Op ’n heilige Sondag, die eerste een in Augustus, is dit chaos in Paulet Huis. Dis leesboeke en chippies en koeldranke en rugsakke en nóg boeke. Mens kan skaars loop. In elke liewe vertrek is daar stasies waar helpers besig is om te pak. Dankie tog dat Annie van oorkant en Gilbert, ons sjef en my regter- en linkerhand, inspring en help. Ons hou naderhand ’n kompetisie: hoe lank neem dit ons om ’n boks van 200 boeksakke te pak? Ons breek ons rekords!
Tussendeur stroom die gedagtes deur my kop. Waar gaan die tyd met ons heen? Dis byna tyd vir my om Switserland toe te gaan vir ’n hele liewe maand lank. Om net te kan skryf. Dit voel steeds onwerklik. Volgende jaar is ek al tien jaar lank by die Jakes Gerwel Stigting. Kan dit wees? Hoe lyk ons toekoms, waar kom die geld vandaan om die deure oop te hou? Soveel drome nog vir hierdie plek; soveel mense wat ek nie durf in die steek laat nie. Soveel skrywers wat nog gehelp moet word.
Ek dink aan die saad; ’n neutboom s’n wat ek jare terug by die waterval bo in die Bosberg opgetel het. Dis iewers in my deurmekruis kantoor in Stellenbosch. Sal dit nog kan ontkiem, of het sade ’n vervaldatum?
Teen die middag sak ek in die rottangstoel op die stoep neer. Gilbert maak vuur. Kerriesosaties is op die spyskaart. Moeg soos fabriekswerkers wag ons vir die span akteurs van Oos-Londen (die nuwe naam ontgaan my) af. Toe hulle die huis instap is daar g’n niks meer tyd vir bepeinsing nie. Ons haal in soos ou vrinne. Ek hoef ook nie te lank te wag voor die groep begin sing nie. Acapella. Sing tog vir my Senzeni Na, vra ek mooi.
Maandagoggend is blou en koud soos net die Karoo kan wees. Ek besef die eerste skool se sakke is nie reg gepak nie. Wat nou? Maar daar is nie tyd vir vrae nie, dis tyd om te ry. Die eerste dag is ons by KwaNojoli se skool net met die straat op. Dan is dit Pearston, daarna Cookhouse. Op die laaste dag die plaasskole, die twee wat nog oop is – Witmos en Bracefield. Jakes Gerwel se skool.
By die eerste vertoning lol die klank. Maar die blou in my gemoed word vinnig-vinnig vervang deur die blou lakens van branders en golwe wat in die vertoning voor my afspeel. Die kinders word gevra om te help see maak.
Ek wens ek kon nog glo soos ’n kind. Hulle sien nie die akteurs wat met visse op hulle koppe toneelspeel nie. Hulle sien vir Spot, Strepies en Borrels wat planne beraam om uit hul vaarwaters vir Jellievis te gaan soek. Hulle wonder nie wanneer gaan daai sponshaai van die akteur se kop af val as hy die visvriende so jaag nie. Nee, hulle gil en gril vir Hap-Hap die haai. Sarel die wyse skilpad swem vir die kinders laag oor die skoolterrein, terwyl hy praat oor die mense wat al meer plastiek in die water gooi. “I’m bad, I’m bad, you know it,” sing die vieslike klomp plastieksakke. Met houding, nogals.
Orals raak die kinders totaal verdiep in die verhaal wat onder die see afspeel. ’n Verhaal baie ver verwyder van hulle eie stories. In die meeste huise is daar nie eens water in die krane nie. Hoeveel van hulle was al ooit by die see?
Ek verkneukel my aan die kinders se reaksies. Een lag dat hy glads van sy stoel af val! As Jellievis eers begin seepborrels skiet, gryp almal in die lug. En moenie praat van die liedjies nie. As “Baby Shark” en “Die Here het my mooi gemaak” oor die luidsprekers kom, is almal op hulle voete.
By elke skool dra ek, Gilbert en Lithemba kratte aan, swaar gelaai met boeksakke. Ek staan ná die vertonings by die kratte. Dis die lekkerste plek om te wees. “Thank you, Jakes Gerwel”, sing die kinders by een skool voor hulle uitstap en ’n liniaal maak voor my. Dan eers laat die juffrou hulle toe om ’n sak te neem. Ek hou dop hoe klein handjies die rugsak oopmaak en met ongeloof die inhoud daarvan bekyk.
“Lees kinders, lees.”
“Ja, Uncle.”
Daar’s nie tyd vir hanna-hanna nie. Ons moet aan. Dis vier dae, elf skole en 2 000 boeke wat moet base kry.
In die bakkie maak ek somme. Altoos somme-maak as jy ’n NGO wil bestuur. Dit is weer daai tyd van die jaar: wagtyd. Wag vir die regering om weer die volgende tien maande se Maatskaplike Indiensnemingsfonds aan te kondig. Dan eers kan die Groter Stellenbosch Ontwikkelingstrust ons weer help om 40 of meer leesassistente in diens te neem. Ons werkers wag saam met ons, werkloos by hulle huise. Elke jaar is dit moeilik om so te wag. Veral namens ander; namens hulle wat nie kan bekostig om te wag nie.
