– life – bokdrols of wisdom –
Aitch and I took Jess & Tom up Table Mountain in Cape Town. We took the cable car up, and Aitch took it down as well.
Here the kids are – about to walk down Platteklip Gorge.
They bounded down like rock rabbits. I felt my knees wobbling about halfway down, so I sat down ‘to examine some interesting little flowers’. Was stiff for three days after!
Cousin Robbie gets married to Sarah, and after the wedding – maybe it was all that “giving away” talk in church? – TomTom has a sudden thought:
Dad, will Robbie still be our cousin now?
Yes, boy, and in fact you now have another cousin: Sarah.
YAY!!
*(to add Rob Sarah wedding pic)*
Mohamed came to play, then ended up staying the night.
Mom Rookaya, in answer to my query, said “just not pork” so I thought I had meals under control.
Supper I pick up a packet of pasta and say “Here’s yours, you guys. Cook it yourself” to the two nine year olds.
NO DAD! THAT’S HARAM! says my TomTom.
What?
HARAM. You can’t give that to Mohamed!
Oh. I look at the packet: Cheese and bacon Carbonara. Oh, OK.
(Phew! You saved my bacon, boetie, I think. And who woulda thought TomTom would know these things, I think).
~~~~~ooo000ooo~~~~~
Later we go down to Vetch’s beach where they reflect on things . .
Every year Trish got a professional photographer to the kids’ parties. Me, I’m scrooge. I’ll take the pictures. I can do this! So at the kids’ uShaka Waterworld party I tried to photograph everyone. But I didn’t get one of lovely young Hannah, and she left early.
I told Tom.
“Doesn’t matter,” he says, “She’s a brownie/blondie hair kinda person.”
Oh. That’s obviously okay then.
Tom with friends whose pics DID matter . .
~~oo0oo~~
Another brilliant, money-scrooging decision was not to have two separate parties, as Aitch used to. Turns out joining fourteen year-old girls with ten year-old boys was not a clever idea! These below do not blend well with those above. Who would’ve known?! I rushed around searching for bodies all day. Never again!
Jess was 12 and Tom was 8 and even though they would (sort of) believe me when I would say: “Err on the side of spoiling your Mom n Dad, and listening to your Mom n Dad if you want Xmas gifts”, they felt they would hedge their bets and write to Santa as well.
Off they toddled up the road to the PnP centre with their aunt Janet, visiting from Botswana, to post their petitions in the big red letter box.
Jess had given me a copy of hers. It said “Please may I have . . “ before each and every separate request. Extreme politeness was evident.
Tom’s envelope was addressed to Father C. Jess thought it would be better to address hers to Santa C – more formal. Janet had helped with the spelling.
All together now they shoved them through the slot and turned to go.
After two paces, Tom swung round, looked hard at the slot and said sternly: “Read them, OK?”
——-ooo000ooo——-
Below an earlier – 2007 – letter:
On the school run one morning my Thomas is singing along with me:
I am a rock
I am an i-i-island
And a rock feels no pain
And an island ne—ver dies
Dad, he says, pretending to be really asking, not just being a smart-arse:
Do you really not feel pain?
=======ooo000ooo=======
and remember:
Brauer asked: Totally reasonable and innocent question. So what’s the answer, ‘Swanie the rock’? ‘Peter the Rock’? True Granite?
Which reminds me of Larry the Yank back in 1969 who said of the Afrikaners in Harrismith: ‘They just hate being taken for granite’.
Got back from the Brauers’ palatial new home in the ritzy suburb of Gramadoelas in Tshwane – that ancient seat of my forebears the Tshwanepoels (we have landclaim rights there) – landed at Kinshasa Airport and set off to my car. OK, bakkie. It’s waiting for me in 1A in the parking garage proper. (King Shaka airport, really).
Usually I park under shade cloth, but I thought what the hell, I was a bit late so I took a shorter route; the undercover is closer to the boarding gates.
Okaaay, I’m sure it’s here. I’ll check again.
Up and down all the rows, including the ones I knew I wasn’t in. Nothing.
