Would you believe that February is just about done and dusted?  Time is flying by with the speed of white light and before we know it will be 2014 already. We have a few trips lined up for us during the year, three times to Kruger National Park and one two week trip to Kgalagai Transfrontier Park, our favourite photographic destination. We have one or two other possibilities in the pipeline as well, being a pensioner is not easy at all!

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In South Africa we love the outdoors and camping and a very special time is sitting around the campfire in the evenings and telling stories. I recently came upon a book titled Outa Karel's Stories. Over the next few letters I will be featuring tales from this book which was published in 1914 and written by Sannie Metelerkamp. I will start off with the foreword and introduction before getting to the actual stories.

OUTA KAREL'S STORIES
SOUTH AFRICAN FOLK-LORE TALES BY SANNI METELERKAMP
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON
1914

Here are two more stories, previous stories can be found here.

Why the Hare’s Nose is Slit.
The curtains had not yet been drawn nor the shutters closed, and little Jan looked with
wide serious eyes at the full moon sailing serenely in the cold sky. Then he sighed as
though thoughts too big for expression stirred within him, and turned absently
towards the purring fire.
“And why does the big man make such a sighing?” asked Outa Karel. “It is like the
wind in the mealie land at sun-under.”
Little Jan’s eyes slowly withdrew their gaze from some inward vision and became
conscious of the old native. “Outa,” he said, “why is the moon so far away, and so
beautiful, and so golden?”
“Ach! to hear him now! How can Outa tell? It is maar so. Just like grass is green and
fire is hot, so the Moon is far away and beautiful and golden. But she is a cruel lady
sometimes, too, and it is through her that the poor Little Hare runs about with a slit in
his nose to-day.”
“Tell us, Outa.” Little Jan dropped on to the rug beside the basket of mealie-cobs, and
the others edged nearer.
“And why do you call the Moon a lady?” asked Pietie of the inquiring mind.
“But doesn’t baasje know that the Moon is a lady? O yes, and for all her beauty she
can be cross and cruel sometimes like other ladies, as you will hear.”
“Long, long ago, when the world was quite young, the Lady Moon wanted someone
to take a message to Men. She tried first one creature and then another, but no! they
were all too busy, they couldn’t go. At last she called the Crocodile. He is very slow
and not much good, but the Lady Moon thought she would pinch his tail and make
him go quickly. So she said to him: ‘Go down to Men at once and give them this
message: “As I die and, dying, live, so also shall you die, and, dying, live.”’
“Baasjes know how the Moon is sometimes big and round——so”—and Outa’s
diminutive hands described a wide circle and remained suspended in the air—“like
she is now in the sky. Then every night she gets smaller and smaller, so—so—so—
so—so——till——clap!”—the crooked fingers come together with a bang—“there’s
no more Moon: she is dead. Then one night a silver horn hangs in the sky—thin, very
thin. It is the new Moon that grows, and grows, and gets beautiful and golden.” By
the aid of the small claw-like hands the moon grew to the full before the children’s
interested eyes. “And so it goes on, always living, and growing, and dying, and living
again.
“So the Lady Moon pinched old Oom Crocodile’s tail, and he gave one jump and off
he started with the message. He went quickly while the Moon watched him, but soon
he came to a bend in the road. Round he went with a great turn, for a Crocodile’s
back is stiff like a plank, he can’t bend it; and then, when he thought he was out of
sight, he went slower and slower—drif-draf-drippity-drif-draf, drif-draf-drippity-drifdraf,
