Category Archives: Africa

Methodists on the Booze

There are many “Methodist” denominations throughout the world, not only the 1960s Harrismith, Orange Free State version, although that is the most important one. About 112 are listed in wikipedia. So there must be around 112 methylated ways to get to heaven, I spose. Many – or most maybe? – will deny whatever I mutter on the topic of their booze doctrine, but this is sort-of what they sort-of think, I think.

They gloss over Jesus and His wine. Jesus was a lot more pragmatic and accommodating than His Methodists. If he tried that water into wine trick in 2023 he’d be in trouble with this modern-day kerk! They would turn that trick of His into a whine. While it seems Meths are at pains to say they don’t actually BAN grog – no fatwas – they tut tut about it, and suggest that much-ignored Evangelical and Catholic tactic called ‘abstinence.’ The one that doesn’t work. That tactic. This is surely an opportunity for someone to start a 113th Meth sect: One that fearlessly BANS Booze!

From one of the many Methodist websites out there: “Abstinence from alcohol” witnesses to God’s liberating and redeeming love, and is part of living into the life God has prepared for us. We start there. We start with abstinence as faithful witness, and as the norm for guiding our behavior.” The fact that ‘where they start’ is 100% non-biblical? Well, the Bible is full of suggestions . . it’s a guideline . .

In 1960s Harrismith they didn’t get any of the above, sanks goodness. They got Mary Methodist who played the organ beautifully, coached the choir, sang in the choir, served on the Women’s Auxiliary (where women were kept away from any thoughts of usurping the patriarchy), kept us kids in line, or tried to, AND ran a bottle store. Which bottles contained liquor. She did all of these things well, and with love, did my Mom Mary of the Methodist Church and of the Platberg Bottle Store / Drankwinkel.

Do Methodists call for prohibition? Almost. They want “public policy calling for the strict administration of laws regulating the sale and distribution of alcohol.” Give them half a chance and they’ll prohibit, bottle stores will close, and the mafia will have our family’s income stream.

Well, despite their best efforts, if there is a place as boring as heaven, if it’s a good place, and if anyone is going there, Mary Methodist is most definitely at the front of that queue. St Peter won’t even ask to see her ID or her liquor licence. He’ll just wave her right through.

~~oo0oo~~

Here are a few more wafflings about booze by sundry Methodists:

https://www.umc.org/en/content/communion-and-welchs-grape-juice

https://www.christiancentury.org/article/2011-03/methodists-shun-bottle-no-one-wants-talk-about

https://christianityfaq.com/methodists-drink-alcohol/

Mostly it boils down to the same old ‘Yes, the Bible is the infallible word of God, BUT . . ‘ that all denominations use for various things.

~~oo0oo~~

Harrismith’s two bottle stores that provided much-needed succour to the grateful townsfolk were the Platberg Drankwinkel and the Horseshoe Drankwinkel. Sister Sheila tells the lovely story of the Aberfeldy farm school where the subject one day was Engels. The teacher asked, ‘Class, who knows the Afrikaans word for horseshoe?‘ And quick as a flash her friend Elsa du Plessis answered “Drankwinkel.”

Platberg bottle store, Annie’s garage, Flamingo Cafe & OHS 155 VW Beetle

Brauer’s Ford Flammable

They’re generous, kind.  ‘Hospitable’ doesn’t describe the half of it. What? Tolerant? Long-suffering? OK OK.

Share our home, share our food, you can even share my car. Hang on, the Ford Flammable? Is that not a hostile act?

Anyway, I drove it, donning my asbestos underpants and gloves, and it was a revelation. I didn’t know they made Fords without shakin’, rattlin’ n rollin’;

Or Fords with little TV screens on the dash that say in plain English, “oil change overdue!“ as can be seen in the actual shot of Brauer’s dashboard above. And bespoke unraveling upholstery. No boot space though – full of golf kit and old planks that ‘might come in handy one day.’

Look, it was missing a pedal and an ignition key, but thanks to my mechanical skill, I managed to get it moving. I restarted it numerous times when it stalled till I realised I just couldn’t hear the engine. It has a tiny engine smaller than a pint of milk, whereas mine has three full diesel-filled litres. And I’m used to my diesel operating and grumbling in no uncertain terms. You don’t think, ‘I wonder if this engine is running,’ in my car.

Oh, I needed a loan car cos mine was being studied by automotive engineers and marketers marveling at its 17yr-old wonders. They’re considering relaunching it as a special edition.

~~oo0oo~~

Agronomy

Us agronomists have lots of planning to do. There’s the preparing the soil, planting the seed and watering the crop and other stuff I know very little about. But I’ve heard about it.