Dankie Vader tog wel vir die Maatskaplike Indiensnemingsfonds, die Groter Stellenbosch Ontwikkelingstrust, die Nasionale Kunsteraad, die Jannie Mouton Stigting, die DG Murray Trust. En die Suidoosterfees, wat nooit ooit skroom om saam met ons ’n produksie na die skole te neem nie. Dankie aan die Wela Kapela-teatergroep wat presies weet hoe om die kinders se harte en lagspiere te raak.
Oor Bruintjieshoogte los ek eers die somme. Van hier kan jy ver oor die vlaktes kyk, soos mens die toekoms beloer. Dis mos hoe daai gesegde lui: dat jy oor sulke vlaktes die môre kan sien aankom.
Dalk is dit hoekom die Karoo my so rustig maak.
En ek besluit daar en dan, wannner ek terug is by my huis in die Boland, gaan ek daai saad soek. Ek gaan dit in klam watte op die vensterbank sit, en kyk wat gebeur.
On a holy Sunday, the first one in August, there’s chaos at Paulet House. There are story books and chips and cool drinks and backpacks and even more books everywhere. In every single room helpers are beavering away at their stations, packing books. Thank goodness Annie from across the road and Gilbert, our chef and my right and left hand, have come to pitch in. And soon we start a competition: how quickly can we pack a box of 200 book bags? We keep breaking our own records!
In between all of this, thoughts rush through my head. Where does the time go? It’s almost time for me to go to Switzerland for a whole month so that I can get the time to write. It still feels unreal. Next year I will have been at the Jakes Gerwel Foundation for ten years already. Can it be? What does our future look like? Where will the money come from to keep the doors open? I still have so many dreams for this place; there are so many people I dare not let down. So many writers that still need to be helped.
I think of the seed from a nut tree that I picked up years ago at the waterfall high up in the Bosberg. It’s somewhere in my chaotic office in Stellenbosch. Will it still be able to germinate, or do seeds have an expiry date?
By the afternoon I collapse into the wicker chair on the stoep. Gilbert makes a fire. Curry sosaties are on the menu. Tired as factory workers, we wait for the team of actors from East London (the new name escapes me) to arrive. When they walk into the house, there’s no more time for contemplation. We catch up like old friends. And I don’t have to wait long before the group starts singing. Acapella. ‘Please sing Senzeni Na for me,’ I beg.
Monday morning is blue and cold, the way only the Karoo can be. I realise the first school’s bags have not been packed correctly. What now? But there’s no time for questions; it’s time to go. On the first day we stop off at the KwaNojoli school just down the road. Then to Pearston, followed by Cookhouse. On the last day, the farm schools – the two that are still open: Witmos and Bracefield, Jakes Gerwel’s school.
At the first performance, the sound goes haywire. But my blue mood quickly lifts when the children start helping in the performance, moving blue sheets to depict the sea and the waves.
I wish I could still believe like a child. They don’t see the actors wearing fish-like hats on their heads. They see Spot, Bubble and Rusty plotting how to leave their home waters to find Jellyfish. They don’t wonder when that shark made of sponge is going to fall off the actor’s head as he chases the fish friends. No, they shriek and squeal at Hap-Hap the shark. Sarel, the wise turtle, swims low across the school grounds, telling the children about the people who keep throwing more and more plastic into the water. ‘I’m bad, I’m bad, you know it,’ sing the nasty bunch of plastic bags. With attitude, too.
At every school, the children are drawn hook, line and sinker into the story that’s unfolding deep beneath the sea. A story so very far removed from their own. In most of their homes there’s not even water in the taps. How many of them have ever seen the sea?
I delight in the children’s reactions. One laughs so hard that he actually falls off his chair! As soon as Jellyfish starts shooting soap bubbles, everyone reaches up to catch them. And don’t get me started on the songs! Once ‘Baby Shark’ and ‘Die Here het my mooi gemaak’ start playing over the loudspeakers, everyone is on their feet.
At every school, Gilbert, Lithemba and I carry in the crates laden with book bags. After the performances, I stand at the crates, the best place to be. ‘Thank you, Jakes Gerwel,’ the children sing at one school before they form a line in front of me. Only then does the teacher allow them to take a bag. I watch as little hands open the backpacks and gaze at their contents in disbelief.
‘Read, children, read.’
‘Yes, Uncle.’
But there’s no time for dawdling, we have to move on. Four days, 11 schools and 2 000 books that need to find homes.
In the bakkie I do the sums – that’s always the case when you run an NGO. It’s that time of year again: waiting time. Waiting for the government to announce the next ten months of the Social Employment Fund. Only then can the Greater Stellenbosch Development Trust help us again to employ 40 or more reading assistants. Our workers wait along with us, unemployed at home. Every year this is the hardest part. Waiting on behalf of others; on behalf of those who cannot afford to wait.
But thank God, truly, for the Social Employment Fund, the Greater Stellenbosch Development Trust, the National Arts Council, the Jannie Mouton Foundation, the DG Murray Trust, and the Suidoosterfees that never, ever hesitates to take a production to the schools with us. Thank you to the Wela Kapela theatre group who know exactly how to reach the children’s hearts and funny bones.
Over Bruintjieshoogte, I leave the sums behind for a while. From here you can see far across the plains, the way one peers into the future. Is that not how the saying goes? That across plains like these, you can see tomorrow coming?
Perhaps that’s why the Karoo makes me feel so peaceful.
And right there and then I decide that, when I’m back at my home in the Boland, I’m going to find that seed. I’m going to put it in damp cotton wool on the windowsill and see what happens.
