Chapter 2: Roots in Mountain View

After many years of constantly moving about, my father finally managed to secure a bank loan to purchase a house in a suburb called Mountain View. I was six years old at the time and had reached school-going age, so I began attending Bergsig Primary School—“Bergsig” being the Afrikaans translation of Mountain View.

Mountain View was a blue-collar Afrikaner suburb on the western side of Pretoria.

Even today, a clear social dividing line runs through the city, separating East from West. The eastern suburbs of Pretoria are generally populated by more affluent white-collar professionals, while the western side has historically been home to working-class communities. One could say that Mountain View was middle class, though people in the East would probably argue otherwise.

My brother and I with my dad in our garden - My brother's first day of school

What I remember most about the neighbourhood, however, was not wealth or status. The people were honest, hardworking folk who valued effort and integrity. It was a conservative community in terms of both politics and religion, but it was also free from pretension. These were people who worked for their living and respected others who did the same.

For the first time in my childhood, life became stable.

My parents remained in that same house for eighteen years, and that stability shaped my life in profound ways. Looking back, those were some of the happiest years of my childhood. I attended one school, belonged to one church, and had one circle of friends. The constant movement that had characterized my earlier years disappeared, allowing me to develop roots and lasting relationships.

It was here that I met my first true best friend, Johan Becker, with whom I remain friends to this day. My earliest memory of Johan dates back to my seventh birthday party in 1981. His mother brought him to our house, and from that moment our friendship began.

The theme of my birthday party was Cowboys and Crooks, and we all ran around the yard chasing each other with toy guns.

That simple childhood memory still feels vivid today.

Cowboys & Crooks Birthday party: Left to right back row: Johan, Ian, me, Marcu & Zirk
Mountain View - 1981

Voortrekkers - good friends & adventures

Johan was a member of the Voortrekkers, an Afrikaner youth movement somewhat similar to the Boy Scouts. Naturally, it did not take long before I joined as well.

In our age group there were five boys, and together we formed a troop called the Springbokke.

For the next seven years of primary school we became inseparable. We were a gang of boys sharing adventures, mischief, and the excitement of growing up together.

The Voortrekkers regularly organized outdoor camping retreats where we learned survival skills, how to live in the outdoors, and something about Afrikaner cultural heritage. We also learned about plants, animals, and the environment.

But to be honest, boys being boys, what we truly loved was the chance to escape the routines of home life and go on adventures.

There were girls in the Voortrekkers too, which added another layer of excitement for boys of our age.

Our troop quickly gained a reputation for being difficult and mischievous. Adult leaders assigned to supervise us often did not last long. One after another, they resigned, unable to handle our antics.

Camping trips created the perfect environment for pranks.

The Voortrekkers also believed strongly in roughing it. Luxury camping did not exist. I remember countless freezing nights spent in old army tents that had so much ventilation an elephant could probably have slipped through them. The camps had a strong military atmosphere with strict discipline and plenty of hardship.

The organization itself was closely tied to Afrikaner nationalism and cultural identity. It was not an interracial or intercultural environment. I do not even recall English-speaking whites participating.

The Afrikaner historical narrative surrounding the Groot Trek was deeply embedded in the movement. We sang songs about Afrikaner suffering and triumph over adversity, and Afrikaner pride and nationalism were strongly promoted.

Although presented as a cultural youth organization, it also served as fertile ground for right-wing political ideology and the mindset that supported Apartheid.

We wore uniforms, stood on parade, and learned to march like soldiers. We queued for food like soldiers and ate with outdoor utensils that we were responsible for cleaning ourselves to avoid what was jokingly called “jippo guts.”

We slept on the ground in sleeping bags and took cold communal showers in the ablution blocks.

Looking back, the structure and discipline were actually good for me. Without realizing it, those experiences prepared me to some degree for the military service I would face later in life.

Yet I never embraced the ideological side of the movement.

For me, the Voortrekkers were about friendship, adventure, and camaraderie.

“Join the navy and see the world,” they say.

For an Afrikaner boy growing up in the 1980s, the Voortrekkers were my navy.

My father often assigned gardening or household chores on Saturdays when there were no athletics meetings at school. Whenever a Voortrekker camp fell on a weekend, I eagerly seized the opportunity—it meant escaping those responsibilities.

Friendship Over Competition

From the age of six my mother enrolled me in tennis lessons. Over time I became quite skilled, and my coach believed that I had the potential to earn provincial colours.

But pursuing that path would have required sacrificing my time with the Voortrekkers and my friendships.

I never had a strong competitive spirit. Relationships meant more to me than personal achievements. Faced with the choice between pursuing sporting success or maintaining my friendships and adventures, I chose the latter.

My brother was very different.

