the year at a glance - pretoria boys high school

The Year at a Glance

121The Pretorian

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The Pretorian 2008 Colour pages.indd 121 7/27/2009 1:37:17 PM

Form V Geography Tour

122 The Pretorian

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The Pretorian 123

The SwitchThe � rst thing I noticed when I woke up was that this was not my bedroom. The mirror told me that I was not myself, but someone I have aspired to be like. I was Mark Morton, lead guitarist and supreme shredder for American metal group LOG.

My � rst thoughts were confused, but I was not going to ask too many questions. I was in guitar heaven. Hanging on a stand on the far side of the room was THE guitar, the one used in LOG’s destructive Download Festival performance in 2007. Then William Adler, my (Mark’s) fellow guitarist entered the room and told me that in thirty minutes’ time we had a � nal rehearsal for the gig tonight.

A few minutes later I was surrounded by the members of the band I revered, and I was playing with them. I had been worried that although I had become Mark Morton, I would not be able to play like him. That fear proved to be groundless for I was soon shredding the solo of ‘Ruin’ on Mark’s killer guitar. “Hell yeah,” screamed Chris Adler, the Grammy nominated drummer, as we � nished off our set.

We spent the next few hours relaxing together as a band and I realised something I had never expected. They were just normal guys! Take away the fame, the fans and the money and they were just a band, doing what they love most – jamming together.

We had something to eat then we got into the Monster Trucks provided to take us to Wembley Stadium for LOG’s � rst gig on our tour of Britain. The sound crew had already � nished their preparations. The ampli� ers towered over us like an imposing giant, but a giant who was on our side. We signed more autographs before moving backstage. “This is the moment,” our lead singer whispered.

The lead singer’s scream pierced the ears of all present. As my � rst solo approached, I saw a fan struggling towards the stage. It was me. We made eye contact.

All of a sudden I was no longer Mark Morton. I was just a fan who had walked right into the middle of a mosh pit.

Ian Currie (Form II)

SunsetAs the day’s ends are tied,The sun’s golden rays fall onto patient earth’s subtle beautyTo glorify her in her captivatingEvening dress.

Keagan Boustead (Form V)

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Bakker – A view into obscurity

Jonathan Green Form V

Nicholas Fidler – Night on the town

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The Pretorian124

Trout fi shingThe constant cast and retrieve, cast and retrieve lulled me into a trance as I stood patiently at the water’s edge waiting for a trout to be enticed by my � y. Every now and then a � ick of a trout’s tail broke the mirrored surface of the lake, giving me some hope. Suddenly I felt a strong tug and a � erce splash! With a decisive strike, the tension of my line tightened and then, just as unexpectedly – nothing. The line hung limply in the water.

I walked to the other side of the lake and looked down the hill. In the distance an ominous orange tinge � lled the twilight sky. A gust of wind brought the acrid smell of smoke to my nostrils. There was an eerie silence as I looked down the hill. There, not too far away, were the � ames licking the trees and dry grass. A wall of orange � ames blocked out the horizon. The wind was picking up and the � ames were leaping across the grass. I turned around and on the other side of the lake the wall of � re was approaching rapidly. I opened my mouth to scream but no sound came out. My tongue was frozen to the � oor of my mouth. The choking smoke now burned my nostrils. I tried to move my legs but they seemed

paralysed. A roaring sound � lled my ears as the � re engulfed huge pine trees and caused them to come crashing down. The � re was closing in on me; I could feel the approaching heat. I could not believe the might of the � re. I suddenly felt so small, insigni� cant and powerless. What irresponsible smoker or piece of re� ecting glass in the veld had unleashed this mighty beast?

Eventually I came to my senses. I had to do something to survive. I crouched down on my hands and knees to try and avoid the dense smoke. My breathing became more regular and I scrambled on all fours over stones and dry grass to the water’s edge. Collapsing into the cold water, I waded waist deep into the lake to get away from the intense heat. The cool water calmed me down and my burning eyes focused on the surroundings. The lake wasn’t totally surrounded by � re. I could see a large � rebreak on either side of the road which was � ame-free and in the distance two headlights shone through the dense smoke.

James Gous (Form I)

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The language beyond speechHe had loved her. Now he stood at her funeral, facing a congregation of all the people she had ever known. They knew nothing of what she had shared with him, nothing of their love for each other. He was not nervous, yet he was holding the heaviest set of bagpipes he had ever held, the set which he had been playing all his life. He placed his pipes on his shoulders and began to play.

He played her life for them. He started with a march, a slow but cheering tune. She had often told him of her growing up on a farm near a small town. Her father had farmed oranges and every time she saw an orange she would reminisce. She always said that her early days were slow but happy times. He reached the second part of the tune, and thought of her describing her move to the city. She hated cities but her father had chosen a boarding school for her and she had had no choice but to go. She grew to love her school and often spoke of it.

He began to play another tune, a strathspey, an expressive composition. It was the tune which he was playing when he � rst met her. It now expressed his love for her. He held the beautiful notes. They

told the congregation how much they loved each other. He remembered how they had met. He was standing in a park playing this very tune. When he stopped he turned and saw a woman smiling at him. He now showed the congregation her smile. He played the way her smile made him feel. They used to talk to each other, to meet in the park every day. He would play for her and she would smile.

Finally he played a lament, and he began to weep. He thought of the emptiness which he now had to face. His tears moved his � ngers. He told the congregation how much she meant to him, how much she had given him. He described the loneliness he now felt. He played the last notes of the tune. The church was � lled with silence.

He looked at her friends’ faces, at her family’s faces, and saw that they understood what he had just said. They all understood what he had told them, in the language beyond speech. They looked at him with understanding and respect. He wiped his eyes and sat down.

James Orr (Form IV)


The Pretorian 125

The lure of the skiesI make the � nal checks on my machine: ailerons operational, rudder is free, danger tape removed. I am set. I position my � nger just right and � ick the contact button on. The aeroplane springs to life. Lights and instruments awaken. I make sure that the altimeter is adjusted. Then comes the moment which every pilot dreams of – to push the ignition. The aeroplane’s engine awakens from its slumber. It roars so loudly that it drowns all other sounds. Powerful gusts of wind blow as hard as a tropical storm.

It has been over a hundred years since the Wright brothers created � ight – speci� cally motorised � ight – and since then people have risked everything to � y like birds.

Before � ight became commonplace, people travelled in two dimensions: east – west, and north – south, crossing the lines that separated town from town, nation from nation. Seen from above, the arti� cial boundaries which divide us disappear. Distances shrink, the horizon stretches. The world seems grander and more connected. This three-dimensional vision has revealed a universe of promises and possibilities. The world economy, our awareness of our environment, and space exploration are all, to some degree, the results of the inventive minds of Wilbur and Orville Wright.

