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Johanna Jooste

Johanna Jooste was born in 1942 on a farm named Blomfontein near Calvinia. She is still very active in her old age, baking by order for people in Vredendal, making bags, sewing and being involved in various projects. She also loves to skoffel (shuffle) and rieldans (riel dance).

Johanna Jooste tells of her life growing up on the farm and of how she started working in white people’s homes at a young age. She shares scary stories her mother told her about Jan Thomas and Dirk Ligter, and also tells the legend of the man who went looking for fear.

Johanna Jooste was born on a farm named Blomfontein near Calvinia in 1942. She had a good upbringing there, went to school on the farm and did not have a hard life. Her family moved to Calvinia when she was still growing up. She got married, but her husband passed away. She learned to work at a young age and worked in white people’s homes. Johanna is an avid rieldanser and likes to skoffel. She says she is happy that she can still do many things in her old age. She does needlework, sewing and knitting and bakes for people in Vredendal. She is very proud of herself. She makes bags, too, and is busy with various other projects. She speaks of a centre she is a part of, maybe an old age centre.

Johanna says she was a tomboy growing up on a farm named Blomfontein, and she liked to wear her father’s big jackets. On Saturday nights all the farm workers and their families would gather and do rieldanse or skoffel. Johanna learned to rieldans by looking at their feet and still dances when a good tune plays on the radio.

Her mother told her a scary story about Jan Thomas, a strange man who lived in the mountains and would suddenly appear among the women on the farm, asking why they had called him. He would ask for bread and coffee. Johanna also knows of Dirk Ligter and has a book of all these stories. She has been contacted by some of the storytellers to share her stories. She tells a long, scary story about a Khoi man wanting to know what fear feels and looks like. The story ends with the farmer’s ghost giving him shares in the farm. Johanna also talks about recent terrible accidents on the pass.

 

I’m Johanna Jooste. I was born in 1942, the 13th of the 12th month. I was born here in the Rôveld [Roggeveld*], at Blomfontein. And there I grew up. My pa and them lived there, grew up, we lived there at the Steenkamps’. And there I got my wits, see. And grew up, worked there, went to school – didn’t get far, though, I left school in Standard 2.

And, but we enjoyed lived there, I can still say that about those years. I grew up alright. I’m not saying that I had it difficult at the time. That time we still… my pa got two animals for slaughtering in a month, and we cut wheat, my pa got wheat, and all those things.

There I grew up, me and my sister and them. Yes, and from there we moved to Calvinia. I can’t remember now what year it was, but it was a long time ago. And here I went further. Grew up, got more wits, was young girl, married. My husband has passed away. I have, what… my eldest girl is Charmaine, and then it is Trudie and it is Denise and it is Willem. Those are my children. My eldest son, my eldest son, has passed away. And here we, here I carried on.

Work. At the Stee- (??01:34 Steenkamps ??), worked here for the people, for the white people, but the work was alright and I quite liked it. When I was still younger, when I wasn’t grown up yet, when we came here, it was work… My… I went to my sister in the afternoons, my eldest sister. I went there and washed the dishes. That auntie put me on this dru-, wooden case and then I stood there on the case and washed the dishes. And that is how I learnt to work. That is why I can work today. And my ma and them taught me to work.

And I’m like that. I do needlework and knitting, and everything that I do. At some point I was, I’ve also been a champion riel* dancer. At the ATKV*. I can dance. I grew up dancing. I know how to do that. I’m quite proud of myself, you see. I’m proud of myself. What I can do.

The little learning that my ma and them gave me, I didn’t just throw it away. I took what I could take. And as old as I am now, I continue with my, with my, the things that I can do. Like needlework. I make bags, I make carpets and such things. People ask me for something, then I do it, like now – there are people from Vredendal who ask me to bake bread and I bake it, because it is also a small blessing for me, something for me. Anything that I, I’m now also knitting a jersey for a white man. And these are my little jobs that I do.

I still learn every day. That’s why I sometimes speak to my grandchildren and tell them, your, your attitude, you have to be correct. You must learn, you mustn’t let people, you have to live your life openly, so that other people will like you. Don’t let other people not like you. This I teach my grandchildren.

And when I’m staying with my other children… My eldest girl lives in Ermelo. I’m off when they say to me, “Mommy, come visit.” Then I’m off to go visit my children. And I like it, and it’s wonderful.

We’re now also busy with a Golden Games. We’re proud, I’m really proud of what I can still do. At my age. Us friends there at the Centre, we’re busy doing things that can take us farther. Things we weren’t able to see at the time. Places we couldn’t see. We have that privilege now. We’re going places. We can see things.

It’s not, if you’re off, we have to know, if we don’t know then we don’t know, but what I’m saying is, I’m enjoying it. I was there, and I wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t been at the Centre. It’s a privilege, it really is. And I’m proud of what we, I do there. Understand?

Tell us a bit about the riel*, where you started, who taught you.

