Consumed with pain, like worlds ripped apart, my legs spread open, the passion of being nailed to a cross. Affliction and fire, like tidal waves rages through my body until ….

…. I hear the first faint cries of my bloodied first-born son.

Dis my verjaardag, 3 Julie, 2006. My ma bel om my geluk te wens. So begin haar storie:

Ek lê vanoggend en kyk uit die venster en dink terug aan die tyd toe ek swanger was met jou.

Die huis waarin ons gebly het, het ‘n vyeboom gehad, so reg by my venster. Jou sussie, sy was toe amper vier, het angstig op jou geboorte gewag. Sy het my aanhoudend gevra: “Mammie, wanneer kom my sussie?” Om haar ‘n idee van tyd te gee, sê ek “Sien jy daardie vyeboom? Wanneer al sy blare afgeval het, sal jou sussie kom”.

‘n Paar weke later loop ek deur die tuin en sien jou sussie besig om al die blare van die vyeboom aftepluk. “Waarom pluk jy die blare af?” Vra ek. Sy antwoord: “Maar Mammie het gesê dat as al die blare af is dan gaan my sussie kom”.

It is my birthday, July 3^rd, 2006. My mom calls to wish me happy Birthday and reminiscently begins the story: I was lying in bed this morning, looking through the window and remembering the time I was pregnant with you.

The house we lived in had a big fig tree outside my window. Your sister, who was almost four at the time, was eagerly awaiting her little sister’s birth. She kept asking me “when is my little sister going to be here?” Trying to give her some sense of time I said. “See the fig tree outside? When all the leaves had fallen off, your little sister will be born”.

A few weeks later as I was walking outside, I saw your sister plucking the leaves off the fig tree. “Why are you plucking off all the leaves?” I asked. She replied: “But Mommy you said that when all of the leaves are off the tree, my little sister will be born.”

Bathtime at Grateful is a wonder that always begins with a few wooden logs in Grandpa’s old wood furnace. Only when Graaff-Reinet’s brackish water boils and the big bathroom with its high ceiling starts steaming, can we open the little tap to let in a few spits of hot water.

With my sister, me and two cousins in one bath, the puddle of bathwater rises to almost enough covering for our little behinds. But we never felt the cold for we were too busy dreaming big-girl dreams.

“Rub more soap” said a cousin “Then you will get big titties one day”. So we rubbed soap until our little toes looked like raisins and the soapy water like film, clings to our cold bodies. And mom pretending to be upset, came chasing us out until tomorrow, to dream our big-girl dreams again.

It was late afternoon. Mom and I were having a chat. Dad walks into the family room. I asked him a question. At 73, Dad doesn’t hear much anymore. In silence Mom and I stared after him. Said mom “You know, when I speak to your dad he does not hear me, but let me tell you, when I fart, he hears me every time”.

Dis laat middag. Ek en ma sit en klets. Pa loop die TV kamer in en ek vra hom ‘n vraag. Op 73 hoor pa nie meer veel nie, en loop plots by my verby asof ek nie bestaan nie.

Ek en ma kyk hom agterna. Kopskuttend sê ma “Jy weet, jou pa hoor niks as ek met hom praat, maar weet jy, as ek poep, dan hóór hy my”.

My oldest, David was 6 when one day after school, he hungrily stared at the steak I was cooking for dinner. Seeing the hungry look on his face, I offered that he and one of the brothers can share the first cooked steak. “But” I warned “When it is time for dinner, remember that you will need to share again since we have only one steak per person.

Eagerly the two gulped down the steak. At dinner with everyone seated, I started dishing up steaks. One for Dad, one for Mom, one for Marco, one for Gina, one for Damian, one for Delano and by this time David could no longer contain his anxiousness. He jumped up and looked at the last steak and in his excitement exclaimed “And who’s **ing big steak is that?”

My oudste, David was 6 toe hy eendag na skool verlangend na my aandetegewerskaf staar en behoorlik sy lippe aflêk vir die steak wat ek braai. Ek sien die honger in sy blik en stel voor dat hy en ‘n ander boetie maar hierdie eerste steak kan deel. “Maar onthou” sê ek: “By aandete sal julle weer een stuk moet deel want daar is net een stuk elks”.

Teen aandete toe almal aan tafel sit begin ek die steak uitdeel. Een vir Pa, een vir ma, een vir Marco, een vir Gina, een vir Damian, een vir Delano en toe spring David op. Met angs wys die voorvinger na die laaste stuk vleis, en benoud vra hy, “En wie se moerse stuk steak is dit daardie?”

We are driving home from Church on Sunday. Mom and Dad in the front and three little boys on the back seat of mom’s SUV.

“What did you learn today in Sunday School?” Asked mom from the front.

Without hesitation came a brave little voice from the back. “We learned about President Lincoln”.

Upset that no religion are taught in American schools, I asked with venom in my heart “What did they teach you about the Presidents?”

Came the proud lone voice from the back “That God told Abraham to sacrifice his only son”.

Ons ry huistoe, na Kerk op Sondag. Pa en Ma voor en drie klein seuntjies agter op Ma se SUV bank.

“Wat het julle vandag in Sondagskool geleër?” Vra ma van voor.

Sonder huiwering kom ‘n brawe stemmetjie van agter “Ons het vandag van President Abraham Lincoln geleer”

Verontwaardig oor die feit dat kinders in Amerika nie Godsdiens in skool leer nie, vra ma met gif in haar hart. “Wat leer hulle, julle van Presidente in Sondagskool?”

Antwoord ‘n trotse stemmetjie van agter “Dat God vir Abraham gesê het om sy enigste seun op te offer”.