Skryf-Safarie: ‘n Feëverhaal


Het jy ‘n feeverhaal? Ek daag jou uit: Skryf ‘n feeverhaal: oor jou eie lewe of ‘n deel daarvan, oor ‘n bekende se lewe, oor die politieke situasie van ons land, of oor enige werklike gebeurtenis. Maak dit ‘n feeverhaal ( of ‘n fabel) en vertel vir ons ‘n storie.

So daag Seegogga

die lewe is ‘n feeverhaal

‘n Tragiese verhaal met n mooi einde geskryf deur Scrapydo

Die twintigste eeu. Om en by die 1970tigs.
Sandra is n stil, eenkant mens weens omstandighede buite haar beheer. Sy voel nie regtig eensaam nie want daar is daagliks verskillende werkies wat sy moet doen.
Sy hou al vier jaar skool vanuit haar ouerhuis. Die plaaslewe is in haar bloed. Daagliks word diere versorg voor sy die skoolbus langs die hoofpad kry om haar na haar vierman skooltjie te neem. Die rit is maklik n halfuur se ry. Daar is n kortpad wat n nou en dan geskraapte hobbelige pad vol klippe en gate insluit, veral nadat dit gereën het. Sandra geniet elke oomblik van die rit omdat dit tussen berge en bosse deur loop. Die skooltjie nestel ook aan die voet van die berge.
Die jaar 1971 is n opwindinde jaar. Sandra gaan haar vlerke sprei en by n ander skool werk. Dis ver van haar ouerhuis maar sy sien uit na die verandering. Dan is daar ook n toer wat wag in die Desembervakansie. Sy gaan Suid Amerika besoek saam met n toergroep. Heel opwindend.
Kersfees was Sandra in Sao Paulo. Nuwe jaar in Brasilië het gesorg vir n avontuur op sy eie.
Terug by die huis, na n drie weke avontuur gelaaide vakansie, pak Sandra haar aardse besittinkies in twee tasse en vertrek na haar nuwe omgewing. Sy bly die eeerste jaar in die koshuis wat haar, as stil en naiewe mens, baie grys hare gegee het.
Die lewe was steeds eensaam. Sandra het egter al, toe sy nog tuis gebly het, gereeld die Landbouweekblad se Opsitkers bestudeer. Sy het vir verskeie persone geskryf. Omdat sy skrikkerig was vir n vehouding het sy altyd ouens gesoek wat ver weg bly sodat daar nie ontmoetings kon wees nie.
Noudat sy egter op haar eie bly het sy braaf geraak. Sy het vir ouens nader aan haar geskryf wat uitgeloop het op ontmoetings.Ongelukkig was dit net vinnig vriendskappe want die meeste het net n lêplek gesoek vir die aand. Die ondervinding het Sandra se oë geopen as dit by die werklike lewe kom.
Skielik het die korrespondensie verander. Sandra en haar een vriendin het die een ou uitgekyk of liewer uitgelees.
Hy was die sjarmantheid vanself. Hy stuur gedroogde blomblaartjies, klippies, skryfgoed – potlode en uitveërs. Dan ook musiek. Musiek opgeneem op bandjies. Elke week n ander een. Die musiek so meesleurend romanties. Hy het meeste musiek van sy massiewe versameling plate opgeneem. Hy was lief vir “Tot middernag slaan” wat Fonnie du Plooy aangebied het. Ook kort Bybelverse en preke word gestuur.
Dit het Sandra se voete onder haar uitgeslaan. Hul reël om te ontmoet. Daar was elektrise blitse tusen hulle.
Sandra was in die sewende hemel, onwetende wat op haar wag. Ouers word gevra. Die troue word gereël. Alles perfek.
Die twee is lief vir mekaar. Hul is geesgenote. Die romanse blom.Sandra is werklik gelukkig. ‘n Jaar later word n seuntjie gebore. Nou is beide eers in hul element. Sandra aanbid die grond waarop haar man loop. Tog is daar half n bewolktheid op die horison.
