HF #228 | Nickey van Zyl

Many of my childhood memories are painted in subdued hues: the faded brown of a worn-out lounge suite with its bulky barrel-like side tables, the grey overcast winter mornings of a city that lacked compassion for the dreams and ideals of the not-so-rich underlings of an affluent community. Colours were an ingrained component of my teenage world; colours that gave direction to my emotions and charted my life’s venture into the unknown.

Lack of material wellbeing created a perpetual craving for beauty, the vibrant pigment that seemed somehow only reserved for others. Yet, I could find solace in the display of a multitude of colours: The yellows, reds and mauve in a neighbour’s rose garden, Mom’s orange marigolds and white arums growing just below the front porch with its black slated tiles.

In the brown wooden aviary my father had built, I could relish the colours of my finches: their red or orange beaks, black and white striped breasts and tiny spotted wings; the male quails showing off their bluish plumage, and yellow canaries broadcasting their angelic songs to all the world and its wife.

I started finding hope in colours when riding my white and blue Raleigh bicycle, bought with money earned from newspaper deliveries. In summer I would find myself riding among vineyards bedecked with new glossy green leaves, with bunches of black Barlinka grapes and green translucent Hanepoot starting to show their luxuriant and tempting fruity richness.

Progressively colours became my companions: red represented my frustrations, green gave hope and upliftment, blue was my favourite and gave wings to my desires and ideals (it kept me going!); yellow was the colour of the sun breaking through the clouds of restriction and fetters of a world that was determined to define my existence as narrow and bleak.

In time I learned to play the guitar. I could sing. Songs of life, hope, success and romance flowed naturally: The Ballad of the Green Berets, Sacramento, Roses are Red, and many more. I could write and had my first two short stories published in 1970. I was holding the green, emerald stone of breakthroughs in my hand. The grey colours faded altogether and the blue of success and opportunity came knocking on my door. I learned that colours are the essence of life, the vehicle of dreams and not merely figments of imagination. Colours taught me to count my blessings and live a life in the warm embrace of their vibrancy.

Nickey van Zyl