He possessed both the talent and the competitive temperament necessary for success. He eventually earned provincial colours not only in tennis but also in athletics. He sang in youth choirs, participated in art and cultural competitions, and academically outperformed me as well.

My parents naturally invested enormous time and energy in supporting his development. Gradually the focus shifted toward him.

He became the superstar of our family.

He was gifted and ambitious, and my parents poured their hopes and dreams into helping him succeed. Training sessions, competitions, and coaching appointments filled the calendar.

But when he reached Grade 9 he contracted Coxsackie virus, which caused severe burnout and forced him to abandon many of these activities.

Reflecting on those years now, I sometimes feel that I never received the same degree of attention or affection simply because I did not share that competitive drive.

Fishing with Dad

Occasionally my father took me fishing on Saturdays. He owned an old blue truck with a canopy at the back. Sometimes we even spent the night at the fishing spot, sleeping in the back of the truck.

While my friends were going to the movies, I often found myself sitting beside a dam with my father.

He enjoyed the silence and the calm.

I, on the other hand, was restless and easily bored. There were days when we spent hours beside a lake and caught nothing except sunburn.

Fishing required patience—the ability to cast a line and wait.

Patience was something I did not possess.

Looking back today, however, I can clearly see my father’s attempt to connect with me. Gardening and fishing simply did not speak to my heart at the time. All I wanted was to spend time with my friends and watch movies like E.T. or The Karate Kid.

Ironically, today a quiet fishing trip sounds like absolute bliss.

My brother and I at an airshow - Wonderboom

Friday Nights at the Beckers

Friday nights were often reserved for sleepovers at the Becker household.

Johan was one of three brothers, and their home had things we did not—such as a VCR and cable television.

They also had a tradition of eating takeaways on Friday nights, usually Viennas and chips. At that stage my mother had developed a strong interest in healthy eating, so such indulgences were rare in our home.

For that reason alone, spending Friday nights at the Beckers was something I eagerly anticipated.

Sometimes the rest of our Voortrekker troop joined us for sleepovers. We stayed up all night watching 1980s movies and eating sherbet sweets.

Compared to the conservative household I grew up in, it felt like paradise.

My grandmother on the family farm - Doornfontein, Koedoeskop

Favoritism and Rejection

Weekends not spent at Voortrekker camps, athletics meetings, or fishing trips were usually spent at the Bushveld farm where my grandmother lived.

For my mother, those visits were rarely enjoyable.

She often felt that she had married the wrong brother.

When we arrived at the farm, my father would usually grab his rifle and disappear into the veld to hunt—or, as I later realized, to escape the tension.

My mother was left behind in the house with the rest of his family.

She quickly realized that my grandmother favoured my father’s siblings and their children above him and his family.

Even though my father was the eldest son, both he and his family experienced rejection.

My brother excelled in sports, cultural activities, and academics. Yet my grandmother refused to acknowledge his achievements.

At one athletics meeting where both my brother and cousin competed, my brother finished first while my cousin finished fifth. My grandmother loudly celebrated my cousin’s performance and ignored my brother completely.

The favoritism was so obvious that members of the family joked about it.

They laughed.

We did not.

We were the ones experiencing the rejection.

Today there is almost no relationship between my grandparents and our family.

My father still communicates with his mother out of respect, but not out of genuine closeness. The rest of the family continues to spend weekends and holidays on the farm, but we no longer go.

My grandmother made it clear that we play no meaningful role in her life.

Those experiences remain some of my most cherished memories.

A Theme of Rejection

Over time a recurring theme revealed itself to me—rejection.

I experienced rejection not only from my father’s family but also from much of my mother’s family. With the exception of one of her sisters, most of them distanced themselves from me.

Of course they deny this.

But as a sensitive person I learned to read body language, facial expressions, and tone. People can say one thing while communicating something entirely different.

Their mouths may utter polite words, but their intentions are often revealed in subtler ways.

My mother’s family never truly liked my father, and because I resembled him so closely, that rejection extended to me as well.

I was accused of being a snob.

My father decided to send me to one of the most prestigious boarding schools in South Africa, and that decision became the justification my relatives used to exclude me. They assumed that I now believed myself superior to them.

But I was only a boy.

I never thought I was better than anyone.

In fact, during that time I longed for a deeper relationship with my family. I remember telling my mother how much I wished to connect with them.

Instead, they rejected me—and then blamed me for their rejection.

This pattern repeated itself many times throughout my life.

People reject you first.

Then they accuse you of rejecting them.

A Substitute Family

Because of this dynamic, I gradually began valuing friendships more than family relationships.

Whenever possible, I withdrew from family gatherings and obligations. The rejection was painful enough, but being blamed for it made it even harder to endure.

The Voortrekkers became my refuge.

