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Eendag lank lank gelede, voor TV en selfone, was daar 'n dorp aan die westekant van 'n berg. 'n Gewone klein dorpie. Aan die einde van 'n baie lang stofpad wat ses keer met 'n bruggie oor 'n rivier moes loop: voor mens by die grootpad kon kom. In die plekkie was ses meisies van om en by agtien.
One day, a long time ago, before TV and cell phones, there was a town on the west side of a mountain. You would get to the main road at the end of a very long dirt road that crossed the river six times with little bridges. In this little place there were six girls of about eighteen years of age.
Elkeen het 'n besondere talent gehad. Daar was 'n ontsettende sikloon die jaar van hulle geboorte. Mense het geglo dat die storm die talente ingewaai en ingespoel het. Niemand anders was voor die tyd of daarna weer spesiaal nie. Een van hulle kon siektes gesond maak. Met volmaan. Sy het, net na haar agtiende verjaarsdag, stad toe weggeloop. Dit was sommer saam met die gladdebek groentesmous wat haar roem en rykdom beloof het. Niemand het haar ooit weer gesien nie. Gerugte uit die stad was net dat sy buite die dorpie toe geen kragte gehad het nie. Dat sy daarna maar agter die smous aangedrentel het; omdat sy vir hom lief was. Van die ander vyf in die dorp kon mense baie vertel. Van heinde en verre het selfs vreemdelinge kom kyk en luister en bewonder. Die een wie se hare altyd kort was, kon vinniger hardloop, hoër spring en langer uithou as selfs die sterkste jong mans van die dorp. Sy was saggeaard en handig en het sewe mans se werk per dag gedoen: van sy twaalf was al.
Each one had a unique talent. There was a massive cyclone the year of their birth. People believed that the storm blew in their talents and permeated it into them. No one else before or after them was special again. One of them could heal diseases. With the full moon. After her eighteenth birthday she walked away to the city. And she did so with the slick-mouth green grocer who promised her riches and fame. No one ever saw her again. Rumors from the city had it that outside of her little town she had no powers. That she continued to follow the green grocer, ‘cause she loved him. Of the other five in town there was much to be said. From far and wide came even strangers to look, listen and admire. The one with the short hair could run faster, jump higher and tough it out longer than even the strongest of the young men in town. She was gentle and handy and did the work of seven men each day: ever since she was twelve years old.
Die tweeling kon sing en dans en musiek maak. Hulle het nuwe note by die ou lirieke gesit en die dorp laat leef. Wyses en musiekkenners het kom inspirasie soek deur weke op die markplein te bly. Om te hoor hoe woorde musiek word. En hoe selfs die dood van 'n geliefde dorpenaar, 'n wysie kry om hom te eer vir altyd. Die skryfster was skilder ook. Digter en dramaturg. Sy het boeke laat leef met haar eie sketse en kinders en ou mense vermaak met lawwigheid oor dansende paddas wat, met pyl en boog, spinnekoppe gaan jag. Mense van ver plekke wat stories en prente wou kom steel, het blykbaar met die wegstap, stofpad langs oor die riviertjie, stadig maar seker vergeet wat sy geskryf het. So amper asof die stroompie die stories en prentjies teruggevat het. In hulle tuisdorpe was wat hulle gaan haal het by haar, afgewater en kleurloos.
The twins could sing and dance and make music. They added new notes to the old lyrics, and brought life to the town. Sages and music experts came to seek inspiration by lingering on the market square for weeks. To hear how words became music. And how even the death of a local received a tune to honor him for life. The writer was a painter as well. Poet and playwright. She brought life to books with her own sketches, and amused children and old folks with silliness about dancing frogs that went to hunt spiders with bow and arrow. Those from far away that wanted to steal stories and pictures, apparently start to forget what she wrote as they walked away along the dusty road and crossing the river. Nearly as if the stream took back the stories and images. Back in their home villages, that which they came to take from her, became pale and watered down.
Dit was egter die bruinkop kind wat die besonderste een was. Die wyse kind. Haar oë het van die eerste lewenslig af, al geskyn met 'n helderheid wat bygelowiges bekommerd gemaak het. Sy was die jongste en laaste van die ses besondere dogters van daardie jaar, en die allermoeilikste baba. Haar gehuil het die sang van die tweeling gesmoor en die prentjies van die skryfster vertroebel. Die heler se raad het minder goed gewerk op die dae as die donkerkop kind dwars of droewig was. Iemand het eers op haar derde verjaarsdag besef dat sy kalmeer as sy oogkontak hou met iemand. Na omtrent vyf stadige tellings. En vyf het soos 'n ewigheid gevoel terwyl die kind gegil het.
