Johannesburg - I went into a bed shop and laid and bounced on a few mattresses. Just like they do in the movies.
That was in the morning. I bought a mattress and was told they would deliver it the same day.
This is a story of human souls, and how they connect in many ways.
Through 467 pieces of art on theatre seats. Art watching art. A tale of 467 artists who will buy bread.
How art feeds the soul. It mimics creation. It is creation. What is God if not an artist, or art itself?
This is a story of coming together. Of how much can be achieved in doing so.
Almost R1 million was raised collectively by South Africans for our Olympic medallists in just three days.
This after the South African Sports Confederation and Olympic Committee said it would not be able to pay bonuses to any of our Olympic athletes for their medal wins.
Our athletes; in metal amour, flew to Japan’s busy capital, Tokyo. How the city mixes the ultramodern with the traditional! From skyscrapers engulfed in neon lights, to the historic temples. They prevailed. Armoured up and flew back through the same winds.
They landed and curled in their metal wings.
Tatjana Schoenmaker and Bianca Buitendag would not be awarded with medal bonuses.
Minister of Sport, Arts and Culture Nathi Mthethwa later said they would announce the rewards in September.
But look at coming together.
Almost R1m was raised collectively by South Africans in a week. If this does not stand as a stark reminder of how much more can be done by and for other South Africans, not much will.
Covid-19 has made poverty worse in South Africa.
More than half our adult population live in poverty.
But this is a story of human souls, and how they connect in many ways.
When I bought that mattress, they did deliver it, on the same day.
Verna was the guy who delivered it an hour and a half after I left the shop.
I had never met this man before. He called me and sounded like an old friend.
My soul recognised his. It was an honour to answer my phone.
I assumed he was making contact to alert me that he would be dropping my delivery soon.
But he was already outside. I opened the gate, and his bakkie pulled in.
From the passenger side, stepped out an older gentleman – wrinkled, missing a tooth or two, heavily balding and grey.
He appeared tired. As though he had lived through the best and is living the worst of apartheid, for his skin colour. I did not feed much from his energy. His cup was low. He was professional either way.
But there was something about Verna. A white man seemingly in his late thirties to early forties. This thing about him, it had nothing to do with the tattoo sleeve on his left arm, his scruffy jeans, folded jersey or the dark stubble on his cheeks.
It had nothing to do with his age, or race, or his politeness on the phone. There was something glowing about him. Not necessarily around him, but more from the inside.
It was the same light that lives in and shines our souls. Ubuntu!