Try level 0, one down (even though I KNOW I was in 1A, I memorised it and said to myself “Remember 1A: You can’t get better than that: 1st class and an ‘A’ result”). Nope. Try level 2, one up. Nope.
So eventually I had to go to security. To report my car missing, ask where the SAPS was to report the theft, open up a ‘missing car case’ and ask if they had CCTV cameras. Already I was imagining it on a lowbed trailer on its way to – I dunno, Monaco? Paris? where bakkies like mine are highly desired.
‘No’, said the perky 21yr old at the parking office with a smile, ‘You can’t have lost your car, where did you leave it?’
‘1A’ I said, my spirits lifting as she said it with such absolute certainty! I thought ‘They don’t have cars stolen here. I can see that just by her demeanour!’
‘Try -1A’ she said. “MINUS ONE AY” is how it sounded.
‘There’s a -1A?’ I asked, ‘Yes’ she burbled brightly, ‘Two levels down from 1A’.
There it was.
~~oo0oo~~
Every garden should have a resident gnome. Especially if a friend of yours edited the well-known magazine Garden n Gnome. Or was that Garden n Home, Lesley?
My gnome lives in a ‘hanging’ pot on the cottage wall and yesterday morning having breakfast I glanced up and spotted him. Next to him was a packet. One of those paper sacks fancy shops use to put gifts in. String handles and a tag you can write happy birthday on.
Ah, I thought, Annerien has left us a gift as a thank-you for staying in the cottage.
Inside was a green box with Mr NWH Humphrey on it. And Oakleigh Funeral Home.
I found Neil!
I had lost his ashes, forgetting I had put them in such a clever place where the gnome could look after him.
Luckily Janet had said she’s not up to it yet, when I suggested she gooi his ashes where Bella is buried and where we – well, some of us – OK, me – had put Aitch’s ashes. So I didn’t have to confess at the time that I’d lost Neil. I just mumbled vaguely that I had put him “somewhere, I think in the garage.”
Now he can stay right there in the gnome hanging pot till Janet gets back from Maun. And when she’s ready she can go down the special path Tobias cut to the site where, in the middle of me clearing my throat to say “OK, we’re going to put Mom’s ashes here” the kids stomped their feet, slapped their knees, jumped up & down, shouted ANTS! and ran off, leaving me to bury the box on my own.
~~oo0oo~~
Later: Janet did come back and chose to scatter Neil’s ashes where Aitch’s are. Along with Aitch’s favourite mutt Bella, a hamster and a gerbil. Tobias helped her by cutting open the path and steps down to the site, which disappear every summer in the undergrowth.
~~oo0oo~~
Even later, Trish and Janet’s Mom Iona’s ashes joined the gang under the copse of trees down the bank in our front yard.
Walking around in a campsite which shall remain nameless (I don’t want anyone to disturb him), I heard a host of birds kicking up a big fuss. I couldn’t see anything, so lay down on my back and searched the whole tree with my binocs. Then a toppie revealed him by flying right at his head and slapping his face with its wings! A big beautiful black mamba, who just quietly took the birds’ abuse. Maybe wrote down her name . . ?
I carefully marked the spot where I’d lain on the dirt road to spot him, so I could find the snake again – I know how snakes can ‘disappear’ – and went back to our chalet nearby and called friends Jon n Dizzi to come and look. I got them to X Marks The Spot . . . and I could not find him! I searched thoroughly, but no go.
We assumed he had moved off, but after my friends left I lay down again and searched the branches again. He was in almost the same position! He’d hardly moved. How the heck had we missed him? The incredible camouflage power of ‘not moving!’
Then while lying on my back on the mowed lawn I spotted a butterfly land on a blade of grass and twist its abdomen, wriggle, then fly off. I went to look and found a neat single spherical egg laid on the under-surface of the green blade of grass. Beautiful. A greenish-yellow colour, I think. I thought I took a photo of the egg but I can’t find it.
~~oo0oo~~
toppie – Black-capped Bulbul, Pycnonotus tricolor
black mamba – Dendroaspis polylepis
Here’s a GIF to help spot him more easily: head left, tail right
Beware of things lurking when out for a carefree stroll in the veld.
