Other Writing

 What My Labrador Taught Me About Life Reflections from a man and his dogI

Reflections from a man and his dog

I have a black Labrador named Bella. She’s 18 months old, full of energy, mischief, and love. She doesn't speak in words, but I’ve come to realize that she doesn’t need to. If I listen closely, I hear her spirit loud and clear.

The other day, I found myself wondering…

If Bella could talk, what would she tell me about life?

What would she want me to remember on the hard days? The quiet days? The busy ones when I forget to breathe.

Here’s what I imagine she’d say,...

The Dog That Whispers In My Ear I’ve had many dogs in my life.Big dogs,

I’ve had many dogs in my life.

Big dogs, small dogs. Fiercely loyal, wildly playful, stubborn, gentle, they’ve all left paw prints across the timeline of my years. But none quite like Bella.

Bella is our 18-month-old black Labrador. If you know the breed, you’ll understand: boundless energy, a heart full of mischief and love, and eyes that seem to ask, “What are we doing next?” But lately… I’ve started wondering if Bella is something more than just a very clever dog.

Let me explain.

Over the past...

The Snake and Corporal Kraai A true story from Angola, 1986–88Corporal

A true story from Angola, 1986–88

Corporal Kraai wasn’t scared of the Russian Cubans. He didn’t flinch at mortar attacks or a 30kg backpack. But if there was one thing that could make him scream like a tannie at a flea market, it was a snake.

It all started back in Basics, when someone threw a rope at him. He jumped like a ninja, screamed like an opera singer, and ran like a man late for a Friday morning bungalow inspection. By that afternoon, everyone knew: Don’t mess with Kraai when it comes...

When the Bushveld Breathes By Braam PretoriusThere’s a moment in the

By Braam Pretorius

There’s a moment in the bushveld, just after the rain has passed, when the earth exhales.

The dust settles, the heat retreats, and the air takes on that rich, unmistakable scent of wet acacia, turned soil, and life. It's not just a smell; it's a memory. A full-body experience. You stand in it, breathe it in, and for a second, the rush of the world disappears.

And then… the fire.

That slow, crackling experience of thornwood, with its faintly bitter smoke rising like incense. Not...