I cross the street, shielding my eyes from the strong South African sun already beating down despite the early hour, and hop onto the shaded sidewalk. Immediately, a cool breeze floats over me, chilling the sweat beading my brow. I glance up at the buildings around me, covered in their coats of green foliage, as the breeze flutters through the balcony gardens, and think back to walking these streets as a child in 2024, when the sun baked down on naked concrete and the cracked, dusty ground.
As I follow the pavement, small segments of the patterned mosaic give way slightly beneath my feet, channeling the energy of my passing into pressure pads that feed into the local grid, to help power the streetlamps here in the town centre once darkness falls.
I turn into the school, a solar-powered bus humming quietly to a stop behind me, and the learners pile out, chattering excitedly as they leave the sunny street and weave through the trees lining the pavement. I greet them as I enter the school grounds, following the path alongside the lush food forest with the chirps and warbles of many birds filling my ears. I smile and take a contented breath, catching the scent of papaya and banana wafting from the forest’s shady depths.
As I approach the school building, I pass through the vegetable gardens, where chickens scratch in the soil between plump bushels of spinach and vines laden with ripening tomatoes. Behind the gardens, some of the older children are collecting eggs from the coop to take to the kitchens on their way to class.
Behind the soccer pitch, more trees stretch their canopies across the playground, dwarfed by the grand acacias in the indigenous bushveld behind.
When I was younger, that area had fallen into disuse as water reserves dwindled and the fields were no longer able to supply their intended crops. Now, the natural veld has been allowed to return right up to the city outskirts, protecting the soil and providing a habitat for the bees and other insects that pollinate our gardens.
I smile to myself. This was always the plan – that we could provide for ourselves, that our children would never go hungry… that we could thrive. I feel a true sense of fulfilment as I run through the speech in my head, because today I will be addressing parents and other members of our community, to present the quarterly results. Once more, the report will be a glowing one – another 20 households added to the growing list of those supported by our gardens. But today is even more special, as we have a special guest: my oldest friend.
Together, 50 years ago, we stood on this same ground as pupils, helping volunteers who had come to set up our very first permaculture garden at the school.
Now, as head teacher, I could not be more thrilled to welcome her back as our new national minister of agriculture, permaculture, and sustainable living, to inspire the next generation to continue what we started all those years ago.
It feels as though the circle is closing: a fitting end, but also the seed of a new beginning.