You know, let me put it like this, there where I grew up, there on the farm Blomfontein, I was different, you know. I was almost like a boy child, you see. I loved wearing my pa’s big old pants, and his big jacket. Now, there we learnt to dance the riel a bit. You know, the other day I told, I told Uncle Elias, “Uncle Elias, do you know how I learnt to dance the riel? When the people were dancing on Saturday nights – it was nice when the farm people got together like that; at New Year people got together like that – I sat… When people were dancing like that, I sat and watched their feet. I watched their feet. And so I learnt to dance the riel.”

And the next day I also tried, tried to move my feet like that. And so I learnt to dance the riel. We would get together and that way I learnt to dance the riel. And it was very wonderful. And I’m telling you, I said it the other day, if I can only find my age group, I will still dance a bit.

When the guitar string twangs like that, (inaudible 05:18) when there’s nice music on the TV or on the radio, on the TV or the radio, then I jump up here in my house and then I dance a little. It keeps me going. It keeps my going. Really.

Tell me, have you heard of Jan Thomas and Dirk Ligter?

Hey, hang on, hang on… You know, I have a book. We only know that that – let me put it like this: I’m, I’m related to these  storytellers. Lette Dyers (??05:51), she was still mayor here, she was from Brandvlei, you know. One day she phones me. Says to me, “Antie Flênnie (??05:59), I hope you won’t be angry with me, but I gave your number, your phone number, to the storytellers. They’ll phone you, they’ll phone you at that time and that time.”

Phoned me. And we were actually there at the Centre, it was nice at the time, Dana Kok (??06:16) was still alive, we had  a woman who was with us before. At the Centre. So then the people phoned me. Okay, who is it? So. John and so, yes.

“Is it Auntie, Auntie Flênnie?”

I say, “Yes, it’s Auntie Flênnie.”

Uhhh.

Then he tells me he got my number from Dyers and that is why he’s phoning. He wants to hear whether we, whether he can come here. He’s in the Cape. In the Cape, and he goes from town to town, town to town. Whether he can come and see me.

I tell him, “Yes, I’m just going to organise with my, our coordinator at the Centre. I’ll organise it, and I’ll go there, then you can phone me again, and then I’ll tell you it’s okay.”

So he phoned me again and then I said to him it was alright. He could come, at that and that time.

And so I met them. And also, some stories were about history. Now, you know, those stories about Jan Thomas and Dirk Ligter, my ma and them also told them to us, our grandma told us, see.

Tell us.

As we were growing up Ma, my ma and them would say – now, sometimes they tried to scare us. With Jan Thomas. My ma said, that was now a man, that man was totally different. He was, as people were on the farms, as people were sitting there and, nice in the summer, then sometimes they didn’t know that he was there in the mountains and so on.

So the women are sitting there with their work, doing needlework, and so. Before they know where they are, he’s there. Just appears from nowhere, there where the woman is sitting in her shelter.

Then he asks, “Why are you calling me? Why are you beckoning to me?”

So the woman says, “But I didn’t call you. Who are you?”

“No, you did, you called me, you called me. You sat here and beckoned to me.“

But that was just the way the woman was doing her needlework…

Then he says, Ma tells us, then he says, “Make me coffee. Give me bread. And where is your husband?” he would also ask. The husband is at work, of course, and she’s alone there. He has all sorts of (inaudible 08:30) for her. Now, later she has to, is pushed like a wheelbarrow. She must make like a wheelbarrow, friekja, friekja, friekja.

That’s what he always did with them, my ma said. And he was, was that guy, Dirk Ligter. He was the one who walked in the veld, they said. Almost like a man who’s playing truant.

And sometimes they would catch him. When the farmers were looking for him, he’d been very terrible, he’d slaughtered sheep, and then he was there at his cattle post and then people would see the meat hanging there, the meat, it was meat. And when the police got there, then the meat was gone, it was his washing hanging over the shelter like that. That’s what my ma said, what my ma and them told us.

I have a book. I can show you. Some of the stories.

Okay. So, I heard about Kaatjie Kekkelbek* [Little Catherine Chatterbox] from someone here.

Sure, Kaatjie Kekkelbek…

Can you tell us…?

No, man, I don’t know those stories about Kaatjie Kekkelbek, don’t know about Kaatjie Kekkelbek. No, I have another story that my ma and them told us.

Tell us.

The guy who went looking for Scared. John (?? 09:41) told me one day, said to me the last time, said to me, “Ooooh, Auntie Flênnie, I like that story of Scared, looking for Scared.”

Now, it’s an old story about this Bushman guy who went looking for – he’s looking for work. But he heard that when you get to the people… He* said, “Man, you know, people there say that, they cannot understand it, they get terribly scared there at…”

But then he says, no, he really wants to see what Scared looks like. He’s heard so much about Scared, but he doesn’t know what Scared looks like. So he’s walking, looking for work on farms, and comes to the very farm about which the people told him, man, there’s a farm, but people don’t live there, they don’t live there, because after a day or two they – a day or two there and then the man dies. But he goes. He goes. He gets to the farm. Now, at this farm the man is already dead and only the wife and the, the… the wife and the two children…

He says he’s looking for work. And that he’s heard of Scared. And they tell him that people don’t survive on that farm, he doesn’t know what is happening there.

