Vlaai

After one of my late nights writing this book, I had the strangest dream. A large fair had arrived in town, but in contrast to that excitement, there was also a funeral. While around me there was a lot of hustle and bustle and people running around organising funny hats for the festivities and coffins for the funeral, I stood in front of my house as though I wasn’t aware of all the busyness surrounding me. I looked up, then rushed up the stairs to my bedroom to pick out my best dress, which for some reason was packed away in one of the many red suitcases in the cupboard. The dress too was red, of course, but shorter than I would normally feel comfortable to wear. I ran back down, in thick woollen socks and out into the street again, where an English friend helped me close the final buttons of my red dress, patting my shoulder. I looked ready for a feast, yet very inappropriately dressed for a funeral, but I had something else on my mind. I climbed up my house as though it was the most normal thing to do, and when I finally reached the top, I started tiling the roof with vlaai …