So it was my
father's sixtieth birthday on Sunday. For this very momentous occasion, my
aunts and cousins decided to organize and host a befday party for lethaima,
at my late grandmothers abode, in the small village of Mogogelo, Hammanskraal:
A place that, for me, always conjures up fond childhood memories. I remember,
shuttling about three or four twenty-five-liter bottles in a wheelbarrow to the
nearest borehole or communal fountain for the coming days' chores. The trips
were always filled with "unscheduled" stops; flirting with girls,
arguing about whose turn it was to push (or pull), soliciting extra
"company" for the long and arduous journey – okay, okay, they were more
like our little slaves. Still, their
reward was always laughter, friendship and love.