Then the woman says yes, she tells him that people don’t survive there, she doesn’t know what – it’s at that house over there – nobody can explain what is happening there.

Okay. He goes there in the evening. He sleeps. They give him food, makes food for him, he gets there, makes a nice fire. It is a nice, let’s say it’s like the farms where the white people had big old kitchens, built-in hearths, where you place your pots on one side and your wood on that side, with the stove in the middle. The guy then puts a pot on the stove to cook food, the guy who came looking for Scared. He starts cooking food. He has already made some coffee and is lying there, flat on his back, on the bed.

My ma says – she’s now telling us the story. And when they’re telling the story, I can I see how he’s lying there. Smoking his pipe. And his pot is bubbling over there. The first time that the pots fall… he tells them, “You can fall, just don’t overturn my pot.”

And a whole slaughtered animal falls through the chimney. And then it is gone. He just says, “You can fall, just don’t overturn my food.” The guy’s food is ready. The guy sits and eats. Then he hears that someone is knocking on the door. Knocking on the door. “Come in.” It’s a terrible skeleton. It’s a skeleton.

So he asks the guy, “Do you want to eat?” The man just looks at him. He says he’s getting so thin and he pretends not to want to eat. Says the guy, says the guy.

And he just disappears. Understand. He disappears.

Finishes eating. Cleans his stuff and makes himself another coffee, and he’s lying down, he’s going to sleep.

Again a knock on the door. “Come in.” He’s already in bed. And he’s smoking his pipe. A terrible black shape appears, just like lungs, things that are trembling.

He asks him, “Is this now, does Scared look like this?” he asks the man. “Does Scared look like this?” The man also doesn’t speak, he just disappears.

He lies down, he doesn’t worry and he lies down.

And a while later there is another knock on the door. He says, “Please come  in.” It’s the oubaas* who is dead. Who has arrived himself.

So the oubaas tells him, “No, I…”

Then he asks him, “Is this now, this here, is this now… Does Scared look like what came in here before? Because you now appear, Oubaas, and there were these shapes that came in here.”

Then the Oubaas says to him, “It was I who appeared like that.” He says to him, “Do you know why? Why I come? You’re really not scared.”

Then he says, “But is that what Scared looks like? Then I still don’t know what Scared looks like if Scared looked like that. I wasn’t scared. It didn’t scare me.”

Says the Oubaas to him, “Look, why can’t I rest? You go to the barn, go and get a pick and a shovel. Then you dig over there.” He says, “A trunk with money is hidden there. And then you take it out, and then you come and empty it on this table.”

So the guy does this. Takes out the money, and puts it on the table.

And the oubaas says to him, “Now draw a cross through the money, it’s, it’s for four people,” he says. “Then you go tomorrow. Then you go tell the oumissies* there in the town, ah, in the house, there at the other house, and the children. Then you come. Then you come and show them.”

Then he says, “You have usufruct here on the farm. There, they have to give you two sheep so that you can continue your farming. And they also have to give you a young calf, and a young bull. Your, you have usufruct here. On this farm.”

And he goes the next morning and then all the white people are there. Then those white people were very agitated. And he says, “The old ones came to tell me this.” And he tells them how the old ones came to him, first meat through the… then it was a thin man, then it was a black man. After this came the oubaas, then the oubaas said it was because he couldn’t rest. Because of the money. Because it must be given to them.

Well then, that’s the end of my story.

[laughs]

That’s a good one.

Yes, he, John told me it’s a, it’s his story that he, that he likes. But I enjoy… My ma and them told it to us like that. Well then, you got scared, because you thought, golly, when the meat fell through the hearth, I would have run away. Yes, oviously, I won’t… Now, I say, but (inaudible 15:43) that luck. Now, I say, maybe he could have had most of the money, could have had most of the money. Understand?

Tell us about the accident on Van Rhyn’s Pass when so many people…

At the time, you know what, from what I can still remember, it’s been quite a few years that… my sister’s father-in-law was killed on that pass. You know, I was, that time I was expecting my eldest girl. And there comes Boetie* Johnnie and I tell my husband, “Klonkies*… you know, it’s very strange that Boetie Johnnie was hooting like that today, when he drove past here.”

You know, that evening I, ohhhh, people, it was so tragic, that day. And it wasn’t that long, probably around… at dusk, five, late afternoon, before the message came that they had been killed. You know, the people would probably not have been that dead but there was a blade, you know, a bulldozer blade. Now, they were sitting… he was standing on the back of the lorry as I understood it, and the people were sitting here. And when they had the accident, it was, the lorry was going down the mountain, down the mountain. It was then that the, that he had that accident and that thing, the lorry, went into, probably into the side. Or wherever. And the blade pressed those people. There were probably about, I’m not sure, three or four people who survived the… I know my one cousin’s son fell, fell off, or jumped off. I know when the lorrie fell down there, they still found this, and there. So the accident happened. I cannot tell you precisely in nineteen what that was, you see. But it, it is the accident I know about.