The engine, the personality and character of my motorised bird, has been running for a while now. It is hot with ambition. With my � sts clenched and closed palms facing me, my thumbs outstretched in opposing directions, I bring my � sts together and then simultaneously move one left and one right. With these signals, communication with the ground crew is silent but effective. My clamps are removed from under my wheels. Like a stallion which has

been untied, I have broken free from the chains that limit my movement. I ease my hand on the throttle and gently push. The plane jerks slightly and I am moving.

Taxiing past the towering hangars, on my way to the runway, beads of sweat roll down my face and drop onto the deck beneath me. The heat in the cockpit increases as a result of the sun scorching down on the grey fuselage and the ever-increasing mix of tension and excitement. I call on the tower to authorise my � ight. The radio crackles and a deep voice permits me to take to the skies.

The long ride on the strip to the end of the runway has no excitement, only tension. Finally, I reach the end of the runway. Now there is only the short sprint to the other end of the runway. The aircraft is in position, along the thick white line – a pilot’s only external help. I open the throttle. In my mind, my � nal checks keep repeating: no � aps, oil pressure is � ne, plenty of fuel. Gravity is still winning the struggle of dominance. Reaching lift speed, I feel almost weightless when I pull back on the stick.

Flying amongst clouds is what dreams are made of. Relaxed, free from the stresses of ordinary life. I feel invincible. Nothing can hurt me. I am what I was born to be – an element of the sky.

I call the tower to request a landing. Inevitably I will have to touch down on the ground. The tower vectors me to the perfect position. Flaps down. Gears extended. Engine in idle. Gracefully, I set the plane down onto the tarmac. The wheels scream on contact, as if saying to me, “Go back into the air. I do not belong on the ground.”

Goran Kapikul (Form V)

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Steffan van Aswegen


The Pretorian126

1843 Unit 8 Ga-RankuwaOn 24 February 1990 two people were born. Carina de Souza was born in Lisbon. I was born in Pretoria.

She sometimes criticises my country, but always praises her country. She tells me how much better Portugal is than South Africa.

My grandmother once told me that home is where the heart is. That is where South Africa is – in my heart. That is what South Africa is – my home.

I was born when people of my colour in South Africa were treated as if they were not human, as if they did not belong to this country. Discrimination was widespread. My Zulu brother fought against his Tswana cousin. This is now a country where a man rapes his sister’s daughter; where a man rapes his sister; where the rich steal from the poor; where Robin Hood steals for himself; where the government, people whom we trust to lead and to guide us, steal from us to � ll their own pockets. Although I am not proud of my country’s deep dark background, it is still my home.

In March 1996 I was living in Zone 8 Ga-Rankuwa, where drugs and alcohol are abundant; where teenagers raid shebeens for their � x of the bottle; where thugs and gangsters parade the streets in their BMWs; where gunshots in the twilight are a daily reminder of our mortality; where bullet shells litter the streets; where night brings fear of losing a friend and of a funeral the following Sunday. But despite all this, I was living in a place where pantsulas reign supreme on the dance � oors and bring delight and entertainment to our lives; where I � rst saw Nelson Mandela with my own eyes. Although it was not the safest place, it was still my home.

In August 1997 we moved to 1843 Unit 8 Ga-Rankuwa, which is still my home. This is where I feel at home, despite the fact that my parents are soon to be divorced; despite my brother’s leaving for Ma� keng when I need him the most. This is where I feel at home, although I sometimes sleep with an empty stomach; although there is not much furniture. It is where I felt the thrill of kicking a soccer ball, of playing soccer; where I stole my � rst kiss; where I met the � rst love-of-my-life; where I met the current love-of-my-life, Katlego; where I met my best friends, Sechaba, Kgosi, Tebogo.

This is where my heart is. This, 1843 Unit 8 Ga-Rankuwa, is my home.

Karabo Matang (Form V)

JacquesI had not seen Jacques since primary school, when his family left Pretoria.

As I settled into my seat on the aeroplane, I was grateful that thus far my � rst � ight on my own had been so easy, and I hoped that the rest of the weekend in Cape Town would be as simple.

While we waited to take-off, I remembered all the days I had spent with Jacques through the dif� cult years of primary school – all the afternoons we had spent playing cards and Playstations.

As the aeroplane gained altitude I thought of all the years which we had missed after Jacques’ move. Now we would never be able to catch up on them.

We arrived safely. I retrieved my bags and headed out of the terminal building, where I was met by Jacques’ family. We drove away from the airport, reminiscing about times gone by.

“Where is the funeral to be held?” I asked. Nobody seemed eager to answer.

“In Hout Bay,” the answer � nally came, “later today.”

They treated me to a seafood meal. The mood around the table was sombre. The purpose of my visit had sunk in. We ate mostly in silence, with an occasional reference to past experiences. Then we left for Hout Bay, where I was to see Jacques for the last time.

As we approached the church the family prepared themselves for the out-pouring of condolences which they were about to receive. We got out of the car. People turned to look at the new arrivals, then hurried over to us with comforting and encouraging words.

We entered the church. There he lay, peacefully awaiting the funeral ceremony.

After the formalities, his family members spoke to him, one by one. Then it was my turn. I sat next to him, and talked, remembering the times we had spent together, and the friendship which we had shared.

My time was up. “Thanks for the good times, Jacques,” I said as I lowered the lid of his casket. I moved away to the door.

Tears poured down my cheeks. His family moved towards me, embraced me. We walked out, huddled together in our grief.

Daniel Ribeiro (Form V)

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The Pretorian 127

I am proud to say that I live hereWe have done it before; we will do it again! We

will prove to the world that South Africa is capable – no, more than capable – of hosting the 2010 Soccer World Cup and making it a roaring success. The world will see that South Africa is not just a small country situated at the southern point of Africa; instead, we are a country with a huge soul, a country with traditions, and a country which can achieve anything it wants to!

When one travels about within our country, improvements and developments are evident everywhere. Freeways are being broadened, bridges are being constructed, hotels and stadiums are being erected and public services are being improved. This is true development! Our infrastructure is reaching � rst world standards. When tourists emerge from our improved airports, their � rst impression will be created by our roads.

South Africa is a country of traditions in which eleven unique languages are spoken every day. Our people are our pride and in 2010 the world will see how we strive to live in harmony. Unfortunately, this is not easy, which is why con� ict sometimes occurs. This can be compared to having eleven different dog species in one yard. Con� ict does

inevitably occur! There are many problems which South Arica and her people have yet to deal with. Murder, rape, poverty, theft – the list goes one. If we stand together and support one another, these problems will be resolved.

I once heard and American man say, “I can’t believe that Johannesburg is a real city. I thought there would be camels and chickens running about everywhere!” This made me realise that the world is not fully aware of the way we live in South Africa.

The World Cup is our chance to prove that we are a strong, developed nation. All eyes will be on this country for an entire month, and if we make a success of the Cup (which we will), people will want to come back and experience our landscapes, our traditions, our country.

