Oupa Herklaas

Dear KuierKos Family,

Growing up on the Springbokvlakte in Limpopo made quite an impression on me as a child. My dad and his brother farmed together with my granddad, Oupa Herklaas. He was a very interesting man. He did not finish school. In his younger years, he worked as a farm labourer. Through years of hard work, determination, and sacrifice, he built a life for himself and eventually owned several farms.
He was larger than life.

As children, we were a little in awe of him. He had a deep voice, and nobody dared disrespect him. He was a man to be reckoned with, a big farmer, strong-willed, competitive and full of presence.
He lost his leg when he was only 19 years old in a hunting accident. As children, we were fascinated watching him strap on his prosthesis. To us, it seemed extraordinary. To him, it was simply part of life. There was work to be done.

He went to church twice every Sunday. Faith was woven into who he was. He believed in hard work, discipline, and doing what needed to be done. Life had not been easy for him, but he never allowed hardship to define him.
But there was another side to my Oupa that I only understand now that I am older. Some days, Oupa would spend the entire day in bed. Nobody explained it to us children, and nobody questioned it. It simply was what it was. I often wonder what burdens he bore. A man who had built farms, provided for his family, overcome the loss of a leg, and shouldered so much responsibility must surely have faced struggles of his own.

Years later, my dad shared that Oupa had suffered from intense phantom pain. Even though his leg had been amputated, his brain continued to send pain signals as though it were still there. It seemed almost impossible to understand how someone could feel such real pain in a leg that no longer existed.

What I do remember is that on the days we visited and Oupa felt well, he made time for us. We were allowed to jump on his back, and he would throw us over his shoulder. We would laugh until our stomachs hurt, and he would laugh right along with us.
It amazes me that this big, respected farmer, a man who commanded a room, was also willing to become a horse, a jungle gym and a playmate for his grandchildren.
In those moments, he was completely with us.
We had no idea what he might have been struggling with. We simply knew that Oupa was playing with us, and life was good. Eventually, Ouma would appear with tea and beskuit, and everyone would gather around the table. The adults would talk, the children would listen, and another ordinary but precious family afternoon would unfold.

Those are the memories that stay with me. Not the farms, not the success, not the things he owned. I remember the laughter, the feeling of safety, and the fact that he took the time to be with us.
As I grew older, I came to understand that the strong, capable people we admire are sometimes carrying burdens we cannot see.
Yet life is rarely as simple as it appears from the outside. My Oupa eventually lost a battle that few people knew he was fighting and took his own life, leaving an enormous gap in our family.
His passing left a great emptiness, but it also left us with precious memories. The older I get, the more I realise that the true measure of a person's life is not the farms he owned or the wealth he created, but the love he gave and the memories he left behind.
Those afternoons with family gathered around the table seemed ordinary at the time, but today they are treasures. They remind me that life is precious, people are precious, and we never truly know what another person may be carrying.

Here at KuierKos, we often see how food connects us to memories. A packet of rusks, a favourite sweet, the smell of freshly baked bread, or a cup of tea with beskuit can instantly transport us back to another time and place.
For me, sometimes it takes me right back to the Springbokvlakte. Back to Ouma's kitchen. Back to tea and beskuit. Back to family gathered around the table while children laughed and played.
Those simple moments become the memories we treasure most.
Thank you for being part of our KuierKos family. May we always remember where we come from, the people who shaped us, and the blessings that carried us through.

Warm regards,
Marnella & Andreas