Simply blinded by colours

You have to admit the world is a colourful place. Literally. Scientists probably know exactly how many colours there are and how many are visible to the human eye.

Not that all eyes see the world the same way. Take me for example. When I was in Grade 1, I thought my drawing of our house was a masterpiece. It was a homework assignment – one of my first.

But Mrs le Roux had a different take.

“Goodness, but you’re a naughty child,” she scolded while my classmates sat, saucer-eyed. It was her only display of anger in the whole year and I remember it as if it happened yesterday. I had drawn my masterpiece using a solitary, grey wax crayon.

Two years later, I found myself in the principal’s office. He asked me to point out something green, so I showed him the grass. There was a painting in his office with a beautiful blue sky.

Can the sky be any other colour? We spent a few minutes on this general knowledge quiz. Fortunately, by then I had learnt what the world was supposed to look like.

Back in class, Mrs Hugo towered over my little desk. I could see the details of the fingerprint on her index finger centimetres from my nose.

“Well I never … too lazy to pick the right pencil …”

To this day, I can’t explain why we call a white traffic light green.

Or if the colour purple is really a colour or just the name of a movie. And why do we call oranges, oranges when they are actually yellow? Shouldn’t they be yellowges? When it comes to public transport, I don’t follow the brown line. I stick to the number 11 line and I get by just fine.

Earlier this week, Abigail, my four-year-old granddaughter, drew a picture of herself and her ouma, my wife. I think it’s a masterpiece.

They’re dancing in the garden, smiling from ear to ear. In the picture my (blonde) wife has bright red hair (so I’ve been told) while Abigail sports a purple afro. She’s quite creative when it comes to colours.

I wonder if it has anything to do with growing up in a rainbow nation.

Danie Toerien