Those were the games, my friend!

JERALD VEDAN

TODAY’S kids walk around with phones glued to their faces, living in a world of downloaded apps and digital missions. But for our generation, the only mission was to be home before the streetlights came on. Our fun wasn’t virtual, it was sweaty, grass-stained, and powered by pure imagination.

We were the last generation to know the magic of games with names that made no sense but whose rules were written in our souls.

“Goosey Goosey Ganda”- what goose? We never knew, but we chased each other with the fervour of headless chickens. And who can forget the mysterious call of “Jack-Jack, come up the red hill, drunk or sober!”

Sober, of course… unless Thinesh had snuck a taste of Grandpa’s potent ginger beer.

We sang “Ring-a-Ring-a-Rosy”, blissfully unaware it was about the plague; to us, it was just a glorious excuse to collapse in a giggling heap.

Our football matches were epic sagas played until the ball vanished in the dusk. One goal? Try thirty-two!

We had no referees, only the distant voice of an aunty yelling, “Go home while the roti is still hot-hot !”

We were masters of improvisation. A makeshift wooden bat, a tennis ball, and a tomato box wicket were all we needed for a Test match, even if a mighty six always seemed to land in Mr Naidoo’s garden. He ran a permanent lost-and-found for our cricket balls. I’m still waiting for that one, Uncle.

The girls ruled the hopscotch grids and skipping ropes, their chants echoing down the street.

We boys tried to impress by climbing the tallest guava tree or battling it out in a game of marbles, or kancha.

This was serious business, a traditional Indian street game where you aimed to knock your opponent’s marbles out of a circle.

One oke would put his prized ‘taw’ marble on his forehead and launch it, nearly taking out the neighbour’s dog in the process.

Then there were the classics that connected us to an ancient past. We played “Gillidanda”, the

Desi cousin of baseball dating back thousands of years. No helmets, just sheer skill and a silent prayer.

We collected bottle caps from the local shop like treasure, playing ‘tin clips’, if you flipped your friend’s cap, you won it. My collection of Football stars was my retirement fund.

Night-time brought its own magic. We weren’t lighting expensive fireworks; we were catching fireflies and rubbing them on our shirts, becoming glow-in-the-dark superheroes. Unhygienic? Absolutely. Epic? Unforgettably so.

We didn’t have fences between our homes or filters on our fun. Our knees were permanently scarred, our nails were filled with dirt, and our hearts were full of a simple, untamed adventure.

Today’s kids have the world in their pockets. But we, my friend, we had life.

Vedan is an attorney, community leader, and social commentator based in KwaZulu-Natal.

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