My ouma spent the last years of her life in a single room in a nursing home in Calvinia. There was space for her sewing machine, the old wicker chair she loved and, next to it, a small shelf for her Bible and the radio. Her window looked out onto a mournful pepper tree in an empty backyard, raked bare. And a small, blue corner of the brooding mountains of the Hantam Karoo.
She was content, my .