Day 90: Kenhardt magic

True to his word, Oom Alwyn gave me a lift to Kenhardt after an emotional farewell from Tannie Raais and Dosie. He dropped me off at Ouma Miemie’s Coffee Shop and gave me money for a coffee. This is where I met Ouma Bettie, who hardly ever came to town. She said it was a sign that I should come and stay with her and her family.

He is the centrefold of my view. We look at each another. His question hangs between us. The other two guys blend into the landscape. I look beyond him. Beyond them. The landscape is harsh, the sand thick. The houses – squat brick structures – seem to cower in submission.

My eyes zoom out of the bigger picture, back to his face. There is only curiosity. What was the question again? ‘Nou het jy nie gedink ons wil jou dalk nie hier hê nie?

Squinting at the sun I bounce the question around in my head for a bit. No, it did not even occur to me.

Silence.

The three guys look at each other. I have no idea who they are. They are not exactly the ‘keepers of the gate’, whatever gate that may be, but I know that I would like their approval. So when they smile and even look somewhat impressed, I let out a deep breath. It is time to head back to Ouma Bettie’s.

It is hot in Kenhardt, home of the tree under which the first settlers camped, home to quiver trees and San rock art, dorper sheep and vast flat expanses, like the salt pan known as Verneukpan.

Ouma Bettie suggests that I take a shower. They don’t have one in the house, but have made a cunning plan with an outside room, an outside tap, a length of hose pipe and a wall-mounted clip. The water temperature is lukewarm, proof of just how hot the Northern Cape can be.

The children, Dewaldo and Falencia, return from school and the house buzzes as they share stories of their day. We play a few games like hangmannetjie, name-vanne-diere-dorpe and noughts and crosses. These kids are so sharp, they kick my butt! Ouma Bettie just laughs and explains that it’s because their mom is a teacher. Then we sit on the stoep, where it is much cooler, to eat polony snackwiches. ‘Vanaand slaap ons sommer net hier.’

The kids fetch foam mattresses, sheets and pillows. There are two permanent beds on the stoep. I’m offered one. Dewaldo and Falencia play-fight over who is going to make the bed for me, and then we lie and listen to the neighbourhood and its unwind-for-the-day sounds. A cooling breeze carries away the buzzing mozzies. The male crickets entertain us with their melodies. Just before I drift off, I hear Dewaldo’s distant sleepy voice ask whether I’ll walk them to school the next day.

Early the following morning my sleepy gaze slides over the homes on the opposite side of the road. I see entire families lying in front of their houses, on mattresses laid out on lawns, covered with sheets. Ouma Bettie’s eyes open and I see her greeting. Softly I tiptoe to the kitchen and turn the kettle on. Ouma Bettie is getting coffee in bed.

On my last day with this gentle family, Dewaldo calls me aside. He has something for me. He gives me a Wilson toffee and with it a piece of paper. I turn it around and see a face. The face of Dewaldo is looking back at me. ‘About the photo – if you are feeling lonely on your trip, you don’t have to. You just need to look at the photo to know that you are not alone.’

I experienced this warm home with all its happiness and sadness. We cried together over loved ones we had lost and we threw our heads back at the simple joy of catching out the cheat who had taken a wild guess at a town’s name just to score another ten points. People constantly popped in for a visit – now it was adult talk about community projects, then back to handstands on the lawn with the children. I felt so at home. No, it never occurred to me that I might not be wanted here.