……OK, it was REALLY very difficult to decide WHERE to start first, as my time is now very little after starting an IT course today! So, I had to think quickly what I will post, as there are so MANY things I could write about!!, but to limit it to only SEVEN! That was very difficult….I made a list, crossed out, started with another, crossed out again…and then just started with what jumped to my mind!!I will have to do another one and another and another and another and…..wow….
First of all, I do LOVE teaching, as I see teaching as a CALLING and not just a job…(like I heard some teachers saying that here in London..) for me it is NOT  just a job!……..My great grandad left Holland to teach in South Africa and I think the teaching -blood is running through my veins! Click
here to see pictures of the current school. The link will open in a new window. The old school, which was in his very own house, is about 2 km from the current school.
I used to teach Primary and don’t think I ever want to teach Secondary……but if I have to…..It will have to be a subject like ICT only, as I do like IT and to incorporate ICT in any aspect of my teaching.


I love reading, I LOVE books…not just “like” it….I have about a library packed away in South Africa and have slowly started to build one again. Children’s books….adult books…If I’m teaching, you will always find me in a bookshop, leaving with many books! A book as a present to me…and you will make my day! I also like writing stories. During secondary school, I used to get good marks for creative writing…what we also call “composition”….and I was always eager to get homework in composition….I just loved to let my mind flow….one of my favourite books is “The Pearl” by John Steinbeck. Another book by him…”Of mice and men”…read at the bottom of my post about a play…

Poetry!!! On this picture you can see a famous and well-known South African poet…Totius…(pen name) …..J D du Toit….he wrote some fantastic poems, some of them very moving, like the one about the death of his own child, killed by lightning….really an emotional poem! His daughter stood by an open window, when lightning struck and he was there to witness everything…as his poem tells us…read my translated version of his poem at the bottom of the post…

South Africa!!! ……..I love my country to bits! I have a passion for South Africa.  South Africa will always be THE place to be!! No other country is as beautiful as South Africa. People who want to differ…they haven’t been there….and if they still do after being there…then they haven’t seen South Africa!!! On this picture you can see Simonstown…Cape Town…Read the blog…anamericaninpretoria.blogspot.com – and you will see why she loves South Africa too. One reason why I LOVE my country and will always do, no matter what!

And…….of course……..if you don’t know it by now…you will NEVER know! CHESS! I never played it at school. During Primary at the age of about 10, my brother taught me…I got my first chess book at the age of 12 from my one sister…..with Fischer/Spasski games in the back….I do like Bobby Fischer’s games…..I played them through as a child as I had no one to play with! No one in my family wanted to play chess…then at Secondary…it was always just BOYS when we were called to play chess…and I felt intimidated by them…no other girls! And the boys…always giving you the “look”…as if they wanna say…”hey…a girl playing chess!! how is that possible!”…I really started to get into chess when at my second school, the Headteacher asked me to start chess…….and I was over the moon! My kids really did well….I left at that school with two teams, each team…. 10 players and two reserves and a lot of Junior children…in South Africa they are Gr1-Gr3 (7-9 year old) kids in line to join the teams later… (If you click on this pic, you will see a good checkmate position, this player’s rating is a bit low, he only started playing quite recently, but has picked-up very quickly and sometimes, I really have to be very careful with my moves! We play friendlies and while playing, I try to help him with the closing of his games, as this is where his problem lies at the moment.)

I like the colour red ….although purple-pinkish is also one of my favourites…This top is a beautiful top!

…CATS!! I’m a catlover! Cats are peaceloving animals! They have personalities of their own and they have their own language to speak to you!! Listen to your cat!! and try to understand its language!!
The poem that follows now, is the one Totius wrote about his child. Read my English Translation further down….and I hope you enjoy it…although it’s a very sad poem!

John Steinbeck may have written “Of Mice and Men” as a novella, but he always had theatrical aspirations for it. After the book launched his literary celebrity in 1937, he turned it into a play, which began a respectable Broadway run later that year, and a critically acclaimed film followed. More stage and screen versions have been attempted, but no matter how good the dramatization, “Of Mice and Men” will always be that slim junior-high classic that (despite the teacher’s harping on foreshadowing) unlocked the gripping power of narrative storytelling…

O die pyn-gedagte

Totius….(JD du Toit)
O Die pyn-gedagte: My kind is dood! . . .
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 voort.

Maar daar skiet aldeur ‘n pyn in my hart,
so, dat my lewe se glans verdwyn;
Jou kind is dood met ‘n vreeslike dood!
En – ek gryp my bors van die pyn.

O Die bliksemgedagte! . . . Ja, lieflingskind,
een straal het jou skone liggaam verskroei,
maar bliksemstrale sonder tal
laat my binneste brand en bloei.

Sy was so teer soos ‘n vlindertjie,
sy’t lugtig omheen geswerf;
‘n asempie wind kon haar vlerkies breek
en – kyk watter dood moes sy sterf!

Hoe weinig die kinders wat so moet sterf,
dis een uit die tienduisend-tal,
en ag, dat dit sy was, en ek moes sien
dat sy dood in my arms val!

O Die pyn-gedagte: My kind is dood! . . .
dit brand soos ‘n pyl in my;
die mense die sien daar niks nie van,
en die Here alleen die weet wat ek ly.

Update…..as I promised…my own translation of the poem!

Oh the painful thought

Oh the painful thought: my child is dead!
It burns like a dart in my flesh…
People don’t see anything….
Only God knows my suffering!

Days come and nights go
Shadows grow tall and short
Behind me, the echo of my work’s moving spirit;
and I… continue my way to the cross

But then, a pain poked through my heart!
so much, the brilliance of my life disappeared;
Your child is dead; died a horrible death!
And I clenched my chest due to the pain…

Oh the thunderbolt-thought!….yes, beloved child!
One flash of lightning scorched your tender body,
but numerous thunderbolts burnt my heart
and left it …. bleeding

She was so tender, like a butterfly …
She glided lightly about;
A breath of wind could damage her tiny wings
and…what a death she died!

Few children die like this
only one in ten-thousand!
and oh!…It’s my little girl..
witnessed by me…. and died in my arms!

Oh the painful thought: my child is dead!
It burns like a dart in my flesh…
People don’t see anything…
Only God knows my suffering!
translated by….©~~Nikita



Die Vierkleur…Wikipedia

Die Vierkleur
DIE VIERKLEUR IS WEER IN GEVAAR . . .

Kom, burgers, trek die perde reg;
Nou vrou en kind goeien – dag geseg!
Jongkêrels, los die nôi se hand;
En seuns, verlaat jul moeders, want
Daar gaan ‘n strydroep deur die land!
Gryp nou die teuels bymekaar –
Die vierkleur is weer in gevaar!

Die regterhand gryp die visier,
Die bors oorkruis ‘n bandolier;
Die spore in die sonskyn blink,
Stiebeuels teen mekaar weerklink,
Die ketel aan die saal rinkink.
Kom, burgers, hou nou bymekaar –
Die vierkleur is weer in gevaar!

Laat aan die trippelaar sy pas,
Maar hou die vuurge hingste vas.
Die agterstes moet ingalop
Tot binne – in die ruiter – trop,
Die ponie en die bossie – kop.
Kom burgers, ry so bymekaar-
Die vierkleur is weer in gevaar!

