Remembering the taste of strawberries
I'm sure that before this memory, I had tasted a strawberry, but no previous memory comes to mind when trying to remember the first experience of a strawberry.
At the age of five, my grandparents and I went to visit my grandfather's sister, brother in-law and her family in a small town called Vreiheid. They lived on a small holding, in a house made of red bricks. Kobus was their youngest son, closet to me in age, older was his sister Lizette, who wore thick coke bottle spectacles, and her older brother Freddy, he was cool with a blue BMX which had no brakes.
I liked Freddy the most. No one in the family noticed that my granny and I were brown or that we didn't speak the same language. It was ok, Freddy was able to translate it into that fla flum fla.
One day, behind the house, we were playing in the garden. Freddy and Kobus said that we could pick strawberries. I had never seen them in their original form and so, was very excited. We crawled in the rich red soil looking under the strawberry patch, looking for the red fruit. I found one and tasted it, and experienced a strawberry for the very first time.