Sometimes though, you can sit in a chair on your stoep and watch a plant growing in a flowerpot and idly wonder what it is. A tomato plant! Hey, look at that. I immediately claimed credit and started planning what to with the harvest once the leaves had done their bit, then the flowers bloomed and now for the harvest! The word ‘bumper’ came to mind. Harvests are often bumper.

I decided I’d share generously.

– had to tell Terry the green thing wasn’t a finger –

Maybe I’ll buy a few pockets of onions and make a bredie?

~~oo0oo~~

My pic of the stoep, chair and flowerpot was neatly photobombed by a box kite spider!

stoep – porch

bredie – cooked tomato and onion mix; mine usually found in a can

Tuinslang Marelize

The fokkin yoomin race. Just watched a GP tannie woman hose down her SUV in camp for ages, using two million gallons of pure drinking water to get the dust off every crook and nanny. Some people . . !!

It was not a fine aluminium can bakkie like mine, it was a tin can SUV. One of those ForTuna, the new Toyota one, metallic grey. She sprayed and sprayed and sprayed WAY longer than needed. ‘Specially when you know she’s going straight back into the dust tomorrow! She used the camp’s hosepipe – tuinslang – in an area with a sign No Entry Staff Only.

I went over to her and said, My fok Marelize! and she immediately stopped and put all the water she’d wasted back into the hosepipe. Of course, my brave, principled intervention purely in my imagination.

~~oo0oo~~

tannie – old woman; nearly my age

tuinslang – garden snake; garden hose

Over. Over.

I told Steve Reed’s Clarens TV story at a 70th birthday held in a lovely home in Maun on the banks of the Thamalakane river one evening. Over.

Sally-Ann modestly said, Well I Can’t Top That One, and then proceeded to do just that, telling a hilariously disastrous tale of her mobile safari outfit getting their first walkie talkie radios so she could keep in touch with her 4X4 vehicles out in the wild.

The next safari launched. Off went the newly-‘connected’ vehicles, the drivers and their clients, off into the wonderful wild of Botswana.

Just a few short hours later, Sally-Ann  couldn’t wait any longer, and eagerly called them up from ‘Head Office,’ her first time to be in touch with her drivers out in the wild!

Calling Safari 1. Over.
Safari 1 here. Over.
How you guys doing? Over.
Um, not so good. Over.
What’s up? Over.
Well, we’ve rolled the Landrover over. Over.

~~oo0oo~~

Black Friday

I’ve not had much to do with Black Friday. Except twice. Once near Sodwana Bay in Zoolooland; and once in Keetmanshoop in Namibia. Both times it took me completely by surprise.

– Bethanie express coach –

I got caught with a flat, well how ’bout that, north of Bethanie on my way south from Solitaire. The young ou there said, Oom, we do have some tyres but not your size, Oom. The Oom will have to go to Keetmanshoop, Oom.

Note: You may be pouncing Bethanie incorrectly. It’s ‘Bet-Taahny.’

At the Keetmanshoop tyre plek I got excellent service. They fixed up everything, checked all the other things and gave me two shiny new rear tyres. When it came time to pay I expressed surprise at the price. That’s a very good price, saith I.

Ja Oom, the Oom are lucky. Today is Black Friday and the Oom has got a very special price for your tyres Oom.

Well blow me tyres up and blow me down. If you gotta get a puncture some day, get it on a Black Friday, nê.

Rocky Horror Picture Show

‘So You Got Caught With A Flat?’

ou – fella

Oom – older ou

Ou Oom – me

plek – joint

Peeping Tom

I felt like a Peeping Tom! Just a few metres below me, in clear water, naked bodies frolic’d underwater. One gave a tiny fart and it bubbled up to the surface. They kept their heads down as long as they could, but every now and then they’d have to stick their noses out to breathe. Sometimes just their nostrils, sometimes eyes and nostrils. A mouth-breathing hippo would have a major problem.

Fish nibbled at their thick hides and a terrapin shuffled past them underwater, making sure not to get underfoot.

A hippo pod lurking in a pool. Up close!  Often seen from afar in brown muddy water; only once before seen this close. This time was below a bridge across the Letaba river in the Kruger National Park. The other time was in even clearer water in Tsavo National Park, at Mzima Springs in Kenya.

https://videopress.com/v/5GGbfebZ?resizeToParent=true&cover=true&preloadContent=metadata&useAverageColor=true

~~oo0oo~~

Winter Wetland Birding

Jess and I are snugly ensconced in the old Wakkerstroom Hotel, established for our comfort in 1869. We’re ‘camping’  and eating comfort food and (me) drinking Old Brown Sherry. Jess has stayed indoors in front of a cheerful fire all day. Well-ensconced, the lazy bum. I ventured out to the winter wetland for some interesting birding. Here are my usual amateur pics – some feathers were too fast for me as usual, but I did get these.