South Africa is my pride. I am proud to say that I live here! I am con� dent that we will be ready to welcome the world and that the world will be impressed! We will show the world that we have achieved progress over the past � fteen years. The world will realise what we are and what we stand for. We are South Africans!

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The AIDS wardI step out of the comfort and warmth of my mother’s car into the bitter cold. I am overcome with excitement as I walk towards the old, dilapidated buildings of the Pretoria Academic Hospital. I feel as if I have entered a battle-� eld. I do not know this world. I do not live in this world.

There is a vibrancy in this place of death. The corridors and waiting rooms are � lled with the sick and the dying. I � nd my destination – the Oasis AIDS Centre.

Upon entering the small sad room I am immediately confronted by a bright smile. The leader of this centre, Father Barry, welcomes me with a warm heart. He introduced me to the staff, who are all also HIV patients. He gives me a brief description of the work which they do.

Suddenly chaos erupts. The patients have arrived for a meal and I begin to serve food. Initially I am nervous and avoid any communication with the patients, but as I become more accustomed to the

surroundings and more friendly towards the staff, I relax more, and remember that they are all just people who do not deserve to be treated differently.

The work is gruelling, but I thrive on it. I meet the old, the sick and the dying; I also meet the young, the strong and the healthy. The staff teach me so much about life as they tell me their stories. Without shame or embarrassment they admit their mistakes, and they carry their burdens bravely. I understand that this is simply life – the world in which we can take nothing for granted and nothing is fair or deserved. These people � ght every day for survival. I am grateful for this opportunity to learn. When I leave at the end of the day I am tired, dirty, but awakened.

We hear every day the statistics and death-tolls, but do we remember that this disease touches lives? These numbers are real people, with real feelings and real dreams.

Jared Tulloch (Form V)


The Pretorian128

CrisisTwo weeks ago I would never have guessed that I could feel what I am feeling now, but to weeks ago I was ahead on my study timetable.

I am busy writing an exam, but it is the lesser of two immediate evils which I am facing. Just the thought of it makes my palms more sweaty than they already are. I lose some grip on my pen, but I re-position it and carry on writing. A second thought makes my blazer feel like a coat of armour, sti� ing and heavy, and a bead of perspiration runs down my back. I take a deep breath. Looking around I see other boys who have exams papers in front of them. Some of them are looking up, others are looking around as if for inspiration. I pity them. A friend has already turned his paper over and has his head on his arms. Is he sleeping or thinking?

From the moment I woke up this morning it felt as if I were wearing an invisible shirt which was squeezing my lungs together in my chest. I knew that I had not prepared suf� ciently, but the enormity of it has only just struck me. Now I have to write my science exam.

Science is my Goliath – it has the unfair advantage. No matter how well I know my algorithms, my de� nitions, my tried and tested methods of solving problems in my bedroom, at my desk, the second I walk into the exam room they count for nothing. Equations which I knew two minutes earlier are then just � oating constants in a sea of numbers. My ability to recall countless facts from my hand-written study notes, word for word, seems to lose its effectiveness, its true north. Everything would be � ne if, once I have started, things begin to come back to me, but they do not.

Once the command has been given, and I place my pen back into my pocket and hand in my question and answer papers, I sit awe-struck with my eyes closed and my jaw clenched. I cannot believe that I did it all again; a repeat of last year. I “choked”! Worst of all is that I know that I do not have the nerves for it. I will never have the nerves for exams. I almost hate myself because of this.

Alon Bernitz (Form IV)

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Lloyd Hughes


The Pretorian 129

FlightOn our vast planet there are some regions which remain untamed. One is the ocean, vast and seemingly limitless. Another is the mountain ranges and the last is the sky – which is dearest to my heart.

The sky is treacherous yet � lled with unparalleled beauty. Clouds are fascinating to watch as they drift calmly or tower above the land. I love to watch the way they change shape and size. Watching birds effortlessly carve their paths through the air is equally fascinating and � lls me with envy.

Our means of becoming part of this realm is � ight. Flying is what I live for. I eat, sleep, drink and breathe aviation, and anything and everything to do with it. Aviation is my passion, the one and only thing that drags me through each day at school. Aviation is the driving force in my life. Whenever I hear an aircraft � ying overhead I automatically look skywards to see what it is and where it is � ying to.

When I am in the air I feel free. The smells of the different materials in the aircraft – the leathers,

the woods, the plastics – all intoxicate my senses, making me feel at home. I love the way the aeroplane responds to my various inputs on the control column – turning, rolling, pitching and yawing with a sense of serenity and grace, produced by my own hands and feet. It is as if I am the director of a ballet in the sky, dancing amongst the clouds in a tiny metal aeroplane, exposed to the elements.

Being with aeroplanes is what I live for! The smell of avgas at six o’clock in the morning is as appealing to me as the smell of perfume to some people. Hearing propellers bite into the cool, calm morning air sends shivers down my spine. Looking at the sleek pro� les of the parked aircraft brings admiration to my eyes and calmness to my mind.

I look up at the sky every day and remind myself that the sky is where I want to spend the rest of my life. And it is where I want to die – in the untouchable realm.

Jared van Bergen (Form V)

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Lloyd Hughes Form V


The Pretorian130

Red OctoberThe race was about to start. The one-minute whistle sounded. I made my way to the start line. I had planned it perfectly. I would be exactly one metre behind the line when the race started, just to be safe. The � ag was hoisted and the race began.

I immediately pulled the mainsail tight and I felt a burst of speed. Sixteen sailing boats, all jostling for one title and maximum points, headed for the � rst buoy. I was lucky to have had a good start; there were only three other boats ahead of me.

I was in my element. This was what I was good at; this was what I enjoyed. It was the � rst sailing race of the 2007 Northern Regatta and I had been waiting for weeks to compete. I had prepared my boat, Red October, as much as I could and had practised on three weekends. We had been informed that we would be racing a standard Olympic course consisting of a triangular lap, a “sausage” lap and a � nal triangular lap.

We reached the � rst buoy and all sixteen boats converged, � ghting for positions, but doing their utmost to keep the racing clean. I managed to keep my position, I screamed,

“Prepare to go about!” Seconds later, “Going about!” The boom swung over and the boat tipped to starboard. We glided across the water. Mike, my crew member, yelled that a motorboat was approaching and that I would have to compensate for waves.

We had completed a full triangular lap and were a few metres behind the boat lying third. As we

approached the buoy at the end of the “sausage”, I manoeuvred my dabchick alongside the third boat and attempted to pass. We quickly changed direction and sneaked into third, close behind the leader and the boat in second place. With the wind directly behind us, I decided to go on a run, opening the mainsail and letting it out completely to the port side, with the jib occupying the starboard side. This allowed me to steal second place and put pressure on the leader.

When we started the � nal lap, I stole the lead. I was trembling, hoping that I could keep the lead. Winning this race would qualify me for the South African Under-Twenty Championship, one of the most prestigious competitions in the country.

