A bright warm day engulfed by a heavy grey cloud that promises a downpour any minute now.
The coals on the braai red, raw and angry you hear the sizzle of the marinated meat touch the hot grill. Your favourite part is the fat starting to bubble and shrink not long till the rest of the meat starts to brown.
The lively summer soundtrack backed by belly laughs, crying babies, fed up yet relieved parents, debaters ready to fight to the death for their argument all amplified by the undeniable presence of love, the kind that comes loaded yet rooted in something akin to truth.
You live for bursting the pockets of oil that form on boerewors as they cook, you grab the tong, it's warmer than you anticipated. The surprising warmth dulls everything around you and now its you, the tong and the red hot coals.
Your head fills with the various ways this scenario can kill you, flashes of the tong stabbing you and the hot coals burning your body before someone's question about the state of meat brings you back to the present.
When you think of strength and strong people, include yourself, your battles are valid, your wins to be celebrated.
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