Trek burgers, almal nou geteld,
Al voort maar deur die wye veld,
En of jul al omlaag verdwyn,
Of op die heuwels weer verskyn –
Wys altyd weer die slingerlyn.
Kom, burgers, trek so bymekaar –
Die vierkleur is in gevaar!

En moet jul val, val dan met eer,
Met die oog die vyand toegekeer;
Val op die grense, man en perd,
Die oue vierkleur is dit wêrd,
En die eerkroon wenk al uit die vert.
Val burgers, val dan bymekaar –

Totuis
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Maar een Suid-Afrika
Gee my ‘n roer in my regterhand,
Gee my ‘n bok wat vlug oor ‘n rand –
En ‘n flukse perd om hom weg te dra:

Gee my Suid-Afrika.

Gee my ‘n kamp waar bossies groei,
Gee my ‘n fraai volstruis wat broei –
En ‘n Boerseun wat baie wa:

Gee my Suid-Afrika.

Gee my ‘n koppie om op te staan,
Gee my die Swartland met al sy graan –
En nooit of te nimmer hoor jy my kla:

Gee my Suid-Afrika.

Gee my ‘n vlakte ruim en wyd,
Gee my die veld se oneindigheid –
En die lekker geur wat die lug daar dra:

Gee my Suid-Afrika.

Uit: Gedigte
A.D. Keet
(1888-1972)

KOMAAN! Woorde: JAN F.E. CELLIERS
Musiek: DIRKIE DE VILLIERS

Wees sterk! Daar’s ‘n nasie te lei,
daar’s ‘n stryd te stry, daar’s werk!
Daar’s nie na guns of eer te kyk,
daar’s nie na links of regs te wyk,
daar’s net te swyg en aan te stryk–Komaan!

Wees trou! Daar’s ‘n volk te leer
om homself te eer, te bou;
om God en God alleen te vrees,
aan aard en taal getrou te wees,
gesond en waar van hart en gees–Komaan!

Wees fier op ‘n voorgeslag waard,
in wil en in daad gespier!
Hul lewensweg het ons gewys
om trou te wees aan waarheidseis.
Wie laak mag laak, wie prys mag prys–Komaan!

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Let us not forget today….People who died for our freedom during the wars! People who served during the wars….Remembrance day…11 November, 11 am….
A bit Afrikaans…
*****My gedagtes gaan ook na my eie pa wat in WWII geveg het, hy het skool op ouderdom 16 verlaat om ‘n Bomwerper te wees. Vandag het ek sy log-boek in my besit – omdat ek sy naamgenoot is – waarin al die vlugte opgeteken is, al die bomme wat afgegooi is, waar dit afgegooi is, watter teikens getref is…ens ens. Hy was in Egipte/Italie. Hy’s op ‘n vroeë ouderdom oorlede aan ‘n hartaanval en die dokter het gemeen dis die spanning van die oorlog, want blykbaar het baie soldate – van WWII –  op ‘n vroeë ouderdom gesterf deur spannings-verwante probleme wat die nagevolg is van die oorlog-spanning. *****
Image: sparkyteaching.com
Why the Poppy?
Scarlet poppies (popaver rhoeas) grow naturally in conditions of disturbed earth throughout Western Europe. The destruction brought by the Napoleonic wars of the early 19th Century transformed bare land into fields of blood red poppies, growing around the bodies of the fallen soldiers.In late 1914, the fields of Northern France and Flanders were once again ripped open as the First World War raged through Europe’s heart.The significance of the poppy as a lasting memorial symbol to the fallen was realised by the Canadian surgeon John McCrae in his poem In Flanders Fields. The poppy came to represent the immeasurable sacrifice made by his comrades and quickly became a lasting memorial to those who died in the First World War and later conflicts.
Listen to the song…”The Green Fields of France”…and you can download it here: http://olc.spsd.sk.ca/De/resources/remember/links.html …..

Click on THIS LINK to watch a video about  a Canadian Veteran talking about the war.

Read more here

In Flanders Fiels

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields

By John McCrae 1915

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Reply to Flanders Fields
Oh! sleep in peace where poppies grow;
The torch your falling hands let go
Was caught by us, again held high,
A beacon light in Flanders sky
That dims the stars to those below.
You are our dead, you held the foe,
And ere the poppies cease to blow,
We’ll prove our faith in you who lie
In Flanders Fields.
Oh! rest in peace, we quickly go
To you who bravely died, and know
In other fields was heard the cry,
For freedom’s cause, of you who lie,
So still asleep where poppies grow,
In Flanders Fields.

As in rumbling sound, to and fro,
The lightning flashes, sky aglow,
The mighty hosts appear, and high
Above the din of battle cry,
Scarce heard amidst the guns below,
Are fearless hearts who fight the foe,
And guard the place where poppies grow.
Oh! sleep in peace, all you who lie
In Flanders Fields.

And still the poppies gently blow,
Between the crosses, row on row.
The larks, still bravely soaring high,
Are singing now their lullaby
To you who sleep where poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.

- John Mitchell

Poppies, picture by Tom Barret 

The most famous Canadian poem was inspired by one of the fiercest battles of the First World War.

During a lull in the battle, Lt.-Col. John McCrae scribbled the 13 lines of In Flanders Field on a scrap of paper, describing the horror he had seen at Ypres and the hope that it would not be forgotten.

McCrae, a tall, boyish 43-year-old member of the Canadian Medical Corps., was an artillery veteran of the Boer War in South Africa. He went to the line in at Ypres on April 22, 1915, the first time the enemy used poison gas.

But the first attack failed and so did the next wave and the next. For 17 days the allies repulsed wave after wave of the attacking enemy.

“One can see the dead lying there on the front field,” McCrae wrote ‘And in places where the enemy threw in an attack, they lie very thick on the slopes of the German trenches.”

McCrae, worked on the bank of the Yser Canal, dressing hundreds of wounded. At times the dead and wounded actually rolled down the bank from above his dugout. Other times, while awaiting the arrival of batches of wounded, he would watch the men at work in the burial plots which were quickly filling up.

Finally, McCrae and his unit were relieved and he wrote home: “We are weary in body and wearier in mind. The general impression in my mind is one of a nightmare”.

In April 1915, his closest friend was killed.

McCrae, who had written poetry since childhood in Guelph, Ont., sat down and distilled his thoughts about the war into his famous poem.

A full life … As well as being poet and author, John McCrae was a teacher and doctor before going overseas to fight the war.
He mailed the hand-written sheet off to Punch magazine in England and it was published in December 1915.

McCrae never returned home from the war. He died of pneumonia in Boulogne, France on January 28, 1918.

Near the town of Mennin, in Flanders, Belgium, they’ve restored as a shrine the battlefield bunker where McCrae wrote his famous poem. In memory of McCrae and other war dead, a bugler plays the Last Post every evening.

Born to a Scottish family that operated woolen and lumber mills, McCrae graduated from Guelph Collegiate with a scholarship to the University of Toronto.

He earned a B.A. and a medical degree at Toronto, did graduate work at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, served as a gunner with Canadian Field Artillery in the Boer War and then moved to Montreal.

His Guelph home is now a museum that attracts visitors from Belgium, France, Britain and Germany.
Source: http://www.canoe.ca/RemembranceDay/mccrae.html

This next poem was written by a South African poet about a South African that died at Vlaandere during the war…

Aan die graf van ‘n onbekende Boerseun in Vlaandere

Erens in Vlaanderland het jy die stof
van ou Europa met jou bloed verjong;
maar by jou wrede heengaan kon g’n tong
jou vroom toeprewel: “Stof is jy, tot stof. . .”