Sandra kom een middag  van die skool af nadat sy haar seuntjie by die bewaarskool opgelaai het. Sy gaan slaapkamer toe en ontdek n foto wat met n polaroid kamera geneem is. Haar geliefde besig met dinge wat Sandra tot in haar fondament skok. Sy konfronteer hom daarmee en hy belowe dit was net n eenkeer ding. Hy sal dit nooit weer doen nie.
Ongelukkig het Sandra nie geweet dat haar geliefde n probleem met straatmeisies het nie. Dit het vir n paar jaar aangegaan. Sandra was gebreek. Sy het egter steeds die lewe in die oë gekyk en gemaak of niks verkeerd is nie.
Toe gebeur dit dat haar geliefde geld wou hê wat sy nie wou gee nie. Hy sluit die huis sodat sy nie kan wegkom nie. Gryp haar aan haar arm en wou haar met geweld dwing om saam bank toe te gaan om geld oor te betaal. Gelukkig het Sandra kop gehou, toe hy haar vasgryp het sy sy toekoms omtrent weggeskop. Dit het nie weer gebeur nie! Hy was maar skrikkerig vir haar na die tyd.
Die omstandighede met buite egtilike verhoudings het net vererger. Telkens het sy weer vergewe.Na vele besoeke aan psigiaters en behandeling het Sandra met die hulp van n vriendin by n prokureur uitgekom wat aanbeveel dat sy so gou as moontlik uit die huis moet padgee.
Sandra gaan huistoe en konfronteer haar man.
“Ek was by n prokureur en hy het aanbeveel dat ek onmiddelik die huis moet verlaat.”
“Wat, jy gaan nie my kind van my wegvat nie!” Dreigend kom hy nader. Hy gryp Sandra aan haar keel en sis:”Jy sal nie!” Sandra sien in sy oë dat hy die kluts kwyt is. As sy nou n verkeerde ding doen is dit klaarpraat met haar. Gelukkig kalmeer haar man dadelik toe hy besef wat hy wou doen. Hy gryp n mes waarmee hy altyd hoenders geslag het, kap dit met geweld in die staal wasbak. Die tafel was gelukkig tussen hul twee. Sandra vlug weg. Sy kry vir kleinding en gaan na die prokureur toe wat haar vir die nag blyplek gee.
Die egskeiding was onaangenaam. Sandra se man het sy werk opgesê en n boemelaar geword. Sy het steeds met tye hom onderdak gegee omdat dit steeds haar kind se pa is. Na twee jaar van hel en sukkel om alles te doen om aan die lewe te bly pleeg Sandra se eks-man selfmoord in haar garage.
Almal het gesê dis ten goede nou was sy ontslae van die monster. Sandra was steeds oneindig lief vir haar man.
Stadig maar seker het sy weer begin helder dink. Ander werk gekry. Sy trek na n plattelandse dorpie toe waar sy n nuwe lewe begin. Sy ontvang haar man se pensioen wat hy aan haar bemaak het. Sandra belê dit sodat haar kind kan gaan leer na matriek. Haar eie pensioen se uitbetaling het gemaak dat sy n meenthuisie kon koop. Die lewe het uiteindelik beter en beter geword vir Sandra. Sy moes steeds werk om aan die lewe te bly maar daar was nie meer daardie stress en wonder van wat gaan volgende opduik nie.
Vandag bly Sandra naby haar seun in n vreemde land. Hy onderhou haar deur vir haar huisvesting te betaal. Sy moet steeds werk want haar pensioen is maar n druppeltjie in die daaglikse lewensemmer van voorsiening.
Sandra bly in n poskaart mooie plekkie, tussen groen heuwels. Sy loop elke dag met haar geliefde hondekind en verwonder haar elke oggend en aand aan die son wat opkom en ondergaan met van pienk,roos tot rooi en goud, oor n rustige geliefde huisie in die vreemde wat nou haar blyplek is.

