My family is rich in memories. Memories of the family matriarch:
her silver locket locked away in her black jewellery box
her favourite hand fan that she would fan as if she were royalty
Royalty she was, the royalty of the family

Etched in our memories…
the way she laughed
the way she cried
the way she tried the sad to hide

the way she proses
the way she sang
the way she loved the gift of roses

Etched in our elephant-like memories

And as I sit here, sipping water from my bottled fountain, admiring the elephant bush; spekboom as we know it. I remember…
My family is rich in memories. Riches that cannot be found in any billfold.