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.
Tryntsje de Vries
My mother's hands smelled of soap and butter. Sometimes also of the garden — of earth and the herbs she picked. In the evening I could smell her hands on the sheet.
Two voices. One memory. Recorded 0 days apart.