from my mother's kitchen

Winter over, the swimming pool in the park opened its doors Scattered over lawn-covered terraces around the rectangle of shimmering blue water, young male and female bodies lay. Chatting, recounting stories about, this one and that one, who’d done this and that. Well warmed up one of them shouted last one in is a scary cat. Splashing, jumping and diving from the high board or performing flip flops, the pool teemed with writhing squirming virile adolescents Fooling around took place. “let’s duck him”, “let's grab her and pull down her costume”. Charlie’s whistle blew. Rough play is forbidden.   Lanes roped off half the pool. Training began in earnest. 40 lengths of kicking while holding on to a board. 6 feet tall, the school’s second-fastest breast-stroke swimmer, Leon aimed to be the fastest in the forthcoming championships. “60 seconds” announced Charlie, checking his timepiece. To win 100  meters in 59  needed to be achieved.   Charmian eyed her hero’s muscular ph

  "The picture doesn't show me", I cried. Not being noticed, or left out of the group, was my greatest fear, and it has come about. Pictures don’t lie. Ranting and raving won’t reverse the situation. The damage to my ego was complete and disastrous.   The memory of posing for this photograph is etched in my mind. Somebody, or some accident had removed me. All my mates are there. Sorrel Waks, John Miller, and Kenny Resnick are all there. Loyal buddies as they were, it’s unimaginable to think that they allowed themselves to be photographed without me.   Some said that I was hallucinating, a common accusation among kids playing a joke on me, making me think that I was crazy or something. Impossible, I was there, why doesn’t my image show up?   Mrs. Deacon’s voice rang loudly in my ears, "The grade photo will be taken tomorrow". Neatly dressed in full school uniform was a strict requirement. Black blazers, and grey socks up to our knees. Ma was informed

A story by Leon G. A high white plastered wall protected our house from the service lane, where undesirable characters used to meet and plan diabolical schemes to steal, plunder and even murder, white people. During those days of apartheid, whites had a dichotomous attitude toward black people. Considered enemies, but treated like members of the family, caring for the kids, cleaning, cooking, and serving meals to white people seated like lords and ladies, on high-backed chairs, at tables, set with shining white plates, silver cutlery, each piece exactly, where it should be. Requiring permits to live in white areas, these black servants lived in misery,  being poor and worrying about the wives, husbands, and children left behind in tribal lands, because they didn't have permits. The small, windowless, dank, rooms in the backyards of their white employers,  were uncomfortably hot in the Summer and cold in the Winter, being covered with cheap corrugated, iron roofs. Our backyar

 A story by Leon G                                           A magic lantern movie ingeniously contrived using comic strips. Holding the box up for her to see, eyes pleading to be noticed. Ma carried on her knitting. Fingers, like claws, gripped the eyewear, twisting the expensive metal frame, into debris. Objects of value to himself, things he can’t do without, like his eyeglasses, ruined. Up early to make sure that his hair was neatly combed. White shirt, neatly ironed, laid out ready for the memorable day. The broad tie, blue stars on a red background, a victory garland dangling on his puffed up chest, shined like silk. The hand moved over the smooth material. Decorative clothing took hours to put on, making him late for school. This was the day the grade portrait would be taken Scrutinizing the arrangement of the pupils, according to height, taking a step backward, hand on chin, smiling, the bald-headed photographer pressed a button, and the historic event was chronicle