Small festival. Big heart.

I love festivals.

Big ones. Small ones. Book festivals. Art fairs. Music festivals. Theatre festivals. Wine festivals (obviously). And especially those slightly mad, deeply human gatherings created by a handful of people who believe strongly enough in something to make it happen.

Hessequa Harmonie is one of those.

Rikus and I have been going to Heidelberg for the festival for a number of years now. CN&CO has supported it before and this year both CN&CO and EasyEquities are sponsors. So it was a real privilege to welcome friend and founder Niël Rademan, some of the festival’s patrons and sponsors, artists, board members, friends and a few VIPs to KleinBlouKlip for the Boland launch of the ninth Hessequa Harmonie.

Nine years.

That deserves a pause.

Because festivals don’t simply happen. They certainly don’t survive for nine years because somebody had a nice idea.

They survive because people like our friend Niël are slightly obsessive, very stubborn and prepared to keep going when logic, budgets, exhaustion and occasionally probably sanity suggest otherwise.

The 2026 festival takes place in Heidelberg from 22 to 26 September. The programme ranges from classical music and theatre to writers, poetry, food, visual art, craft and conversation. Hessequa has previously been described as die klein fees met die groot hart — the small festival with the big heart — and that description fits rather well.

A taste of what is coming

The launch at KleinBlouKlip was deliberately intimate — not hundreds of people staring at a stage but artists, supporters and friends getting a taste of what Niël and his team are taking to Heidelberg.

And what a taste.

Paulina Malefane sang.

What a voice. What a presence.

Hearing Paulina also produced one of those lovely full-circle moments life keeps throwing at us. Many years ago I had some involvement with Dick Enthoven around U-Carmen eKhayelitsha, in which Paulina (and Niel) famously starred. And suddenly here she was, years later, singing in our home.

Small world. Or perhaps not.

Maybe the world is simply made up of thousands of connections which we only notice when we take the time to look.

Paulina is part of Hessequa Harmonie’s opening concert, Spiritual Songs, alongside Niël, Miroslav Chakaryan, Susan Mouton, Elna van der Merwe and the RUK choir.

Elna accompanied her at KleinBlouKlip.

Elna is a seriously talented musician and, wonderfully, also a neighbour. One of the joys of living in Stellenbosch is discovering just how much absurd talent lives a few roads away. A KleinBlouKlip house concert with Elna is definitely going to happen.

We also got a gorgeous glimpse of Brahms en Blomme, which brings together José Dias on piano and Johanna Roos on violin, with a flower cycle by Niel van der Watt and floral arrangements by Diederik Geldenhuys. Music and flowers. Brahms and beauty. What’s not to love?

And then there was Lee-Ann van Rooi and poetry.

A young woman standing in our home, using words and voice to create an entirely different energy in the room.

It reminded me of something I sometimes forget: a poem does not need a large theatre, elaborate lighting or a multimillion-rand budget.

It needs words.

A voice.

And people prepared to listen.

That was enough. Lee-Ann was phenomenal.

Paulina, Summertime and another circle closing

Paulina also gave us Summertime.

Classy. Elegant. Stately. Effortless in that way that only enormous talent and years of work can make something appear effortless.

I LOVED it.

And while listening I found myself thinking again about how often the arts connect different chapters of our lives.

People. Places. Songs. Books. Old friendships. New friendships.

I have written before about my belief that art moves us — and moves society forward. I wrote about a conversation with Dick Enthoven and Jeanetta Blignaut in Venice years ago, where Dick made the point that artists throughout history have helped societies understand themselves and progress.

I still believe that. Strongly.

Art helps us make sense of the chaos.

Sometimes it challenges us.

Sometimes it pisses us off.

Sometimes it simply gives us 90 beautiful minutes during which the noise disappears.

All of those things have value.

Cornelia, silence and attention

Which brings me to Cornelia Faasen, CEO of the Nasionale Afrikaanse Teater-inisiatief (NATi), lecturer in Stellenbosch University’s Drama Department and one of the people who has spent years thinking deeply about how we fund, develop and sustain theatre and the arts in South Africa. NATi itself focuses on funding and developing new theatre productions, collaborating with festivals and expanding the range of voices and narratives heard in South African theatre.

Cornelia spoke at the launch and I loved her speech.

Not in the polite “thank you for saying a few words” kind of way. I genuinely loved what she said because she put language around something I have increasingly been feeling.

She spoke about silence.

About looking up.

About our attention being consumed by devices and algorithms and about the arts requiring something increasingly radical from us: time.

As she put it:

“Klassieke musiek vra tyd.”

Classical music asks for time.

She drew a distinction between hearing and listening:

“Hoor gebeur met jou. Luister is iets wat jy doen.”

That landed with me.

A concert asks you to sit in a room with people you may not know and collectively pay attention. No scrolling. No skipping ahead. No algorithm deciding that after seven seconds you have had enough Beethoven and perhaps need a cat video.

Cornelia described something very simple and actually rather profound: a room full of people looking up, rather than each of us bent over our own little screens.

And she went further.

She called a classical music festival in a small town, in today’s world, “’n rewolusionêre daad” — a revolutionary act.

I love that.

Because perhaps resistance today is not always noisy.

Perhaps sometimes it is choosing to sit still.

To listen.

To give somebody else your attention.

To attend the concert rather than watch the 30-second clip afterwards.

To be there.

The silence is already there

Cornelia then connected that beautifully to a rural festival.

