The old man tapped his pipe against the chair, signalling to the oldest child to refill his glass. For a few moments only the pop and crackle of the fire and the chirp of crickets could be heard…
The flicker of flames and conversations with residents or grey-haired wise ones always put me in mind of all the wonderful stories I’d heard and read as a child. I recall the amazing ambience of the Bushveld, as we sat around a bonfire telling ghost stories, my dad lying on the floor next to our beds spinning tales of magic and wonder.
I often wonder whether people still tell stories around the campfire (or in most cases braai-fire). Not bragging of their conquests or exploits involving beer, but retelling of family stories, history overheard or adventures.
Due to our packed schedule and fast-paced lives, storytelling has been replaced by facebook posts or blogs. Although blogs can be very entertaining (just check out Helene Eloff’s Die Donderdag blog) it lacks the ambience of traditional storytelling. I love seeing people come to life while telling stories, waving their hands, pauses for the audiences laughter or comments, the audience’s reaction.
My love for stories often leads me to linger and chat to the people I meet and it gives me a glimpse of their lives, of times gone by, of the way others see the world.
And sometimes makes me wish I could sit in the Kruger, next to a campfire, and listen to a legend telling stories so amazing I lose myself in the telling…
