Dear reader
Karin Brynard’s column about insomnia (see page 138) reminds me of a story from my teaching days. It was composition day, and the usual candidates were full of excuses. Long stories about their incomplete assignments. The long and winding road between the school desks might just as well have been a dry riverbed in the Karoo with the promise that – one day! – there might be water flowing there again, but not that day. That day it was dry and dusty, just like the learners’ excuses.
Except for one student: he was lying with his head on his arms, groaning; the burden of some sort of ailment weighing heavily on his shoulders.
His memory of the previous day was a bit hazy, he said. Slowly and with some effort, he got to the point.
He was very ill, he said. And his father, a doctor, was desperately worried. There was even talk of an ambulance and he had been subjected to an emergency injection (“It was flipping sore, Sir; one of those thick needles!”). For the rest of the day, his weakened body was only capable of one thing: sleep. It was a merciful escape, said he, because his condition had increasingly worsened – it got so bad, things could have gone either way.
Luckily, a miracle happened overnight and that morning the reluctant composition-writer was so much better that his father said he could venture to school. And here he was; unfortunately, without his assignment because the delirious sleep that had paralysed him the previous day had also come between him and his homework. But I mustn’t worry, he comforted me: he’d be okay.
I enquired about his illness. Because, you know, the entire class’s health was at stake, I said, and 36 16-year-olds could be in imminent danger. Shouldn’t I call his father and check?
“No, no,” this plucky little survivor assured me. His father had made quite a few calls and after some consultation (and a positive reaction to the “flipping sore” injection), they were, thankfully, able to make a diagnosis. So, although he personally reckoned that he should have stayed in bed – mostly due to the drowsiness that was still plaguing him – there was no risk to me or his friends. We must just leave him be so his tired body could rest.
What was the diagnosis then? I asked because in those days yuppie flu was as commonplace as crowing roosters in Nieu-Bethesda. Out came the astonishing reply: “Insomnia, Sir. Insomnia...” This issue is a journey through the Karoo. In fact, we’re featuring a house and a garden from the aforementioned Nieu-Bethesda, a beautiful town near Graaff-Reinet. Every time our creative editor Marian van Wyk makes plans to go there, I wish I could jump in the car with the team. This time was no different, but once again obligations in Cape Town put paid to that idea. However, the photos tell a wonderful story. I hope the Du Plessis’ home and the Haines’s garden give you just as much pleasure as they did me. As well as all the other Karoo highlights we feature in this issue. Join us, it’s time to hit the road!