Ilze Gopal | My Denke – Natural Bipolar Poetry
Ouma Lenie Ontong se pienk roos groei voor die huis in Le Sueur Straat. My pa is so trots op oupa en ouma se tuin wat so floreer. Dis soos hul kinders en kleinkinders en agterkleinkinders.
Oupa Piet en Ouma Lenie het vrugbare grond agtergelaat. Die plante en groente groei vir punte in die tuin en dis presies wat ons generasie nou doen. Ons jaag na, dit wat vir ons agtergelos was. En dis benewens negatiewe gedagtes wat om ons mag wees.
My pa het my altyd mooi laat verstaan, ‘n Ontong verloor nie. Ware woorde….
Even when others think we are failing we rise above, again and again and we bloom in our season. See, we have many seasons of our bloom and we have thorns to protect us so beware. We don’t back down from a fight because we know what we carry and we know what it took to get us here. We take the positives and we run with it.
We are running with so much zeal, right into our destiny. We stand upon a foundation of firm knowledge that WE HAVE OVERCOME and we shall again.
My maat! Het Oupa Piet jou altyd gegroet. En dit is sowaar n Ontong ding. Ons kan om enige vuur met enige iemand sit en praat asof ons jou al jare ken. Dis n kuns om jouself so vulnerable te laat om jouself oor en oor met mense te deel sonder om twee keer te dink aan die consequences.
Oupa het eendag in die voorhuis in die sonnetjie gesit en vir my n stukkie wysheid gegee wat my nounog bybly, “Liefde kan nie n brood koop nie my kind”. Toe ek dit regtig leer om te kan verstaan, was Oupa al huistoe na Ouma toe. Dankie Oupa. My man sien liefde in n gekoopte brood, ek moes dit leer. En ek verstaan jou nou Oupa. Ek wens ek kon meer van julle twee leer. Sulke twee unieke mense, so uniek soos die kleur van dai pienk roos. ‘n Sterk stam, fluweel blare en skerp dorings. Don’t mess with us, jy gan tweede kom.
Die ou huis se fondasie lê nog daar naby die pienk roos se stam. Die blou en rooi blokke sal ek nooit vergeet nie. Ouma Lenie se “Ilzetjie, gaan koop vi ons Hi boys langsaan.” Oupa Piet se duiwe, sy bouery en Ouma se worskos.
Ons het deursettingsvermoë omdat twee mense se storie vol van dit was. En die mooisite wat ek altyd saam met my dra is – Dit maak nie saak waar jy vandaan kom, waar jou pad al gedraai het nie, as jy terug huistoe kom en jou karakter is geskaaf en geskuur. Is jy n beter mens. Hou jou kop omhoog. Jy is n Ontong en Ontongs wen altyd.
Author Ilze GopalPosted on April 2, 2020 April 2, 2020 Categories Bundles of jumbled words3 Comments on Ontong Roos
Ouma se Krismisrose
Spookasem lyk soos krismisrose, soet en sag. Ouma was so. So vreeslik sag, so liefdevol. Wanneer jy met haar in aanraking gekom het, het haar geaardheid aan jou vasgesit. Oh sy was so lief vir die Here. Sy het dit met als binne haar geleef!
Ouma se krismisrose het by die agterstoep gegroei. Daar in die skadu het hul volop floreer. As sy met jou tyd spandeer het, het jy gevoel hoe daar rus en skadu vir jou moeë siel stadig kom, verfrissend en sterk. Die blomme wat ek onthou was pienk, blou en somtyds pers. Groot bloeisels wat liewe Antie Stienie altyd gepluk het. Antie Stienie – ons geleier van ouma se goedheid.
Ouma het so baie liefde gehad dat een bloeisel per blomsteel nie genoeg sou wees nie. Ouma was so sag tog ferm wanneer sy moes. Catherine Martin Erasmus. Ouma Katriena, Ouma Trientjie – Vader van genade! God van glorie dankie vir ‘n legendariese vrou wat as kind al ons almal aan U opgedra het. Op n kissie U woord verkondig het… Here mag my kissie net groter word en my stem net harder, soos ouma begin het… vat ons dit verder.
