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By myself verby

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                                   My religion is simple. My religion is kindness.
                                                         -  Dalai Lama
Net buite Ermelo gaan ek by ‘n paar rylopers verby. In die verbyflits teen 80km per uur skiet ‘n herkenning deur my, asof dit ek of Eylene kan wees wat daar staan. So ‘n tipe van ‘n kyk-weer-herken. Soos om in n spieël te kyk. Of in my kind se gesig.

Ek sien baie in daardie verbyflitsoomblik. Ek sien dat dit 'n paartjie is, met die meisie wat skuins voor die man staan, hom eintlik toestaan. Heel moontlik omdat sy makliker vir hulle ‘n rygeleentheid sal kan kry as hy. Ek sien dat sy nog redelik jonk is. Dalk vroeë dertigs. En dat sy verweer is van baie son en swaar leef.

Ek is oppad huistoe na ‘n paar dae se kuier in Pretoria. Die kar is vol met die voorrade wat ek gewoonlik met so ‘n tog aanvul. Agt 10kg sakke pottebakkersklei, 10kg glasuurpoeier, groente en vrugte en kruideniers vir die komende naweek se retreat, grootmaat hawermout en sade en speserye, Dischem aankope van glutenvrye mengsels en voedselaanvullings, my tas.

Ek ry altyd met die dilemma. Om rylopers op te laai of nie op te laai nie. Wanneer die kar volgelaai is soos hierdie keer is dit makliker om verby te ry. En ek dink altyd aan die risikos. Dis nie altyd veilig nie en sou ons in n ongeluk betrokke wees kan ek gedagvaar word en so aan en so verder.

Maar soms, soos met hierdie meisiekind, voel ek dat ek moes. Dis asof ek by myself verbygery het.

Ek ry met groot vertwyfeling verder. Wat is hul verhaal? Waarheen sou hulle oppad wees? Ek gaan verby Luigi en Meisie se plaas met die Italiaanse vlagkleure op hul naambord. Hier is nog ‘n storie wat wag om die lig te sien. Luigi en Meisie. Hoe sou hulle bymekaar uitgekom het?

‘n Uur later is ek op die grondpad. Die laaste stukkie pad tot by die huis. Ek het vergeet van die rylopers en die Italianer en sy boerenooi. Ek geniet die berge en die omgewing wat in ‘n kwessie van ‘n paar jaar vir my huis geword het. Ek is bly om terug te wees.

Ek sien die jong Zuluvrou wat ‘n ent voor my aan die regterkant van die pad loop. Dis teen ‘n opdraande en sy leun onnatuurlik in teen die skuinste om haar balans te bly behou. Sy dra ‘n swaar inkopiesak in elke hand. Op haar kop balanseer sy ‘n 7 kg sak aartappels.

Weer hou ek nie stil nie. Ek kyk net half om na die spul goed op die agterste sitplek en dink dat dit ‘n geskuif sal afgee as ek haar met die pakaas moet oplaai. En ek wil by die huis kom. George en Sebastien wag met middagete en dis reeds byna 13:30.

Sy spook by my. Dis n goeie 3 km van die teerpad af waar sy sekerlik van ‘n taxi afgeklim het en na haar stat êrens dieper in langs die grondpad oppad was. Hoe ver moes sy nog loop? Wat sou dit regtig van my geverg het om haar te vat tot waar sy bly?

Weer is dit ek wat iets gemis het. Dalk nie ‘n storie nie. Die taalgaping verhoed veel meer as ‘n paar woorde en gebare om die nodige uit te vind. Maar ek het weer by myself verbygery. My medemenslike self, wat saam met haar geloop het en die afstand tot by die huis korter gebid het. Wat hande in die lug gegooi het toe ek verbyry en net aanhou ry.

Matilda
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