There is a man in our kitchen. He looks like a teacher, with his glasses blocking his nostrils. I am sitting in front of the stove looking after the fire. The man talks about school. He talks about my teacher and about me not doing my work. I am too old for Sub B Mr. Appel reckons and this man has come to talk to Ouma about it.

Mr. Appel doesn’t like me. He hits me with the kweper lat. Once I got twenty strikes from Mr. Appel and my hands were swollen and blue. Grandma would not hear of it and she walked to school and told Mr. Appel about his A’s and B’s and C’s. He has not bothered me since. Now this man is sitting in our kitchen. A white man. I have never heard Ouma speak so grand.

He calls me to the table. ‘Why don’t you do your sums and letters?’

I look at Ouma first. ‘Toe answer,’ Ouma says.

‘I don’t understand it Ouma, it is too hard.’

‘That is a lie. You help your sister with her work and she is Standard 4 already. I hear you spell and count and say your maal tafels.’

The man looks at me. He takes out a book. ‘Read this please?’

Somebody must have told him. What if they send me away like they did Fiela? She couldn’t learn and they sent her to the Elim Tehuis. No one has seen Fiela since that day in class. She was sitting and drawing and the next thing I knew she started shaking on the floor and there was kweil on the floor, a big puddle of it and teacher took a big spoon and put it in Fiela’s mouth. We all sat very quietly and watched.

I look at the blurry words. I see a B here and D there. They can’t find out, so I keep me dumb. The man asks me to spell ‘doubt’ for him. My Engelse teacher said this is a word that is tricky, only clever people won’t get caught because the letters are quiet. I spell D-O-U-B-T. The man looks at me. I think, I am going to be taken away here and now.

‘Very good.’

‘Spell “Onse Vader”.’

I spell and spell and spell, doesn’t matter what word the man asks, I spell. Then he asks me to read and I close my eyes. I can’t do it. I shut my eyes hoping everyone will go away. Ouma and the white man look very confused when I eventually open my eyes and realize they are still there.

‘You can go and play outside now. I need to speak to your Ouma.’

I run out of the kitchen as fast as I can. Just now Ouma will wring my ears for being naughty to the white man, I think.

After about half an hour, the man leaves our house and Ouma walks with him to the gate. The neighbours almost fall over their doors from hanging and being busy.

‘Come inside,’ she tells me and gives me a rusk. Usually, we only get rusks when we have done something good, but I don’t ask questions. I just take the rusk, glad that the white man hasn’t taken me away and that Ouma isn’t asking me to read anymore.

That evening Ouma invites the Father to come to our house to pray for me. The Father reads from the Bible and Sissie and I hum “Give me power my Lord” while Ouma prays.

She is praying for guidance and for money for my eyes and can God please be with me and Sissie. The white man told the school that I needed glasses and Ouma does not have the money. She never asks me why I didn’t tell her about my eyes.

Then one afternoon Ouma gets a letter. The white man got money from the government to get me glasses. Ouma and I go with the Father to Caledon to fetch the glasses. They are big thick glasses that looked like a kaleidoscope, too heavy for my face to carry. I look in the mirror. I look funny, but it doesn’t bother me. I can see. On our way home I read everything. The name of the car we are driving: Toyota Corolla. I read the road signs: Caledon R406. I giggle.

‘Why does Ouma’s child laugh?’

‘I didn’t know that Caledon cost R406, Ouma.’

Ouma and Father laugh so hard.

‘No, my child,’ Father says. ‘The R406 is the name of the road.’

‘And look over there Ouma. Volstruise and cows and sheep!’

The world looks so new and green. I look and look until my eyes start burning. I want everything to stay in my new glasses.

I read: Dempers Street. That is our street’s name. I couldn’t read it before. I can’t wait to show Oupa and Sissie my new glasses.

When we get home Oupa is sitting in front of the gallie blik with Sissie. I can’t wait to tell them what I saw. I jump out of the car and run to Sissie to show her my glasses. Sissie is laughing and pointing at my glasses.

‘You have Coke glasses!’ she points at me, laughing. ‘Coke glasses!’

The colour of my glasses is brown and they have a golden chain so that they can hang around my neck. They are the most beautiful thing I have ever owned, but Sissie just laughs and laughs.

‘Gat weg hieso, you klein karnallie,’ scolds Oupa as she runs into the street. ‘You can run but if you come back slat ek jou gatvelle, blerrie hooligan!’

Ouma says goodbye to Father. When she comes into the house she asks Oupa what is going on because by now I am crying.

‘That karnallie laughed at the child. Bloody fool!’ he shouts after Sissie. ‘Come here, Oupa’s child. She is just jealous.’ He puts his arms around me.

When it gets dark Sissie has to come home and Ouma hits her with her church shoes. From our room, I can hear Ouma talk in breaths whilst she is hitting Sissie. ‘Jy moet ophou – ouw ouw ouw – you must stop – clap clap clap – jy moet ophou!’ Until Ouma finally runs out of breath.

I hear Sisssie cry, ‘Hoeeeeee-hoeeeeee- haaaaaaa-haaaaaa.’

‘Stop crying or do you want a hiding again?’

‘No-no,’ she sniffs.

She really does deserve it, but I end up crying from inside the room. I go to the bedroom where Sissie is snikking. Her legs are red and I put my cold hands thinking it will make it better. Crying hoeeeee hoeeeee with her.

‘Stop crying, you dommie!’ Sissie says.

‘I am sorry, Sissie.’

‘I am sorry too, Flooitjie. I think your glasses are really nice. You just looked really different.’

As Sissie and I lie there, crying together, we hear Ouma and Oupa arguing.

‘I am not sending her to school.’

‘And why not, Aletta?’

‘Did you see that verdomde Sissie laughing at Lelie like that today? No, the children will laugh. I won’t allow it. And the neighbours…’

‘Stop fiddling with your fingers. Het jy nie geloof nie and fok die blinking neighbours, man. It’s not their business what goes on in this house. I might be a suipgat, but I still wear the pants in this house.’

‘The pants that you left at Marta’s house.’

‘Woman. Don’t start with that nonsense. You know she needs me as well.’

‘Those bastards. As my sonde my nie ontsien nie. If it wasn’t for my prayers to wash that vuilgoed she planted at our house. Jesus.’

‘I am leaving.’

‘Yes, go to your meid!’

Ouma woke us up at seven. She told Sissie and me to hurry up and wash, she wanted to talk to us before breakfast. On Sundays, we have pokkenpo pap or krummeltjie pap for breakfast. But because it is a school day there are thick slices of baked bread with worsvet on it and coffee.

At the table Ouma speaks to Sissie, ‘You look after Lelie, you hear me.’

‘Yes, Ouma.’

Ouma fetches the Bible from next to her bed.

‘Do you promise the Lord?’

Sissie has to put her hands on the Bible and Ouma looks happy again.

On our way to school, Sissie says, ‘Look Lelie, I can’t look after you the whole day. I have cricket and rugby with the boys during breaks. But if they mess with you, you call me.’ Sissie makes two fists like a boxer, punching the air. ‘I’ll pot them,’ she says, ‘like Ouma did that Antie Marta.’

When the bell rings, I push my glasses up a little. I don’t care that children might laugh at me and call me names. I know that I am going to be clever. I can prove Meester wrong and I know that I won’t get stroked with a kweper lat because now I can see. Being able to see after so many years of hiding that I couldn’t is the best part of me and I won’t let anyone ruin it.