Recording and reminiscing; with occasional bokdrols of wisdom, one hopes.
Random, un-chronological events and memories after meeting Trish, marriage, children and sundry other catastrophes.
NO PERMISSION GIVEN to Artificial ‘Intelligence’ wannabes or LLMs to steal content. Don’t steal other people’s stuff, didn’t your mother teach you that!?Shame on you!
bokdrols – like pearls, but more organic. Handle with care
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Note: I go back to my posts to add / amend as I remember things and as people mention things, so the posts evolve. I know (and respect) that some bloggers don’t change once they’ve posted, or add a clear note when they do. That’s good, but as this is a personal blog with the aim of one day editing them all into a hazy memoir, this way works for me.
The Nyanga area in Zimbabwe consists of rolling hills and granite mountains with acacia, miombo and mixed woodlands, montane and lowland forests, streams, vleis and river valleys. Also though, lots of plantations – miles of tea bushes, eucalyptus, wattle and pine trees have reduced the grasslands and invaded the forested kloofs.
Nyanga National Park – Our base was Far & Wide adventure centre where we camped and also took a wooden hut with a nice little veranda which we used for cooking and meals. I found the showers fascinating: Catering as they do mainly for school groups, the communal shower room – eight showers in one stone room, all fed off these 50mm copper pipes – had an industrial look to it! We boringly all showered individually in this large granite cave!
Far & Wide is quite a spread. Beautiful stone cottages, rustic wood cabins, a lawn campsite and a huge new stone, glass and aluminium building – a convention centre? – under the tall gumtrees you can see top right in the aerial view below, where they have meals, lectures, functions, etc. And where the wifi is.
wifi hotspotluxury cottageshuts and camping
An exciting sighting! was a Black-fronted Bushshrike at the gate to the camping lawn, showing himself in the morning sun. Later, birding guide Wilson took us into the east-facing valley (the wet, misty side of the mountains) in the foreground of the aerial pic above, showing us a host of birds: Livingstone’s Turaco, Stripe-cheeked Greenbul (which buzzed me ten times but not once did I get a clear view!), Yellow-Bellied Waxbill, Roberts Warbler, Variable, Malachite, Collared and White-bellied Sunbirds, Cape Batis, Yellow-bellied Greenbul, Long-crested Eagle. In the background I thought I heard Delegorgue’s Pigeon and Lemon Dove. Damn, I really wanted to see that Stripe-cheek!
From here we ventured out on short excursions – To Pungwe Drift cottages looking for blue swallows. None were around that afternoon, but we saw Eastern Saw-wings.
And to the top of the Mutarazi Falls, the second highest falls in Africa, we’re told. From there we looked down into the Honde Valley below.
We booked two nights and stayed for four. Well, it looked like rain, we didn’t have a definite next destination and – it was lekker there!
Now we’d head south then east then north up the Honde Valley towards Aberfoyle.
On South-Eastward to Marondera, which Helen Worswick had told me in 1973 was a beautiful place called Marandellas, which we prompty teasingly dubbed Marandeadloss. We were Rotary exchange students to Oklahoma back then. Well, if Gosho Park is anything to go by, she was right. We loved the two nights we camped there, even when the heavens opened on the second evening and a torrential downpour had us sheltering under the high roof of the educational centre and ablution structure. Luckily Dave’s years of outdoor life experience guiding trips down the Groot Gariep (or Orange) River saw him sensing the impending deluge, and by the time the real downpour started we had already relocated!
That night Esme had her own Night at the Museum experience:
If any of the creatures moved around that night, we didn’t notice it. And I think we’d have heard the giraffe’s neck creaking…
New birds for me at Gosho were the long-desired Southern Hyliota, the very special Collared Flycatcher and the Miombo Tit, plus a perfect view of the White-breasted Cuckooshrike. At night I heard Freckled and Fiery-necked Nightjars, Spotted Eagle, Wood and Barn Owls.
The campsites are set among the big rock outcrops in the woodland. We chose a site nearest the education centre. As the only people there we had use of the teachers facilities, much better than the rustic ones for the kids!