like a knee-haltered horse. He was toch too lazy.
“All of a sudden there was a noise—sh-h-h-h-h—and there was the Little Hare. ‘Ha!
ha! ha!’ he laughed, ‘what is the meaning of this drif-draf-drippity-drif-draf? Where
are you going in such a hurry, Oom Crocodile?’
“‘I can’t stop to speak to you, Neef Haasje,’ said Oom Crocodile, trying to look busy
and to hurry up. ‘The Lady Moon has sent me with a message to Men.’
“‘And what is the message, Oom Crocodile?’
“‘It’s a very important one: “As I die and, dying, live, so also shall you die and,
dying, live.”’
“‘Ach, but that is a stupid message. And you can’t ever run, Oom, you are so slow.
You can only go drif-draf-drippity-drif-draf like a knee-haltered horse, but I go sh-h-h
-h-h like the wind. Give the message to me and I will take it.’
“‘Very well,’ said the lazy Crocodile, ‘but you must say it over first and get it right.’
“So Neef Haasje said the message over and over, and then—sh-h-h-h-h—he was off
like the wind. Here he was! there he was! and you could only see the white of his tail
and his little behind legs getting small in the distance.
“At last he came to Men, and he called them together and said: ‘Listen, Sons of the
Baboon, a wise man comes with a message. By the Lady Moon I am sent to tell you:
“As I die and, dying, perish, so shall you also die and come wholly to an end.”’
“Then Men looked at each other and shivered. All of a sudden the flesh on their arms
was like goose-flesh. ‘What shall we do? What is this message that the Lady Moon
has sent? “As I die and, dying, perish, so shall you also die and come wholly to an
end.”’
“They shivered again, and the goose-flesh crept right up their backs and into their
hair, and their hair began to rise up on their heads just like—ach no, but Outa forgets,
these baasjes don’t know how it is to feel so.” And the wide smile which
accompanied these words hid the expression of sly teasing which sparkled in Outa’s
dancing black eyes, for he knew what it was to be taken to task for impugning the
courage of his young listeners.
“But Neef Haasje did not care. He danced away on his behind legs, and laughed and
laughed to think how he had cheated Men.
“Then he returned again to the Moon, and she asked: ‘What have you said to Men?’
“‘O, Lady Moon, I have given them your message: “Like as I die and, dying, perish,
so also shall you die and come wholly to an end,” and they are all stiff with fright.
Ha! ha! ha!’ Haasje laughed at the thought of it.
“‘What! cried the Lady Moon, ‘what! did you tell them that? Child of the devil’s
donkey!1 you must be punished.’
“Ach, but the Lady Moon was very angry. She took a big stick, a kierie—much
bigger than the one Outa used to kill lions with when he was young—and if she could
have hit him, then”—Outa shook his head hopelessly—“there would have been no
more Little Hare: his head would have been cracked right through. But he is a slim
kerel. When he saw the big stick coming near, one, two, three, he ducked and slipped
away, and it caught him only on the nose.
“Foei! but it was sore! Neef Haasje forgot that the Moon was a Lady. He yelled and
screamed; he jumped high into the air; he jumped with all his four feet at once; and—
scratch, scratch, scratch, he was kicking, and hitting and clawing the Moon’s face till
the pieces flew.
“Then he felt better and ran away as hard as he could, holding his broken nose with
both hands.
“And that is why to-day he goes about with a split nose, and the golden face of the
Lady Moon has long dark scars.
“Yes, baasjes, fighting is a miserable thing. It does not end when the fight is over.
Afterwards there is a sore place—ach, for so long!—and even when it is well, the
ugly marks remain to show what has happened. The best, my little masters, is not to
fight at all.”
According to a Hottentot legend, the hare is related to the donkey.