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Om die inskrywings van verskillende bloggers in die Lê-Jou-Eier uitdaging te geniet of om self ‘n blog wat jy geskryf het aan te heg by hierdie skakel, klik op die InLinkz skakel net onder die paddatjie:

http://www.inlinkz.com/new/view.php?id=779975

Vir die reëls van hierdie uitdaging, om raad te kry oor hoe om deel te neem en om elke week se aankondiging van die nuwe onderwerp te sien, besoek die volgende skakel by Dis Ekke. Onder hierdie kategorie, kyk na die blogposts Lê-Jou-Eier: Reëls (2017-08-22) en Lê-Jou-Eier: Hoe neem ek deel? (2017-08-22).

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Memoirs: Teaching Snippets


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Forty years of teaching experience gives me a lot to reminisce about school, children, parents, teaching and teachers.

I was never cut out to be a teacher. Never liked teaching much too. But I, as a dedicated person, learned to give my best while working with children.

The best of my teaching time was when I taught English second language, history and technology at High School Secunda. I had year eight, nine and ten. Teenagers are difficult years. I usually had the average and below average students classes. The lessons had to be as colourful and well planned as could be so that they could participate naturally.

Those eight years at high school were trying years in South Africa. Secunda with  Sasol II and III was a danger zone for bomb attacks. The year twelve boys had to protect the school and patrolled the verandas around the classrooms. Guns were ready in the vault for in case. We also had regularly emergency evacuations.

We, as teachers, also trained to use a firearm. We had shooting exercises to make sure that we were prepared. We had to use our firearm for protection. It’s a big responsibility to protect children and keep them safe.

I usually had the slower children in my register class. Most of the time I had to be a mother, father and friend to these troubled children.

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One year I had a girls class. One of the girls was sent to a reform school. Her home environment was terrible. She was a real rebel and using drugs. I filled reports and forms on her behaviour which was a huge task. I know that she was rehabilitated at the end and wrote her matric. I was glad that she did well. The worst was that, the first day she was free to face life outside the school, a car killed her while crossing the street.

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Another year I had a boys class. They were a handful a real rough bunch. However, we playfully tackled the day’s work. There were twins, both in the same class. They were ten brothers and sisters, all equally rough. They were, however, a close family and well-mannered. After a year out of school, I met one of the twins at the shops. He was so happy to see me. His first words: “I was released from prison yesterday.I’m never going to lose my temper again.I want to be a good father to my child and husband to my wife.” It is sad that children who are inner good, land in situations that get out of control. Another boy one day shouted from the back of the room: “I won’t take out my book.”  I took him to the principal who gave him a proper reprimand. In the end, he was a grateful child who passed his year. He realised he had to do his work to achieve something. He bought me a coke and thanked me for helping him to stay on the right path. These small tokens of appreciation of educating children made it worth the while. I mostly had to do a lot of incentives work to convince them that, with hard work and pressure, life is worth it.

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These are a few snippets from my teaching journey.

Afrikaanse Tokkels: Autograph Boekie


n Stukkie uit my verlede.

Noudat ek besig is met my Memoirs kom ek op interessante dinge af. My volgende deel gaan oor my lewe op skool d w s van sewe jaar af tot my 22e jaar. Dit is dus eerste skooljaar tot en met my opleiding as Senior Primêre onderwyseres.
Frannie https://frandr.wordpress.com/ skryf oor haar sakkie met kaartjies wat sy in die kas gekry het. Dit was vervloë dae se kaartjies. Ek noem toe van my “Autograph” boekie waarin my oupa nog n stukkie geskryf het.
Ek wil dit graag met julle deel.

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Netjies oorgetrek en bewaar.(2018)

My enigste tante(Pa se suster) het n autograph boekie gekoop en dit namens my niggie aan my opgedra.
Die eerste blaaitjie het my Oupa(van moederskant wat enigste oupa nog was)in n bewerige handskrif n mooi stukkie geskryf.

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Oupa se stukkie

Dit was vir my twaalfde verjaarsdag in 1958.

Die volgende blaaitjie het my Ma geskryf.

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Mamma se stukkie

Daarna het my tante geskryf en toe my niggie.

Kleinsus het geskryf en
Ousus ook.

Ek is spyt my Pa het nie ook n stukkie geskryf nie. Daaraan kan ek niks verander nie.
My Skoolhoof in Laerskool het geskryf. Hy het die laaste twee laerskool jare vir my skool gehou.

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Skoolhoof

In die Hoërskool het onderwysers in my boekie geskryf.
Ek was vir twee jaar in een skool wat toe op die einde opgedeel is en ek is na die nuwe skool. In standerd sewes(die laaste jaar in ou skool) het ek al die onderwysers iets laat skryf. My trots is dat Rudi Neitz, my Duitse onderwyser, n stukkie geskryf het. Hy was n bekende sanger.

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Rudi Neitz

Dan is daar my matriek jaar se onderwysers se handtekeninge. My Klasonderwyser wat Engels gegee het het ook geskryf.

Daarna het van my kamermaats op Kollege inskrywings gedoen.
My eerst hoof waarby ek skool gehou het is die laaste een wat iets geskryf het.
Heerlike herinneringe.