Met ragtime-deuntjies in jou kop het jy
uiteindelik jou Golgota gevind. -
0, opdraand was jou skofte, trekkerskind, -
jy kón nie in jou tuiste vatplek kry!

En êrens in ou VIaanderland staan daar
In eensame klein kruisie. – Seun van God!
Moet ons ou volkie aanhou offer tot
ons, soos U Kruis, oor heel die wêreld staar?

Stil, stil, my hart, al kan jy niks meer dra; -
in Vlaand’re rus ‘n seun van Afrika!

JRL Van Bruggen

An American, Miss Moira Michael, read In Flanders’ Fields and wrote a reply entitled We Shall Keep the Faith:

Oh! You who sleep in Flanders’ fields,
Sleep sweet – to rise anew,
We caught the torch you threw,
And holding high we kept
The faith with those who died.
We cherish too, the poppy red
That grows on fields where valour led.

It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies,
But lends a lustre to the red
Of the flower that blooms above the dead
In Flanders’ fields.

And now the torch and poppy red
Wear in honour of our dead.
Fear not that ye have died for naught
We’ve learned the lesson that ye taught
In Flanders’ fields.

Other poets of the time were also stirred to write responses to McCrae’s poem.

America’s Answer
Rest ye in peace, ye Flanders’ dead.
The fight that ye so bravely led
We’ve taken up. And we will keep
True faith with you who lie asleep
With a cross to mark his bed,
In Flanders’ fields.

Fear not that ye have died for naught.
The torch ye threw to us we caught.
Ten million hands will hold it high,
And Freedom’s light shall never die!
We’ve learned the lesson that ye taught
In Flanders’ fields.

R.W. Lilliard

Reply to In Flanders’ Fields
In Flanders’ fields the cannons boom,
And fitful flashes light the gloom;
While up above, like eagles, fly
The fierce destroyers of the sky;
With stains the earth wherein you lie
Is redder than the poppy bloom,
In Flanders’ fields.

Sleep on, ye brave! The shrieking shell,
The quaking trench, the startling yell,
The fury of the battle hell
Shall wake you not, for all is well;
Sleep peacefully, for all is well.

Your flaming torch aloft we bear,
With burning heart and oath we swear
To keep the faith, to fight it through,
To crush the foe, or sleep with you,
In Flanders’ fields.

J. A. Armstrong

Reply to Flanders’ Fields
Oh! sleep in peace where poppies grow;
The torch your falling hands let go
Was caught by us, again held high,
A beacon light in Flanders’ sky
That dims the stars to those below.
Your are our dead, you held the foe
And ere the poppies cease to blow,
We’ll prove our faith in you who lie
In Flanders’ fields.

Oh! rest in peace, we quickly go
To you who bravely died, and know
In other fields was heard the cry,
For freedom’s cause, of you who lie,
So still asleep where poppies grow,
In Flanders’ fields.

As in rumbling sound, to and fro,
The lightning flashes, sky aglow,
The mighty hosts appear, and high
Above the din of battle cry,
Scarce heard amidst the guns below,
Are fearless hearts who fight the foe,
And guard the place where poppies grow.
Oh! sleep in peace, all you who lie
In Flanders’ fields.

And still the poppies gently blow,
Between the crosses, row on row.
The larks, still bravely soaring high,
Are singing now their lullaby
To you who sleep where poppies grow
In Flanders’ fields.

John Mitchell

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When reading this poem about the moth…it reminded me about the poem written by one of our best poets/writers: C J Langenhoven. he also wrote “The Call of South Africa” our National Anthem. (You can listen to it in Afrikaans and English, it is somewhere on my blog…). If you know the Dutch language, or even Flemish, you would be able to follow it in Afrikaans, as Dutch is the “Mother” language of Afrikaans. Read more about Afrikaans HERE

The Moth

The moth toward the orb he flew,
In ever ascending spirals.
And in his harmonic mind there grew,
A feeling of sad tranquility.
For the destination was in sight,
As the ending of the day.
And even as his mind it merged,
so the atmosphere his body purged,
Until he faded and became one,
Unknown and unnoticed by each,
But not all.
—Phil
Read more about Langenhoven here.
DIE MOT EN DIE KERS
(the moth and the candle)
~~CJ Langenhoven
Die ander motte is dom en dwaas,
maar ék sal ver van die kers af bly.
Hier uit die skemerte sal ek kyk,
want hier is dit veilig en kyk is vry.
Maar ek hoef nie van een kant af net te kyk,
ek vlieg ‘n wye sirkel om,
dan weet ek van alkant af hoe hy lyk,
om beter te sorg om nie nader te kom.

My sirkel was skeef en ingebuig,
maar daar ook waar ek die naaste was,
het niks gebeur,
ek maak verniet
my sirkel so groot en so ver van die as.
Die wieletjie draai al vinniger om,
die lig en die gloed word al groter genot.
Die velling word nouer al rondom
die die end van die wiel,
is die as van ‘n mot!
The moth in this poem basically thought he won’t be so foolish like the other moths. He would stay away from the flame. But, then he narrows his orb and goes faster and faster…..and all that was left…some ashes!

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Cathedral Rock South Africa

 

Drakensberg mountains

Sunset : Twelve Apostels…Cape Town

Knysna!

Just my mood…not in a mood to say anything today Wish I could be at these places in South Africa!! Follow the link at the bottom of this post to read more about Ingrid Jonker and her poems and to see a movie-file too…also on my blog.

Ingrid Jonker died by walking into the sea!
To: Ingrid Jonker…Poet…A van Heerden
I see her pain,
I hear her voice
No one understood,
on one looked up
She carried a burden,
She carried herself,
She carried alone
~
Through her words,
Through her thoughts,
Through her lines
Through her phrases
She opened her soul
She opened her heart
She cried out
All on deaf ear
Abandoned
alone confused
loved used
abused
She let them.
~
Their acceptance made her accept,
But she died of that,
inside her soul.
She had too much of this world to carry on…
The water was calling
In her own defence
She gave herself
At her own expense…

