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NGOTJEH BLOG 01 ENGLISH

Bijgewerkt: 24 mrt 2019


Oh yes, I did think it through whether there is anybody out there waiting for another blog on the internet. Friends persuade me with the main argument: a grandmother blogging, that is already special. (Is it??) The content will differ from other blogs.

Well… alright ... I am a grandmother ... but by no means planning to sit behind behind my window watching the world go by. The things I do, such as making radio programs for people with an Indo or Moluccan background, writing, following developments in literary and other fields, make my life rhythm different from that of most of my peers.

So yes. I will try. Your responses will support, correct and inspire me.


Hello, here I am, behind my laptop, and I start.

This morning I took my loyal Kaatje away for an MOT test. In terms of age, Kaatje suits me. She's pretty old for a car. No, I will not betray her age. Kaatje is a real lady who appreciates that I regularly take her through the car wash. On Wednesday, for then it's half the price. She understands that. Then I will buy the most expensive wash program. Back home in my garage I polish the windows inside and out, vacuum the interior and ... Kaatje looks like she just came from the beautician and hairdresser.


I walked home from the garage on foot. Hereby I pass an Aldi store. I walked in quickly, because I will have a guest later and I want to buy some vegetables. It gives me the opportunity to look again in the bins with non-food items and to stand still again for a coffee maker. Streamlined, I like that. You can make coffee with freshly ground beans. For two or more cups. How wonderful is that! What will stop me from buying it, you may wonder.

This for example: I don't need it. Although ... the coffee maker on my kitchen counter is older than Kaatje. Much older. But it still works fine!! And, kassian (poor thing), to discard it because I want the sleek, silvery-shining device at Aldi’s.


‘You don't have to leave it for the money, right,’ says one of my aunties, a little snappy, when I present her with my little dilemma.

‘No aunty. But I want to make a big trip in the fall. And, I don't really need it,’ I say.

"Ah (with a hand gesture), you don’t need it ... you don’t need it. If you enjoy having it, using it!’

She walks into her bedroom and returns with a note of twenty euros. Silently she puts it in my bag. Protesting has no use, I have known that for years. When I go home she says: ‘Does not necessarily have to be for that device,’ from which I conclude that I can also put it in the jar for the trip.


On the way home, I think of the Aldi store that I already saw decades ago. At that time I lived in a village in Germany, in a tiny apartment, on a hill covered with trees and shrubs. The sound of rustling leaves and creaking twigs under my shoes will forever remind me of that first autumn in a strange country, when I walked through that forest, shivering and trembling, thinking it wasn’t even winter yet! In that village everything had been going according to the same pattern for hundreds of years: son succeeds dad in the grocery store, in the cafe, in the bakery. The butcher made his own liver sausage. I was allowed to see how he did that. A sturdy man of 1.90 metres tall, with a clear white apron, who stirred in the slurry with his bulgy arms and added some herbs according to an old recipe.


And then all of a sudden there was Aldi.

People cried shame about it.

‘Aber nicht doch!’ Oh no!

‘Aber ja doch!’ Oh yes!

People went to look and see whether it was really true: everything was in boxes and those boxes were on simple wooden boards. They looked at the prices and started calculating ...

The rest is history!


As for the coffee maker. It can wait.

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