Maria du Toit
I remember my mother's hands smelled of soap and dough. When she hugged me, I always smelled her. Hands that smelled of work, of home.
◆ A recognition
They never met.
They shared this.
Tell me something about your mother's hands. The smell, the shape, what they did.
Helga Weber
My mother's hands were rough from doing the laundry, but in the evening when she stroked my hair they felt soft. They smelled of lavender.
Two voices. One memory. Recorded 0 days apart.