Walking in Gosho Park was a joy, across grasslands, past vleis, through woodland – Miombo woodland, 72 tree species recorded – and past high rocky outcrops.
Now we’d trek on to Zimbabwe’s famous Eastern Highlands on the Mozambique border, a must-go destination for anyone wanting to see all southern Africa’s birds. I’d long promised myself I’d get there and here it was about to happen!
What lovely hospitality we were treated to at Crake Cottage near the Monavale Vlei. Dorothy and John adopted and spoilt us, looking after Jess whenever we were out birding, actually ferrying us to the vlei in John’s red fire engine, and producing a big pot of tea on the wide veranda on our return from trampling around vleis, sewage ponds n parks. We booked for two nights but stayed for four. “We” being Dave, Esme and me – three old birders – and young non-birder Jess, driving around Zimbabwe in a 2012 Toyota RAV 4X4 and a 2008 Ford Ranger 2X4, focused on camping but willing to chalet when wet weather dictated such a copout.
Birding spots we visited around Harare:
Monavale Vlei – A RAMSAR wetland and important source of water around the capital city. Our host Dorothy Wakeling has been actively involved in promoting the need for looking after these special places for many years. We didn’t spot any of the famous crakes and flufftails, the vlei had dried out somewhat already, but firsts for me were the Yellow-mantled Widowbird, Red-faced Cisticola singing – cisticolas have to say who they are for me to ID them – and Variable Sunbird. Our birding guide Jimmy Muropa was great.
Mazowe Botanical Reserve in Christon Bank – About 30km north of town we were taken on a lovely walk in the granite hills by birding guide Abel Nzaka. Here we followed bird parties up and down the hills among the boulders, spotting birds, including including these these that were new to me: Miombo Rock Thrush, Cabanis’ Bunting (seen once before, but in Malawi), Eastern Miombo Sunbird, White-breasted Cuckooshrike and Whyte’s Barbet.We glimpsed, but didn’t nail down, the Boulder Chat.
Haka Park – Just 10km east of Harare city centre, this park is paradise. Grasslands, my favourite biome, and islands of trees and big boulders, flanked by Miombo woodland. The tree islands have perfect shady campsites. Long-tailed Paradise Whydah and Senegal Coucal.
Mukuvisi Woodland – A midday walk around Mukuvisi was not very productive and we ended up looping around (not ‘getting lost!’) longer than we intended. Another special natural area close to the city. If you started earlier on a good day I’m sure it would hum. We did get a picture of a Guineafowl Butterfly.
We left Harare with great memories of good people, delicious shared meals and enjoyable birding. Roads in the city are lousy, but the highways to and from the city were mostly fine, except for detours.
Jess and I needed to get away – waiting for the insurance company to make a decision on our damaged vehicle was taking forever – so we chose one of our favourite places, Kruger National Park. For the first time we stayed in Orpen camp, the only camp we had never stayed in. And what a lovely little camp it is too.
I left the tyre place with my four brand-new polished rubber slippers on my Ford feeling chuffed and stable, if R14k lighter, when a shiny new and way-too-big for a 4-seater sportscar white BMW X6 switched on its hazard lights at a traffic light. The driver hopped out and ran to the car ahead of him. A dull faded green old Korean sedan in trouble.
The two drivers nodded, one hopped in and the BMW driver started pushing, soon joined by his tubby passenger, leaving the BM blinking at the lights. I followed them by driving round the BM. Soon they pulled over huffin and puffin. No sign of life in the old faded green jalopy. ‘I’ll give him a tug,’ I shouted through my open window and they nodded and ran back to the shiny new white thing, their part in the attempted rescue done.
I pulled off in front of the faded green thing and hopped out to fish for my tow rope, but the scrawny 30-ish bearded driver in a grubby mechanics overall had done this before. He had a rope out like a flash and bopa’d it to my tow hitch. I’ll watch for your hand out your window I said, ‘OK Uncle,’ he said.
Three times he dropped the clutch and the faded green hopped and screeched, tyres belching blue smoke (was he in first gear!?); but no go. He’d wave me on, his scrawny arm indicating, ‘Try Faster.’ I had to stop at two red lights, ran a third as all was clear and then at the fourth, BANG! he ran into me! Omigoodness. I pulled over, hopped out and we both surveyed the damage: My tow ball unaffected; his bonnet looking horrible, his already low-value car now worth less. Damn! Had his brakes failed? Had he lost focus? Had he texted his poppie? I didn’t ask.
