Long ago when hairy roots used to grow atop the bushes, there lived Kangombo. Every reddish-yellow sunset, he hid in a moon-blocking cave, and swallowed white spider mites. One day, he looked at the stones and wished they could turn into goats. That morning, he hiked on a finger-like stone and shouted swear words. “I...
Chief Karuru cried against the fabricating of a hotel near the skeletal dock at Shark Island. However, the exotic tycoons had started with the construction of the hotel at the sand-buried concentration camp. Strangely, the red bricks and glass-wall rooms looked a lot like gravestones. A pack of moguls booked online to enjoy their fantasy...
Chief Tjiruru was 107 years old when the Odendaal Plan brought oil-soaked poles to Omusarakuumba. However, he refused the electrification of the oil-sand village. The magician feared that the streetlights would stop him from practising his charms in an eclipsing darkness. Last year, a flashlight between the clouds revealed his charm bracelet. Soon, the blue...
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.