Within that environment I found real friends—people who enjoyed spending time with me and who made me feel wanted.

Despite the ideology attached to the organization, the Voortrekkers gave me a childhood filled with friendship and adventure.

Primary School

Life at Bergsig Primary School was, in many ways, very normal.

I was a sensitive and gentle boy who wanted to get along with everyone. The school was not filled with children from white-collar families. The socio-economic environment of the neighbourhood meant that many of the boys were tough, and growing up there required a certain resilience.

I was not a small boy physically, but I was also not aggressive. Because of this, there were periods when I experienced bullying.

Fortunately, I had my Voortrekker troop and a circle of friends. I was generally well liked. I did not have a competitive personality; I simply wanted people to get along and succeed together. I was also something of a class clown and a bit of a drama queen who entertained my classmates, which helped me avoid becoming a constant target.

One particular incident stands out in my memory.

There were twin boys who lived nearby and were a couple of grades above me. They walked the same route to school as I did and took every opportunity to hurt or intimidate me. They were physically much bigger, and their behaviour left me frightened and shaken.

Eventually I decided not to endure it silently any longer.

I told my mother.

She immediately took me by the hand, walked to their house, and spoke directly to their father.

After that day, the twins never bullied me again.

School photo of me - I guess I'm about 9 or 10

Teachers Who Saw Me

Bergsig Primary was blessed with remarkable teachers. To this day, they remain among the best teachers I ever encountered in my entire education.

There was Miss Barnard, my Grade 5 teacher, who made a profound impression on me. She did not try to suppress my dramatic and sensitive personality. Instead, she affirmed that it was acceptable to be who I was.

Rather than disciplining those traits out of me, she used them.

She selected me for a leading role in a play during Grade 7.

The play was performed entirely in Sotho, one of South Africa’s indigenous languages. My role required me to appear on stage wearing only shorts while painted black from head to toe, portraying the father of a boy who had run away.

All the dialogue was in Sotho.

The production turned out to be a tremendous success.

Another unforgettable teacher was Mr. Voight, who, despite being very strict, was the best English teacher I ever had.

He placed me in a leadership role by making me a group leader in his class. One of his favourite teaching methods was to give each group five minutes to prepare an impromptu play. We would then perform these short plays outside on the netball field during class time.

The exercise was chaotic, creative, and immensely entertaining.

Then there was Miss Nell, my Afrikaans teacher.

She did not tolerate my disruptive behaviour in class, but instead of simply punishing me, she channelled my energy into responsibility. She often assigned me tasks that gave me a sense of purpose.

One of my regular duties was to walk a few blocks to the kindergarten in the afternoons to fetch her young toddler son.

Over time, our families even became friends.

These teachers were not working at elite private schools. They chose instead to invest their talents in children from a modest community. They had the competence and ability—and perhaps even the opportunity—to teach at more prestigious institutions, but they stayed.

Because of them, we received an excellent education.

Ironically, when I later attended one of the most prestigious boarding schools in the country, I realized that in several areas I was actually ahead of classmates who had supposedly received a superior education.

A Big Fish in a Small Pond

My seventh-grade year was the highlight of my entire school career.

I participated in nearly every school activity and even excelled in some of them. I received several academic awards, played in the first rugby team, and was ranked as the number-one tennis player at the school.

I had good friends and enjoyed a reasonable level of popularity.

In many ways, I was a big fish in a small pond.

When the time came to leave that small pond and enter a much larger one, it proved to be a humbling transition.

First Love

A good story almost always contains an element of love.

For me, that story began with a girl in my class named Elzabe Bezuidenhout.

She had short golden hair and blue eyes the colour of the Mediterranean Sea. She lived only a few streets away from us and was also a member of the Voortrekkers.

She already had something resembling an arranged boyfriend—Hennie, a boy in the grade above us. Their parents were both involved in the military, and the two families spent considerable time together.

From Grade 5 onward, once I fell in love with Elzabe, there was no one else.

Other girls showed interest in me, but the one person I truly loved always remained just beyond my reach.

Then something unexpected happened.

On the very last day of primary school, as I was preparing to leave the community and move to a boarding school far from home, Elzabe waited for me after school.

She told me that she liked me too.

But it was too late.

I explained that I was leaving and that nothing could come of it. I would not be attending the same high schools as my classmates. I was the first—and the only one—to leave for that prestigious boarding school.

Her confession came far too late.

She was my first love, and I was deeply infatuated with her. But at that moment I had no choice except to move forward.

Leaving the Small Pond

My classmates from that small blue-collar primary school did not celebrate my departure.

Instead, many of them resented it.

They saw my acceptance into an elite boarding school in eastern Pretoria as proof that I believed myself superior to them. Some even accused me openly of becoming a snob.

At that moment, many of my childhood friendships ended.