How the Jackal got his Stripe.
“The Sun was a strange little child,” said Outa. “He never had any Pap-pa or Mamma.
No one knew where he came from. He was just found by the roadside.
“In the olden days when the men of the Ancient Race—the old, old people that lived
so long ago—were trekking in search of game, they heard a little voice calling,
calling. It was not a springbokkie, it was not a tarentaal, it was not a little ostrich.
They couldn’t think what it was. But it kept on, it kept on.” Outa’s head nodded in
time to his repetitions.
“Why didn’t they go and look?” asked Willem.
“They did, my baasje. They hunted about amongst the milk-bushes by the roadside,
and at last under one of them they found a nice brown baby. He was lying quite still
looking about him, not like a baby, baasjes, but like an old child, and sparks of light,
as bright as the sparks from Outa’s tinderbox, seemed to fly out of his eyes. When he
saw the men, he began calling again.
“‘Carry me, carry me! Pick me up and carry me!’
“‘Arré! he can talk,’ said the man. ‘What a fine little child! Where have your people
gone? and why did they leave you here?’
“But the little Sun wouldn’t answer them. All he said was, ‘Put me in your awa-skin.
I’m tired; I can’t walk.’
“One of the men went to take him up, but when he got near he said, ‘Soe! but he’s
hot; the heat comes out of him. I won’t take him.’
“‘How can you be so silly?’ said another man. ‘I’ll carry him.’
“But when he got near, he started back. ‘Alla! what eyes! Fire comes out of them.’
And he, too, turned away.
“Then a third man went. ‘He is very small,’ he said; ‘I can easily put him in my awaskin.’
He stooped and took the little Sun under his arms.
“‘Ohé! ohé! ohé!’ he cried, dropping the baby on to the red sand. ‘What is this for
toverij! It is like fire under his arms. He burns me when I take him up.’
“The others all came round to see. They didn’t come too near, my baasjes, because
they were frightened, but they wanted to see the strange brown baby that could talk,
and that burned like a fire.
“All on a sudden he stretched himself; he turned his head and put up his little arms.
Bright sparks flew from his eyes, and yellow light streamed from under his arms,
and—hierr, skierr—the Men of the Early Race fell over each other as they ran
through the milk-bushes back to the road. My! but they were frightened!
“The women were sitting there with their babies on their backs, waiting for their
husbands.
“‘Come along! Hurry! hurry! See that you get away from here,’ said the men, without
stopping.
“The women began to run, too.
“‘What was it? What did you find?’
“‘A terrible something,’ said the men, still running. ‘It pretends to be a baby, but we
know it is a mensevreter. There it lies in the sand, begging one of us to pick it up and
put it in his awa-skin, but as soon as we go near, it tries to burn us; and if we don’t
make haste and get away from here, it will certainly catch us.’
“The women with their babies on their backs, flew”
Face page 81]
“Then they ran faster than ever. Baasjes know—ach no!” corrected Outa, with a sly
smile; “Outa means baasjes don’t know—how frightenness makes wings grow on
people’s feet, so that they seem to fly. So the Men of the Early Race, and the women
with their babies on their backs, flew, and very soon they were far from the place
where the little Sun was lying.
“But someone had been watching, my baasjes, watching from a bush near by. It was
Jakhals, with his bright eyes and his sharp nose, and his stomach close to the ground.
When the people had gone, he crept out to see what had made them run. Hardly a leaf
stirred, not a sound was heard, so softly he crept along under the milk-bushes to
where the little Sun lay.
“‘Ach, what a fine little child has been left behind by the men!’ he said. ‘Now that is
really a shame—that none of them would put it into his awa-skin.’
“‘Carry me, carry me! Put me in your awa-skin,’ said the little Sun.
“‘I haven’t got an awa-skin, baasje,’ said Jakhals, ‘but if you can hold on, I’ll carry
you on my back.’
“So Jakhals lay flat on his stomach, and the little Sun caught hold of his maanhaar,