I was about to round the � nal buoy, to the port side, leaving only the � nal stretch before victory. Suddenly a loud thud � lled my ears. The boat in second place had forced me out of his way, cracking Red October and sending Mike off the bow. Mike scrambled back onto the fore-deck and we managed to sustain second place.

The skipper of the other boat ended up winning the race and the South African Under-Twenty Championship, leaving me with only a silver medal, but I left that race with a better reward – an understanding of how far people will go for glory and what they will do to get is, no matter whom they hurt in the process. I walked away the better man that day.

Wayne Smith (Form V)

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Simon Bakker

Thomas de Bruyn

Nicholas Fidler – Broken keys


The Pretorian 131

StephanieMy dog, Stephanie, started showing signs of failing health about six months ago when she had to undergo surgery to have a tumour removed. The vet told us that there was a good chance that the cancer might have spread into her organs. He could � nd no traces of the disease, so we took her home where she continued her happy existence as always.

Last weekend she seemed to give up on life. She bled a lot all over her blankets and pillows; she stopped eating, and started making the most heart-rending sounds I have ever heard. She barked and cried most of Sunday night, and I started becoming very depressed. On Monday we managed to get her to eat and my mother gave her some painkillers. She seemed a bit better when I came home from school, and I spent a lot of time trying to comfort her by talking to her and rubbing her behind the ears. That night she began howling and crying in pain again, so my mother and I gave her some extra blankets and another painkiller. My father promised to take her to the vet the next day.

Tuesday morning brought a horrible day. It was cold and it rained on and off most of the day. I worried about Stephanie all day at school. When I got home I was relieved to � nd her still there, and looking a lot better. She even wagged her tail when she saw me. I left her and spent some time studying.

My father took her to the vet at about four o’clock. Before they left I wished Stephanie luck and told her that I would see her later. When my father got back, Stephanie was not with him. The vet had put her down because the cancer had spread throughout her body. She had died after thirteen years in our family.

I was stunned, paralysed. I felt nothing. I just stood in the doorway looking at nothing. My father went out leaving me at home alone. That was when it hit me. Stephanie was gone, and I cried for almost an hour. There was nobody there to comfort me. I just despaired. I kept seeing images of her dying on a cold steel table, all alone, and of a stranger carrying her lifeless body away. The pain was so great. I could not bear the thought that we had sent her to her death, and that I had lied when I had told her that I would see her later.

I found it very dif� cult to cope with the loss. I tried to keep busy because I would lose control and cry when I was unoccupied. Stephanie was a unique dog. She had a human personality and I loved her dearly. She was such a clown, always doing ridiculous things and making me laugh. I shall miss her wide smile and her beautiful face forever.

Jason de Andrade (Form IV)

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James Kampman Form III JP van der Merwe Form III


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TING The empty armchair

There she once sat, old and feeble with a shock of white hair, large round glasses and a sincere, loving expression on her face, creating a picture of purity and innocence, eagerly awaiting the next opportunity to escape into life.

Life was busy for me at that time, with exams approaching and sport practices consuming most of the day. My mother would sometimes tell me after school that we were going to visit my grandmother. I would complain that I did not have enough time, yet when I saw my grandmother’s eyes glisten with excitement as we entered her front door, it was worth it.

There she sat in the armchair opposite the front door, dressed for the occasion, perfectly, with her walking stick at the ready. When we left to take her to a tea-garden, a restaurant or to our house, she was full of stories and news on recent events, such as a rat scurrying through her front door, or a phone call from a long-lost friend. My favourite was Sunday afternoons when we had a braai. She would sit in our lounge scanning the newspaper, taking in the comings and goings of the family. I would approach her with the latest news of school, sport and my achievements. She was always so proud. To me, it was a normal conversation; to her the time spent together was priceless.

When lunch was served, she would savour every mouthful of food, which to me seemed like just another meal. When it was time to take her home she would thank us for a wonderful day and she would return to her � at to rest her tired body.

Days and weeks would go by and my life would be involved with school, sport, parties and friends.

One day I learned that my grandmother had fallen and had been admitted to hospital. She would make a quick recovery like before, I thought. I planned to visit her in her hospital the next day, to � ll her in about the exams and the upcoming holidays. The next day was too late. She was gone.

When I stepped into her empty � at and saw the armchair in which she used to sit, I realised what I had lost. I thought about the value, especially to the elderly, of life. I realised that one must savour every moment, every smile, every taste and every hug one experiences, because one moment it is there, and the next it is not. That is what life really means.

Byron Bowles (Form IV)

PunishmentOnce again I have the delightful opportunity to write a punishment essay because of a some-bite-so-muzzle-the-group reaction. This one is about etiquette and manners before entering a classroom. I have consulted my common sense, thought about what the teacher said and contemplated the situation. After some hard thought, I have decided that some of the basic rules when standing outside class must be:1. Stand in two straight lines. (Do not move except

in emergencies).2. Absolutely no � ghting, prodding, pushing,

pulling, boxing, slapping, jabbing, hair-pulling, nose-twisting, ear-pulling, eye-poking, ordinary poking, kicking, shoving, grabbing, biting, scraping, scratching, pinching, raking, elbowing, kneeing, head-butting, choking/chokeholds, strangling, punching, beating, bullying, nose-pulling, low blows, karate-kicks, karate-chops, karate-throws, Vulcan death grips, toe-stomping, bodyslams, ruler-� ghts, scissor-duels, pen wars, tackling, spitting, throwing, cat-calls, jeers, insults, shouting, talking, murmuring, whispering, conversing, arguing, debating, singing, whistling, chanting, banging on the walls, stamping, burping, laughing, giggling, disorder, chaos, unlawfulness, sneezing, coughing/hiccupping, etc.

3. Do as the class does. Be naughty when they are, as there is a rather large and distinct possibility that, should a teacher take offence, you’ll all receive some sentence.

4. If you happen to be standing outside Mrs Kloppers’ classroom and there happens to be a funny picture/article/facts-list on the notice board, you may not comment, laugh or giggle.

5. Applaud the one-talks-so-punish-all system.

Christiaan Swanepoel (Form I)

Jordaan Lourens – When man meets nature


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GDaar is so baie dinge in hierdie wonderlike skool wat ek hoog op prys stel, dinge wat ek sekerlik sal mis wanneer ek weggaan.

Die skoolbyeenkomste in die saal het altyd ’n groot indruk op my gemaak, veral die geel liggies wat aan en af � ikker, en dan die onmiddellike stilte wanneer die hoof instap. Die dissipline wat onveranderd bly, selfs na ’n byeenkoms wat soms langer as ’n uur aanhou en die trots waarmee die seuns die gesange of die skoollied sing, dra by om hierdie geleenthede altyd baie spesiaal te maak.