This poem is in Afrikaans/English….
Somewhere I have never travelled – Iewers het ek nooit gereis nie
Ingrid Jonker…..adapted by e.e. cummings
+
somewhere I have never travelled,
gladly beyond any experience,
your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which I cannot touch because they are too near
~~~~~
iewers het ek nooit gereis nie daardie groen verte
verby alle herinneringe jou oë dra hul stilte
in jou geringste gebaar is daar iets wat my omsluit
of wat ek nie durf aanraak nie iets te ná
~~~~
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though I have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself
as Spring opens(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
~~~~
jou oë van landskappe sal my maklik blootlê
al het ek my hart gesluit soos twee hande
jy ontvou my keer op keer soos die lente
bedrewe en heimlik haar eerste roos
~~~~
or if your wish be to close me, I and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
~~~~
en as jy my sou verlaat geslote dan
sou my voorhoof sluit mooi en onmiddelik
soos die hart van ‘n blom sou droom
van ‘n wit sneeu wat alles oral bedek
~~~~
nothing which we are to perceive in this world
equals the power of intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
~~~~
niks wat ons in hierdie wêreld kan versin
ewenaar die krag van jou broosheid die tekstuur
van jou oë tref my die groen van sy veld
een bevestig die ewige en die vir altyd met elke sug
~~~~
(I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;
only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
~~~~
ek weet nie wat dit is wat jou laat vou
en ontvou nie ek verstaan net êrens op my reise
die stem van jou oë is dieper as alle rose
nee nie eens die reën nie het sulke hande

Poem found here:
http://parnassus-ad.blogspot.com/2007/07/ingrid-jonker-verwerk-ee-cummings.html

The Child

The child is not dead
The child lifts his fists against his mother
Who shouts Africa ! shouts the breath
Of freedom and the veld
In the locations of the cordoned heart

The child lifts his fists against his father
in the march of the generations
who shouts Africa ! shout the breath
of righteousness and blood
in the streets of his embattled pride

The child is not dead not at Langa
nor at Nyanga not at Orlando
nor at Sharpeville
nor at the police station at Philippi
where he lies with a bullet through his brain

The child is the dark shadow of the soldiers
on guard with rifles Saracens and batons
the child is present at all assemblies and law-givings
the child peers through the windows of houses and into the hearts of mothers
this child who just wanted to play in the sun at Nyanga is everywhere
the child grown to a man treks through all Africa
the child grown into a giant journeys through the whole world
Without a passIngrid Jonker March 1960

 

(Translation of: “Die Kind” ) Poems now owned by Simone Jonker…daughter Read on this link more and there’s a movie file too.

http://chessaleeinlondon.wordpress.com/2007/12/07/love-light-bitterbessie/


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This poem was written by C Louis Leipoldt, (1880 – 1947) – a South African poet and you can read an English translation here to, translated by Melissa on her blog…it is one of our best poets we’ve had and this poem is one of my favourites too…do read the English one and enjoy it!

WYS MY DIE PLEK
Wys my die plek waar ons saam gestaan het,
Eens, toe jy myne was -
Vroeër, voor jou liefde vir my getaan het,
Vroeër, toe jy myne was.
Kyk, dis dieselfde;
die silwer see
Blink in die sonskyn,
soos lang verlee
Dit eenmaal geblink het,
‘n welkomsgroet
Vir ons liefde wat uithou en alles vergoed.