All done: My book is live now.


My book is on the market as an eBook and paperback.

Paperback link:

https://www.amazon.com/Just-Me-Memoir-African-Zealand/dp/1978228155/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1517350723&sr=1-1

I hope you will enjoy reading about a young girl migrating from the Netherlands to South Africa. This book is about the first six years of my life.

The second volume will be About me growing up in South Africa during the early 1950s up to where I started my first teaching job late 1960s.

Cover page? Which one looks best?


At last!

I am nearly ready to print my book. It is going to be about my time still in the Netherlands. We immigrated to South Africa in the beginning of 1952. My sixth birthday happened on the ship. I remember a few snippets from my early time in the Netherlands.

I went back in 1974 to revisit my birthplace. What an adventure to see everything through the eyes of a grown up.

I would appreciate it if you could give me advise and comment on the two cover pages.

Which one looks the best?

What about the font of the writing?

Clear enough?

 

 

Writing + Memoirs: My bedrooms


Our fold up beds had curtains at the front. When we were in bed we could close the curtains and played that we were in a tent.

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Words: bedroom, holiday, teasing, excitement, post

I used the word bedroom for my Friday It’s Write Easy at our library.

A bedroom is an important room in a home. When I taught at a rural school near Potgietersrus, the children had to draw their homes. The children came from far off rural places. Their homes usually had only one big room. The whole family did everything there. There was no bedroom at all.

I am very privileged that I could share a bedroom with my sisters. First with my older sister and later with my younger sister. I had my bedroom when both my sisters were not living with my parents anymore. The room was a so called “rondawel” meaning a round room with a thatched roof. No ceiling, only wooden beams with the grass on top! This was a bad place to sleep because I had hay fever for Africa due to the dust and grass.

In the Netherlands

My big sister and I shared a bedroom. It was so small and narrow. There were two beds, which were folded up against the walls during the daytime. At night when both were down, you could hardly open the door. The last night, before our departure, we were so excited and could not sleep. My sister and I were playing in bed, in the dark room, when suddenly my bed’s two legs gave way. I crashed on the floor, bedding and all. My parents couldn’t enter the room because the bed was in the way. We were not robust enough to pick up the bed. Finally, my father pushed the bed up against the wall from the outside of the room.

We were told:“Now, stop your play and go to sleep! Tomorrow you have to get up early for our departure to Rotterdam harbour and then off to South Africa.”

On the ship

My parents and younger sister used one cabin while my big sister and I were next doors in a small cabin. It was as big as a cupboard, hardly any space to turn around. There were only two bunk beds. My older sister slept on the top while I used the bottom one. I had to first slide out on my back before I could stand up. We could look out of the porthole and see the sea. Lucky for us the weather was good during our trip. When we had to enter Cape Town harbour a storm broke loose. We could not enter the harbour and had to sail out to the deep sea again. The waves were so huge they came up to the porthole and covered it completely at times. Very scary. We had to stay in our cabin during the storm.

As grown-up:

When I left home, after teaching from home for four years, I slept in my own bedroom in the school hostel. We were four lady teachers, each in separate bedrooms and sharing a bathroom. We were on duty twenty four hours a day just like parents look after their children.

The next move was into my own flat. It had only one bedroom. The bedroom was on the walkway side of the building. My flat was the second last one on the top floor. Near the stairs going down to the garages and parked cars. Very noisy at times especially during weekends. I changed my bedroom to the sitting-room and the sitting-room into the bedroom. I loved to watch people’s faces when I invited them into my bedroom. One day the Reverend, deacon and elderly came to visit and see how I was. They could not believe that they had to go into my bedroom. We had a good laugh and years later we were still joking about me inviting them into my bedroom.

 

Writing + Memoir: House sitting an old dog called Meggie


I did house sitting for four weeks which ended Sunday, August 21. I cared for a sixteen- year-old Border Collie named Meggie. I wrote the following about Meggie for my writing group on Friday.

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Doef, doef, doef, swoosh

Doef, doef, doef, swoosh

Doef, doef, doef swoosh

From kitchen to the bedroom.

Bump, bump, around.

Doef, doef, doef, swoosh; doef, doef, swoosh

Back to the kitchen!

Scratch, click, click nails on the linoleum floor.

Up and down, up and down through the passage from the kitchen to the bedroom and back again. For at least half an hour.