“’n Plattelandse fees kry hier iets reg, want hier is die stilte reeds beskikbaar.”

The silence is already there.

Between concerts. Between conversations. In an old church. On a Heidelberg street. In that moment after the piano stops before the applause starts.

She argued that showing a young person that their attention has value — that adults are prepared to give an entire room and an entire evening to it — is itself significant.

I agree.

Very much.

Sponsorship isn’t charity

The part of Cornelia’s speech I probably loved most was directed at the sponsors, donors and foundations.

She thanked them — but very deliberately not for their charity.

For their citizenship.

Her argument was that whenever a company, trust or individual invests in a rural concert where, commercially speaking, the sums may not neatly add up, they are making a choice.

A choice not to accept that value and price are the same thing.

Now THAT is something business needs to understand.

I spent years serving on the board of Business and Arts South Africa (BASA), an organisation built around the idea that business and the arts are not strange bedfellows doing each other favours. They can create real value together.

And this is precisely why CN&CO and EasyEquities support things like Hessequa Harmonie.

Not because putting a logo on an arts programme miraculously sells more insurance, investments or consulting work the next morning.

Because healthy societies need artists.

Healthy towns need economic activity.

Young people need stages.

Professional artists need audiences and incomes.

Businesses need creativity.

And all of us need places in which we can think, feel, argue, laugh, listen and occasionally be changed.

That is not charity.

It is investment.

The people behind festivals

It was also good to have Theo Kemp, chair of Hessequa Harmonie, with us at KleinBlouKlip.

Theo is another one of those people whose work extends well beyond one festival. He is a writer, the CEO of the Jakes Gerwel Foundation and works with young writers through Paulet House in Somerset East.

People like Theo remind us that festivals are supported by an entire ecosystem of people who often serve without much public recognition.

Board members.

Trustees.

Advisory committees.

Funders.

People who read endless papers, worry about budgets, open doors, introduce sponsors, argue over programmes, solve problems and then sit in the audience while the artists receive the applause.

As they should.

But a nod to everyone who serves on an arts board or trust.

I know from my own BASA years how much invisible work goes into creating the conditions in which artists can do visible work.

And that made me think of Anet Pienaar-Vosloo and Ton Vosloo too.

Between them, alongside organisations such as Media24 and many others, they were part of a generation of people who understood the importance of building, backing and sustaining cultural institutions and festivals in South Africa.

Many of the festivals we now regard as part of the landscape exist because somebody took an early risk.

Somebody served on the board.

Somebody wrote the cheque.

Somebody persuaded somebody else to write a cheque.

And somebody kept believing.

We should remember those people.

And, more importantly, we should produce the next generation of them.

Festivals supporting festivals

It was also particularly lekker to have Saartjie Botha, director of the Toyota Stellenbosch Woordfees, at the launch.

There is something generous about the head of one festival showing up to support another.

EasyEquities is deeply involved with Woordfees — including the EasyEquities Writers’ Festival — and we have seen first-hand the extraordinary work that Saartjie and her team do to create a platform for writers, performers, musicians, thinkers and audiences.

Different festival.

Different scale.

Different town.

Same ecosystem.

And I don’t think the answer is for festivals to compete until one survives.

The answer is more festivals.

More audiences.

More artists.

More collaboration.

More places where people can gather.

From FEDA to Heidelberg

Earlier this year I wrote about FEDA, the extraordinary high-school drama festival in Johannesburg.

Different city. Different age group. Very different festival.

Same basic idea.

FEDA’s purpose isn’t simply to produce more professional actors.

It creates young people who can think critically, work together, express ideas, tell stories and make sense of the world around them.

Hessequa does something similar in another context.

And perhaps this is why I keep being drawn to festivals.

They are temporary communities.

For a few hours or a few days, people decide to show up.

They eat together. Listen together. Debate. Drink wine. Discover an artist they hadn’t heard of. Buy a book. Hear a piece of music they didn’t think they liked. Meet someone new.

At the KleinBlouKlip launch I met, completely by chance, an EasyEquities client who works in education in Hessequa and also serves on the board of a major listed company.

Of course I did.

1+1.

Again.

The worlds we separate into “business”, “education”, “art”, “investment”, “community” and “friendship” aren’t actually separate worlds at all.

They are one world.

The small streams matter

Cornelia ended her speech with a beautiful image.

The ocean is enormous and impressive.

But sometimes it is beside the little stream that we are able to stop and actually hear the water moving over the stones.

I like that.

South Africa needs the oceans — our great institutions, major companies, universities, national theatres and huge cultural events.

But we need the streams too.

The school play.

The young poet.

The pianist next door.

The gallery opening.

The person serving quietly on an arts board.

The sponsor prepared to back something before the spreadsheet proves it should.

The audience member buying the ticket.

And the slightly mad friend who decides that Heidelberg should have a festival — and then keeps building it for nine years.

Rikus and I were delighted to host this particular little stream at KleinBlouKlip for an evening.

Thank you Niël.

Thank you Cornelia.

Thank you Theo.

Thank you Saartjie.

Thank you Paulina, Lee-Ann, Elna and every artist who shared their talent.

Thank you to the patrons, sponsors, donors and board members who keep saying yes.

And thank you to every person who buys a ticket and actually turns up.

Keep feeding the stream.

And, every now and then, put the bloody phone away and listen.

Hessequa Harmonie runs from 22–26 September 2026 in Heidelberg in the Western Cape. Have a look at the programme, book a few things and go experience this small festival with the very big heart.