and rolled round on his back.
“‘Where do you want to go?’ asked Jakhals.
“‘There, where it far is,’ said the baby, sleepily.
“Jakhals trotted off with his nose to the ground and a sly look in his eye. He didn’t
care where the baby wanted to go; he was just going to carry him off to the krantz
where Tante and the young Jakhalses lived. If baasjes could have seen his face! Alle
wereld! he was smiling, and when Oom Jakhals smiles, it is the wickedest sight in the
world. He was very pleased to think what he was taking home; fat brown babies are
as nice as fat sheep-tails, so he went along quite jolly.
“But only at first. Soon his back began to burn where the baby’s arms went round it.
The heat got worse and worse, until he couldn’t hold it out any longer.
“‘Soe! Soe! Baasje burns me,’ he cried. ‘Sail down a little further, baasje, so that my
neck can get cool.’
“The little Sun slipped further down and held fast again, and Jakhals trotted on.
“But soon he called out again, ‘Soe! Soe! Now the middle of my back burns. Sail
down still a little further.’
“The little Sun went further down and held fast again. And so it went on. Every time
Jakhals called out that he was burning, the baby slipped a little further, and a little
further, till at last he had hold of Jakhals by the tail, and then he wouldn’t let go. Even
when Jakhals called out, he held on, and Jakhals’s tail burnt and burnt. My! it was
quite black!
“‘Help! help!’ he screamed! ‘Ach, you devil’s child! Get off! Let go! I’ll punish you
for this! I’ll bite you! I’ll gobble you up! My tail is burning! Help! Help!’ And he
jumped, and bucked, and rushed about the veld, till at last the baby had to let go.
“Then Jakhals voertsed1 round, and ran at the little Sun to bite him and gobble him
up. But when he got near, a funny thing happened, my baasjes. Yes truly, just when
he was going to bite, he stopped halfway, and shivered back as if someone had beaten
him. At first he had growled with crossness, but now he began to whine from
frightenness.
“And why was it, my baasjes? Because from under the baby’s arms streamed
brightness and hotness, and out of the baby’s eyes came streaks of fire, so that Jakhals
winked and blinked, and tried to make himself small in the sand. Every time he
opened his eyes a little, just like slits, there was the baby sitting straight in front of
him, staring at him so that he had to shut them again quick, quick.
“‘Come and punish me,’ said the baby.
“‘No, baasje, ach no!’ said Jakhals in a small, little voice, ‘why should I punish you?’
“‘Come and bite me,’ said the baby.
“‘No, baasje, no, I could never think of it.’ Jakhals made himself still a little smaller
in the sand.
“‘Come and gobble me up,’ said the baby.
“Then Jakhals gave a yell and tried to crawl further back.
“‘Such a fine little child,’ he said, trying to make his voice sweet, ‘who would ever do
such a wicked thing?’
“‘You would,’ said the little Sun. ‘When you had carried me safely to your krantz,
you would have gobbled me up. You are toch so clever, Jakhals, but sometimes you
will meet your match. Now, look at me well.’
“Jakhals didn’t want to look, my baasjes, but it was just as if something made his
eyes go open, and he lay there staring at the baby, and the baby stared at him—so, my
baasjes, just so”—Outa stretched his eyes to their utmost and held each fascinated
child in turn.
“‘You’ll know me again when you see me,’ said the baby, ‘but never, never again
will you be able to look me in the face. And now you can go.’
“Fierce light shot from his eyes, and he blew at Jakhals with all his might; his breath
was like a burning flame, and Jakhals, half dead with frightenness, gave a great howl
and fled away over the vlakte.
“From that day, my baasjes, he has a black stripe right down his back to the tip of his
tail. And he cannot bear the Sun, but hides away all day with shut eyes, and only at
night when the Old Man with the bright armpits has gone to sleep, does he come out
to hunt and look for food, and play tricks on the other animals.”
Voertsed.—Evidently a word of Outa’s coining, meaning to jump round suddenly and violently.

