It’s his fault that I ended up as a dentist in Kimberley, more than 500 km from our family farms in Queenstown. He refused point-blank to involve me in the farming operations, signalling that I might destroy the Prinsloo legacy in the process.
Looking back, it was the biggest favour ever done to me, although for a long time it felt like I wasn’t quite good enough for him; that I’d had to set aside my dreams of a life on the farm because I’d been weighed on the scales and found wanting.
I did my bit, though. It was during my teenage years in the turbulent 1980s that I first farmed on Pelgrimsrus and Arendskrans, two of our farms on the banks of the Black Kei River. Without fail, my job was to pick up the workers in my bakkie just after sunrise on Saturday mornings to gather the cattle. I was a child when my father first taught me to count the cattle one by one. To check their behaviour, because it often signalled their health status.
I wasn’t paid for it, of course. It was part of my birthright. I was born to follow in my father’s footsteps, until one day when I damaged my bakkie’s chassis on a dirt road. This infuriated my father and wounded me to the point that I decided to no longer serve him, and to move to Kimberley.
At the time, Marietha and I had been married for five years; one morning before dawn we loaded our few belongings onto a cattle truck and started a new life in the Northern Cape with our children, Koot and Helené. I borrowed money to start a dental practice there.
Denne historien er fra Issue 281-utgaven av Big Issue.
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Denne historien er fra Issue 281-utgaven av Big Issue.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
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