BOISHAAIER 2016

A FROZEN MOMENT IN TIME (Auden Jacobs Grade 9C) Her delicate hands glide over the strings of her mahogany violin; triumphantly playing Ludwig Van’s glorious 9th symphony. The faint click click clicking of heels is completely smothered by her gentle tune. The night is beautiful; the kind of night complimented by her compelling doe-like eyes. Her long scarlet hair gracefully falls across her benevolent face. Her captivating beauty is strengthened by the majestic last movement of Beethoven, surrounding the entire Le Fromage Theatre. The ocean of stars are envious of her beauty and her radiance is even brighter than the lonely Eiffel Tower. The aromas of countless perfumes fill the air. It smells of sweet osmanthus and like this mesmerizing woman that stands before me; it is noble, kind and fair. I can’t take my eyes off her. Nothing else is heard but the sound of her heart being poured out. Paris has no choice but to surrender to her. The 9th impatiently draws to its climactic end. Overwhelmed I close my eyes, yet I can still see her. One can only explain it as love; love for this astounding abyssal night, love for Ludwig Van’s incredible journey that switches from hate to love to loneliness and love for this goddess. The final strokes are played and I can’t help but cry. With my eyes closed and her face still etched into my mind I fade away and it’s as if all time has stopped. Beethoven mocks me as it concludes. I feel infinite. I have no choice but to spoil this frozen moment by opening my eyes, but at least I can see her face; I can see her smile … wêreldwyd gevoer om oorlewing - nie van die sterkstes nie, maar van menswees, natuurwees en dierwees. En almal word verenig in die persepsie van Leef en Laat Leef. Kreatiewe Skryfstukke KREATIEWE SKRYFSTUKKE THE GIANT OF LIMPOPO Walter Travers (Grade 11D) gallons of blood to my brain at an increasing rate each new second; my mind could not accommodate the thoughts of utter awe and disbelief I was experiencing at that moment. The baobab stood tall in the morning sky. It was but a dark silhouette with the newborn sun gleaming through its branches. The branches looked like a network of neurons in the brain, carrying important impulses to vital organs; the leaves. I was suddenly relieved to feel the cool breeze stroke my cheek as if to comfort my thoughts. The extravagant tree served as a home to the dozens of chirping birds perched on its branches. The taste of the dry bushveld air clenched hold of my tongue. A stench of stinkbugs floated past my nose. I did not mind. It was surprisingly appealing to me. I released my clenched fists and noted how sweaty my palms had become. The sound of the rustling leaves calmed my spirits again. I was in paradise, my own personal paradise. I pinched my arm just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I looked up and He was still there, in all His might. The bark of the tree was now visible as the sun climbed higher. It was aged, yet spectacular. The Baobab turned His head towards me as if to say: “Don’t worry, you are safe here.” I closed my eyes again and realized for the first time where I was truly standing … In the presence of God. VEGKOP 180 JAAR. DIE STRYD VAN MENSWEES. Christiaan Fisher Die son sak agter die koppie. Die oranje horison word ingesluk deur die diepdonker nag. Die dun luggie verkoel met elke verbygaande sekonde. ’n Droë wind waai rustig voort. Potgieter en sy manne val stuk-stuk aan die slaap. Die sterre hou wag … “Die Matabele Zuluweermag is op pad!” Beslis nie om vriendskappe te sluit nie. Dit is 16 Oktober 1836. Potgieter waag dit vooruit vir ’n moontlike ooreenkoms met die Matabeleleier. Hy weet immers die Voortrekkermanne is min. Die grond voel los onder die hoewe van sy perd. Angs klou soos ’n klein bobbejaantjie aan hom vas. Hy weet hy is te laat toe hy die aanvalskreet van die Zulu’s hoor. Hy weet hulle weet die Gideonsbende is weerloos teen meer as 500 Matabele-soldate. Moedig volg die voortrekkers hul strategie: Ry tot op ’n gepaste afstand, vuur! Trek uit die gevaarsone, herlaai. Weer en weer en weer. Die grond word bloedbevlek. Die wind vee alle voetstappe en teken van lewe uit. Alles ruik na kruit en stof slaan op in neus en ore. Drie en dertig mans en sewe seuns staan hul man teen die 500 vyandelikes. Die jongste, Lucas van Rensburg, ’n skrale twaalf jaar oud, veg skouer aan skouer met die res. Geweerskote se laaste eggo’s doof uit. Almal staan stil, bly stil. Hulle oë op Potgieter se spiesdeurboorde broer. Donkerte vul die Voortrekker-harte … net vir ’n oomblik. Die afstand tussen die Voortrekkers en Matabeles verkort. Daar is ’n konstante doef-doef geluid van liggame wat die grond tref. Die geveg progresseer en die laaste oorblywende soldate veg hand aan hand asof hul ’n titel probeer behou. Donker wolke oorskadu die geveg. Die weermaggetalle het ’n draaipunt bereik: 38 Voortrekkers en minder as 30 Zulu mans veg voort. Hulle vlug - met al die Voortrekkers se kos en diervoorraad. Die smaak van oorwinning word bitter. Oorlewing kry ’n ander betekenis. In bloedbevlekte klere, op grond wat ruik na sweet, kniel die Voortrekkers. Emosies ry wipplank: Hartseer, kwaad, verligting. Dit is 180 jaar later. Zulu, Matabele, Voortrekker is verenig in een reënboognasie. Vegkop is ’n vae herinnering van wat was. Die stofreën van besoedeling en die krete van horinglose renosters styg op na bo terwyl mense vergeet van hul verantwoordelikheid teenoor dier en natuur. ’n Klein, kleurlose Gideonsbende hoor die versugting en nood en slaan ’n heel nuwe rigting in: volhoubaarheid, standhoudendheid, leef groen! ’n Gren lewe is dikwels ’n eenvoudige lewe. Dit vereenvoudig menslike denke en die omsienproses van die natuur en dier. Al is dié lewe ’n moeiliker en meer ongewone pad om te stap, kan ons land en wêreld tot ’n ooreenkoms kom. Groen is die nuwe kleur van genade: genade teenoor onsself, dier en natuur, want ons weet: vir elke druppel water uit die kraan is strome reën nodig; ’n braaivlesvuurtjie - hoe onskuldig - verbrand en neem ’n boom, berook die lug, besoedel die atmosfeer; plastiek besoedel en versmoor, draad in riviere verwring. Só is ons wêreld ook op pad om te verwring, vergaan. Onskuld of nie, die realiteit bestaan. Ons uiteindelike stryd gaan wees om ’n groen leefwyse toe te pas. En die nuwe Slag van Vegkop word It was a beautiful summer’s morning just off the Botswana border in the Limpopo Province. I went out into the bush for a stroll only to come across something spectacular; something incomprehensible. It was a Baobab tree. One with a size I could never have thought possible. It was a moment that will never be forgotten. Paralyzed with amazement while standing in the presence of the gigantic creature; the capillaries in my temples pumping that could make angels cry. Her emerald green dress is

70 | HOËR JONGENSKOOL PAARL 2016