It was actually the brunette who was the unique one. The wise child. From birth, her eyes glistened with a clarity that concerned the superstitious. She was the youngest and the last of the six exceptional daughters of that year, and the most difficult baby. Her cries smothered the song of the twins and frustrated the images of the writer. The healerâ€™s counsel was less effective on the days this dark-headed child was difficult or sad. Only on her third birthday did someone notice that she calmed down when she had eye contact with someone. After counting to five slowly. And five felt like an eternity while the child was yelling.
Haar stiltes het oombliklik gekom. Haar glimlaggende vuurvaste blik het die plek ingeneem van die gehuil. Die huil wat nogal lastig was in 'n rustige dorpie met 'n stroompie teen die westekant van 'n berg. Niemand het ooit ongemaklik gevoel oor die intense kyke van die kind nie, dit het hulle eers net aangenaam verras dat sy regtig so ophou huil het. Sy het met die vyf portuurgroep maats gespeel en was eintlik net 'n gewone kind met besondere mooi oe.
Maar sy was heel anders as gewoonweg. As kunstenaars het die tweeling vertel dat sy met 'n kyk die musiekinstrumente kon instel en beter laat resoneer. Die dorpenaars was teen die tyd al verby verslae wees oor die ses kinders. Hulle het die donkerkop kind fyner begin dophou en haar oë se kyke begin volg. Die klanke op die markplein was suiwerder. Almal kon dit hierna hoor. Die bakker het kom bieg: Hy het haar eendag vertel hoe hy sukkel om die winterdeeg te laat rys. Sy het lank sit en luister. Niks gevra nie, niks vertel nie en ook nie raad gegee nie. Hy het toe maar aanhou praat. Vertel van sy seun wat winteroggende knaend hoes en sy vrou wat so graag 'n dogter wou hê. Van sy eie pa wat kleintyd weggeloop het. Hoe hy hom gemis het, en wens dat hy hom kon ken. Ook dat hy wonder of hy al dood is of nie. Sy kon erg roerloos luister, het die bakker vertel. Miskien juis die rede waarom mense net aanhou praat het. Dit wat sy gehoor het, het hare gebly. Mooi en vreemd genoeg het dit nooit hartseer in haar oe gesit nie. Dit was asof sy met 'n knik van verstaan, plek losgeskommel het in haar siel. Om die storie daar weg te pak.
Her silence came immediately. Her smiling resolute stare took the place of her crying. A cry that was rather bothersome in a laid-back town with a stream at the west side of the mountain. No one ever felt any discomfort about the intense stares from the child; it just pleasantly surprised them that she would stop crying for real. She played with the five fellow friends and was actually just a normal child with exceptionally beautiful eyes.
But she was quite different than the average. As artists the twins told of her stare, that she could tune the instruments and improve their resonance. By this time the town folks were no more surprised about the six children. They started to watch the dark-headed oneâ€™s stares and followed her eyes more closely. The sounds on the market square were purer. After this everyone could hear it. The baker came to confess: he once told her how he struggled to make the dough rise in winter. For a long time she sat and listened. Did not ask a thing, did not say a thing, and gave no advice. So he continued talking. Talking about his son who had this chronic cough in the winter mornings, and about his wife that so dearly wanted a daughter. About his own dad that left home when he was a little guy. How he missed him, and wished that he could have gotten to know him. Also that he wonders if he has already passed on. Without motion she could seriously listen, the baker said. Maybe the very reason why people would continue talking. Whatever she heard stayed with her. Beautiful and strangely enough, it never brought heartache to her eyes. It was as if she made space in her soul with a nod of understanding. To store the story there.
Sy, was die luisteraar.