~~~

Wys my die plek waar ons saam gekniel het,
Eens, toe jy myne was -
Vroeër, toe een siel vir ons saam besiel het,
Vroeër, toe jy myne was.
Kyk, dis dieselfde; die hemel, blou,
Lag soos voorheen op my en op jou;
Dit skitter nog altyd ‘n welkomsgroet
Vir ons liefde wat uithou en alles vergoed.
~~~
Wys my die plek waar ons saam geloop het,
Eens, toe jy myne was -
Vroeër, toe ons harte so veel gehoop het,
Vroeër, toe jy myne was.
Kyk, dis dieselfde! Net jy nie.
Vra,Wie van ons twee moet die meeste dra ?
Jy wat vergeet het – of ek wat boet
Vir my liefde wat uithou en alles vergoed ?
by C. Louis Leipoldt (ca. 1880 – 1947)
SHOW ME THE PLACE
Show me the place where we stood side by side,
Once, when you were mine -
Earlier, before your love for me died,
Earlier, when you were mine.
Look, it’s the same, the silver sea
Shines in the sun’s rays, just like before
It once shined,
a welcoming
For our love that endured and everything enhanced.
~~~
Show me the place where we knelt together,
Once, when you were mine -
Earlier, when one soul possessed us,
Earlier, when you were mine.
Look, it’s the same, the sky, so blue,
Smiles just as before on me and on you,
It continues to shine as a welcoming
For our love that endures and everything enhances.

~~~

Show me the place where we use to walk,
Once, when you were mine –
Earlier, when our hearts hoped so much,
Earlier, when you were mine.Look, it’s the same!
Except for you.
Which one of us has the most to bear ?
You, that has forgotten – or me,
that has to pay
For my love that endures and all enhances ?
Translated by……Melissa 

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The “Huisgenoot” magazine is certainly THE oldest family magazine in South Africa. These pics come from the magazines which I found on TUKKIES (University of Pretoria) website. I myself have got a few of these old Huisgenoot mags, but they are in bits! I’ve got a few complete pages and others are half pages and bits…and…pieces….I think my oldest one dated 1932.(all in SA packed away) In our family, I was always the one that liked the old history stuff and wanted to keep all kinds of precious, (well to me) historical “artifacts” safe. I hated History as a subject at school when I had to study and learn for exams, but love to read about it and visit historical places and museums. In my last two years of study, I had an optional “subject”, called Museum studies. We visited every Thursday a museum in the city….or near the city…we were only about 15 students…my History tutor was really an interesting man. He joined us on all those trips and could come up with the most amazing facts about Pretoria and you were like…”oh my….gosh…I didn’t know that! and I do live here!”…your jaws dropped every minute he was talking…anyway…those trips were just big fun…the Post Office museum…which is not in Pretoria anymore, but in Cape Town….was the biggest fun…we played like 10-year old kids with everything, about the only museum where we were allowed to touch everything…we made phone calls to one another with the old phones and sent messages with the morse code machine…that was great fun! We had to hand in a folder with information abut every visit and museum by the end….and….I still have mine! …I couldn’t throw away such precious articles and photos/post cards/information/leaflets/notes …etc.

On these adds you can still see a little bit of Dutch, as Dutch was the spoken language and Afrikaans was still very young and not the official language at the time. Afrikaans was a young, upcoming language at that time….

Old Huisgenoot to be found HERE on the University’s website. The link will open in a new window..

If you click on the images, you would get a larger image to view and read. You will only be able to read if you can read the Dutch language, as that was the language spoken. We have a saying in Afrikaans that says: “Die Kaap is weer Hollands”….”The Cape is Dutch again”….and that means…everything is again OK. When the English ruled the Cape, the Dutch didn’t like it…..so when the Cape was given back…they said…”The Cape is again…Dutch!”…and we’re still using that saying in any situation…to say…everything is OK!…if things had gone wrong….

In this article, 1916, Afrikaans was recognised in the Church! as a language…only in the Free State….one of the provinces of South Africa.

This is now the current “logo” of Huisgenoot….and also in its modern format.


This issue has got Nuweland on the cover, Nuweland is THE place to be for rugby in Cape Town…it is a 1962-issue…and inside there were lots of rugby photos, rugby was and still is, THE sport of the day in South Africa.

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Follow this link to read more…
You want to learn Afrikaans?

Click HERE and have a go!

De ontwikkeling van het Afrikaans
Het Afrikaans heeft zich ontwikkeld uit het zeventiende-eeuwse Hollands: De Oost-Indische compagnie (VOC) koos in de 17e eeuw de Kaap de Goede Hoop als rustplaats op haar weg naar Indië. Op de lange zeereizen had men behoefte aan een vast station, waar vers eten en drinken aan boord kon worden gehaald, zieken konden worden achtergelaten enz.
De eerste kolonisten aan de Kaap kwamen uit het zuiden van de Nederlanden, wat aan bepaalde details in het huidige Afrikaans nog te merken is. Het waren matrozen en boeren, allebei groepen met heel verschillende woordenschatten en dialecten. De inheemse bewoners van het zuidelijke Afrika waren toen voor het grootste deel zogenaamde Hottentotten en Bosjesmannen.
Vanaf 1740 was de voertaal in Zuid-Afrika niet meer zuiver Nederlands. Een van de meest plausibele theorieën over het ontstaan van de nieuwe taal is, dat de belangrijkste veranderingen in het Afrikaans teruggaan op interferenties.
De Franse hugenoten die in de 16e/17e eeuw naar Zuid-Afrika kwamen, hadden geen grote invloed op de taal, alleen de Franse namen herinneren er nog aan. De Franse woorden die in het Afrikaans overgenomen zijn, kwamen uit het Nederlands van de 17e en 18e eeuw.
Ook de “Maleise slaven” uit Indonesië, Angola en andere gebieden, meestal Portugese kolonieën, die in de 18e eeuw naar Zuid-Afrika gebracht werden, hadden maar beperkte invloed op de taal. De Maleise en Portugese woorden in het Afrikaans werden al vroeger door het Nederlands ontleend (zeemanstaal).
In het midden van de 18e eeuw was het proces van deflexie (vereenvoudiging en reductie van de nominale en verbale paradigma; vgl. ook het
flexieverlies in het Middelnederlands) al zo ver, dat een eigen variant van de taal was ontstaan, het “Kaap-Nederlands”. Vanaf de 2e helft van de 18e eeuw was een eigen taalsysteem gevestigd. Door analyse van de bronnen is een ontwikkeling van het Nederlands via het Kaapnederlands naar het Afrikaans te zien.
Rond 1800 kwamen de Engelsen naar Zuid-Afrika. Hun komst had echter geen grote invloed op de taal. Maar de Engelsen bleven hun eigen taal spreken, het bestuur en het onderwijs werden Engelstalig. De Kaap werd Britse kolonie. Het Engels had toen een veel hogere sociale status dan het Afrikaans; de bovenlaag, het bestuur en de intellectuelen praatten Engels, het Afrikaans werd als “kombuistaal” beschouwd. De opvolgers van de Nederlanders en de Vlamingen (“conservatieve boeren”) werden meer en meer ontevreden over het Engelse bestuur (slavenbevrijding) en trokken in de zogenaamde. “Grote Trek” (1836-44) naar het noorden, weg van de kust. In verschillende gebieden vond men nu ook verschillende varianten van het Afrikaans. De ruzies met de Engelsen gingen door.