The first three all have ‘African’ in their name: Rail, Swamphen and Snipe. The little one is a Stonechat.

Here’s my clearest pic – another African Snipe. He froze and waited politely while I focused. Check the deep orange / russet on his tail.

Ducks – Southern Pochard, Shelduck, Yellowbilled Duck, Red-billed Teal, Hottentot Teal, Egyptian Goose, Cape Shoveler; Herons – Purple and Black-headed; Cattle Egret; African Snipe, African Rail, African Swamphen, Black Crake, Little Grebe, Moorhen, Cape Wagtail, Hadeda, Sacred Ibis, Helmeted Guineafowl, Pied Kingfisher, Blacksmith Lapwing, Bokmakierie, Fiscal Shrike, Reed Cormorant, Black-winged Kite, Stonechat.

Cherry on top as the light started fading over the wetland open water:

Three otters appeared and started baljaar‘ing in the smooth water, creating beautiful ripples and wakes in the sunset-coloured water.

baljaar – frolic

I forgot to include Jess and the hotel! Here they are, waiting for breakfast to be served. That’s the menu on the wall; they should add a chicken to represent the eggs.

Nocturnal Noises

Plaf Plaf Plaf Plaf Plaf (growing louder) *Huff Puff Huff* Plaf Plaf Plaf Plaf ( fading away)
Ermigawd I’m back in the Kruger Park.

The Kruger’s most abundant dangerous mammal is jogging round n round, earphones on, carrying a bottle of ‘pure’ water trucked in from hundreds of miles away, belching diesel fumes.

And again. And again. Eight laps at least, three joggers, running separately. All seem to be wearing Adidas three sizes too big, judging by the hollowness of the Plaf. Then peace descends. They’re finished. Or, Deo Volente, been eaten by a lion.

We’re camping in Letaba camp. Now the evening sounds can begin. I’m waiting for a Pearl-spotted Owlet, but nope, first to call is the Barred, then later the Scops owls.
Hyenas whoop; Hippos guffaw and snigger at their own dirty jokes; fart jokes, I bet. A Bushbaby cries, followed by a loud bellow. An Ele? No, more bovine. A Buffalo?

Must remember the rule though: For any mystery noise in a game reserve, always suspect Homo sapiens, so I can’t rule out a happy camper’s bowels being the source.

Then a Spotted Eagle Owl; Then – quieter and much nearer – another hyena? I roll onto my back to free both ears so I can listen in stereo.

Nope, just Jess having a mild little argument in her sleep, half sleep-talking. Sleep-mumbling.

~~oo0oo~~

The next night the same sounds, plus a lion’s roar. When it gets light I go for a walk along the Letaba river boundary of the camp. Lazybones Jess grunts ‘No’ and rolls up tighter under her duvet, so she misses out on seeing a distant pride of lionesses and cubs on the flood plain.

Ff – Fff – Fif – I Can’t Say It!

All I know is I remembered enough of my matric Afrikaans to know my feelings of amazement and denial were one word, ending in a question mark: liewedondersebliksemhoekanditwaarwees?

But it was waar and there we were, thirteen ou toppies laughing at each other. If you matriculated in 1972 and it’s 2022, true’s bob it’s been Ff – Fff – a NUMBER of years, no good denying it.

We were hosted by classmate Willem Lombard on his farm Waaidam where he has built an amazing spread.

~~oo0oo~~

long word – how the hell did we get so old so quickly?

waar – true, surprisingly

ou toppies – old codgers

Alternative name for 50th matric reunion? Matric Farewell

Undercover Operation

The lost puppy escaped an orchidectomy, anyway not having any external ‘orchids’ to harvest. Tiggers, the rescued kitty cat is unlikely to escape the ordeal. He’s heading off to MAWS animal wescue, and I don’t think he’s read the details of the invitation, poor fella.

The two heartless ladies are taking him. I was invited, but no ways I’m risking the vets getting confused as to which male needs doctoring.

~~oo0oo~~

Tigger is back. The deed was done by the voluntary vet at MAWS, and he survived the ordeal. He’s not happy, he’s resting and recovering, subdued.

One day later, and he’s almost back to his old self, full of energy and mischief, pouncing on anything that moves, including Jess, who he has forgiven, gullible cat.

~~oo0oo~~

Foreign Knowledge

Locals know there’s no easy way to the main road from the river outside Janet’s place. Okes from Durban know better, so they venture off looking for a shortcut. Which ends up needing rescue, a towrope, mocking laughter, eye-rolling and getting to the tyre place an hour later than planned. Luckily, Janet’s old Mazda BT – a stablemate of my Ford Ranger and about the same vintage – is 4X4. All it needs is GPS, but despite the well-known Humphrey navigational challenges (Trish could get lost too), Janet did eventually find and rescue me. Easily. Damn. Ignominy.