Al die sport veroorsaak dat daar ’n besondere broederskap tussen die seuns is. Ons oefen saam, ons sweet saam, ons lag saam, ons huil saam, ja, ons bloei soms saam, wen saam en verloor saam. Alles op die sportveld word saam gedoen. Hierdie broederskap is moeilik om te verduidelik en onmoontlik om te vervang! Ek sal altyd terugdink aan die pret op die treinritte Grey, Kearsney en Pietermaritzburg toe.

Ek sal die vriendelike mededinging tussen al die kultuurgroepe op die skoolterrein mis: die Boereboom, die Taj Mahal, die Griekse Tafel, die Swart Muur. Ook die verskillende interhuis-sportkompetisies en natuurlik die jaarlikse hoogtepunt wanneer ons teen Af� es speel, sal altyd by my bly.

Ek sal terugdink aan die stilte en respek wanneer die Last Post elke dag om 5.30 gespeel word, sowel as die herdenkingsdiens wat elke jaar op 11 November om 11.00 plaasvind. Meneer Anthony se lied, Fields of Boys High, wat hy elke jaar by die � nale saalbyeenkoms speel, sal my altyd hoendervleis gee as ek daaraan dink. Die re-unies wat dwarsdeur die

jaar plaasvind, herinner ons daaraan dat hierdie spesiale Boys High Gees soveel beteken vir die oudstudente van die skool dwarsdeur die wêreld

Die Dixie-Band, die Jazz Band, die Strykkwartet en die Doedelsakorkes sal my altyd laat terugverlang na die gewilde Café Konserte. Dit was altyd verbasend hoe vinnig die kaartjies vir hierdie konserte uitverkoop het.

Ek sal die skaak op Donderdagaande mis, die basketbalwedstryde in die warm son. Dit gaan eienaardig wees om nie meer op koue wintersdae vol modder gesmeer te word op die rugbyvelde nie.

Maar bo alles gaan ek die mense mis: die wyse Mnr Schroder, wat altyd regstaan om raad te gee; Mnr Shalang wat al amper vyftig jaar van sy lewe gegee het en die trots waarmee hy ons sportvelde versorg het; Mnr Sommerville, ’n lewende legende … en dan natuurlik Mnr McBride vir wie selfs die eerste span reuse bang is wanneer hulle deur Pollock stap.

Dan gaan ek my vriende mis. By hierdie skool het ons lewenslange vriendskappe gesluit, op die sportvelde, in die klaskamers en in ons sosiale lewens. Ons gaan elkeen sy eie paadjie volg, maar een ding is seker: ons sal altyd in kontak bly.

As ek so terugdink aan al hierdie wonderlike tye op Boys High, is ek amper lus om nog ’n jaar aan te bly. My lewe hier was so besonders, en ek sal dikwels met groot verlange aan hierdie baie spesiale plek terugdink.

Jason Webber (Vorm V)

Dinge wat ek sal mis nadat ek skool verlaat het.

ReisAlmal hou van reisal is dit na Venesië of Parys,Al is dit na ’n yyyyyskoue plekof daar waar jy van die hitte vrek!

’n Reis is gewoonlik net te kort …Dis wat ek nou noem ’n lekker sport;veral met Ma wat net koop en koop en koopen Pa,maak elke aand sy volksvreemde biertjie oop.

Pedre Viljoen(Vorm I) Afrikaans Huistaal

Steffan van Aswegen – Butter� y


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SabieparkAan Tjol en Elsa LateganDie swart teer word khaki-sanden die stof vergader op die agterruit.Die fyn klippies kners en kraak –dis asof die Landrover al haastiger raak … .

Die blou lug met sy goue-blink diamantstaar af op my, verwelkom my tuis.Ons draai in, net na die ou sebrakopen dan af in Maroelalaanwaar ek skielik die remme aanslaan.

Dan verby Ruan-se-klip, enons is amper daar, nog net die laaste bult … .daar staan die Sherhomberhombe –nog net so ongeskonde soos toe hy geskape is.

Hiervoor dank ons die Herewant hierdie is ons heilige plek.Uiteindelik is ek tuisIn my eie paradys.

Ruan Scheepers(Vorm III) Afrikaans Huistaal.

Die Laaang pad Kaap toe …Van Pretoria klim ons op die pad,die laaang pad Kaap toe.

Ons ry verby Johannesburg opdie laaang pad Kaap toe.

Verby Bloemfontein se Shell Garage opDie Laaang pad Kaap toe.

In die bar Karoo net bossies en klip opdie laaang pad Kaap toe.

Dan skielik, groene druiwe, hoë bergeop en op en op en bo – oor.. en daar is die see!

Dit was die laaang pad Kaap toe.

Berno Verwey(Vorm I) Afrikaans Huistaal.

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SkuldgevoelensDreunende deurmekaar stemme weergalmin die klas.

Die deur gaan oop … .

Stilte sluip die die klas binne,en op sy hakke, die kwaai onderwyser.Sy deurborende oë is fel op my.En ek?Ek fokus maar op sy volmaankop!

Die skuldgevoelens koek in my ingewande,asof dit met luislanghande my forseerom die waarheid uit te spoeg:

Dit was ek!

Die uitbarsting laat my ingewande rus,die luislang verslap sy greep,en ek kom tot rus.

Cobus van der Merwe

(Graad 10) Afrikaans Huistaal.

ArendsnesMet vlerke oop en vere platsweef hy bokant sy besmette nes, oë gerig op die prooiwat kruip en skarrel oor die platte vlakte.

Hoër vlieg hy dan, Die arend, verby gevaar, verby die vreesen nader aan syprooi.

Hy duik,reguitaf’n vlymskerp pyl’n mes.

Dan’n skoot klap weer, onverwags;sy vlerke buig, sy vere � adder reguit val hy val hy val hytot in sy eie besmette nes.

Keith Kichenbrand(Vorm III) Afrikaans Huistaal


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AfrikaansDie SeisoeneElke jaar wissel hulle mekaar af, so gereeld soos klokslag. Elke jaar kom kuier hulle vir ons, of ons hulle nou by ons wil hê of nie. Party van hulle is beslis meer welkom as ander.

Die eerste een kom so gedurende September. Hy bring warmte, en arms vol blomme met hom saam. Met sy koms begin die tuin weer te lewe, en hy haal die kortbroeke en T-hemde vir ons uit die kas.

Hy bly nooit lank nie, want sy opvolger is ongeduldig om ook te kom kuier. Hy is ’n luilekker, rustige, spelerige rakker wat veroorsaak dat ons die koel water van die swembad, roomys en suiwer reuk van vars vrugte en gesnyde gras geniet. Hy is die een wat sy gesig die meeste verander; die een dag is hy warm en helder, en dan skielik verander sy uitdrukking in donder en blitse van woede, nogal humeurig, dié een!

