“Listen, my friend…” / “Luister, my vriend…”
✍️ Riaan M. Odendaal
Not every word is meant to comfort.
Some arrive to steady us, not soothe us.
In South Africa, when someone says “Listen, my friend,”
you already know — the listening part is over,
and the truth is about to begin.
It’s not anger that speaks those words;
it’s care that’s run out of polite disguise.
They carry a firmness born from love —
the kind that still believes words can mend what silence could not.
Every nation has its own language of honesty.
Ours just happens to sound like a warning sign —
bright yellow, weathered by sun,
standing beside a quiet road that leads nowhere in particular,
and yet somehow, always, home.
So if you hear it today,
pause.
Because maybe that voice — the one without a pulpit,
without applause —
is preaching something you were meant to hear.
And if you must answer,
do it gently.
For truth, even when it shouts,
still deserves an echo made of grace.
🕯️ From the Lighthouse — where words remember their weight.
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Nie elke woord is daar om te troos nie.
Sommige kom om jou reg te help staan — nie sag te maak nie.
As ’n Suid-Afrikaner sê “Luister, my vriend,”
weet jy — die luister kans is verby,
en die waarheid is op pad.
Dis nie woede wat praat nie;
dis sorg wat moeg geraak het vir verskoning.
Dis liefde met ’n ruggraat —
die soort wat steeds glo woorde kan herstel wat stilte nie kon nie.
Elke volk het sy eie taal vir eerlikheid.
Ons s’n klink net soos ’n waarskuwingsteken —
heldergeel, deur son gebrand,
langs ’n stil pad wat nêrens besonders heen gaan nie,
maar tog altyd huis toe lei.
So, as jy dit vandag hoor,
staan stil.
Want dalk praat iemand sonder kansel,
sonder applous —
met net moed, woorde,
en ’n bietjie sout in die stem.
🕯️ Uit die Vuurtoring — waar woorde nog gewig dra.
