Ballito Writers

Mahadevi Reddy

"Poor Little Johnny,

His mother was dead,

His father was a drunkard,

Who could not buy him bread.

He sat by the window,

Playing his banjo.

Thinking of his mother

Far, far away." i

Dressed in an old un-ironed, khaki long pants, an earthy coloured tattered jersey, a brown hat with a feather tucked inside the black ribbon around the hat, which he used when his ears twitched with an itch. Adorned in this gear was a young pale looking lad.

"What was that about " enquired my sister Varshana.

"It's Poison," replied Kamaladevi my mother. "I did not expect him today as the roads would have been water-logged after this morning's downpour. He normally sings this verse when he requires food" said Mother gently undoing her apron as she walked to the pantry for coins she kept in a little bank for the milkman Bali. Mother hurriedly stepped out and handed Poison the freshly made pancakes wrapped in a brown paper bag together with a few coins. He thanked her in a frail voice, turned around as if his mission was completed. "I feel very good," said Mother as she returned into the house. "It's strange that he popped by just as I finished cooking the pancakes." She explained to us that God sends people who need assistance.

My parents taught us that people, animals, and plants should be cared for. The observation around our home was a seasonal picture. Mother's green-fingers took care of the floral art. My parents' popularity in the community was visible. Mother helped with sewing for the school plays which were produced to raise funds. Sharing vegetables, flowers and brassware gave her great happiness. She always said, "Comfort the sick, support the poor and give them your time."

My Father Hurri's early life was a difficult but an interesting example of perseverance. He faced many challenges. Father left formal school in Standard Six. He managed a farm for Mr S Dent, where he learned to ride a horse. He stayed over in a brick building on the farm in Umhlali where he studied for his junior and senior certificates. On Friday evenings, he would rest when he visited his home. Every Saturday he worked for a general dealer as an auditor to pay for his studies through UNISA. He married my mother while studying for his B.A. degree. While travelling home after an English lecture by Elizabeth Sneddon, he got news of my birth at the train station.

My parents were my first and greatest teachers. They were the source from where my siblings and I drew basic knowledge into our lives. They strongly influenced our future teaching us wisdom, discipline and obedience.

My Parents powerful love has guided me, even now as a grandmother.

i Author Unknown. Nursery Rhyme.