But, I mean to say, many accidents happen here in the mountain. One time we were driving  to Paarl, church… When we got there, a lorry was lying there, on its side. They said it was the impact, how does one say  a lorry transporting meat. But you know, if you went down there, it would have been something else, understand, it would have been something else. Accidents happen all the time in the mountain. But it was terrible. You know, those people burnt. In the evening they came to drop the people off at the houses. Lord, the people were ugly. They were dead and they had been burnt – people who took their people, they first kept them at home. Ohh, it was bad. Really. It wasn’t nice to see. It was, my sister’s husband’s father-in-law was on the back of the lorry. So he burnt out. It was tragic, that day. The bit that I can remember.

On a lighter note, do you have a ghost story?

No.

Johanna Jooste is in 1942 op die plaas Blomfontein naby Calvinia gebore. Sy is op haar oudag steeds baie aktief. Sy bak op bestelling brood vir mense op Vredendal, maak sakke, doen naaldwerk en is by verskeie projekte betrokke. Sy is ook baie lief vir skoffel en die rieldans.

Johanna vertel van haar kinderjare op die plaas en hoe sy op ’n jong ouderdom by blanke mense in die huis begin werk het. Sy deel ook bangmaakstories oor Jan Thomas en Dirk Ligter wat haar ma haar vertel het, en vertel die legende van die man wat na Bang gaan soek het.

Johanna Jooste is in 1942 op die plaas Blomfontein naby Calvinia gebore. Daar het sy ’n goeie opvoeding gekry. Sy het op die plaas skoolgegaan en sê hulle het nie swaargekry nie. Hulle het Calvinia toe getrek toe sy nog ’n kind was. Sy was getroud, maar haar man is oorlede. Sy het op ’n jong ouderdom leer werk en later in blanke mense se huise gewerk. Johanna is ’n voorste rieldanser en hou daarvan om te skoffel. Sy sê sy is gelukkig dat sy nog soveel dinge op haar bejaarde leeftyd kan doen. Sy doen naaldwerk, brei en bak brood vir mense op Vredendal. Sy is baie trots op haarself. Sy maak ook sakke en is besig met verskeie ander projekte. Sy praat van ’n sentrum waarvan sy deel is, miskien ’n sentrum vir bejaardes.

Johanna sê as kind op Blomfontein was sy ’n regte rabbedoe. Sy het graag haar pa se groot baadjie aangetrek. Op Saterdagaande het al die plaaswerkers en hulle gesinne byeengekom om die riel te dans en te skoffel. Johanna het die riel leer dans deur die dansers se voete dop te hou. Sy dans nog steeds wanneer ’n lekker liedjie oor die radio speel.

Haar ma het haar ’n bangmaakstorie vertel oor Jan Thomas, ’n vreemde man wat in die berge gebly het. Hy sou skielik tussen die vroue verskyn en vra hoekom hulle hom geroep het. Dan het hy vir brood en koffie gevra. Johanna weet ook van Dirk Ligter en het ’n boek oor al hierdie stories. Van die storievertellers het haar gekontak om haar stories met hulle te deel. Sy vertel ’n lang bangmaakstorie oor ’n Khoi-man wat wou weet hoe Bang voel en lyk. Die storie eindig met die boer se spook wat vir hom sê dat hy ’n deel van die plaas moet kry. Johanna praat ook oor die tragiese ongelukke wat onlangs in die pas gebeur het.

 

Ek is Johanna Jooste. Ek is 1942 gebore, die dertiende, van die twaalfde maand. Ek is hier in die Rôveld gebore, Blomfontein. En daar’t ek grootgeraak. My pa-hulle het daar gebly, grootgeword, ons het daar by die Steenkamps gebly. En daar’t ek my verstand mos nou maar gekry, sien. En grootgeword, daar gewerk, skooltjie gegaan, nou nie so ver nie, is in standerd twee uit die skool uit.

En, maar ons het lekker gebly daar, daai tyd kan ek nou nog sê, ek het orraait grootgeraak, is nie te sê dat ek daai tyd swaargekry het nie. Daai tyd was dit darem nog so, my pa het twee slaggoed in ’n maand gekry, en ons het koring gesny, my pa het koring gekry, en al daai goeters.

Daar’t ek grootgeword, ek en my suster-hulle. Ja, en daarvan af is ons nou Calvinia toe gekom trek. Ek kan nou nie meer weet watter jaargetal is dit daai nie, maar dis ’n lang tydjie. En hier het ek verder gekom. Grootraak, en verstand verder gekry, jongmeisie gewees, getroud. My man is oorlede. Ek het, wat … my oudste meisiekind is Charmaine, en dan’s dit Trudie en dit is Denise en dit is Willem. Dis my kinders, my oudste seun, heel oudste een, is oorlede. En hier’t ons, hier’t ek verder gekom.