Na ’n maand of twee vertrek hy en neem die meeste voëls saam met hom, of miskien is dit sy opvolger wat hulle wegjaag. Ek noem hom die

Kunstenaar wat sy kwas met kleure soos geel, rooi, goud en oker in die rondte swaai.

Stadig maak hy plek vir die koue geweld wat nie hou van die kunstenaar se werk nie, want met ysige winde vernietig hy die kunstenaar se werk en waai al die blare van die bome af. In ’n oogwink lê alles op die grond, bruin en dood. Oral waar hy sy asem blaas, sterf alles en word dit koud. Mense kruip onder dik komberse en baadjies vir hom weg. Hy strooi sy ysige poeier oor die bergspitse, en voor hy verdwyn, warrel hy alles deurmekaar. Hy hou alles in sy ysige greep.

Hierdie vier kom jaar na jaar, onkeerbaar en beslis Dit maak nie saak of die wêreld deur siektes, oorloë of natuurrampe geteister word nie, hulle sal altyd by ons voorstoep verbystap, die Vier Seisoene.

Alexander Johannes,(Vorm III) Afrikaans Huistaal

’n Wonderlike AandDit was ’n ervaring wat ek nooit sal vergeet nie, ’n

aand waartydens twee harte mekaar gevind het. Die Al Dorante was die mees romantiese restaurant in die area. Dowwe liggies het gebrand en rooi kersies het op ons tafel ge� ikker. Donkerrooi rose in ’n glas op die tafeltjie het die prentjie voltooi.

Sy het voor my gestaan, die toonbeeld van skoonheid en soetheid. My hart het opgewonde geklop. Die donkerpers rok wat sy aangehad het, het haar mooi kurwes gewys. Ek het ’n aandpak met swart skoene en ’n donkerblou das aangehad. Felicity het geglimlag toe ek sê: “ Jy lyk vanaand mooier as die mooiste blom wat ek nog ooit gesien het.”

“Baie dankie, Ernst. Dankie vir jou kompliment.” Haar oë het gelukkig geblink.

Die kos was smaaklik om die minste te sê. Ek het fettucini pasta met tamatiesous en spek gehad, en sy het spaghetti met olyfolie en gebraaide groente geëet. Die kos was so wonderlik dat ons gedurende die ete nie te veel gepraat het nie. Tog het ons met die oë, die lyftaal en harte gepraat.

Felicity is ’n vriendelike meisie met baie vreugde en blydskap in haar hart. Daardie aand het ek haar beter leer ken, en nou het ek ’n bêreplekkie in my geheue vir daardie aand, en ’n diep bêreplek in my hart vir haar.

Felicity is my nooientjie, en die wonderlike aand het ons verhouding so geseën en versterk. Dit was ’n aand wat ek nie gou sal vergeet nie. Ernst Loxley-Ford (Vorm IV)

Nicholas Fidler – Tombstone mirror William Yates – Birds


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Die spitse van die Alpe was die eerste aanduiding dat ons in Europa is. Die sneeu op die berge het soos roomys gelyk.

Ek en elf ander Boys High ouens sou vir ’n week ’n Franse skool besoek in Antibes, in die suide van Frankryk. Dit is ’n wonderlike dorpie in die Cote d’Azur. Die dorpie is vol warmte en vriendelikheid. In die somer word dit amper nooit donker nie, om middernag hang ’n pers hemel oor die dorpie. Die plek was vol toeriste en ek het nog nooit soveel pragtige meisies op een plek versamel gesien nie. Dit was hemel op aarde.

Elke dag het ons na ’n internasionale skool toe gegaan om ons Frans te verbeter. Ek wens ons skool hier in Suid-Afrika kon dieselfde wees! In my klas

van dertien, was daar net drie seuns en tien meisies. Die Boys High seuns was stom van verbasing. Ek het Russiese, Sweedse, en Italiaanse meisies ontmoet, en geen seuns nie. Soggens het ons klas geloop en geleer, maar smiddags het ons op die strand gelê en saans partytjie gehou.

Gedurende die tweede week het ons in Parys gebly en toe deur pragtige, tipiese Franse dorpies gereis na Saint-Malo. Dit is ’n stad in die noordweste van Frankryk, ’n stad vol lewe en kultuur. Daar was musiek op elke hoek en die stad was vol atmosfeer. Dit was ’n perfekte slot vir ’n asemrowende vakansie.

Daniel Poultney, Form 5

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GAfrikaans’n Onvergeetlike vakansie in Europa.

Skool moet verander!George Bernard Shaw het gesê : “I will never let my schooling interfere with my education.” As ’n mens bewus word van hoe vinnig die wêreld verander, besef jy ook dat skool sal moet verander.

Vir honderde jare word dieselfde leermetodes gebruik en waardes toegepas, al het die wêreld teen so ’n vinnige pas verander. ’n Skool is daar om jongmense voor te berei om in die groot wêreld in te pas, dit dit het sestig jaar gelede gewerk, want al wat mense wou word, was dokters, onderwysers of verpleegsters. Nou is dinge soveel anders. Nou wil jongmense musikante, dansers, rappers, joga-instrukteurs, sjefs, fotograwe, redakteurs, ens. word.

Kan iemand vir my verduidelik hoekom ek Newton se tweede wet moet ken, of weet hoe sinus

en cosinus werk as ek weet dat ek dit nooit in my toekomstige beroep gaan gebruik nie? Ek voel dit is tyd mors en in ’n mate onregverdig dat ek skool toe moet kom en goed moet leer wat ek glad nie interessant vind nie. Waarom kan ek nie al op skool leer wat in ’n kombuis aangaan, of in ’n fotogra� e-ateljee nie?

Ek glo dat skole leerders moet bemagtig en meer keuses moet bied sodat leerders van vroeg af dit kan doen wat hulle belangstellings prikkel. Miskien moet die leiers daar bo ook ’n bietjie luister wat die jongmense wil hê, en nie net die hele tyd hulle idees op jongmense afdwing nie.

Tyron Hopf (Vorm V)

’n Baie Interessante VlugMy ouers het my verras en vir my ’n vliegtuigkaartjie Kaap toe gekoop!

Toe ek in die vliegtuig instep, kon ek my oë nie glo nie. ’n Man wat vir ons land rugby speel, ’n man wat in die 2007 Wêreld-Rugbybekerwedstryd gespeel het, was in die sitplek langs my: Schalk Burger! Ek was geskok en baie opgewonde. Hy was net so groot as wat hy op TV lyk, sy hare was beslis blond, en aan die einde van die vlug, was dit duidelik dat hy beslis nie dom is nie.

Aan die begin het ek en Schalk nie veel gesels nie. Ek het gou agtergekom dat ons rugby-superster nie van vlieg hou nie. Ek het eindelik moed

bymekaargeskraap en met hom begin praat. Ek het kort-kort rondgekyk want ek wou hê dat almal in die vliegtuig weet dat ek langs ’n beroemde persoon sit.

