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Have you ever jumped head-first onto the milk-white dunes of the Kalahari? Let’s unpack the riddles behind the sun-whitened sand and the white water. Firstly, the bitter watermelons called the tsama grew here because a god was mad at the hoodooed poachers. The white-bearded god poured foamy rain over the Kalahari. Secondly, the salty hailstones...
Heinrich missed playing mud castles under the spiny-thorn trees and trapping the green-tail birds. He missed throwing rocks at the cup-shaped birds’ nests. Now, the naked branches of trees stirred up his childhood memories. Under the unclothed branches, he rode humpback horses. Between these wind-torn branches, he planted his mint-scented tongue into the mouth of...
A cloudscape floated over the grill cart, tempting a salivating barbecue for the sausage-craving farmer. Kamuti was a Grade-A braai master. He fancied red-hot coals under the snake-thin sausages. Then he wielded a No.4 axe, and took to the Kalahari. A silver-grey tree, acting like a one-star hostel for the green-tail birds, spookily drew his attention. ...
Long ago, the chocolate-brown moths were colourful butterflies. They flew over the trumpet-shaped lilies and were nicknamed the flying flowers. There were countless purple, blue and yellow moths. These troops of rainbow-like insects painted the crystal clear ponds. The insects floated on the water in half-moon marches. Soon the reddish yellow and deep red moths...
The wind ripped the loincloths of grinning youngsters at the Augusteneum Mission. Underneath the sun-blocking tree, Karuru wrote his name on the rose-coloured sand. Firstly, the clumpy bearded teacher drew a tick next to the mass killings’ name. He shook his scattered-brained head and erased the wicked name with his military boots. Secondly, he sprinkled...
Long ago, underneath a yellow acacia tree, a redheaded green fly had smashed one of its see-through wings against the dancing branches. A small episode in the Kalahari that wouldn’t be overheard because of the angry wind threatening to dig up the papery tree. The crystal wing was not wholly off though. The green fly...
The Protection Troopers tasked me to bring Kambangane’s skull. So, I skilfully hunted him down in the feet-baking Kalahari’s sand.
Donkey years ago, along the edges of the Omatako River, a naked-chest clan used to wolf dragonflies. Throughout the feast, kinfolks puffed the scattered see-through wings.
Long ago in the Kalahari, porcupines were barbed thorn bushes that sprouted beige flowers and pencil-thin leaves.
Sally was squatting underneath the thatch-roof patio. Her reddened and swollen eyes were a clue to her insomnia. So, she buried her yo-yo hair between her knees. She lifted her head after picking mom’s footsteps. “What’s wrong?” asked mom, rubbing her scruffy hair.