Outside Mapungubwe in October 2013 I spotted a male lion running free on the tar road. As I got closer he ducked under a little bush. Amazing how I would never have spotted him had I not seen him dive under it!
The can in the foreground of this picture is on the edge of the tar road, the bush is at the bottom of a steep little bank – about 3m down.
He’s there, believe me! A full-grown lion is under that little bush. A short while later he bolted and ran along the fence in the opposite direction to where I was going on my way to Limpopo-Lipadi in Botswana. I was too slow with my phone camera. (this story repeated – more or less – here).
The stay at Kaoxa was great. When I told hostess Virgeenia I’d been sent there by my friend, young David Hill, she exclaimed:
Hau, that one he makes us laugh!
I had the camp to myself and prepared an elaborate bachelor’s supper, mainly liquid: A Black Label beer, then a couple G&T’s with ice & lemon, biltong, crisps and tomato sarmies. Made with old-style slice-it-yourself white bread. Whattafeast.
Next morning the ants had tried to hijack a stick of biltong, but had only moved it about 40cm. A few thousand of them put a thin stick on their backs for a getaway, but they were too slow.
The chalet was clean, comfortable and had a lovely porch overlooking the valley. The communal kitchen was well-equipped and the fridge was cold with lots of ice. I enjoyed a magic sunset and sunrise. I watched distant eles in the valley for supper, one under a baobab; the Mocking Chats woke me on the thatch roof, squirrels scurried along the branches and I had a klipspringer in full sunlight for breakfast:
Later I checked out the Drifters mobile safaris camp on Kaoxa land. What a special site, ensconced in the rocky hillside among huge boulders!
Interesting sights were an ele looking tiny next to a baobab and a giraffe looking short next to a massive free-standing boulder, the landscape miniaturising these large beasts.
—–Original Message—–
From: pete swanepoel:
Did I tell you I saw a beautiful male lion running along the fence on the tar road outside Kaoxa? Obviously escaped from the De Beers reserve, he was as worried as hell! When I drove up next to him he dived under a bush and wouldn’t move, even when I put my foot out and rustled the grass.
See the picture I took. I’ll be even more wide awake walking in the bush now when I see how little cover a big male lion needs!
Cheers
——
On 2013/11/07 David Hill wrote: Did you stay at Kaoxa? How was it? Let me know so I can let Duncan have some feedback. We were up there for his 60th, beginning August – twenty five old conneko’s – beautiful.
Vacuum clean your room, please Jess. 16yr-old Jess. 2014.
“OK”
On goes the whine, to be switched off ten seconds later.
Stomp, stomp, a delegation to come and see me:
“Dad, I can’t vacuum!”
Why not, Jess?
“Cos I can’t hear my music!”
She watches my jaw drop, grins triumphantly and marches back to continue the vacuuming.
Mission accomplished: SERVED my Dad!!
TomTom
– Please drop me off and don’t get out the car, Dad.
Hugs, fist-bumps, “Love you Dad” all done and said safely BEFORE we get there.
Mouths a silent “Love you” again as he walks off into purgatory.
JessJess
– Please can you come in with me Dad?
Gives me a big hug in her classroom in front of her teacher; gets me to walk her onto the playground where her mates give her a big hello.
~~~oo0oo~~~
Friday, December 20, 2013, pete swanepoel wrote:
Went back to Mfolosi today. Kids were mad keen, especially Jess. Determined to see a lion.
So we did. A lovely big male. I thought that’ll keep her quiet for a while. Only to find out later that dear old silent-one Jess couldn’t see it from back in the canopy where she and her friend Sindi were snugly seated – at their request. But – being Jess – she didn’t say anything at the time!! There was a car blocking her view and she didn’t say a word! Had a quiet drizz in my arms at the picnic spot afterwards! Ai! Die Kinders! (Tom would have raised hell if HE couldn’t see it). I’m amazed Sindi didn’t say something. She’s not usually shy.
To my embarrassment I notice I took 44 pics – and not one of the kids.
Steve wrote: Haai. Next trip make sure Jess is in the front seat and has charge of the binoculars!
