Ouma loves singing “Like a Bridge over Troubled Water”, but the thing she loves the most is just going to funerals. Ouma always says it is funny how people constantly die here in Blompark, but it is not like the people are getting any less. Because the young girls around here are popping out babies like rabbits.

‘God talks about this in the Bible somewhere in the last book. Children will have children. The earth will burn by itself and burn the sins, because water doesn’t seem to be able to wash sins, not even if Father Wiese can bless the water into holy water. Sodom and Gomorra, kintjie Sodom and Gomorra,’ she always says.

Everyone respects Ouma. Everyone listens to her when she speaks and she is always welcomed at funerals like she is family. She sings and cries and greets people at the funeral. After the funeral, she helps the family in the kitchen, hands out curry and rice, doughnuts and chocolate cake, mos bolletjies and tea to all those that have come from far to attend the funeral. If there’s one thing Ouma hates it is funeral crashers and don’t think you can take a chance. She knows everyone. She needn’t say anything. She has the stink eye as people call it. ‘Daai vrou kan mens vrek kyk met daai oë van haar.’ People say that Ouma’s stink eye would even scare God if he came to the funeral uninvited.

Of course, Ouma doesn’t know that people are saying these things about her. I have to help with serving tea and handing out cake to the people, and as I am passing by I hear these things. I never tell her. I also will never tell her what they said about me and my sister that day at Oom Road King’s funeral:

‘Oe siestog, that child needs new shoes. Where’s the father?’

‘Don’t you know? Their father is not Klora like us. You can mos think Kloras don’t have yellow hair like that. Ouma Ragel kan ma veniet sê she has German blood from her mother’s side. All her daughters are sleg, especially that one’s mother.’

‘Ja, my mother told me birth is no child’s play. In soes ‘n piesang, uit soos ‘n pynappel.’

They laughed as if I was not there and I didn’t show that I knew that they were talking about me.

One day Ouma takes my sister Leticia and me to choir practice. Ouma can play the piano and sometimes Oupa will tokkel on the guitar and Leticia and I will sing old Afrikaanse treffers like “Sproetjies”, “Jantjie kom Huistoe” and my favourite “Die Harlekyn”. I have a low husky voice and Leticia sounds like an angel and when we sing together it sounds like Ouma’s piano. Oupa says we sound like Florence Nightingale. She was a brave nurse that helped the sick and sang to them at night. She would sing so beautifully that those who suffered would die peacefully and those who wanted to live would regain hope, or so Oupa told us.

‘n Riem onder die hart is djulle vir my,’ Oupa says whenever we sing together. And that’s why Ouma has decided we must go to the choir and sing for the Lord. We don’t want to go. Ouma says that we were called by the Lord to sing his message. She knows we are going to help Father Wiese save many souls in the church.

‘Well, are you ashamed of God? God says if you’re ashamed of his gifts he bestowed to you, he will deny you. Are you ashamed of God?’

‘No Ouma,’ we say together.

‘Right. Put on your Sunday school dresses and makes sure you put on your bobby socks. We might be poor, but we are not hooligans.’

We walk behind Ouma like ducklings down the stofpad to the Saint Joseph’s Anglican Church with our sheet music under our arms.

‘Now don’t pay attention to Ousie Maria’s eye and if I catch you laughing at Johêna trek ek julle gatvelle vir julle af, do hear me?’

‘Yes Ouma,’ we say together.

The other week Johênna asked if she could sing in front of the choir. She said that she felt the Lord. She grabbed Father Allies’ hand and placed it on her bosom. ‘Do you also feel it, Father? I want to sing for the Lord, praise his glory. Can I?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ he said, sounding like a frog. ‘You may sing.’

He took his hand from her bosom and run-walked to the altar where the church choir was practicing funeral songs for future funerals, because you never know, as Ouma says.

So after the welcoming, Father announced that Johêna wanted to sing something for the congregayson. Father speaks funny, but everyone thinks it is very fancy. After Johêna sang there was an uncomfortable silence, a few people clearing their throats, others making the church benches screech. By this time Father Allies had left. There was silence and then I couldn’t help keeping in my laugh, so I giggled, then a few of the other Sunday school children laughed and then everyone laughed, till they were crying from laughter.