Haar vel was die sagste. Haar hare in n gevlegte bolla. Ouma se handnaalde was altyd vir my so fasineerend. Die manier hoe sy dit op die dieselfde manier ingesit het elke oggend voor haar spieëltafel. Ouma se hand wat onder haar blad gerus het. Haar Singer masjien se geluid terwyl sy ons lappies komberse gemaak het.
“As die liewe Here n gat in jou neus wou sit, sou Hy Ilze” Ai ouma, wat sou jy sê oor my bos blomme op my arm? “Toemaar gaan speel meisie, ek sal die skottelgoed was. Sssshhh moenie vir Antie Stienie sê nie.”
Ouma se aansteeklike laggie. As sy op haar lekkerste gelag het, kon sy nie ophou nie. My ma lag nou so. En ek is sterk oppad.
Ouma ek het twee kinders en ‘n goeie man. Ons mis jou ouma. Ons weet jy is trots op wie julle grootgemaak het.
Oupa en ouma, Boeta Frans, Antie Lizzie, Antie Mary……………………………
Vertrou op die Here met jou hele hart en steun nie op jou eie insig nie. Ken Hom in al jou weë, dan sal Hý jou paaie gelykmaak. – Spreuke 3:5,6
Author Ilze GopalPosted on March 25, 2020 Categories Bundles of jumbled words2 Comments on Ouma se Krismisrose
‘n Bos blomme vir myself
Ek brand al 10 dae om die vraag te vra…. Hydrangea, Wisteria, Rose, Protea and Jasmine. What do they have in common??
My arm! My arme armpie julle. Dis so mooi! Like Wesley said the other day, you tattoo people always have a story. So, here is the story.
Wisteria of Bloureën soos ek hom ken, het altyd my ouma en oupa se huis se voorkant versier. As hulle so dik en swaar gehang het wanneer hulle in full bloom was moes mens net keer vir die pêrrebye. Ek weet nie eers of dit regtig perdebye was nie, bestaan hulle ooit? Al wat ek weet is dat ek koes koes die hek oopgemaak het want die bye!!
My oupa het klompe meisiekinders gehad, my anties. Ek sien hul soos die bye wat al zoemend die soete nektar verkry van dai fragrant blomme. Hulle sien mense as pragtige blomme wat vol potential is, soos nektar. Hulle is so gewillig om dai nektar in heuning te maak.
My dear aunts… So willing to make sweet honey that is pleasing to our Lord. They see the absolute good in everyone and this comes from my Grandpa, oupa Christiaan Erasmus. He was a storyteller, a builder of homes and of hearts.
Ek onthou hoe ons die verkleurmannetjies getel het oupa. Ek onthou oupa se glimlag. Ek onthou oupa se hoed. Ek onthou oupa se biltong skaafsels wat ons bietjies bietjies gesteel het. Ek onthou hoe oupa geruik het, soos my oupa. Oupa se jersey het my warme drukkies gegee. Oupa se rolstoel was n hartseer beeld toe dit leeg staan. Oupa, my oupa het my sy oujaar genoem.
Bloureën is my oupa sinne. Net my oupa….. Why did the bird sit on the gate for a tickey?
Author Ilze GopalPosted on March 11, 2020 March 19, 2020 Categories Bundles of jumbled words1 Comment on ‘n Bos blomme vir myself
Recently, I was reminded of a time where I yearned for what I have now. I so deeply craved to be loved… now I am loved, so deeply, I sometimes struggle to understand it.
They greatest lie is that we do not deserve the love we receive. I believed this lie for a very long time. I believed it because I was a very bruised little girl inside a woman’s body.
Until I was faced with unconditional love that blew me away completely. “I love you with the love of the Lord.” That love took the wind out of my sails but took me flying.
Here’s to flying with you… Still recruited.
