VOL. XV, NO. 14

By ANTHONY LLOYD

JOSEPH and I spent most of the long summer afternoons together. He learnt some Afrikaans from me; I learnt some Zulu from him. Our days were full.

There was the river to explore.
There were my swimming lessons, and others.

I learnt to fight with sticks; to weave a green hat of young willow wands and leaves; to catch frogs and tadpoles with my hands; to set a trap for the springhaas; to make the sounds of the river birds.

There was the hot sun to comfort us.
There was the green grass to dry our bodies.
There was the soft clay with which to build.
There was the fine sand with which to fight.
There were the giant grasshoppers to race.
There were the locust swarms when the skies turned black and we caught them by the hundreds.
There was the rare taste of crisp, brown baked, salted locusts.
There was the voice of the wind in the willows.
There was the voice from heaven in the thunder storm.
There was the voice of two children in laughter, ours.

There were Joseph's tales of black kings who lived in the days before the white man

Then we grew up and lost our innocence, and wept, separately.