What Else Have We Given Up?

I have a vivid memory of the first time I saw the night sky in all its natural splendour. I was about ten years old, and my baby sister and I had gone with my dad to pick up my grandmother who had been visiting one of her sisters in rural Namaqualand. We were staying the night, resting for the six-hour long journey we’d be making back to Cape Town the next day. Aunty Mary Anne’s house was quite literally in the middle of nowhere. A dirt road tracked its way to her doorstep, and the house was lit with oil lamps and warmed with a fireplace in the kitchen. 

Namaqualand is known for its extensive, lush fields of flowers, and for days before we embarked on the trip, my sister and I spoke in excitement about seeing the carpets of multi-coloured blooms. Sadly, spring was over and by the time we arrived and just a few little patches of the famed daisies remained. 

My dismay at the lack of flowers was overshadowed a few moments after we arrived at Aunty Mary Anne’s house. In its quaintness it lacked a modern convenience that made me more than a little nervous. It had no toilet inside, and nature calls had to be taken in the outhouse, a few metres from the back door. The thought of using the hokkie during the day was scary enough. The outside was so immediate. A rickety wooden door stood between me with my pants down and the rest of the world. The chirping and buzzing of insects going about their business, the woosh of wings of birds flying by, seemed to be happening right inside the little wooden cabin with me. 

But worse than that was the prospect of needing the toilet at night when everyone was asleep. So, of course my bladder woke me up in the dead of night. I woke my sister up, asking her to accompany me because I was scared. She was so much braver than I and got up, not even flinching at my request. I followed her outside.   

A few steps out, my sister gasped. My stomach clenched with fear. She was pointing at the sky, unable to speak. I looked up. We were standing in a dome of the biggest and brightest stars I’d ever seen. Slowly, we twirled and took it all in, my need for a wee momentarily forgotten. From what seemed like the edge of the earth, up, up, up, and behind us back to the other edge of the earth, all we saw was stars. It seemed unbelievable that I couldn’t reach out and pick one.

My body reminded me why we were outside in the first place, and I ran to the outhouse, leaving my sister to stare at the enchanted sky. I regret rushing her back inside as soon as I was done and wish we’d taken more time to savour the magical sight.

What a pity that seeing the night sky in all its beauty is only possible when we travel to somewhere remote and untainted by the ‘progress’ of modern life. What else have we given up in favour of supposed advancement?