What none of them understood was that their rejection would not be the only rejection I would face.

Because I came from western Pretoria, I was never fully accepted by the boys at the prestigious boarding school either.

Rejected by both sides, my high-school years would become something very different from the success story many people expected.

Mom’s Studies

During my Grade 5 year, my mother made a life-changing decision.

She decided to pursue a college education.

She had always loved gardening and decided to study horticulture.

In order to do this, she had to enroll as a full-time student, which meant she could not earn an income. My father therefore became the sole breadwinner, and our family experienced a financially difficult period.

Luxuries became scarce.

My grandparents on the farm occasionally helped us by providing milk and meat.

My mother approached her studies with extraordinary determination. She was a hardworking and disciplined student who achieved straight A’s.

Many nights she studied late into the evening, sometimes working through the night.

The program consisted of eighteen months of theoretical study followed by eighteen months of practical training. During the practical phase she worked for landscaping companies and nurseries for extremely low wages.

It was an intense and stressful time.

There was only one opportunity to succeed.

And she succeeded.

Loss and Responsibility

During that same period my mother faced a devastating personal tragedy.

Within the span of a single year she lost both her parents and her brother.

My grandmother on my mother’s side—the kindest and sweetest woman I ever knew—passed away first.

Shortly before her death, my grandfather developed a motor neuron disease that robbed him of speech and mobility. He had ten children, and several of them took turns caring for him.

In his final year he came to live with us.

After school each afternoon I sat with him and read the newspaper aloud.

Because he could not speak properly, communication became difficult. His frustration often turned into aggression. At first he tried communicating through sounds, which neither Lettie nor I could understand.

Eventually he began writing messages on a notepad.

But his handwriting was worse than a doctor’s prescription.

Sometimes his frustration boiled over, and he would strike us with his walking stick.

Over time it became clear—though my mother never spoke openly about it—that he had been abusive toward his wife and children. Years later my father confirmed this, even recounting an incident where my grandfather had attempted to assault him.

Mom, my grandmother, step grandfather, my step-uncle and my brother and I - Mountain View (1985)

Lettie

Lettie played an extraordinary role in my life.

She became my substitute mother whenever my own mother was working. She raised us with a mixture of love and discipline—tough but fair.

Although she had never received formal education and was unable to read or write, she possessed a deep wisdom. Within her community she was respected as a pillar of strength.

She was almost always smiling and laughing.

Only when we were truly misbehaving did she become stern. If I pushed things too far, she would take a wet washcloth and give me a hiding—just like any mother would.

Lettie worked for my family for thirty years, eventually becoming part of the family itself.

In order to arrive at work by seven in the morning, she woke up at three o’clock and travelled long distances by bus and train.

During the Apartheid years, when political tensions were high, many black workers who continued working were threatened or intimidated. Buses and trains were sometimes burned to enforce boycotts of the white government.

Despite these dangers, Lettie continued coming to work faithfully.

She did so for very little money so that she could support her five children.

Ironically, she often spent more time with us than with her own children.

Yet she never resented us for it.

Lettie - 2012

My mother treated her kindly and supported her family whenever possible by giving them clothes and food. Each year she organised a Christmas celebration for Lettie and her children, giving them treats and gifts they rarely experienced.

To this day, Lettie has never seen the ocean.

It remains my dream to take her there one day.

Despite the hardships she endured, she maintained a joyful and optimistic outlook on life.

I never once saw her unhappy. 

Conclusion

Looking back on those years in Mountain View, I see a childhood that was shaped by two very different forces.

On the one hand, there was stability. For the first time in my life we stayed in one place long enough for roots to grow. I had a home, a school, a church, and a circle of friends. There were adventures with the Voortrekkers, long summer days playing with friends, and simple moments that felt like the ordinary rhythm of childhood.

Those were good years.

At the same time, there were quieter currents moving beneath the surface—currents that I did not fully understand as a child. The rejection within my extended family, the subtle favoritism, and the feeling that I somehow did not quite belong began shaping how I saw myself and the world around me.

Friendships became my refuge. Teachers who believed in me gave me confidence. Experiences that seemed ordinary at the time were quietly forming my character.

Without realizing it, those years were preparing me for the challenges that lay ahead.

By the end of primary school I stood at the edge of a major transition. I had been a big fish in a small pond, surrounded by familiar faces and a community that knew me.

That small pond was about to disappear.

When I left Mountain View to attend one of the most prestigious boarding schools in South Africa, I believed I was stepping into a world of opportunity and success.

What I did not yet understand was that the transition would not simply be academic.

It would expose me to a very different social world—one shaped by hierarchy, competition, and expectations that I had never experienced before.

The stability of Mountain View had given me roots.

The next chapter would test how deep those roots truly were.