Werk. By die Stee (??01:34), hier by die mense gewerk, by die wit mense, maar ek het orraait gewerk en dit was nogal vir my lekker. Toe ek nog so kleiner was, was ek nog nie heeltemal groot nie, toe kom ons hiernatoe, en dis werk, dan gaan werk my, dan gaan ek so na my suster toe, middags, my oudste suster. Dan loop was ek so daar skottelgoedjie, daai tannie het vir my so op ’n dro-, kassie gesit en dan staan ek daar op die kassietjie, dan was ek skottelgoedjies. En so het ek geleer werk. Daarom kan ek vandag werk. En my ma-hulle het vir my geleer om te werk.

En ek is so, ek doen naaldwerk, en breiwerk, en als wat ek doen. Ek was nou so in ’n stadium, was nou al ’n kampioen-rieldanser ôk. By die ATKV. Maar ek kan skoffel. Ek het grootgeraak met skoffel. Dit kan ek doen. Ek is nogal trots op myself, sien jy. Ek is trots op myself. Wat ek kan doen.

Ek het die bietjie gelerentheid wat my ma-hulle vir my gegee het sommer net weggegooi nie. Ek het gevat wat ek kon gevat het. En so ouer as wat ek nou is, toe gaan ek net verder aan met my, met my, die dingetjies wat ek kan doen. Soos naaldwerk, ek maak sakke, ek maak matte, en sulke goeters. Mense wil my iets vra, dan doen ek dit, soos ek nou hier, hier’s mense wat my uit Vredendal vra om brood te bak, dan bak ek dit, want dis ook ’n ou seëntjie vir my, darem iets vir my. Enige iets wat ek, ek is nou besig met ’n trui ôk wat ek vir ’n blanke man brei. En dis my werkies wat ek kan doen.

Ek leer nog elke dag. Daarom praat ek partykeer met my kleinkinders ôk, en sê, julle, julle gesindheid, julle moet rég wees. Julle moet leer, julle moet nie dat mense, julle moet julle lewe oop lewe, sodat ander mense kan van julle hou. Moenie lat ander mense nie van julle hou nie. So leer ek vir my kleinkinders.

Nee, en as ek by my ander kinders bly … My oudste meisiekind bly daar in Ermelo. Nee wat, ek ry sommer lekker as hulle vir my wil sê “Mamma, kom kuier”, dan gaan ek sommer lekker en loop kuier vir my kinders. En dis vir my lekker, en dis vir my wonderlik.

Ons is besig met ’n Golden Games ôk. Ons is trots, ek is rêrig trots op wat ek nog kan doen. In my ouderdom wat ek nou is. Ons maatjies daar by die Sentrum, ons is besig, werkbaar met dinge wat ons vir ons verder op na kan vat. Goeters wat ons nie daai tyd kon gesien het nie. Plekke wat ons nie kon gesien het nie. Ons het nou daai voorreg. Ons gaan syntoe. Ons kan sien.

Is nie, ie, ie, as jy nou loop, ons moet weet, as ons nie weet nie, dan weet ons nie, maar dan sê ek, ek geniet dit. Ek was dáár gewees, wat ek nie sal gewees het, gekom het, as ek nie by die Sentrum gewees het nie. Dis vir my ’n voorreg, rêrigwaar. En ek is trots op wat ons, ek daar doen. Sien jy.

Vertel vir ons so ’n bietjie van die riel, waar Antie begin het, wie vir Antie geleer het.

Weet jy, lat ek nou vir jou so sê, daar waar ek grootgeword het, daar op die plaas, Blomfontein, weet jy, ek was mos ’n ander, ek was amper soos ’n mannetjieskind, sien jy. Ek was so lief gewees om my pa se ou groot broek aan te trek, en groot baadjie. Nou daar’t ons geleer so ’n bietjie riel dans. Weet jy, ek sê nou die dag, sê ek vir Oom Elias: “Oom Elias, weet jy hoe het ek geleer riel dans? As die mense so dans, nou Saterdae-aande, dan is dit lekker as die plaasmense so bymekaarkom. Nuwejaar is die mense so bymekaar. Nou sit ek, as die mense so dans, dan sit en kyk ek nou hulle voete. Ek hou hulle voete dop. En so het ek geleer riel dans.”

En môre loop probeer ek ook, kyk of ek ook my voete kan so gooi. En so het ek geleer riel dans. So’t ons daar bymekaargekom, en so’t ek geleer riel dans. En dit was vir my baie wonderlik. En ek sê vir julle, ek het nou die dag gesê, as ek net my ouderdomsgroepie kry, dan sal ek nog so bietjie skoffel.

As die kitaarsnaar so knyp, (onhoorbaar 05:18) so ’n lekker stukkie hier oor die TV of oor die draadloos, oor die TV of die draadloos kom, dan spring ek sommer hier in my huis, en dan trap mens so bietjie. Dit hou vir my aan die gang. Dit hou vir my aan die gang. Rêrigwaar.

Sê my, het Antie al gehoor van Jan Thomas en Dirk Ligter?

