THE MONTH OF JUNE It has been a long, long time since I anticipated my leave in the way that I have counted the days leading up to this last day before ... I am born again to that first day that is my own day and time. No diary or meetings or anything that I dont want to do. I used to wait on school holidays in that way. But even then there was the belief that my mum seemed to have, namely, that holidays were to clean windows and every leave-it-to-Michael job that she either invented or volunteered me for such as Moenie, worrie nie Mrs Booysen, Michael will go and get your pension for you. Or, He will go take the message to your sister in Bishop Lavis for you. A appreciative Mrs Booysen would lavish praise on Mrs Mussolini Weeder: Ai Sheila, jou kinners is soe gewillig. And then I, the first-born of the Mother Theresa wannabe of Fortieth Street, had to walk all the way to Lavistown. There I had to contend with the auntys gangsta nephews with their kill-you-quick attitude. These laaities were aloof to my errand of kindness. All they saw in me was a sturvey met glaa-rer hare. n Afkop vannie Elsies. They eyed me with contempt. I further had to live with the shame that my safety was secured by their very pretty sisters. These ebony-skinned, ghetto goddesses were charmed by my stuttered, Is j-j-julle ma hie? Long after I had reached the relative safety of Halt Road my head still refrained their well-intentioned, but damning, Uh, uh julle. Los vi Mikey af. Huis osse burk. But from Saturday on --- dan vat ek my volle maand se leave. En daai nwatas vannie Lavis moet uitkyk en wys raak: Ek issie mee Mikey nie. Ek is Michael.
Posted on: Fri, 30 May 2014 13:17:39 +0000
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