Het opkomende nationalisme in de 19e eeuw vroeg ook om de verdediging van de taal door de Afrikaans-taligen. Voor het eerst begon men nu de Afrikaanse taal op te schrijven. Er werd een spelling ontworpen, men gebruikte de taal in het onderwijs en er werd een Afrikaanse bijbelvertaling geschreven. Deze vertaling was vanwege het gezag van de bijbel belangrijk voor de ontwikkeling van het Afrikaans (vgl. hierbij ook de “
Statenvertaling” en de gotische bijbelvertaling).
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Read
more about the history of Afrikaans….

 

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Image: fellowearthlings.org

Please click HERE for the Kalahari Meerkat Project!

And in National Geographic Magazine…

On THIS SITE of National Geographic, you can see movies about Meerkats…look out for the Multimedia-link…

Meerkat Vital Statistics
Vision: Color. The dark eye markings act like built-in sunglasses.
Feet: Non-retractable claws. Four toes.
Ears: Closeable.
Height: 12 inches (30 centimeters).
Weight: 2 pounds (0.9 kilograms).
Light-absorbency: Called the “Solar Panel Of The Animal World,” meerkats use their dark-skinned, sparsely furred bellies to warm up.
Taxonomy: Members of the mongoose family.
Tail: 8 inches (20 centimeters) long and used as a tripod to balance the animal in an upright position.
Activity: Diurnal (active during the day).
Life span: 12 to 14 years.
Society: A group of meerkats, usually five to thirty members, is called a “mob” or a “gang.”
Meerkat Home
Home range: Southern Africa/Kalahari Desert
Dwelling: Grass-lined burrows that are shared with ground squirrels and yellow mongooses.
Toilet: Common latrine used by all members.
Transience: Mob moves several times annually if food supply is depleted.
Competitiveness: Meerkats are very territorial and will fiercely defend their home from other meerkat gangsMeerkat Predators
Guardianship: Meerkats are “snack size” for a number of animals, so one always stands guard while the others forage or nap.
Primary predators: Martial eagles and jackals.
911: Various alarm calls indicate different predators.
Meerkat Romance
Specialization: Alpha male and female do most of the breeding.
Litter size: 2 to 5.
Gestation: Eleven weeks.
Breeding season: October-April in the wild. Year-round in captivity.
Helplessness: Born with eyes and ears closed. Sparsely furred.
Helpfulness: Various adults will baby-sit the youngsters while the mother feeds.
Precociousness: Sexually mature at one year.
Meerkat Food
Diet: Scorpions (meerkats are immune to their venom), beetles, spiders, centipedes, millipedes, worms, crickets (FAST food), small mammals, small reptiles, birds, eggs, tubers and roots.
Source:
http://www.fellowearthlings.org/index.html

mini-capecobra43

Picture update 2013: The Mini-Cape Cobra – see the next link for more South African snakes 

Note Dec 2013: I found a few visitors to this link today and discovered some broken links and missing images. I hope the new snake-link will help if you are looking for snakes from South Africa.

http://www.sareptiles.co.za/gallery/thumbnails-lastcom–5-page-3.html

This next poem is an Afrikaans poem about meerkats and the copper cobra…see more snakes on this link. In this poem the small animals talk about the rain, they have just crept out of their holes where they live and saw it was “wet”…and they all said it rained…but then the owl said, no…it’s blood, human blood. This poem refers to the Boer/British War.

C. Louis Leipoldt:

DIE KOPERKAPEL

Die koperkapel kom uit sy gat
En sluip die randjie rond:
“Dit het gereën; die veld is nat,
En nat is die rooi-geel grond.”
Die meerkat kom, en sy ogies blink,
En hy staan orent en wag.
En die stokou ystervark sê: “Ek dink
Die reën kom weer vannag.”
Maar die geitjie piep: “Dis glad nie reën!
Dis kollerig, swart en rooi:
Kom jy sulke reën in jou lewe teen -
So glad, so styf, so mooi?”
En die wyse steenuil waag sy woord:
“Dis bloed, dis mensebloed!
Dis die lewensbloed wat hierdie oord
Se bossie-wortels voed!”

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grens1

In J. Lion Cachet (1838–1912) se gedig “Die Afrikaanse Taal” word die taal as “’n arme Boerenôi” wat haar edel bloed geërf het van haar haar Calvinistiese pa uit Holland en haar skoonheid van haar Franse ma voorgestel. Bron: Verswereld 2000.

Ek is ’n arme Boerenôi,
By vele min geag;
Maar tog is ek van edel bloed,
En van ’n hoog geslag.
Uit Holland het myn pa gekom
Na sonnig Afrika.
Uit Frankryk, waar die druiftros swel,
Myn liewe mooie ma.

Hul skel my uit vir Hotnotsmeid,
Maar ek gee daar nie om,
Want aan my lippies kan jy sien
Van wat geslag ek kom.
Soet vloei die woordjies uit myn mond,
Dit het ek van myn ma;
Maar as ek bid, dan hoor jy wel,
Ek is ’n kind van pa.
H.P. van Coller (redakteur), Perspektief en Profiel Deel 1: ’n Afrikaanse literatuurgeskiedenis, (Pretoria: J.L. van Schaik) 1998.

N.P. van Wyk Louw (1906-1970)

Grense

My naakte siel wil sonder skrome
in alle eenvoud tot jou gaan,
soos uit diepe slaap ons drome,
soos teen skemerlug die bome
opreik na die bloue maan;

gaan met al sy donker wense,
en die heilige, nooit-gehoorde
dinge sê, waarvoor die mense
huiwer, en wat om die grense
flikker van my duister woorde.

Scotland 2005 122

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afrikaans-2

Meer Afrikaanse stories op hierdie volgende link asook boeke wat aanbeveel kan word. Die link sal in ‘n nuwe venster oopmaak.
http://chessaleeinlondon.wordpress.com/2008/09/26/storietyd-storytime/

Hierdie stories het ek in ‘n “Zip”-lêer eendag iewers van ‘n webbladsy afgelaai, ek kan nie eers meer onthou waar nie. In elk geval, ek blog dit omdat dit kosbare stories is van een van ons fantastiese skrywers, Pieter W Grobbelaar. Geniet dit!

Die Mooiste Afrikaanse Sprokies

uitgesoek en oorvertel deur

PIETER W. GROBBELAAR

ANTJIE SOMERS

As paaiboelie het Antjie Somers geen gelyke in Afrikaans nie. “Oppas vir Antjie Somers. Hy sal jou in sy groot sak stop!” is ‘n dreigement wat baie geslagte kinders soet gehou het. “Hy”, ja, want Antjie Somers was natuurlik eintlik ‘n man. Hier volg een van die talle maniere waarop die verhaal vertel word.

Andries Somers was ‘n voorman onder die Strand se vissers. Wie kon soos hy ‘n treknet vasvat? Wie ‘n spaan met hom laat sak? Nee, niemand nie. En dapper! Waar iemand in gevaar gekom het, was Andries Somers eerste by. Nes ’n see-eend kon hy swem, en talle drenkelinge het hy land toe gebring as die ander al lankal moedverlore was.

Maar afguns is daar altyd, en skoorsoek is g’n kuns nie. Eendag op die strand pak ‘n klomp vissers hom. Andries laat nie met hom speel nie. Hulle kantel voor sy vuiste. Maar een bly te stil lê waar sy kop ‘n klip gevang het. Andries moet vlug, anders hang die mense hom dalk op. Hy kry ‘n sisrok van sy suster. Hy bind ‘n kopdoek om. Hy haak ‘n mandjie oor sy arm. Toe kies hy koers, diep na die binneland.

Op ‘n plaas agter die berge gaan verhuur hy hom. En hy werk weer soos net hy kan. Van die voordag staan hy bak tot dit laat word in die aand. Wingerd spit of pars of mis ry maak nie saak wat hulle doen nie. Andries Somers word die voorman op die plaas.

Maar die afguns het ore en ‘n storie baie tonge, en voor lank skinder die mense kliphard onder mekaar.