Jong, wag, wag, wag … weet jy, ek het ’n boek. Ons weet nie net dat daai, sal ek nou so vir jou sê, ek is, ek is gesin met hierdie, storievertellers. Lette Dyers (??05:51), toe was sy nog hier burgermeester, sy’t mos van Brandvlei gewees. Eendag bel hier sy vir my. Sy sê vir my: “Antie Flênnie (??05:59), ek hoop nou nie jy’s vir my kwaad nie, maar ek het nou jou nommer, jou founnommer, vir die storievertellers gegee. Hulle sal vir jou bel, daai tyd en daai tyd sal hulle vir jou bel.”

Bel vir my. En toe’s ons nog hoeka daar by die Sentrum, lekker daai tyd, toe dan lewe Dana Kok (??06:16) ook nog, ons het, ’n vrou wat eerderder by ons gewees het. By die Sentrum. Bel die mense nou vir my, orraait, wie’s dit? So. John en so, ja.

“Is dit antie, tannie Flênnie?”

Ek sê: “Ja, dis tannie Flênnie.”

Uhhh.

Toe vertel hy nog vir my, hy het nou my nommer by Dyers gekry en daarom bel hy. Hy wil net hoor of ons, of hy hiernatoe kan kom. Hy’s in die Kaap. In die Kaap, en hy kom so, dorp tot dorp, of hy vir my kan kom sien.

Ek sê vir hom: “Ja, ek gaan net reël by my, ons koördineerder by die Sentrum. Wil ek, sal ek nou reël, en daar gaan ek vir jou, dan kan jy maar weer vir my bel, en dan sal ek vir jou sê dis orraait.”

Toe bel hy nou weer vir my en toe sê ek vir hom, nee, dis orraait. Hy kan maar kom, daai tyd en daai tyd.

En so het ek nou aan hulle ook gekom. En ook so ’n bietjie stories, gaan oor histories. Nou sien jy, daai stories wat van Jan Thomas en Dirk Ligter, dit het my ma-hulle ook mos vir ons, ons oumas vir ons vertel, sien.

Vertel vir ons.

Soos ons nou grootgeraak het, dan sê my ma, my ouma-hulle, ja; nou, partykeer dan maak hulle mos vir ons bang. Met Jan Thomas-goed. Dan sê my ma, dit was nou ’n soort man daai, hy was ’n vreeslike anderster mens daai. Dan’t hy so bietjie met die mense, soos hulle op die plase gekom het, so is die mense nou daar sit en, lekker in die somer, dan weet die mense nou nie partykeer hy’s in die berge daar, en so aan.

Dan sit die vroumense daarso, met hulle werk, doen nou naaldwerk, en so. As hulle weer sien, dan is hy hier. Kom steek hy sommer hier uit as die vrou in die skerm sit.

Dan vra hy: “Waarom sit en roep jy nou vir my? Sit en wink jy vir my?”

Dan sê die vrou: “Maar ek het jou nie geroep nie. Nou wie is jy?”

“Nee, jy het, jy het vir my geroep, jy het vir my ge-, vir my geroep. Jy sit en wink my daar.”

Maar dis mos nou soos die vrou naaldwerk …

Nou sê sy, sê Ma vir ons, dan sê hy nou: “Maak vir my koffie. Gee vir my brood. En waar is jou man?” sal hy nou ook so vra. Die man is mos nou in die werk en sy is mos nou alleen daar. Nou het hy allerhande (onhoorbaar 08:30) met haar. Nou moet sy later soos ’n, word sy nou gestoot soos ’n kruiwa. Sy moet nou maak soos ’n kruiwa, friekja, friekja, friekja. So sê my ma sal hy altyd gemaak met hulle. En hy is, is, daai ou van Dirk Ligter. Hy’s weer die een wat geloop het, sê hulle. Amper nou soos ’n man wat stokkiegedraai het.

En nou sal hulle partykeer so vang, as die boere hom so soek, dan’s hy baie gruwelik, hy slag skaap en dan is hy nou ook daar in sy veepos en dan sien die mense mos nou, daar hang die vleis, dis vleis. En as die poliese daar kom, dan’s dit klaar sy vleis uit, dan’s dit sy wasgoedjies wat so oor die skerm hang. So sê my ma, so het my ma-hulle ons vertel.

Ek het ’n boek. Ek kan vir jou wys. Van die stories.

Antie, ek het gehoor, by iemand hier, van Kaatjie Kekkelbek.

Ja-nee, van Kaatjie Kekkelbek …

Kan Antie vir ons vertel?

Nee, man, vir Kaatjie Kekkelbek ken ek nou nie weer daai stories nie, ken ek nou nie weer van Kaatjie Kekkelbek nie. Nee, ek het nou nog ’n storietjie wat my ma-hulle ook vir ons vertel het.

Vertel vir ons.

Die outjie wat bang geloop soek het. John (?? 09:41) het nou eendag, het laas vir my gesê, sê hy vir my: “Oooo, tannie Flênnie, ek like daai storie van bang, soek vir bang.”

