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<article LIT_1086=""><bibl><publisher><pub_name>AOSIS OpenJournals</pub_name><pub_url>www.openjournals.net</pub_url><pub_mail>info@openjournals.net</pub_mail><journal_website>http://www.literator.org.za</journal_website></publisher><issn><issn_print>0258-2279</issn_print><issn_web>2219-8237</issn_web></issn><title><article_title>Women of the year: On bubbles, babies and baskets </article_title></title><abstract></abstract><opsomming></opsomming><aug><au><author_name>Patricia G. Maritz1 </author_name><author_affiliation>1Department of Philosophy, University of Zululand, South Africa </author_affiliation></au></aug><correspondence><author_name>Patricia G. Maritz1</author_name><corresponding_email>patricia.maritz@gmail.com</corresponding_email><corresponding_postal_address>Private Bag X1001, KwaDlangezwa 3886, South Africa</corresponding_postal_address></correspondence></bibl><xref><article_id>1086</article_id><volume>35</volume><issue>1</issue><doi>10.4102/lit.v35i1.1086</doi></xref><history><citation><text>Maritz, P.G., 2014, ‘Women of the year: On bubbles, babies and baskets’, Literator 35(1), Art. #1086, 1 page. http://dx.doi.org/10.4102/lit.v35i1.1086 </text></citation></history><copyright><year>© 2014.</year><statement>The Authors. Licensee: AOSIS OpenJournals. This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution License.</statement></copyright><body><paragraph>Down-bent  astride the rowdy rapids - slim and strong, braids skimming the water – the hazel-skinned laundresses </paragraph><paragraph>Robes  of cyan, saffron, vermillion… reflect through the shirred  wimple of a capering current, billowing through white suds and fast fingers </paragraph><paragraph>Stain-blended bubbles  frisk on the water, down-blown… adrift , cyclamen, citron and indigo  streaked mud marbles the river banks </paragraph><paragraph>Garments rinsed, wrung and dried -   are lifted to the wind,  folded into baskets - raised to crowns … </paragraph><paragraph>Maiden, sister, mother…  bare breasted with robes waist-ward sliding, as infants raveningly clutch at a nipple to mouth</paragraph><paragraph>High up a hill… they wind their way along the footpath, figures diminishing  as it curves, until only a basket above the summit bobs</paragraph></body><bm></bm></article>