“Vertel ons,Andries, van die sisrok wat jy in jou huis wegbêre,” por die ene.

“En die kopdoek, Andries Somers ? Of is jou naam dalk eintlik Antjie?” pla ‘n ander.

“Antjie Somers! Antjie Somers!” koggel hulle.

Andries Somers laat sy kop sak, en hy maak of hy nie hoor nie, want naderhand kom daar weer nuwe rusie. Maar die derde dag toe kan hy hul geterg nie meer verduur nie. Daardie aand pak hy sy bondel, en hy maak dat hy daar wegkom.

Nooit weer keer Andries terug nie. Nêrens slaan sy spoor weer uit nie. Hy het soos ‘n gees verdwyn.

Maar al meer vertel die kinders wat saans teen die berg gaan hout soek van ‘n ou vrou wat hulle verjaag.

“Sy het ‘n rooi kopdoek,” sê een kind.

“Sy het ‘n sisrok met groot strepe.”

“Sy het ‘n lang mes.”

“En ‘n mandjie.”

“En ‘n streepsak oor haar skouer.”

“Sy wil ons vang en in haar sak prop!” kerm hulle.

En die grootmense skud kop. “Dit is daardie Antjie Somers,” sê hulle onder mekaar.

Andries Somers raak vergete: dapper Andries, flukse Andries, Andries wat altyd kon voorvat. Maar een storie word al luider en geslagte lank herhaal: “Antjie Somers! Antjie Somers, Antjie Somers gaan jou vang!”

————-

Die Mooiste Afrikaanse Sprokies

uitgesoek en oorvertel deur

PIETER W. GROBBELAAR

DIE HEKS VAN HEXRIVIER

Hierdie mooi, eg Afrikaanse sprokie is ‘n goeie voorbeeld van ‘n verhaal wat waarskynlik rondom die naam van ‘n bepaalde plek ontstaan het.

Elise was ‘n mooi meisie. In die hele vallei het geeneen soos sy gewoon nie. Maar ongelukkig het sy aan hoogmoed gely. As die jong mans by haar kom kuier, het sy net haar neus opgetrek en gesê: “Eendag sal die mooiste en beste en fluksste jong man my kry.”

Op ‘n dag kom Flip met sy sweetvos by die plaas aangery. Dit is goed om hom te hoor lag. Hy is mooi om na te kyk. Vir werk is hy nie bang nie. Toe weet Elise: dis die jong man vir wie sy gewag het. Maar sy is nog hoogmoedig. “Gaan pluk vir my die bloedrooi disa wat op die hoogste krans groei,” sê sy. “Dan sal ek weet dat jy my liefde werd is.”

“Ek gaan,” sê Filip.

Flip klim en klim, en soos hy klim, sing hy.

Flip klim en klim met ‘n lag.

Flip klim tot hy tussen die kranse kom. Daar ver op ‘n rotspunt wat oor die diepste afgrond hang, blom die rooi disa.

“Nou gaan ek jou pluk,” sê Flip. “My bruid wag vir my.”

Maar toe hy vooroor buk, krummel die klippe onder sy voet. Hy gryp, maar dis net die disa wat hy beetkry. Hy stort met die blom in sy hand na benede.

Toe Elise van Flip se dood hoor, breek haar hart. “Filip! Filip!” snik sy, maar dit is te laat. Filip! Filip!” huil sy, maar dit help nie meer nie. “Filip! Filip!” roep sy, en sy klim die berg in na die plek toe waar die bloedrooi disa gestaan het.

Toe sy die geknakte blomsteel sien en die spore van Filip se val, kan sy nie meer nie. Filip! Filip!” sug sy en sak inmekaar. En die afgrond gryp haar soos hy Flip gegryp het, en sy val haar te pletter.

En nou nog, vertel die mense, kan jy haar daar sien dwaal. Dis net ‘n skim wat van haar oor is. Haar geroep is ‘n suggie wind. Maar sy kan nie rus vind nie. Elke maanlignag kom sy weer om na haar Filip te soek, al sal sy hom nooit kry nie.

“Dis haar verdiende loon, sê die mense. “Haar hoogmoed het ‘n jong man se lewe gekos. Sy is ‘n heks!”

So het die mooiste jong meisie van die vallei die Heks van Hexrivier geword.

—–

Die Mooiste Afrikaanse Sprokies

uitgesoek en oorvertel deur

PIETER W. GROBBELAAR

WOLF LEER VLIEG

Wolf is moedeloos honger. Elke keer as hy by ‘n dooie dier kom, het Aasvoël lankal die lekkerste vleis afgeëet sodat net die kaal bene vir hom oorbly.

“Ai, Aasvoël,” kla Wolf, “kan jy dan nie vir my sê hoe jy so gou weet as daar iets te ete is nie?”

“Dis maklik, antwoord Aasvoël. “Ek vlieg hoog in die lug en kyk ver oor die aarde uit. Jy kan net tot by die bossies hier voor jou neus sien.”

“Leer my dan ook vlieg,” soebat Wolf.

“Goed,” sê Aasvoël. “Kom klim op my rug, dan kyk jy mooi wat ek doen.”

Aasvoël sprei sy kragtige vlerke, en Wolf meet net vasklou.

“Sien jy, Wolf?” roep Aasvoël toe hulle hoog oor ‘n lap doringbosse sweef. “Dis maklik. Spring nou af en klap met jou bene soos ek met my vlerke.”

Wolf duik deur die lug, maar hoe hy ook al skop en spartel, hy val soos ‘n klip, reg in die doringbosse.

“Eina!” tjank Wolf terwyl hy tussen die klouende takke uitsukkel.

“Laat dit vir jou ‘n les wees!” roep Aasvoël van bo af. “‘n Dier is gemaak om te loop, en ‘n voël om te vlieg. En as diere probeer vlieg, kom daar moeilikheid.”

———-

Die Mooiste Afrikaanse Sprokies

uitgesoek en oorvertel deur

PIETER W. GROBBELAAR

VAT HOM, JAKKALS!

Deur hul aanraking met mekaar, het die sprokies van die verskillende rasse so vermeng dat ‘n mens soms nie weet waar die Boesman storie ophou en die Hottentot invloed begin nie om van die invloed van wit en swart mense nie eens te praat nie. Maar die belangrikste bly die verhaal self.

i. Ryperd

Jakkals is kwaad vir Hasie, want hy het stories by vrou Jakkals gaan aandra, en nou het sy haar man die huis belet. Maar Hasie het baie planne. Op ‘n dag hoor hy Jakkals suutjies in die paadjie draf. Toe gaan lê hy in die bossies en kreun.

“Ha! nou het ek jou, Haas,” sê Jakkals, en hy wil net spring, maar Hasie antwoord met ‘n swak stem: “Vat my maar, Jakkals. Ek is te siek om te vlug. Tel my op jou rug, dan dra jy my huis toe.”

En Jakkals dink dis glad nie so ‘n slegte plan nie. Nou sal sy vrou sommer weer vir hom goed word as hy met ‘n lekker stuk haasvleis daar aankom. Jakkals laat loop in die paadjie af, en Hasie moet net klou.

Jakkals, Jakkals!” roep hy later, “Die vlieë pla baie. Pluk tog vir my ‘n taaibostakkie dat ek hulle kan wegjaag.”

“Ai, jy is lastig,” sê Jakkals, en hy gaan pluk maar.

Toe hulle nog van ver af na Jakkals se huis toe aankom, staan sy vrou al op die stoep om te kyk wat haar man hier kom soek. “Vrou, vrou!” roep Jakkals. “Ek het vir jou ‘n lekker vet haas gebring.”

Maar kyk, nou sit Hasie regop, en die pyne is skielik uit sy lyf, en die taaibostak is ‘n lat. “Vrou, vrou!” koggel hy Jakkals. “Ek het vir jou ‘n lekker vet jakkals gebring!” En die lat gesels oor Jakkals se blaaie, en Jakkals bokspring en galop. Toe wip Hasie van sy rug af en verdwyn lag lag in die bossies.

“Nee, so ‘n treurige man wil ek nie hê nie,” sê vrou Jakkals. “Waar het jy al van ‘n jakkals gehoor wat hom deur ‘n haas laat ry? Maak dat jy wegkom hier voor my oë!”

ii. Die Byekerk

Hasie hardloop na die berg se kant toe, en daar sien hy ’n bynes diep in ‘n klipskeur. “Ai!” sê Hasie:

“Lekker is lekker,

en goed is goed –

en die beste lekker

is heuningsoet!”

En Hasie druk sy kop diep in die skeur om die nes by te kom, maar hy het nie geweet dat Jakkals al weer spoorsny nie. Hy sit nog so, toe Jakkals hom aan die hakskeen gryp. “Ha! nou het ek jou, Haas,” sê Jakkals, en hy wil hom sommer sy tande laat proe.

Maar Hasie het klaar geskrik en ver gedink. “Sjuut, Jakkals,” sê hy. “Kan jy nie hoor my vriende hou kerk nie?”

“Waar?” vra Jakkals nuuskierig.

“Hier in die klipskeur,” sê Hasie. “Ai, hulle sing tog te pragtig!”

“Laat ek hoor, sê Jakkals, en hy druk sommer in. Dan trek hy sy kop weer uit en sê: “Nee wat, hulle kan nie sing nie. Dis net brom brom brom, al op dieselfde wysie.”

“Hulle is seker moeg,” sê Hasie. “Steek ‘n bietjie ‘n stok daar by die voordeur in dat hulle weet ons is hier. Dan moet jy hoor.”