Where can I tow you to where your car will be safe? I asked. I rent a room in the location outside Meerensee, can Uncle tow me to there? I’ll tow you to the nearest petrol station where you can ask the attendants to keep an eye on it while you arrange things, I offered. At the Shell station we pushed his car into a good spot as he told me his story. Blown head gasket, fixed, then blown again – ‘I think I used the wrong oil. Oh man,’ he sighed, ‘I just hoped By Grace it could have lasted until I got my drivers licence!’
Eish, maybe THAT was why he ran into the back of me?
I left him a cold drink and some cash and he was way too grateful for an oke still in such a pickle, praising ‘The Man Upstairs’ for helping him thus. Meantime there I was, R100 lighter and my feet firmly downstairs on terra firma. I muttered, He coulda just fixed you car rather, but didnt want to spoil his smile. Damn!
Whoa! That donkey has suddenly sprinted like Usain . . *BANG!* My foot hit the brake as his head hit the left headlamp and Jess simultaneously said, Dad!
Donkey dead, Ford Ranger spilling radiator water,we would not be going anywhere in a hurry. We were about to get to know the people of Malale village in Limpopo province.
I hopped out, expecting an owner to come rushing out shouting this particular ass happened to be his prize mount with a very good chance in the upcoming Rothmans July Handicap, worth millions. But no. Villagers enquired after us, after our vehicle, but nobody mentioned the deceased donkey. No-one appeared to have any interest in the poor donkey. New friend Morris explained that an owner would be afraid I might ask him to pay for damages, and could he have the price of a beer for that information?
Meantime a young lady appeared at my elbow. She was about elbow height! Tiny but fully in charge. Like so many women in my life she sussed me out, saw I knew nothing and set to work. She phoned Oom Samie. Could he send a towtruck to rescue this ass? The live one. Oom Samie could. Did we have a place to stay? She owns a nearby game farm and lodge. And so voorts; and by the way, Morris is a good oke, she knows him. She stayed over an hour until all that was left was the waiting, then left with a Come and Visit Us.
It was warm, so let’s visit the tavern. I would not be doing any more driving. Morris got his beer, but courtesy of two days without Eskom, there were no cold ones, so I declined.
Later the towtruck arrived, loaded up, we hopped in – and we hit the sack at 9pm in a lovely B&B in Polokwane ten hours after our 11am incident with the donkey in broad daylight.
That was the police report: Light conditions: Broad daylight. Road conditions: Smooth tar, straight dry road, disconcerting absence of potholes. For cause of accident I quoted the tavern owner. He said, ‘Donkeys are Stupid and They Don’t Concentrate.’ Here’s one after the prang right outside his tavern proving him right:
One week later the buckled bakkie is still sitting forlornly in a scrapyard while we drive around aimlessly in a rental vehicle. Apparently these things take time.
…
About ass jawbone strength. When JonDinDin implied I had rightfully and deservedly received a smiting with the jawbone of an ass, I thought, Hmm, we had slowed down to about 65kmh as we entered the village. So personally I think Samson was exaggerating when he said, in Judges 15, about some blerrie Philistines: ‘With the jawbone of an ass have I slain a thousand men.’ We’ll never know.
…
*old Afrikaans song. NB: ‘Die’ means ‘the’ not die as in dead. So it’s, ‘Oh, the donkey!’
And the song goes on to say the donkey is a wonderful thing. Also quite a rude thing if you listen to the lyrics.
…
Nineteen long days after the accident the insurance company released the vehicle, having written it off. They paid me out so at last I could tow it to a panelbeater. Who reckons he’ll have it looking like new in no time. Well, three weeks or so. And new-ish.