Me: My Jessie had choice of seat, being the oldest, and has her own binoculars. All she needed to do was squawk and we could have edged forward by a metre or so but she froze. As she does. The good thing is now we’ll have to go back!
It gets hot but nothing Sahara. I don’t use aircon in the bush. We drove north in October, which the Zims call suicide month, without once switching the aircon on. All windows down is all. When it gets too stinking hot wet towels work amazingly well.
My godson Gary Hill worked as a ranger at Mala Mala for a couple years. Also had a ball, took lots of pics and ran their blog. Loved it, but has moved on. They pay shit and prospects are few, so after a while its comes time to move on.
Find his swansong here:
Brauer wrote: Lyin’ and dandelion??
Surely they don’t qualify as communities. (The kids had said ‘Dad! Don’t stop here!’ I asked why not. ‘Too many “communities” Dad!’ What?! Look at the “communities,” Dad!’ they said, pointing at the local people. I shook my head and asked them when they last looked in a mirror!! Pests).
“WE sang rap”?? Must have been THEY and then the old toppie serenading them with a bit of Mama Mia accompanied by eyerolling.
Me: Hey, WE sing:
I woke up in a noo Bughatti
I woke up in a noo Bughatti
I woke up in a noo Bughatti
I woke up in a noo Bughatti
I woke up in a noo Bughatti
I woke up in a noo Bughatti
and
My nigger, bad nigger , my nig nig nigger
My nigger, bad nigger , my nig nig nigger
My nigger, bad nigger , my nig nig nigger
My nigger, bad nigger , my nig nig nigger
My nigger, bad nigger , my nig nig nigger
and
I gonna PICK the world up and gonna drop it on yo fuckin head
What? You don’t know the classics?
~~~oo0oo~~~
PS: Later Jess told me she HAD seen the lion but just not as well as she’d have liked to!
PPS: My favourite sighting was the meadows full of flowers. They were amazing!
~~~oo0oo~~~
Pics of my self-styled “NOT communities” on other trips:
~~~oo0oo~~~
Jess sixteen and Tom twelve; It’s a beautiful rainbow day, and the Dizzis (Jon & Elize Taylor) treat them to a meal at Spur
Minenhle and Lungelo tag along and, thank goodness, the younger set get their own table. Selfies and ussies and burgers and milkshakes. Heaven.
~~oo0oo~~
So we’ve survived Jessie’s Sweet Sixteen party. The wild breakout and breakaway is yet to come. They had an innocent ball. Tom helped get the place ready:
No sex, no drugs, not even any rock’nroll. I didn’t even smell cigarettes!
Swimming, sweets and hiphop & rap music instead. Mainly hip hop. With lumo lights:
The guys went home, and all I got left now after midnight is six girls snoring in the cottage.
Next day they were back to being kids:
~~oo0oo~~
. . Later, Jessie started getting to grips with her sweet sixteen gift: A scooter and scooter lessons.
~~oo0oo~~
Cosmoore Jenny Fyvie wrote: So divine; looks like they had a lot of fun. The way it should be! Enjoy the sweet sixteen while it lasts. Was Tommy banished?
..
Yep, Tom went off to a friend’s place – better! Twelve and Sixteen don’t really mix well on occasions like this – 🙂
~~oo0oo~~
This time Minenhle joined us, using Gayle Adlam’s mountain bike.
Sheils took us to the start again, in our bakkie, then drove it to her home, which is near the finish line. The night before we had been to the rugby Sharks vs WP and got soaked – Cold and rainy, but the cycling day dawned warm and dry.
Minnie and Jess trundled along, chatting away and eye-ing out the male talent en route.
For the first time, Tom put his head down and pedaled off with intent. I caught him twice, then waited for Jess near Cowies Hill. Never saw him again. Rode the rest alone. At the finish he came up proudly boasting “Blew your doors off, Dad. Beat Jess by MILES!”
Jess & Min took quite a while longer.
Subway sarmies afterwards; then we rode and pushed steep uphills to Sheila’s flat.
Drove home in the bakkie for a hot bath.