Toe ons eindelik in die Kaap land, het Schalk my gevra of ek saam met hom ’n koeldrank wil gaan koop terwyl ons vir ons tasse wag. Ek het baie geëerd gevoel dat hy my gevra het, al was my maag tot barstens toe vol van die vliegtuig se drankies.

Wie sou nee sê as n beroemde persoon jou ’n koeldrank aanbied?

Craig Bester (Vorm V)


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GToustaan? Is dit tydmors?’n Tou is daar vir ’n rede: nie net om mense in ’n reguit lyn te hou nie, maar om mense op ’n geordende manier te laat wag op hulle beurt, en om hulle dan so vinniger te bedien.

My ervaring van die langste tou ooit, was toe ek my motorlisensie-bespreking gaan maak het. Dit was baie vervelig, maar tog ook baie interessant. Mense oorreageer so gou as hulle in ’n tou moet staan vir ’n paar ure, daarom raak hulle kort van humeur en gou-gou kwaad.

Om ’n lisensiebespreking te maak, vat weke, selfs maande. Gelukkig het my bespreking vinnig deurgekom. Waltloo was die plek waarheen ek moes gaan om te betaal. Toe ek daar kom, was die plek gepak van die mense. Die skraalste tannie was vasgedruk tussen twee groot mans, soos ’n sardientjie! Ek het heel agter gaan staan en die mense

begin tel wat voor my was … drie-en-sestig mense!Ek het gedink ek gaan dood. Ek het probeer

uitwerk hoe lank ek daar sou moes wag. Soms was dinge interessant. Mense was moeg en warm en het begin swets. Die tou het elke nou en dan ’n paar treë vorentoe beweeg. Die hitte het my begin oorweldig, maar ek kon nie my plek opgee om ’n koeldrank te gaan soek nie. Die konstante gepraat en hitte het my die grootste kopseer besorg.

My dag was ’n ramp. Ek het ’n wonderlike Vrydagoggend opgegee om in ’n ry te staan vir vier uur. Ten minste het ek op lange laas my afspraak gekry, en nou kan ek ry waarheen ek wil. So, op die ou end was die lang toustanery tog die moeite werd.

Hugo Dreyer (Vorm V)

VriendeDaar is baie soorte vriende wat ’n mens se pad kruis. Ek wil net drie soorte beskryf:• Meulsteen-vriende. Hulle is baie depressiewe

mense, nooit positief nie, en hulle het altyd negatiewe idees, soos om byvoorbeeld skool te verlaat omdat hulle dink die werk te veel is. Hulle wil van die huis af weghardloop omdat hulle voel dat hulle ouers hulle die hele tyd kritiseer. Hulle voel dat hulle ouers hulle nie meer liefhet nie. Hulle dink selfs soms aan selfmoord. Hulle negatiwiteit trek jou saam met hulle af, soos ’n meulsteun om jou nek.

• Lekker-tyd-vriende. Hulle is die mense wat altyd gereed is vir ’n partytjie, vir pret, maar hulle is ook gebruikers. Hulle is soms soos aasvoëls wat wag

vir hulle prooi. As jy ’n nuwe kar en baie geld het en nie versigtig is nie, spring hulle op jou soos ’n luis op ’n hond en suig jou droog, en dan verdwyn hulle net weer so gou as wat hulle gekom het.

• Gelukkig kry jy ook die derde soort vriende, jou Vasbyt-maats. Hulle bly by jou deur dik en dun, in sonskyndae en stormagtige nagte. Hulle is altyd daar om jou reg te help. Ons ag hulle egter nie altyd na waarde nie en mis hulle eers wanneer hulle weg is. Dit is sulke vriende wat elke mens nodig het om sin aan sy lewe te gee.

Maak seker dat jy jou lewe deel met die regte soort vriende.

Emmanuel Leyds (Vorm V)

Leon Bekker Form V Alex Theodosiou Form V


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GFrenchUne voiture superbe!Voiçi la plus belle voiture du monde. C’est le Volvo 580 V8. C’est une marque suédoise très luxieuse. Avec un moteur puissante, cette voiture est certainement rapide avec une maximum vitesse de 300km/h. Le 580 est la plus neuve Volvo et elle donne beaucoup d’espace et elle est vraiment pratique.

L’intérieur est assez grand et confortable. Les sièges sont en cuir. Vous pouvez choisir plus d’accesoires comme un toit ouvrant, des vitres jaunes, un plus grand calandre, un ordinateur pour naviguer et des millions d’autres choses.

À part de l’interprétation superbe et la beauté de cette voiture, elle donne plein de sécurité et après un accident vous ne serez pas blessé.

Achetez cette voiture et vous ne le regrettez jamais. Contactez moi sur 07.52.11.83 pour plus d’information.

Yakuku Abass (Form III)

Une voiture extraordinaireJe suis le propriétaire d’une Honda Rx-8. Elle s’appelle Sarah, elle est japonaise. Sarah est neuve et très luxieuse, elle est en argent et petite. J’ai acheté ma voiture pour £30 000.

Sarah est rapide et puissante mais elle boit beaucoup d’essence, elle est très chère. Son tuyau d’échappement est très grand et très féroce, son pare-choc est très lourd, mais très bon. Son moteur est jaune et superbe, ce n’est pas bruyante et Sarah est douce.

Son coffre est grand et dans le coffre est l’auto radio, l’auto radio est bruyante. Ses calandres sont en argent et ils sont noirs. Ses vitres sont noirs et le pare-brise est transparent.

Dans la voiture les sièges sont en cuir et elles sont très confortables. Sarah a une télé. Je regarde les � lms dans ma voiture.

J’aime Sarah, elle est numéro un du monde.Benjamin Lock (Form III)

Les portablesJe crois que les portables sont devenus des objets essentiels pour la vie des hommes parce que la technologie évolue et notre vie devient de plus en plus occupée et rapide, et cela permet aux jeunes d’être plus responsable car ils auront un portable très tôt dans leur vie. Je ne suis pas accro, je sais quand utiliser mon portable et quand je ne dois pas, par exemple pendant que je fais mes devoirs j’éteinds mon portable pour avoir moins de distraction. Les jeunes doivent avoir des portables pas seulement pour communiquer mais pour être à jour avec leur géneration. Les nouveaux portables nous permettent d’utiliser l’internet, jouer, socialiser et être en contact avec le monde.”

Marc-Herve Ahiba (Form IV)

Mes pensées sur Notre Dame de ParisL’amour: un tournesolDévoué de l’aube au crépusculeVous êtes mon soleil.Moi: votre � dèleMais les rendez-vous intimes –Introuvables.

Yuan-Chih Yen

Simon Bakker – UntitledBarry-Jay van Wyk


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GMa visite à AntibesPendant les vacances de juillet j’ai eu ma première

visite en France. Je suis allé à Antibes avec un groupe sud-africain. Il y avait deux garçons et seize � lles dans notre groupe. Madame Peddle, qui a organisé le voyage, et Madame Scholtz, qui est le professeur de français à Girls High, étaient les chaperones.