Digging a sump at the bottom of my garden* and installing a submersible pump needs engineering skill and know-how. Luckily I have a lot of those required skills which I acquired indirectly. See, a mate of mine did first year engineering at Wits and then got promoted to first year optometry, where his vernuf rubbed off on me. Well, not directly onto me but onto my grey and grey 1965 Opel Concorde deluxe sedan. Driving the Opel then had that same vernuf seeping into my skull, which was rubbing against the lowered ceiling fabric of the modified Opel. Which had been rubbed against by a semi-engineer wearing blue suede shoes. You think I’m making this up. Ask his wife. I think that Opel ceiling fabric makes you bald, which is why real automotive engineers always mention that cars should have headroom.
So when my foot went thru the paving of my little garden* I immediately knew this was trouble. There was undermining afoot. And underfoot. I spoke to other residents of this toevlugsoord – that’s a resort – and the instant diagnosis was unanimous. It was moles. Moles? Ja, moles.
How do moles get under miles of paving? It’s moles.
Golden moles, the insect eaters with tiny teeth related to hedgehogs? Or mole rats, the tuber, root and plant eaters with big teeth sticking out of their mouths? It’s moles.
Have you ever seen the moles? No, but we see their tunnels. Aren’t those just where the water has made it’s way under the paving? In the Drakensberg you get underground streams. It’s moles.
I bumped into the honorary parks board ranger in full uniform and an Ezimvelo sign on his bakkie door, who lives down the road – Hornbill Road – from me. With my engineers eye it looks like he must catch all of the water that runs down Hornbill, directed into the road by each of the dozen or so log cabins and their paved, boxed-in gardens. His garage sits right across the road at the bottom like a cul de sac. So he must have paving undermining problems, right? I asked him. It’s moles, he said.
Golden moles, the insect eaters with tiny teeth related to hedgehogs? Or mole rats, the tuber, root and plant eaters with big teeth sticking out of their mouths? I asked. Ah, I know those little golden moles he said. They tunnel just under the grass, they don’t make deep tunnels or mole hills. Y’know, those mountains of soil? They don’t make them. Ah . .
So I’m digging a sump at the bottom of my garden and installing a submersible pump which I’m hoping doesn’t get clogged up with moles. Here’s my new pomp:
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nous – vernuf
vernuf – bs
*garden – paved patch, really
toevlugsoord – closed flight resort; a place you can flee to when things are not going swimmingly; only to find out things may go swimmingly again if you can’t fix the surface water drainage problem;
Ezimvelo – old Parks Board
cul de sac – ha, this time it’s French, for Straat Loop Dood;
The report was glowing when I fetched the bakkie from D&B Motorcare in Durban. Fully serviced, “It’s in wonderful shape, ready for your trip to Zimbabwe,” said the reliable father and son team who keep it shipshape.
Um, except one front tyre is wearing skwiff, have the wheels aligned, OK?
So off to Richards Bay where the Tyre Tannies had more to say. Something about wearing skwiff, different tyres, de-laminating, bulging, ens. And why are the Oom, who’s a Swanepoel, speaking English? So four new tyres were needed, not just an alignment, it turned out.
Weird that a bakkie’s electric window winding mechanisms don’t last eighteen years, don’t you think? And that one can’t get spares after so short a time?
Being without a working driver’s door window made me a bit sad. That was OK, though as it made my kids even sadder. They were my automatic gate openers and parking boom and toll booth payers. Actually they did it with surprising good humour, enjoying rolling their eyes at me and sighing. I think, I believe.
Then Willie Panelbeater found an after-market window-winding mechanism for me. The driver’s door window is back in business. Once again I am rolling up to tollbooth windows nonchalantly.
Meantime, the two rear windows had been playing up for quite a while, and eventually conked. So far we’ve been unsuccessful in our search of Olde Parts Suppliers and scrapyards, so I have had to Heath-Robinson a fix for the left rear door.
– Window Closed –– Window Open –
Now for the right rear. We’ll take turns sitting in the back, cos having windows like these, that don’t open all the way, is not fun! Shouldn’t be allowed. How can you look cool if you can’t hang your elbow out the window?
Update 1: Both rear windows have yielded to my mechanical skill and know-how and can open and shut again – and: All-The-Way open! Elbow-hanging cool can now take place. Also photography out the window in game reserves. Admittedly all very manual, no electric motors involved, and closing them if it starts to rain or a lion wants to stick its snoot inside entails stopping, opening the door and manhandling them closed.