Sy was die hoorder van dit wat laatnagte in die systrate van haar dorp gebeur het. Van al die blydskap ook. Van nuwe liefdes en 'n goeie oes. Van siektes en dood en pyn en diepste geheime. Selfs die donkerste geheime en begeertes. Op agtien het sy meer geheime geken as die oudstes en die wysstes van die dorp. Haar oë het geluister en meer en meer en meer woorde agter toe deure uit mense laat vloei. Soos die stroom by die dorp na goeie reën. Sodra haar sielskwota vol was vir die dag of week, het sy haar onttrek en eenkant gehou. Stil. Sy't langs die skrywer-skilderes gaan sit; sonder woorde tussen die twee. Of saam met die tweeling in die aand in die oopveld gaan lê, waar hulle nuwe wysies en woorde gemaak het, met snaar instrumente. Ook woordloos. Mense het van buurdorpe begin kom om stories en lewens te vertel. Toe van ver af ook. 'n Ryk ou man, met baie op die hart, het 'n koelte afdakkie opgerig langs die stroom. Sommer met 'n oulike houtbruggie by. Hy het pienk lotus-lelies laat invoer om op die water te dryf, om kleur te gee. Net vir die mooi.
She was a listener.
She was the listener to whatever happened late nights in the side alleys of her town. Also of all the happiness. About new love and a good harvest. Of sickness and death and pain and the deepest secrets. Even the darkest secrets and desires. At the age of eighteen she knew more secrets than the oldest and wisest in town. Her eyes listened and caused more and more and more words from behind closed doors to flow from people. Like the stream near town after a good rain. When the quota of her soul had its fill for the day or the week, she withdrew and kept herself apart. Without words between them, she would sit down next to the writer-painter. Or, went lying in the open fields at night with the twins, where they made new words and tunes with string instruments. Also without words. People came from neighboring towns to tell stories and about lives. Then from far away too. A rich old man, with much to share, erected a roof for shading next to the river. Even with a cute little wooden bridge. He had imported pink lotus lilies to float on the water, to add some color. Just for the beauty of it.
Meer en meer en meer mense het aangelas om dank te wys. Hulde te bring. Lanterns kom oprig vir sagte lig in die aand en bome geplant. Iemand het tuine uitgelê en sagte meubels gebring vir onder die afdak waar sy gesit het. Alles is aangedra deur almal, bloot om dankie te sê. Goud en silwer bakke vol vrugte het gekom. Eksotiese voëls in weelde koue het sag gefluit vroeg soggens. Bonkige kussings, met dik wollerige tossels, het kom lê op handgemaakte matte uit ver lande. Iemand het wierook kom aansteek in vase van fyn porselein. Kerse wat flikker was saam met uitheemse kosse en kruie op die tafels van marmer.
More and more and more people added to this to express gratitude. To express homage. Erected lanterns at night to offer a soft glow at night and planted trees. Someone planted gardens and brought soft furniture to place under the roof where she sat. Everything was carried there by everybody, simply to say thanks. Gold and silver bowels, laden with fruit, came. Exotic birds in luxury cages sang softly in the mornings. Well-stuffed cushions, with fluffy tassels were laid on hand-made carpets from far-away countries. Someone lit incense in vases of fine porcelain. Flickering candles were on the tables of marble with exotic foods and spices.
Skielik eendag, was dit nie meer net 'n afdak vir koelte nie, maar 'n paleis vir 'n prinses. Sy het daai dag opgekyk, die rye mense met die baie-baie woorde in hulle seer siele sien staan. Toe weggekyk en haar diep donker oë op die weelde om haar laat rus. Die fonteine, lelies, kerse, matte en klere van die fynste sy. Haar oë het heeldag net na alles gekyk. Sy was diep geraak deur die prag om haar. Sy het nog 'n dag net gekyk en gestaar. Gesien hoe wyd die vlerke van die hokvoëls uitsprei en glinster as die son opkom. Die mense in die tou het geduldig gewag. Ook gekyk en gewonder wat hulle kan byvoeg om iets te kon teruggee aan die meisie wie se helder oë kon luister. Eerbiedig stil was almal.
Suddenly one day, it was no longer a shady spot, but a palace for a princess. That day she looked up, and saw standing the rows of people with their many-many words in their pained souls. Then looked away and let her eyes rest on the luxury around her. The fountains, the lilies, candles, carpets, and clothing of the finest silk. The whole day long she looked at everything. She was deeply touched by the beauty around her. For another day she was looking and staring. Seeing how wide the wings of the caged birds could span and glisten in the rising sun. Patiently the people waited in line. Also looking to see what else they could add to give back to the girl whose clear eyes could listen. They were all reverently quiet.
En presies net toe, het sy geweet dat haar oë net een van die twee sou kon sien: die siele van mense of die sagtheid van die lieflike weelde om haar. Net een.