All this time Johêna was standing in front by the altar, her eyes big like gutties in her head, her face red. I didn’t mean to laugh, it was just so funny. She was supposed to sing “Die Liefde van Jesus is Wonderbaar”, but she sang the way her brother had taught her: “Die lieste van Jesus is bond gebrand…bond gebrand vir my.”

Poor Johêna didn’t know that she was singing that the loins of Jesus are burned black and blue for her. ‘That is what that verduiwelde Tallies taught her to sing,’ Ouma explained when she spoke to Ousie Maria.

‘You should discipline that half-naaitjie of yours,’ Ousie Maria told Ouma about me.

My grandmother told Maria, ‘Loop bars, loop skuit op die ys. Go in your glory.’

Ouma says she can put up with a lot of things, but she can’t stand foolish people. They are from the devil. Ouma especially doesn’t like Maria because she is friends with Grandpa’s second wife, and to make things worse, Ouma and the second wife both live in the same street. He has one child with Ouma – our mother who we have never met – and three others with Antie Marta.

There was a time when Oupa couldn’t stay away from Antie Marta and Ouma prayed and prayed and prayed until she decided to go to the Slim Mense in Bredasdorp. Sissie tells the story much better than me because I was too small at the time.

‘One day there goes Ouma with Father to Bredasdorp. When she comes back, she has a cross face,’ tells Sissie. ‘She started throwing salt in the house and she slept with the Bible open next to her. She also got herbs to drink to cleanse her.’

Sissie says one morning Ouma gets up and cleans the house and throws salt around the house as always. She puts on her funeral clothes and grabs Sissie by the hand and up the street they go to Antie Marta’s house. Glup glup glup with her church shoes, black ones that shine. When they get to Antie Marta’s house, Ouma calls one of the bastards to come to the gate. She won’t set foot inside Antie Marta’s house or even her yard. ‘Where is your mother?’

‘Inside with Pappa.’

Ouma’s face goes sour. ‘Ask your mother if it is possible for her to come and see me this afternoon at three.’

‘I couldn’t believe it. Ouma actually invited her enemy,’ Sissie tells me.

Then they go down the street glup glup glup. At home, they make the living room nice and put out Ouma’s best china with the windmills. It is like the Mother’s Union is coming over for afternoon prayer.

‘So we wait for three o’clock,’ Sissie says. ‘Then from outside Antie Marta is calling, “Aletta!” Ouma sends me to the kitchen door to let her in.’

Then Sissie is sent to look after me in our room, but she sings me to sleep and then stands behind the living room’s wall. She hears Ouma say, after a long time of silence, ‘Tell Danie to come home.’

‘He doesn’t want to come here,’ Antie Marta replies. Marta is much younger than Ouma. And Sissie says she sounded scared when she went on, ‘Look, I’ll leave. I don’t want trouble.’

Sissie peers around the corner. Next thing Ouma grabs Antie Marta and starts praying the Our Father. Antie Marta screams like a whistle. Ouma reaches for Marta’s private parts. That’s what Sissie says. ‘Ouma pulled out all of her skaam hairs. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know Ouma was so strong.’

‘You crazy bitch! I’ll go to the police!’ Antie Marta screams.

The Slim Mense had told Ouma that Marta’s power is in her skaam hairs and that is why Oupa Danie can’t come home because it makes him crazy.

The neighbours all know what happened with Ouma and Marta. Because afterwards, Marta told and showed everyone who was brave enough to look. People were very shocked and started gossiping that there was something wrong with Ouma in the brain. I guess that is why no one except Father ever comes to our house. When Ouma gets sad she sits in front of the piano and plays the soft keys that feel like the music could go on forever. I know she plays for a lot of things, her hartseer.

Today I decided to go and stand next to her. I don’t know how to say sorry, so I just ask, ‘Ouma will you teach me how to play like you?’

Ouma’s smile is so forever-and-ever. I think that everything will turn out for the best soon enough.