I call it nostalgia, a wonderful throwback to Mom growing up on Nuwejaarsvlei and driving to town in Dad Frank’s yellow 1927 Erskine Tourer. Read about that here.
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Update 2: I bought an exercise mat on special and quickly, before any exercise could take place, cut it up and covered up the gaping hole. Netjies huh?
So determined was I to avoid going to Home Affairs that I made my life a bit of a misery. I spent hours online, starting 30th October. Later on I went to the FNB bank Cornubia branch that purports to do passports; they said Go Away, Go And Book Online. Eventually my current passport’s expiry date dribbled by. Then finally, as a last resort, I went to Home Affairs in Richards Bay without an appointment at 10am on Monday.
Fifteen minutes later I emerged with the promise that I’d have my new passport in two weeks. These fifteen minutes included a walk out of the building and across the road to a trailer doing photocopies of ID cards for Five Seffrican Ront – R5.
Bloody yell. Last night an sms and an email confirmed I had indeed been there in the flesh and I had done all the right things, fine thumbprints and handsome mugshot included.
What a ninny. Next time I’ll be a man and sommer do it the normal way from the outset.
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UPDATE: Today Monday, forty nine minutes short of one week after my visit, I received this sms:
Later, I picked up my passport in about five minutes – there was one person ahead of me being helped when I got to Collections; the photo is indeed that of an elderly gentleman looking concerned, but that’s not their fault. I salute the people at Home Affairs and I apologise for my pessimism! I’m usually the one saying, ‘Ah, It’s not so bad.’
Next, I asked my very own ‘Relationship Manager’ how I could get small denomination US dollars. She said what she always says: Go On The App. Well, *click *click and a large sum of Rands was removed from my account, with the promise to courier a tiny amount of greenbacks to my door. I’m waiting . .
“Every man hath two birthdays, the date of his actual birth and the first day of each new year. No one regards the First of January with indifference. It is that from which all date their time, and count upon what is left.”
English writer Charles Lamb in 1823
So regular birthdays tell us how far we’ve come. Just a historical fact, a number. January 1st 'birth days' remind us to check where we have been and how much further we need to go. They're a wake-up call!
Here’s to a good 2026. Hey, we can hope . .
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Our happy sound in the background for new year here in Mtunzini is the seldom-seen Southern Banded Snake Eagle. Ignore the dove going woo woo woo, the eagle is in the background going kak, kakakaa
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(thanks for Charles Lamb quote, drmardygrothe.substack.com
Jessie’s spotting again. We booked a stay in a treehouse at Bonamanzi. Arriving too early for check-in, we took a walk in the camp while waiting for the key.
Dad there’s a yellow frog. Where, Jess? Omigawd Dad, there’s a snake! Where, Jess?
I aim my binocs where she’s pointing on the ground and spot a beautiful, slender green snake. It lunges forward. Now I’m watching a bright green snake with a bright yellow frog in its beak. It makes for a tree, carrying it’s prey like a tiny peeled mango. Now, if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that our little yellow frog has croaked.
– Aargh! Didn’t have my camera with me! –
But wait! The unhappy frog is unwilling to die, and with a mighty kick it ruks los and hops off, snake in pursuit. That frog hopped well over twenty times higher than its full 36mm body length, three huge jumps in a row with that frog-catching specialist snake in hot pursuit. Then suddenly, maybe becoming aware of our presence, the snake changed it’s mind, abandoned the chase and beetled off. The frog paused for a breather and let me get close:
– cellphone camera is better for close-ups –
The frog was a Tinker Reed Frog, the snake likely a Natal Green Snake, but could also have been a Green Water Snake. About 600mm long I’d guess.
– the scene of the hunt, the grip and the escape –
Here he is, saying Holy Shit That Was Close!
Actually, I couldn’t find his call, so as a placeholder, I used a frog I hope to hear in the Chimanimani mountains on our upcoming trip to Zimbabwe. Enjoy.
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ruks los – heroically frees himself with a well-aimed kick in the fangs with his one leg the snake didn’t quite secure; or maybe boxed him a left hook with his free fist?