The poor Meggie can’t get herself to lie down.

“Just take it easy Meggie! Slow down now!” It doesn’t help to talk to her because she is deaf. If I want her to react, I attract her attention by standing in front of her so that she can see me.

It is tough for her to let her back and bottom fall to the floor. There is something wrong with her nerves, and she has arthritis. Poor dog.

She has got dementia too because she would take a walk and then just stop, and stare in front of her. I usually kept an eye on her and would attract her attention and show her to move on. She could stand just where she was for long times.

The first two evenings Meggie was crying before she let herself fall to the floor. I gave her lots of time during the four weeks of my stay, to lie down and rest. It helped because if she had been moving or walking up and down too much, I think her legs and body aches too much.

The following is how twenty-four hours of my days/nights happened.

Early morning:

“ Look out Ineke, don’t step on Meggie.”

She usually sleeps in the kitchen doorway.

Touching her:

“Come on old girl. Get up! Let’s go outside.”

She’ll go outside and would stay out till I tell her to come back inside.

It does not matter if it rains. She gets wet and never came inside without me showing her to enter!

“Meggie, come on, come inside. You are soaking wet.” I rubbed her dry.

I had to lock her up in her kennel for the time I had to work. If I did not lock her up, she’d just stand outside in the rain.

Coming home in the afternoons, I first had to open the gate, drive the car inside, close the gate again. Then let Meggie out of the kennel. There were only three dry days that I could let her be outside her kennel during the afternoon.

 Dinner time. After dinner, Meggie got a treat. A small cone with some ice-cream. I also enjoyed an ice-cream after dinner.

Then it was time to calm down and have a nap before turning in.

“Meggie, stop moving up and down. You’re making me nervous with your turning around and around. Just settle down now!” As soon as I sat down, she’ll also lie down.

Then just before bedtime:

‘Meggie, wake up! Let’s go for a wee!” She’ll wake up as soon as she smells me passing her. She’ll get up and out of the door. Then it’s time again to keep an eye out for her to come back inside.

“Where could she be? Oh, there you are.” I clap my hands, and she’ll come inside. Usually, I had to dry her with a towel. Then we are off to bed. Again an up and down session and boom, off to relax now.

Every early morning Meggie would get up.

“Oops, I did not hear you getting up Meggie! Just look what you have done! Now I have to clean up behind you! Sigh!” Lucky for me that I first put the light on before going down the passage to the kitchen.

Then back to bed for another two hours and time to start a new day.

This was only twenty-four hours I had for four weeks!

Heritage: The Daily Post Photo Challenge


Ben Huberman says at:

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/photo-challenges/heritage/

This week, share a photo that channels a living tradition, whether it’s your own or someone else’s.

HERITAGE

I do not know if it was my father who started the photo scrapbook

or if my grandmother/father had started it.

After both, my parents had passed my

younger sister gave me the following scrapbook

as an heirloom.

Front cover:20170521_112948

 Family tree written by my father.

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My young grandparents from my fathers side

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Motorbike experience: Memoirs


May 5, 2017. It’s write Easy.  Every Friday I join a writing group and write anecdotes from my past. We usually get six words for the week. We pick one word or more and write about it. My word was motorcycle.

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Some people, when they are young, love to show off by having a better motorcycle than their best friends.

My son, while at school was and still is a big motorcycle fan.

While in school he bought himself a field motorbike with his money selling newspapers. It took him two years to put the money together. It was a second-hand motorcycle, and most of the time he was busy trying to fix it. As soon as it was roadworthy again, he would go off with lots of noise and speed up and down the dirt track near our house.

He studied at the Technikon in Pretoria. After a year of using a yellow Austin Mini which I gave him as his first vehicle, he bought himself a black streamlined motorcycle.  He enjoyed to ride it. He even would drive the hundred and fifty kilometres home on the weekend to visit me.

Some years later he told me that he nearly killed himself driving down a steep hill. He drove downhill and lost control, ventured on the pavement, and almost bumped full on into a signboard pole which stopped him. He showed me photos of the brake marks on the road and sidewalk. Lucky for him that he missed it by a few millimetres.

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One of the first things my son did when he arrived in New Zealand he bought himself a motorcycle. He even bought a second which he tried to modernise his own way. He loved fiddling with the engines. Nowadays he is more into designing and making electronic boards which bring in some money to help pay the bills now that he has expanded his family.