Nou, dis ’n ou storie van die Boesman-outjies wat so vir bang ge-, hy soek nou werk. Maar hy het gehoor jy kom by die mense, dan sê hy: “Jong, weet jy, daar sê die mense, daar kan hulle nooit verstaan nie, want hulle raak verskriklik bang by daai …”

Maar dan sê hy nou, nee, maar hy wil graag weet hoe lyk Bang. Hy hoor so baie van Bang, maar hy weet nie hoe lyk Bang nie. Nou loop hy so, en soek vir hom werk by plase, kom hoeka toe by die plaas wat die mense vir hom sê, jong, daar is ’n plaas, maar daar bestaan mense nie, hulle bestaan nie daar nie, want dis net ’n dag of twee, dan, ’n dag of twee daar en dan gaan die man dood. Maar hy gaan. Hy gaan. Hy kom daar by die plaas. Nou, by dié plaas die man is al dood en net die vrou en die, die noi-… die vrou en die twee kinders.

Hy sê, hy soek werk. Dan’t hy gehoor van Bang. En hulle’t hom vertel van dié mense bestaan nie by dié plaas nie, weet nie wat gaan daar aan nie.

Toe sê die vrou vir hom, ja, toe vertel sy nou vir hom, die mense bly nie hier nie, sy weet nie wat is daar, dis daar by daai huisie, wat gebeur daar nie, maar hulle kan nie vir hulle sê nie.

Oukei. Hy gaan die aand daar. Hy slaap. Hulle gee vir hom kos, maak vir hom kos, kom daar, maak lekker vuur. Dis ’n lekker, sê nou maar, soos die plaas wat die wit mense groot ou kombuise gehad het, ingeboude kaggels, wat een kant kan jy jou potte pak en daai kant jou hout pak, dan staan die stouf nou in die mittel. Verder sit die outjie nou vir hom kos op, die outjie wat vir Bang loop soek het. Sit hy vir hom kos op. Nou het hy vir hom klaar bietjie koffie gemaak, lê daar, terug, op die bed.

Sê my ma, vertel nou vir ons die storie. Maar dan sien ek nou eintlik as hulle vir ons vertel, hoe lê hy nou daar. Rook hy nou sy pyp. Maar sy potjie kook daar. Eerste keer toe val daar nou die potjies, hier … dan sê hy vir hulle: “Julle kan maar val, moet net nie my kospot omval nie.”

So die hele slagding het so deur die kaggel geval. En dis nou weg. Hy sê net: “Julle kan maar val, moet net nie my os omval nie.” Die outjie se kos is klaar. Sit en eet die outjie. Toe hoor hy nou, daar klop een aan die deur. Klop aan die deur. “Kom binne.” Dis nou ’n vreeslike geraamte. Die geraamte nou.

Nou vra hy vir die ou: “Wil jy vreet?” Die man staan kyk seker net vir hom. Hy sê, hy gaat so maer raak, dat ek my nog wil aanstel om nie te wil vreet nie. Sê die ou, maar sê die outjie.

En hy verdwyn net. Sien jy. Hy verdwyn net. Klaar geëet. Maak sy goedjies skoon en hy maak maar weer vir hom ’n koffietjie, en hy lê, hy gaan mos nou lê.

Klop daar weer een aan die deur. “Kom binne.” Toe lê hy nou al in sy bed. En hy rook ook maar sy pyp. Toe’s dit ’n vreeslike swart gedaante, net, soos longe, dis goeters wat skud.

Vra hy vir hom: “Lyk, is dit nou, lyk Bang nou so?” vra hy nou vir die man. “Lyk Bang nou so?” Die man praat ook niks nie, hy verdwyn net. Hy loop lê, hy worry nie vir hom en hy gaan lê.

En so ’n tyd daarna, toe’s daar weer ’n klop aan die deur. Toe sê hy: “Kom maar binne.” Toe’s dit nou die oubaas wat dood is. Wat nou self daar aankom.

Toe sy hy vir hom: “Nee, ekke …”, toe vra hy nou: “Is dit nou, wat is dit nou hier is, is dit nou … Lyk Bang nou so soos wat vantevore hier gekom het, hier kom Oubaas dan nou aan, en hier was nou sulke gedaantes hier ingekom.”

Toe sê die oubaas vir hom: “Dit was ék wat so gekom het.” Hy sê vir hom: “Weet jy hoekom? Kom ek so? Jy is rêrig nie bang nie.”

Toe sê hy: “Maar lyk Bang nou so? Dan weet ek nog nie hoe lyk Bang as Bang so gelyk het nie. Ek het nog nie bang geraak nie. Dit het nie vir my bang gemaak nie.”

Sê die oubaas vir hom: “Kyk hier, hoekom kan ek nie rus nie? Jy gaan nou daar na die waenhuis toe, gaan haal jy daar ’n pik en ’n graaf. Dan kom kap jy daar.” Hy sê: “Daar’s ’n trommel met geld gebêre. En dan kom haal jy dit uit, en dan kom gooi jy dit op hierdie tafel uit.”