Jess and Tom share a birthday, so Tuesday was lunch in Umhlanga Rocks for urban Tom, and Thursday was a picnic in Mfolosi game reserve for nature guide Jess. Once again we forgot to take pics in the gateway centre, being far too busy eating, chatting, banking – Tom – and shopping for clothes – Jess.
A warm overcast day with a cool wind in the game reserve, and we remembered the cameras!
Breakfast was egg-mayo sandwiches and coffee made by Jess; Lunch was gourmet burgers flipped by Dad. Jess had brought three puddings, but we couldn’t – took them home.
On the way out an open game drive vehicle from a lodge outside the park needed help. The mighty Ford Ranger could help the Toyota Landcruiser with jumper cables and a no.10 spanner. Unfortunately his battery was dead as a dodo and needed a new one swopped out from a lodge backup vehicle, which was in the park with four staff members to lay out a lavish lunch for the pampered guests. But hey! we scored an ice cold beer and a coke from their cooler box. Thanks, safari guide man!
The kitchen tap mixer started leaking and I couldn’t complain. No-one would listen if I did, as I now own the joint! Luckily we have a three litre plastic jug, so for the last couple months Jess and I have fetched water from the bathroom to use in the kitchen. It’s the simplest solution.
I did go under the sink and loosen the fitting and check out what was needed. A 22mm spanner and a new mixer. In Westville we saw a beautiful one for a mere R3000 so we carefully placed it back and tiptoed out of the plumbers supplies store. I chose to focus on my dilemma of not having a 22mm spanner and stick with that useful loophole. After all, the bathroom basin in the cottage is a mere fourteen steps from the furthest of the twin sinks.
Anyhow something happened that wouldn’t wait and didn’t have an easy/lazy solution: The soakpit started overflowing. So I dug it up and fixed it. Well, would have, but there were only two spades and the guys helping me – who actually knew what they were doing – were using them.
Ownership is overrated.
I kept planning though. I even priced a 22mm spanner, but decided against buying it. The next day, checking my slip, I noticed the hardware store had actually charged me for it. So I rushed back to the store – ten days later. Luckily they were chill and handed me the spanner, so I have one less excuse. One day I’ll buy a shiny or matt new silver mixer and become a plumber. My pants do slip below my belt sometimes as I Ben Dover, exposing my jockeys and more, so I’m partially qualified.
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Meanwhile, the creatures in the garden don’t mind.
We chose the Renosterkoppies road to Lower Sabie. Too beautiful. I’d love to drive it again with more time; take drinks and lunch along.
In camp, a rasping ruckus drew my attention to a furious Black-collared Barbet chasing a Lesser Honeyguide wanting to lay an egg in his nest. I’ve seen that dogfight before.
In the river and at sunset dam, Egyptian Geese, Black-wing Stilt, Black-wing Lapwing, Spoonbill, Three-Banded Plover, Hamerkop, Buffalo Weavers, White-faced Whistling Duck, Hadeda Ibis, Indian Myna, Yellow-billed Stork, fifteen Grey Heron on one tiny island in the river, Reed Cormorant, Black Crake, Village Weaver,
Crocodile bridge camp
A lovely Robin trifecta! Bearded Scrub Robin, White-browed (Heuglins/Hooligans) Robin-Chat, White-throated Robin-Chat. Three cuckoos, Red-chested, Diederik and a Klaas’ male courting his love interest, tirelessly bringing her grubs and finding her no matter where she moved to in a big sycamore fig. Three barbets, Black-collared, Yellow-rumped Tinker bird and an Acacia Pied; Terrestrial Brownbul, White-bellied Sunbird, Spectacled Weaver pair, Tawny-flanked Prinia, Trumpeter Hornbill, Bulbul, Brubru, Lesser Honeyguide calling from a calling post above us, Sombre Greenbul, Gymnogene Harrier-Hawk,
Twenty giraffe in a group just outside camp; A croc eating a zebra; A snooze of eleven lionesses and cubs in shade on a riverbed; inside the camp, a number of bushbuck does, one with a tiny fawn, and one ram.
