The first stories told to me were those around a dining-room table. Stories of family luck and misfortune; sickness and death and “spook stories”. I sat wide-eyed, taking it all in. What was left out (not for children’s ears!) I filled in with my imagination.
Yet, my family was not a family who read books. Instead, they read from newspapers, some sent as bound editions all the way from England. These were copies of the Daily Mail, in which cartoons such as Garth, Jane, Pip Squeak and Wilfred and others appeared.
Through these, I journeyed into the land of cartoons with the greatest of ease.
Then, occasionally, children’s books drifted into our home, and it was a treat to hear my older sister read from Enid Blyton’s Five-Minute Tales collection.
These came with black and white illustrations that showed “bobbies”, postmen, middle-class children and scenes from that faraway place overseas, England.
And, while my sister read, I would be there, running down some country lane following a naughty goblin or climbing over pasture gates on the way to Milly-Molly-Mandy’s cottage.
So, through story, I became a traveller.
Noddy’s Toyland; Alice’s Wonderland; the sea, the lakes and shore where the Famous Five had their adventures – these all became as real to me as my own small suburban street.
And herein lies the power of stories: they transport, they provide landscapes that exist in the imagination, inner landscapes you might say.
In those days, most storybooks took South African children out of Africa, to faraway places in Europe or the US.
But, as much as it enriches a reader to share and learn of “others”, it is just as important to have home-grown stories; stories that validate who we are, our own culture and allow us to see ourselves in the books we read – stories with which we can closely identify and give us a place in literature.
It is both comforting and strengthening to recognise the “voice” in a story as belonging to us, especially when it’s a story that can be strongly associated with a personal situation, whatever that may be.
These days, there is still a shortage of South African children’s stories, but organisations such as Praesa (The Project for the Study of Alternative Education in South Africa), which is driving the national Nal’ibali reading-for-enjoyment campaign, are ensuring that South African children’s stories in a variety of mother tongue languages are making their way into the homes and lives of our families through its digital and print platforms.
And, the function of a story, particularly when it is written or told to you in your own language, to change how you feel about the world and yourself, is phenomenal.
This is underlined by the phrase: “That book changed my life.” Further, I am happy to say that there is no one function or purpose for a book. There are books that cover all needs: the need to laugh, to fantasise, to be entertained, to cry, to mourn, to hope, to aspire towards a dream, to understand others and to help us to become the people we wish to become. So powerful!
The physical closeness and mental bond between parent and child through shared reading can form a strong bond that lasts a lifetime.
And, further, reading to children is the most pleasurable and effective way of training little minds to focus while stimulating the imagination, both vital facilities in preparing children for school.
I have a chant that I do with children when I visit schools. It goes like this: “The more you read, the smarter you get! The smarter you get, the more you read!” Try it!
Take your children on a reading adventure these holidays. To access children’s stories in a range of South African languages, tips on reading and writing with children or for more information about the Nal’ibali reading-for-enjoyment campaign, visit www.nalibali.org or www.nalibali.mobi.
* Daly is an award-winning children’s author and illustrator.