En so maak die outjie ôk. Gaan loop, loop haal die geld uit, en gooi dit op die tafel uit.

En die oubaas sê vir hom: “Nou trek jy so ’n kruis deur, dis mos, dis mos nou vir vier mense,” sê hy, “dan gaan jy nou môre. Dan gaan sê jy vir die oumissies daar in die dorp, ag, in die huis, daar by die ander huis, en vir die kinders. Dan kom jy. Dan kom wys jy vir hulle.” Dan sê hy: “Jy’t lewensreg hier op die plaas. Daar, hulle moet vir jou twee skapies gee solat jy ook kan aangaan met jou boerdery. En ’n jong beeskalf moet hulle ook vir jou gee, en ’n bulletjie. Jou, jy’t lewensreg hier. Op hierdie plaas.”

En hy gaan ook die anderdagoggend en toe’s al die wit mense daar. Toe wil daai wit mense iets oorkom. Toe sê sy: “Die oues het dit vir my gekom sê.” En hy vertel hoe’t die oues na hom gekom, eers vleis deur die … toe’s dit ’n maer man, toe’s dit ’n swart man. Na dit toe kom die oubaas, toe sê die oubaas, dis oor die ou nie kan rus nie. Oor daai geld. Want dit moet vir hulle gegee raak. Nou ja toe, fluit-fluit, my storie is uit.

[lag]

Dis ’n lekker een.

Ja, hy, John het vir my gesê, dis ’n, dis sy storie wat hy, wat hy van hou. Maar dis lekker … my ma-hulle het so vir ons vertel, nou ja, jy raak bang ôk, want dan dink jy mos, maar jissie, maar as hy nou die vleis deur die vuurherd geval het, dan was ek klaar weg. Ja, nee wat, dan sal ek mos nie daar … nou sê ek, maar (onhoorbaar 15:43) daai geluk. Nou sê ek, miskien kan hy nou nog die meeste geld, kan nog meestal sy kant gewees het. Sien jy.

Antie, vertel vir ons van die ongeluk op Van Rhynspas, toe so baie mense …

Toe, weet jy wat, wat ek nog van weet, dis ook nou al ’n heeljaa’ tyd, daai naa-, my suster se skoonpa, daar verongeluk het. Weet jy, ek is, daai tyd is ek, verwag ek my oudste meisiekind. En daar kom die Boetie Johnnie, dan sê ek vir my man: “Klonkies … maar weet jy, dis darem vir my baie snaaks dat Boetie Johnnie vandag so hoot, van hy nou hier ry.”

Weet jy, ek het daai aand, oeee, mense, dit was so tragies, daai dag. En, dis nie lank nie, seker maar so, in die skemer, vyf, laat agtermiddag, toe kom die boodskap dat hulle verongeluk het. Weet jy, die mense sou nie eintlik so dood gewees het nie want daar was ’n blade, jy weet, van hierdie bulldozers. Nou sit hulle mos nou … hy staan nou agterkant by die gatkant van die lorrie gestaan soos ek nou kan verstaan, en die mense het mos nou hier gesit. En toe hulle mos nou die ongeluk maak, toe is dit mos nou, die lorrie gaan mos nou bergaf ry, dis nou bergaf, toe’s dit nou lat die, daai ongeluk maak en daai ding, die lorrie is daar teen, seker teen die wal vas. Of waar ook al. En die blade loop druk daai mense. Toe’s daar seker so, ek’s nie seker nie, drie of vier mense wat nou, seker nou oorgebly het van die .. ek weet van my een neef se seun wat, wat, wat afge, afgeval het, of afgespring het. Ek weet toe hulle die lorrie daar afgeval het, toe kry hulle nog dié, en daarso. Nou, so toe het die ongeluk gebeur, ek kan nou net nie vir jou presies sê neëntien-wat was daai, sien jy. Maar dit, dis is die ongeluk wat ek van weet.

Maar ek meen, hier’s baie ongelukke wat daar in die berg gebeur. Een slag toe ry ons, Paarl toe, kerk, toe ons daar kom, toe lê daar ’n lorrie, daar op sy sy. Toe sê hulle dit is die slag-, hoe sê mens, ’n lorrie wat vleis vervoer. Maar weet jy, mense as jy daar af moes gegaan het, dan was dit iets anders, sien jy, dan was dit iets anders. Daar’s gedeurentyd ’n ongeluk, in die berg. Maar dit was vreeslik gewees. Weet jy, daai mense het gebrand. Hulle’t die aand toe die mense af kom laai by die huise. Here, die mense was lelik. Hulle was nou dood en hulle het gebrand, mense wat hulle mense gevat het, het hulle eers mos gehou daar. Ooo, dit was nag. Eerlikwaar. Dit was nie iets mooi om te sien nie. Dit was, dit was my suster se man se skoonpa so agter die lorrie. So het hy gestaan uitbrand. Dit was tragies, daai dag. Die bietjie wat ek nog kan onthou.

So op ’n nugter noot, het Antie nog ’n spookstorie?

Nee.