En Jakkals gryp ‘n stok, en hy werskaf in die klipskeur rond, en toe druk hy sy kop in om goed te luister.

Nee kyk, dit was ‘n sonde. Die bye mors met Jakkals; hulle verniel hom; hulle steek hom byna dood. Hy spring om en hardloop, maar die bye het nie tyd nie. Dis net zoem tjiek! “Eina!” Zoem tjiek! Zoem tjiek! Zoem tjiek! “Eina! Eina! Eina!”

Hasie lê soos hy lag. Hy rol soos hy lag. Hy maak hom eintlik seer. Nee, Jakkals sal hom nie gou weer pla nie.

iii. Vat Hom, Jakkals!

Maar Hasie is glad te gerus. Sing sing in die paadjie. Wirts warts om die bossies. Kyk nie waar hy loop nie; trap nie waar hy kyk nie. Woep! daar sit hy. Jakkals het voëlent aan ‘n stomp gesmeer en dit in die paadjie neergesit. Hasie spook, maar hy sit al hoe vaster. Hy ruk en pluk en skree.

Jakkals kom tussen die bossies uit. “Ha! nou het ek jou, Haas!” sê hy. Sy lippe is nog altyd skeef geswel van die bysteke sodat dit lyk asof hy nie kan ophou lag nie.

Hasie word stil. Ja, jy het my, Jakkals,” sê hy. “Nou kan jy my maar opeet. Dis net jammer om so dorstig te sterwe. Ek was juis op pad rivier toe.”

“Nee, ons kan ‘n bietjie gaan drink,” sê Jakkals, wat hom heeltemal droëtong gehardloop het om die strik vir Hasie reg te kry. Hy pluk Hasie los van die voëllym af, gooi hom oor sy skouer en stap af na die drinkplek toe.

Ai, hoe stil en blink is die water nie. Jakkals laat sy kop sak om te drink. Maar kyk die ongeskik! Hierdie ander jakkals druk sommer sy snoet tussenin. “Gee pad!” brom Jakkals.

“Wat is dit nou, Jakkals?” vra Hasie agter sy skouer.

“Kyk self,” sê Jakkals, en hy sit hom neer. En: “Staan soontoe!” sê hy vir die ander jakkals wat hom al weer beskou.

Hasie sien dadelik dat Jakkals met sy eie weerkaatsing baklei, maar hy sê niks nie.

“Loop weg hier!” sê Jakkals vir die derde maal, en hy wys tande, maar die waterjakkals wys terug.

“Moenie so met jou laat speel nie!” roep Hasie. “Kyk hoe staan daardie ander dier se mond soos hy jou uitlag. Vat hom, Jakkals!”

Toe Jakkals gryp, gryp die ander jakkals ook. Toe Jakkals duik, is hulle doems! al twee binne in die water. Toe Jakkals verdwyn, is alles weg.

“Ha ha ha!” lag Hasie:

“Kwaai is kwaai,

en kwaai se voet:

ou Jakkals soek

sy eie bloed!”

En toe Jakkals hangstert uit die water klim, sing Hasie al ver in die paadjie af.

———

Die Mooiste Afrikaanse Sprokies

uitgesoek en oorvertel deur

PIETER W. GROBBELAAR

SOP MET ‘N SKOP

Die Boesmans het die dierewêreld fyn deurgekyk. Daarom is Leeu vir hulle die sterke, Wolf soos Hiëna dikwels genoem word ‘n wreedaard, en Jakkals ‘n lafhartige bedelaar.

Wolf het ‘n ver pad geloop om by sy broer te gaan kuier. Nou is hy honger en dors. In die veld kry hy Leeu wat aan ‘n sebra lê en eet. ‘n Entjie weg sit Jakkals vir ‘n bietjie oorskiet en wag.

“Naand, Leeu,” sê Wolf vriendelik.

“Mmm,” sê Leeu, en hy kraak ‘n murgbeen oop.

Wolf gaan op sy hurke sit. “Hoe lyk dit, nooi jy my dan nie om ‘n stukkie saam te eet nie?”

“Ja, ja!” sê Jakkals gretig.

“Bly stil!” sê Wolf, en Jakkals gee ‘n paar tree pad.

“Nee,” sê Leeu, en hy skeur aan die boud se sagte vleis.

“Net so ‘n bietjie soppies om op te lek,” vra Wolf. “Ek is baie dors.”

“Ek lek my eie sop,” sê Leeu.

“Net ‘n ou murgbeentjie om af te eet,” soebat Wolf.

“Dè, vat dan!” sê Leeu, en hy gooi vir Wolf die been wat hy nou net self droog gesuig het.

“En wat van my, Leeu ? ” vra Jakkals met ‘n huilstem.

“Trap!” sê Leeu, en hy mik met sy voorvoet.

Jakkals verskuif nog ‘n entjie verder weg.

Wolf vat die been, en hy kou daaraan asof hy tog te lekker kou, en hy suig daaraan asof daar baie te suig is. Toe staan hy op. “Baie dankie, Leeu,” sê hy. “Ek sal sulke vriendelikheid nie vergeet nie. Kom eet gerus môreaand ‘n bietjie sop by my.

“Dankie, ja,” sê Leeu, en hy lek al klaar sy lippe af, want hy weet Wolf se maats is dood as dit by sop kook kom.

“Dankie, ja!” sê Jakkals asof Wolf hom ook genooi het, en hy gaan lek die droë been af wat Wolf laat agterbly het.

Agter die bultjie kom Wolf op ‘n volstruis af. Dis net vere en voete, en toe begin Wolf weglê. Die stuk wat oorbly, sleep hy saam huis toe. “Eet julle maar die vleis, ” sê hy vir sy vrou en kinders. “Laat bly net die bene vir my.”

Die volgende dag sit Wolf twee potte op die vuur vir die volstruissop. Die een pot haal hy betyds af om koud te word, maar die ander pot hou hy kookwarm.

Dis ook nie te lank nie, of hier kom Leeu aan met Jakkals op sy spoor. “Hoe lyk dit met daardie sop waarvan jy gepraat het, Wolf?” vra Leeu.

“Ja, hoe lyk dit met die sop?” vra Jakkals.

“Kom sit maar hier in die ry,” sê Wolf, en hy beduie waar sy vrou en kinders al wag.

Vrou Wolf hou haar mond oop, en Wolf gooi in, maar dis van die koue pot s’n. So gaan hy van kind tot kind, en hulle drink tog te lekker. Maar toe hy by Leeu en Jakkals kom, skep hy twee bekers van die vuurwarm sop uit. “Maak wyd oop!” sê hy, en hulle maak so.

Toe gooi hy.

Leeu wil nog sluk, toe spu hy al dat die sop met so ‘n wye boog staan. “Sjoe, vriend Wolf,” sê hy kortasem, “maar jou sop is vandag darem kwaai.”

“Dis van ‘n volstruis se bene,” sê Wolf. “Dié voël kan mos so kwaai skop. Wil jy nog ‘n bietjie hê?”

“Nee, dankie,” sê Leeu, “ek dink ek loop maar weer.”

En Jakkals? Hy kan nie insluk nie, want dis te warm. En hy kan nie uitspu nie, want hy is te bang vir Wolf. Daarom sit hy so met die trane wat oor sy wange loop. Maar toe Leeu wegdraf, draf hy saam, en hy maak sy mond agter ‘n bossie leeg. En nou nog as Jakkals so in die maanskyn wag dat Leeu klaar moet eet, en hy dink aan daardie sop, dan begin hy sommer van nuuts af huil.

Luister maar mooi.

“Kwaai sop!” tjank Jakkals. “Volstruissop! Volstruissop met ‘n skop!”

———-

Die Mooiste Afrikaanse Sprokies

uitgesoek en oorvertel deur

PIETER W. GROBBELAAR

JAKKALS VERTROU SY EIE VREDE NIE

Op ‘n oggend snuffel Jakkals tussen ‘n klompie bome rond, toe hy Hoenderhaan op ‘n hoë tak gewaar.

“Môre, my liewe Haan,” groet hy vriendelik.

“Môre, Jakkals,” groet Haan. “En waar stap jy dié tyd van die oggend nog rond?”

“Ek soek ‘n bietjie ordentlike geselskap,” sê Jakkals vinnig. “Maar dis nie lekker om so kop in die lug te staan en praat nie. Kom sit liewers hier by my.”

“O nee,” antwoord Hoenderhaan. “Ek ken jou streke. As ek naby jou kom, eet jy my op.”

“Nog nooit nie!” roep Jakkals uit. “Het jy dan nie gehoor nie? Daar is vrede in Afrika onder al die nasies.”

“Koe-ke-le-koe!” lag Haan.

“Hoekom lag jy?” vra Jakkals.

“Nee, ek lag sommer vir al jou stories,” antwoord Haan. “En dan lag ek vir my eie storie ook.”

“Wat se storie is dit?” vra Jakkals.

“Gisteraand het Wildehond my bekruip,” vertel Haan. Toe moes ek die bome in vlug. Nou is Boer met sy honde op pad om my te soek. Ek kan hulle al sien aankom.”

“Nou ja, dan groet ek maar eers,” sê Jakkals skielik haastig.

“Hoekom wil jy al loop Jakkals?” vra Haan. “Ons gesels nou eers lekker. Jy is tog seker nie bang vir die honde nie. Daar is mos vrede in Afrika.”

“O ja,”‘ antwoord Jakkals, “maar die vraag is of die onnosele honde daarvan weet.” En hy draf vinnig weg.

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nadine

This mp3-song is a song in Afrikaans by Nadine. She says…”Dankie Liewe Ouma” which means..Thank you dear Grandma. On the next link, which will open in a new window, you will find traditional Afrikaans songs, plus the lyrics.

http://esl.ee.sun.ac.za/~lochner/blerkas/index.html

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