Après plus ou moins onze heures dans l’avion, nous sommes arrivés au Centre International d’Antibes, l’école de langues où nous resterions pour deux semaines. En arrivant, nous avons écrit un test pour véri� er notre niveau de français. C’était très dif� cile! Les cours commencent à huit heures et demie et ils � nissent à midi. C’était amusant de participter aux leçons parce que j’ai appris beaucoup de français. Après les leçons, c’était le déjeuner. Il y avait beaucoup de nourriture différente. À chaque repas, nous pourrions choisir les nourritures délicieuses que nous aimons. Les aprés-midis, nous avions les excursions. Nous sommes allés à la vieille ville d’Antibes. Les immeubles étaient grandioses!

On est allé aussi à Cannes et à Nice. À Nice, il y a un magasin qui s’appelle “Galerie Lafayette”. Les � lles dans notre groupe ont acheté beaucoup de vêtements là! Quand on est arrivé à Cannes, on est passé par le Palais de Festival. On est allé aussi au pays célèbre: Monaco. Là, on a vu la cathédrale et le palais où la famille royale habite. La parfumerie à Grasse est sympa! On a senti beaucoup de types différents de parfum dans l’usine. Pendant deux jours, on a fait la voile. Le vent souf� e très fort, donc les catamarans vont très vite! Les soirs, on a joué les jeux que les animateurs ont préparé. Quelques soirs, nous sommes sortis à Juan les Pins: la ville de jazz et de la vie nocturne!

J’ai recontré des personnes qui viennent de tous les pays du monde. Je ne peux pas décrire l’éxperience entièrement parce qu’on fait l’éxperience soi-même. C’était un voyage de récréation, mais c’était aussi un voyage éducatif!Yuan-Chih Yen (Form III)

La technologie joue un très grand rôle dans nos vies ordinaires. On l’utilise presque partout et tous les jours. Je pense que la technologie est une bonne chose.

J’aime beaucoup la technologie car ça me permet de faire beaucoup de choses, par exemple, ecouter la musique et prendre des photos. Je suis un grand fan de la musique donc je télécharge la musique sur internet en utilisant mon portable ou l’ordinateur. J’aime aussi utiliser Facebook parce que je peux communquer avec d’autres utilisateurs et on peut échanger des messages et des photos.

À mon avis, je suis d’accord que l’usage excessif de l’ordinateur et du portable est dangereux pour les jeunes parce que la lumière des écrans peuvent détruire les yeux, et ça ne permet pas aux jeunes de devenir indépendants.

En conclusion, la technologie a des avantages et des désavantages mais beaucoup plus d’avantages car sans la technologie, on ne pourra pas faire beaucoup de choses dans le monde.

Stallone Siakam (Form IV)

Jordan Lourens – The Violence of Difference


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GGermanFreundeFreunde sollten radikal sein.Sie sollten dich lieben, wenn du nicht liebenswert bist,dich umarmen, wenn du nicht wert bist, umarmt zu werdenund dich ertragen, wenn du nicht zu ertragen bist.

Freunde sollten fanatisch sein.Sie sollten dir zujubeln, wenn die ganze Welt “buh” schreitund vor Freude tanzen, wenn du gute Nachricht bekommst.

Aber das Wichtigste:Freunde sollten mathematisch sein:Sie sollten Freude multiplizieren,Trauer teilen,die Vergangenheit abziehenund jeden Tag etwas Neues dazufügen,die tiefe Not in deinem Herzen kalkulierenund dazu noch die Summe aller ihrer guten Eigenschaften übertreffen.Viele Menschen kommen und gehen in deinem Leben,aber nur wahre Freunde hinterlassen eine Spur in deinem Herzen.

Daniel Raubenheimer (Form V)

Ehrlichkeit wird oft bestraft“Joachim! … Joachim!” Noch lauter muss sie schreien, damit Joachim sie hören kann zwischen der Musik aus den Köpfhörern. Endlich erscheint er aus seinem Zimmer. “Geh dir mal die Hände waschen!” “Warum ist sie so genervt?”, wundert Joachim. Langsam geht er ins Badezimmer und wäscht sich die Hände. Danach sitzt er am Tisch, das Abendessen verläuft normal. Nichts aufregendes. Das Essen wird angerichtet, es sieht gar nicht so schlecht aus, doch wie Joachim schon früh im Leben gelernt hat, kann der Schein trügen.

Er sitzt da und schaut auf seinen Teller. Dann

beginnt er langsam zu essen. Das Fleisch ist in Ordnung, der Salat ist gar nicht schlecht. Doch dann kommen die Kartoffeln. Sie sind steinhart. Er versucht immer und immer wieder sie runter zu würgen. “Mama, die Kartoffeln sind wirklich roh, sie sind nicht essbar.” Pause … . Joachim kann sehen wie seine Mutter langsam ausrastet. Im Handumdrehen ist ihr Glas Wein in seinem Gesicht. Joachim geht langsam ins Badezimmer, wäscht sein Gesicht und schaut in den Spiegel: Ehrlichkeit wird oft bestraft.

Wilhelm Nöffke (Form V)

“Mein junger Sohn fragt mich: Soll ich Geschichte lernen? Wozu?, möchte ich sagen …”Warum machen wir das? Warum wollen wir etwas neues oder fremdes lernen? Man könnte fragen, wozu man eigentlich eine Sprache wie Deutsch, in Südafrika lernt. Wozu eine Sprache lernen, die kaum hier geredet wird?

In Klasse 8, hasste ich es in der Deutschklasse zu sitzen; es war mir einfach zu langweilig. Doch, im nächsten Jahr wurde es mir immer interessanter und ich beschloss Deutsch als Wahlfach bis Matrik zu nehmen. Ich habe allmählich realisiert: Deutsch macht vieles möglich!

Heute ist Deutsch mein Lieblingsfach. Ich habe nicht nur eine neue Sprache gelernt, sondern eine andere Art von Denken. Ich habe einen geheimen

Blick in eine andere Welt, die ich niemals ohne diese Sprachkenntnis sehen oder verstehen würde – Zutritt in die Welt von Goethe, Schiller und die deutsche Literatur, ist mir auch ermöglicht worden.

Es geht jedoch nicht nur um die Möglichkeiten die nur Deutschkenntnisse ermöglichen, sondern auch ums Lernen. Wie der Sohn den Vater fragt, kommt es auch darauf an warum man lernt – man will bereichert werden, in die Vergangenheit und Zukunft schauen können, neue Freunde machen, und so weiter. Man kann viel erreichen durch nur ein paar neue Worte zu lernen.

Werner van Rooyen (Form V)


the year at a glance - pretoria boys high school

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