Turning a house into a home

Most of us are in a position to have a place called “home sweet home”, but, alas, there are those less fortunate than you and I for reasons as many as stars in the sky.

Whatever the reason for a less desirable situation, life has taught me that much which is desired needs to be worked for, created, bought or designed. 

In life’s run-of-the-mill it came to pass that I, too, eventually left my parents’ home, got married and started a family of my own. 

After the initial novelties of married life had worn off, I suddenly had an inexplicable longing for the securities, the familiar surroundings, smells and sounds I had experienced as a child. But there was to be no return; the clock could not be turned back. 

A change of heart was necessary, but it didn’t happen overnight. The metamorphosis came painfully slowly and gradually. There were new demands, new scenarios, new challenges. Some had to be met head on, others allowed certain degrees of manoeuvring and strategic planning, but none was escapable. 



By force of circumstances, we had to start in a small bachelor’s flat, soon becoming overcrowded with the arrival of our first child. Reality kicked in and the monetary and emotional responsibilities of married life lay heavily on my mind, while the essence of “home" still escaped my grasp. Many a day it left me feeling asthmatic and stressed out. 

But then, in 1974, we borrowed money and succeeded in having our very first house built. The family had increased to four and I found myself outnumbered three to one. But I didn’t care; I had a reason for living.

The empty yard beckoned us to explore, to dig holes, plant roses and shrubs and flowers. We did just that. I bought my first red push-along mower for R60 and was soon mowing my own lawn in the sweat of my brow. Martie’s roses, malva plants, petunias, etc. were growing exuberantly. The lush green lawn boasted a contour or two which gave it a smart wavy appearance. 

In time I added a rainwater tank and a paved walkway, flanked by rounded curbing, to the veranda. Next was a venture into the unknown: I built my own barbecue. 

Time passed and I saw my daughters grow. I heard their laughter, saw them playing in the developing garden. Collectively it formed our pride and joy. 

One sunny afternoon, turning into our yard, my eyes wandered over it all and I suddenly realised: this house had become “home”. I belonged there! 


Nickey van Zyl