Toe kies sy.
- Dis 'n storie vir jou, as tiener iewers op aarde: sodat jy eendag reg sal kies.
And exactly just then did she know that her eyes would be able to see only the one or the other: the souls of the people or the softness of the beautiful luxury around her. Just one.
Then she chose.
- It is a story for you, as a teenager somewhere on earth: so that you will choose well one day.
• https://www.youtube.com/user/SABC2youbelong (7eLaan and Voetspore)
• https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0NfONShE-3I VILLA ROSA
• https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wvlRINB34Dc Voetspore 5 (Episode 24 Erta Ale)
• Die Aambeeld • Goeie Grond • Audrey Painter se Stories • Aandstories vir Seuns
Grammar Be able to explain and give examples of each of the following:
[A] Pronouns -- Subj, Obj, Possessive
[B] Verbs -- [Hê, WEES, Regular, Prefixed, Compound Inseparable, Compound Separable, Reflexive]
(For each Verb group - Tenses, Questions, Negation, Modals, Perfect Conditional, and Passive)
[C] Third Position -- Object Pronouns, Time Words, Negation
[E] Conjunctions: Verb 2nd
• Beginner Topics (e.g. Greet, Talk about your day, Describe places, Describe processes, Make requests, Talk about a past event, talk about future plans)
Beginner Topics [PRESENT]
• Hoe gaan dit?
• Waar kom jy vandaan?
• Beskryf vir my hoe lyk ... (jou kamer, jou dorp, jou huis)
• Wat is nuus daar waar jy is?
• Beskryf vir my die pad van jou huis tot by jou werk.
• Wat doen jy op naweke?
• Vertel my van jou familie?
Beginner Topics [PAST]
• Waar het jy Afrikaans geleer?
• Wat het jy gister gedoen?
Beginner Topics [FUTURE]
• Wat gaan jy vandag doen?
• Wat gaan jy vanaand doen?
• Wat gaan jy oor die naweek doen?
• Wat is jou toekomsplanne?
• Make requests
WEEKLY PROGRESS: 1st Lesson is the basic development, and 2nd lesson is the completion and refinement.
WEEK 1 Jan 25
• Reading: Anvil 1-4
• Vocab: People > Health and Beauty (Alles!)
• Luister: Luister na Episode 67 van 7e Laan
WEEK 2 Feb 1
• Grammatika A & B1
• Reading: Anvil 5-7
• Vocab: People > At Home (Alles!)
• Luister: Luister na Episode 66 van 7e Laan s
WEEK 3 Feb 8
• Grammatika B2-3 & C
• Reading: Anvil 8-10; 11-13
• Vocab: People > Urban Life (Alles!)
• Speaking: Speak about last weeks movie. Vertel my van jou week.
• Luister: Luister na Episode 71van 7e Laan
Woensdag: Grammar Fluency, Vocab Sentences, Fluent reading Tell about Soap Opera.
WEEK 4 Feb 15
• Grammatika B4 & D
• Reading & Speaking: Die Drie Beertjies
• Vocab: People > Culture (Alles!)
• Speaking: Speak about last weeks movie
• Luister: Luister na Episode 72 van 7e Laan s
WEEK 5 Feb 22
• Grammatika B5 & E
• Reading & Speaking: Rooikappie
• Vocab: People > Mind (Alles!)
• Luister: Luister na Episode 73 van 7e Laan s
WEEK 6 Feb 29
• Luister: Luister na Episode 74 van 7e Laan
• Speaking: Present s
WEEK 7 Mar 7
• Luister: Luister na Episode 75 van 7e Laan
WEEK 8 Mar 28
• Luister: Luister na Episode 76van 7e Laan
• Speaking: Past s
WEEK 9 April 4
• Luister: Luister na Episode 77 van 7e Laan
WEEK 10 April 11
• Luister: Luister na Episode 78 van 7e Laan
• Speaking: Future s
WEEK 11 April 18
• Luister: Luister na Episode 79 van 7e Laan
WEEK 12 April 25
• Luister: Luister na Episode 80 van 7e Laan
• Speaking: s
WEEK 13 May 2
• Luister: Luister na Episode 81 van 7e Laan
WEEK 14 May 9
• Luister: Luister na Episode 82 van 7e Laan
Jacques du Plessis -- 10-02-2016 - questions/feedback/comments?