Author Ilze GopalPosted on March 2, 2020 March 2, 2020 Categories Bundles of jumbled words3 Comments on KOESTER
I haven’t written here in years… And it is okay. I forgive myself.
Blogging became a place of love and acceptance. A place of joy, no judgment and not a hint of fear. Writing here was, and is again, a place where I can throw my words from my mind onto a screen and breathe at it. Total contentment.
Since my last post, my place of contentment and love has shifted. We have two beautiful kids now. They have unapologetically taken up so much space in my heart. They have shown me that life is worth living to the full, EVERY MOMENT OF EVERY DAY.
My words, however, are spilling out and I need this space again. I am glad to be back…
Author Ilze GopalPosted on February 21, 2020 February 21, 2020 Categories Bundles of jumbled words1 Comment on Resurface
On Sunday, 23 September, we celebrated Heritage day at church. It was our second heritage day at Every Nation Ruimsig. We moved to Jozi for this church and the church with all the people in it – became family. God knew exactly where to place our little family and He has provided for us in every single way.
My favourite part of how heritage day is celebrated at church is of course… THE FOOD! Imagine having a peek (and a taste) into the gastronomical favourites of a vastly multicultural community.
I wrote and shared a piece as a part of worship. It is a deeply personal one, which is why I am sharing it here.
All Afrikaans bits in the original piece have been translated into English (in Italics).
Heritage by Ilze Gopal
His word is a promise that has been fulfilled years ago.
A man with an old guitar is sitting on the plains.
He is singing koortjies.
The same koortjies that his grandma sang to him on the same plains.
Who is He that is walking on the water?
It is Jesus, The Son of God.
These plains – This land has only been good to him.
This land has only been good to us all,
Because it belongs to the Lord
and it is consecrated to Him.
Touch Him when He passes you by,
It is Jesus The Son of God.
A single mother drives with her two daughters.
She prays that the petrol will be enough to get them to school.
She is praying to a God who has seen her desperation.
Bend me lower Holy Spirit, lower down at Jesus’ feet.
Till my body, soul and spirit, be a sacrifice complete.
Don’t doubt any longer
He is a friend so true to you.
You are my treasure Lord!
You are my vision!
Today, our entire country will be reminded of their heritage.
Be it culture or tradition.
Food or clothing.
What went through your mind when you chose your outfit for today?
Did your mind float back to memories of old?
Was it difficult or easy to choose the culture that you wish others to see?
It has always been a challenge for me.
My eyes, hair and complexion do not always fit into one box.
I am a medley of cultures, thought processes and love,
My bones and blood are inside a yellow complexion.
My thoughts are embraced by a crown of kroes curls.
My Father made me this way.
My Father has placed me here.
And if you find yourself on this continent – in this land – Be Ready!
The ground you are on is His holy ground!
Our heritage is one of prosperous peace, attainable abundance.
We are seeds planted in this land.
To bring forth fruit in its season.
We are grafted into the King of kings.
Warrior of warriors!
Koortjies – Short simple hymns that are often repeated.
Kroes – Previously derogatory term used for very curly hair.
Both of these terms are very familiar with coloured people. Which is why I chose not to translate them. Kroes koortjies! It has a poetic ring to it!
Author Ilze GopalPosted on October 5, 2018 Categories Bundles of jumbled words1 Comment on Herkoms
The mystery of a pregnant bi-polaroid..
This is my husband’s blogpost… I am sharing this post because couples need to know that its not easy. This why he is my husband and why he already is the best dad our unborn son could have chosen. I love how he loves us. Please read and enjoy.
So this post is obviously not about me, well kinda, but I’m not the pregnant one…well you know…sort of…anyway, the moral of the story is that it is almost due date. Now the …
Source: The mystery of a pregnant bi-polaroid..
Author Ilze GopalPosted on February 26, 2017 Categories Bundles of jumbled words
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Una on Ontong Roos
Morné Issel on Ontong Roos
Belinda van Rensburg on Ontong Roos
Petro on Ouma se Krismisrose
Zelda Andrews on Ouma se Krismisrose
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