My Awakening - A Childhood Memory of Crossing a River in South Africa

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Awake, Sleeper: A Childhood Memory of Crossing a River in South Africa

"Childhood river crossing in South Africa at night with horses and moonlight"



My first memory is not a face or a house—it is a river.

This childhood memory from South Africa begins with a night river crossing—where fear, trust, and awakening meet for the first time.

It must have been 1954, during the season of the spring rains, in the Northern Transvaal of South Africa.

I woke to the steady drone of a Chevrolet pickup, the engine carrying me through the African night. I lay at my mother’s feet on the floor of the vehicle, held in that strange, secure half-sleep where the world feels distant and safe.

Then something changed.

The engine slowed. A gear shifted. The rhythm broke.

I rose unsteadily, my mother’s hand steadying me—and then I saw it.

A River in the African Night

Moonlight caught the river’s surface, turning it into something alive and moving. Beyond it stood the dark silhouettes of acacia trees, and thick bush pressed in along the banks. From somewhere across the water came the sharp, sudden cry of a bush-baby.

I was awake.

Not just from sleep—but into the world.

The pickup came to a halt beside the river. For a moment, there was only the sound of water moving through the darkness.

Then, from a narrow path, a man emerged.

He was short in stature, leading three horses.

“Hello, Jim,” my father called.

Greetings were exchanged with an ease I did not yet understand. Before I knew who he was, I sensed something already established between them—something steady.

Crossing the River on Horseback

My parents mounted their horses.

Jim lifted me from my mother and placed me in front of my father in the saddle. I remember the firmness of his hands, the certainty of the movement, as though this had all been done many times before.

Then we moved down toward the water.

Jim entered first.

His horse plunged into the river without hesitation, cutting across the current at an angle. My mother followed. Then my father.

The water rose quickly.

At first around the horse’s legs—then higher.

Then suddenly, the ground was gone.

The horse began to swim.

Fear and Trust

Fear came without warning.

I drew my feet upward instinctively, as if I could escape the depth by lifting myself away from it. The river felt immense, indifferent, stronger than anything I knew.

Then I felt it.

My father’s arm tightening around me.

“Hold on, son. Don’t be afraid. I’ve got you.”

Nothing around me changed.

The river still moved.
The night was still deep.
The horse still swam.

But something inside me shifted.

I was still afraid—but I was no longer alone in it.

Within minutes, the horse found ground again. The water lowered. The far bank rose to meet us, and we stepped out onto grass slick with river water.

Somewhere in the distance, a nightjar called.

I was safe.

Still held.

A Lesson Learned Before Words

That night, I learned something before I had words for it.

Trust comes before understanding.

Such was my awakening.

Continue Reading

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About This Memoir

This story is part of a larger memoir about growing up in South Africa—exploring childhood, identity, memory, and the world as it was lived before it was fully understood.

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Some lives unfold between worlds, learning the language of both - I grew up in South Africa in a world far more complex than the one many people think they know. My life unfolded between cultures — from farms in the old Transvaal Province to KwaZulu-Natal, where I became fluent in Zulu, to working in townships around Durban during turbulent years and subsequently in a rural district in ministry during the final decade before South Africa’s democratic transition. Running quietly through those years was a journey of faith that eventually carried me far from Africa. What began as a five-year stay in the United Kingdom became an unintended exile, and today I live on the west coast of Scotland. My memoir, From My Tribe to Yours, is a personal letter across cultures — sharing the South Africa I experienced, that few in Western countries knew, from within. READ MORE:https://www.theafricanoddity.com/author-south-africa-memoir.html

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