Another one of those jewels floating around the internet that I just had to share - Peter

At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves children with learning disabilities, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its
Dedicated staff, he offered a question:

'When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does, is done with perfection.
Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do.
Where is the natural order of things in my son?'

The audience was stilled by the query.

The father continued. 'I believe that when a child like Shay, who was mentally and physically disabled comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child.'

Then he told the following story:

Shay and I had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, 'Do you think they'll let me play?' I knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but as a father I also understood that if my son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.

I approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said, 'We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning..'

Shay struggled over to the team's bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt.. I watched with a small tear in my eye and warmth in my heart. The boys saw my joy at my son being accepted.

In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three.

In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as I waved to him from the stands.

In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again.

Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.

At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game?

Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.

However, as Shay stepped up to the Plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact.

The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed.

The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay.

As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher.

The game would now be over.

The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman.

Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.

Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman's head, out of reach of all team mates.

Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, 'Shay, run to first! Run to first!'

Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base.

He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.

Everyone yelled, 'Run to second, run to second!'

Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base.

By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball . The smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team.

He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman's head.

Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.

All were screaming, 'Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay'

Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, 'Run to third!

Shay, run to third!'

As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, 'Shay, run home! Run home!'

Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team


'That day', said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, 'the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world'.

Shay didn't make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making me so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!


May your day, be a Shay Day.

Read all the way to the end. You just might learn something that will save your home from being burglarized.

1. Of course I look familiar. I was here just last week cleaning your carpets, painting your shutters, or delivering your new refrigerator.
2. Hey, thanks for letting me use the bathroom when I was working in your yard last week. While I was in there, I unlatched the back window to make my return a little easier.
3. Love those flowers. That tells me you have taste... and taste means there are nice things inside. Those yard toys your kids leave out always make me wonder what type of gaming system they have.
4. Yes, I really do look for newspapers piled up on the driveway. And I might leave a pizza flyer in your front door to see how long it takes you to remove it..
5. If it snows while you're out of town, get a neighbor to create car and foot tracks into the house.. Virgin drifts in the driveway are a dead giveaway.
6. If decorative glass is part of your front entrance, don't let your alarm company install the control pad where I can see if it's set. That makes it too easy.
7. A good security company alarms the window over the sink. And the windows on the second floor, which often access the master bedroom - and your jewelry. It's not a bad idea to put motion detectors up there too.
8. It's raining, you're fumbling with your umbrella, and you forget to lock your door - understandable. But understand this: I don't take a day off because of bad weather.
9. I always knock first. If you answer, I'll ask for directions somewhere or offer to clean your gutters. (Don't take me up on it.)
10. Do you really think I won't look in your sock drawer? I always check dresser drawers, the bedside table, and the medicine cabinet.
11. Here's a helpful hint: I almost never go into kids' rooms.
12. You're right: I won't have enough time to break into that safe where you keep your valuables. But if it's not bolted down, I'll take it with me.
13. A loud TV or radio can be a better deterrent than the best alarm system. If you're reluctant to leave your TV on while you're out of town, you can buy a $35 device that works on a timer and simulates the flickering glow of a real television.


8 MORE THINGS A BURGLAR WON'T TELL YOU:


1. Sometimes, I carry a clipboard. Sometimes, I dress like a lawn guy and carry a rake. I do my best to never, ever look like a crook.
2. The two things I hate most: loud dogs and nosy neighbors.
3. I'll break a window to get in, even if it makes a little noise. If your neighbor hears one loud sound, he'll stop what he's doing and wait to hear it again. If he doesn't hear it again, he'll just go back to what he was doing. It's human nature.
4. I'm not complaining, but why would you pay all that money for a fancy alarm system and leave your house without setting it?
5. I love looking in your windows. I'm looking for signs that you're home, and for flat screen TVs or gaming systems I'd like. I'll drive or walk through your neighborhood at night, before you close the blinds, just to pick my targets.
6. Avoid announcing your vacation on your Facebook page. It's easier than you think to look up your address. Parents: caution your kids about this. You see this every day.
7. To you, leaving that window open just a crack during the day is a way to let in a little fresh air. To me, it's an invitation.
8. If you don't answer when I knock, I try the door. Occasionally, I hit the jackpot and walk right in.

Received from Lloyd Peterson

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Seeing that photography is my passion I thought it about time to feature a South African photographer in my newsletter. I have been a fan of Andy for some time now and would like to share the link to her blog. She is a great photographer and is fortunate enough to live in the Fairest Cape where great landscapes just beg to be photographed.

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