Many years ago when I was a small child, an elderly Sesotho lady tucked me down next to her knee to tell me a story.
"Child, do you want to know why there is always a cloth of white on Table Mountain in Cape Town?" she asked me. Wide-eyed and breathless with excitement, I pleaded,
"Yes, oh yes. Please tell me."
She comfortably settled her traditional build back in the chair, and told me,
"Once, long long ago, there lived an Old Man next to the Table Mountain.
He used to rock in a rocking chair, and smoke a long pipe, thinking about nothing much at all.
He used to look far, far away in the mountains, and his beard grew longer and longer.
Then one day, he had a fight with another man who tried to banish him and his rocking chair from the mountain. Enraged, he ran up into the mountains, and hid his chair there. Then, to punish the other man, he began smoking and smoking with his long clay pipe, big smoke rings and puffs of smoke that rose in the air. But the other man could not find him. However, he saw the puffs of pipe smoke which made rings and clouds of smoke in the air, so much that eventually they covered the top of the mountain like a tablecloth covers the table. And that is why it is called Table Mountain."
Puzzled, I asked, "But where is the Old Man now?"
"Somewhere under the blanket of smoke he has been smoking for centuries," she answered.
"And how did he stay alive so long?" I queried.
"Some say he died, and it is his ghost which still sits and smokes. And when you go out in stormy weather, why the old people say they can still hear the creak-creak-creaking of his rocking chair as he rocks back and forth, blowing up smoke rings to cover the top of the mountain," she answered.
And recently in Cape Town, I saw the smoke for myself. Maggie, you were a wonderful storyteller...
I thought of you in the evening as I stood outside, trying to listen if there was a creaking sound coming on the wind...
*Photograph taken by Catherine Nicolette in glorious Cape Town, South Africa.
Why not visit?
"Child, do you want to know why there is always a cloth of white on Table Mountain in Cape Town?" she asked me. Wide-eyed and breathless with excitement, I pleaded,
"Yes, oh yes. Please tell me."
She comfortably settled her traditional build back in the chair, and told me,
"Once, long long ago, there lived an Old Man next to the Table Mountain.
He used to rock in a rocking chair, and smoke a long pipe, thinking about nothing much at all.
He used to look far, far away in the mountains, and his beard grew longer and longer.
Then one day, he had a fight with another man who tried to banish him and his rocking chair from the mountain. Enraged, he ran up into the mountains, and hid his chair there. Then, to punish the other man, he began smoking and smoking with his long clay pipe, big smoke rings and puffs of smoke that rose in the air. But the other man could not find him. However, he saw the puffs of pipe smoke which made rings and clouds of smoke in the air, so much that eventually they covered the top of the mountain like a tablecloth covers the table. And that is why it is called Table Mountain."
Puzzled, I asked, "But where is the Old Man now?"
"Somewhere under the blanket of smoke he has been smoking for centuries," she answered.
"And how did he stay alive so long?" I queried.
"Some say he died, and it is his ghost which still sits and smokes. And when you go out in stormy weather, why the old people say they can still hear the creak-creak-creaking of his rocking chair as he rocks back and forth, blowing up smoke rings to cover the top of the mountain," she answered.
And recently in Cape Town, I saw the smoke for myself. Maggie, you were a wonderful storyteller...
I thought of you in the evening as I stood outside, trying to listen if there was a creaking sound coming on the wind...
*Photograph taken by Catherine Nicolette in glorious Cape Town, South Africa.
Why not visit?
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