At SupaQuik, Reggie and his men say they can fix me up with their eyes closed and one hand tied behind their back. All we have to do is bugger off to the Dusty Donkey for coffee and cake, and come back with a credit card.

– Dusty Donkey chook & chicks-

As we’re leaving the Donkey a roadside trader waves and makes a rolling motion while pointing at Janet’s left front wheel. Puncture. We hop out and deploy the jack and spanner and wooden base for the sand and start expertly changing the tyre like a Ferrari pitcrew. Good fortune makes my cap fall off as I bend down. The trader and his mate take one look at the whispy white hair surrounding the large pink bald spot and they gently nudge me aside and change the wheel for us. Ke a leboga borra!

Weg is ons back to Reggie where I exchange 3700 pula for two new tyres and we’re free to go, driving off feeling like I’m wearing brand new shoes.

~~oo0oo~~

Ke a leboga borra! – thank you gentlemen!

Weg is ons – beetle off

Feature pic – re-enactment of the humiliation. Jess forgot to take pics; she’s not cruel like her Ma

Gift’s Puppy

Janet has a lot of energy. A lot. Also, she knows her patch. So when she said in the pitch dark of way-too-early morning, ‘Please come and help me,’ you don’t argue. Shoes on, grab your torch and out into the chilly fullmoon morning. What us loafers would more accurately call the chilly fullmoon night.

‘There’s a puppy with its head stuck in the fence. Go there, I’m going round outside to behind it.’ You do as you’re told.

And so there was: A cute little blonde pup with its head poked through the bonnox wire; its head smaller than the hole, so it could easily have pulled back but was pushing forward, determined to get into the yard. Word must have got out that the lady at number 1414 is a softie who feeds and waters five cats, a mutt, ten thousand birds and sundry cattle, goats and donkeys.

Well, the pup was right. Once it got into the yard there was food and milk and four outraged and indignant cats. Mom! You’re not letting This Thing into paradise, are you? they sniffed at Janet.

Still way too early, we left on Janet’s power walk up and down the dry Tamalakhane river with Muppet, the large hound with the small brain, most of the grey matter dedicated to enthusiasm, little to forethought. Raising dust as we strode towards, then away from, then back towards the sun, which had sensibly not risen yet. The full moon was still trying to set.

And at her heels was the new arrival, trotting along as if trained and long used to this. The walk was a good long one, up to Wilmot Island and down to Kagiso and back, but lil Puppy was relaxed and happy.

– blonde pup and full moon –

As we got back to Jan’s gate a young chap who told us his name was Gift met us and asked, ‘Have you seen a puppy? A female puppy?’ at which Blonde Puppy ran to him and rubbed against his ankles. Happy reunion and happy cats who muttered, ‘Damn Right, Be Off With You!’

Lucky for Puppy too, as while we thought she was a he, we had already planned his de-nackering by the vet.

Peace descended on the valley.

~~oo0oo~~

Raintree Camp

Raintree Camp is just short of Shorobe, north of Maun. Janet and I, gaily chatting our heads off, woke up when we got to the fork-off to Kazakiini Camp, a good 26km past the turnoff. We pretended we knew all along and were just reconoittring the area. Jess was unimpressed at our u-turn. We had actually both noticed the Shorobe Basket Weavers sign, but hadn’t figured out that meant we were passing through that village!

While backtracking, we went straight back to yakking and solving the world’s problems, including the fact that the bakkie was pulling to the left as a result of the road camber and the thick sand on the left compared to the harder calcrete in the middle.

Which was actually neither of those things. It was because of a left front puncture. Our prolonged diagnosis meant the tyre was shredded by the time we stopped.

Jess then took a near-plumber’s crack picture, which resulted in her forfeiting supper last night.

Some young guys stopped to help, only to be told we had everything under control. Noticing some slight huffing n puffing, they ignored me and kindly loosened the wheelnuts with ease. Other than that, of course, everything was under control.

~~oo0oo~~

A short drive north of Raintree there’s a lagoon in the Thamalakane with water from the last rains. Yellow-billed Storks, Spoonbills, Hamerkops, a lone Pelican, a Saddle-bill Stork, flocks of Sandgrouse, Blacksmith Lapwings, and a large pod of Hippo. A mokoro poler with two passengers gave the hippos a wide berth, hugging the reedbed on the western shore.

Along the dry shore, Magpie Shrikes, White-crowned Shrikes, Meves Starling.

We had a lovely campsite under a raintree – lots of those here! – near to Janet’s safari tent. The third night I moved the bakkie next to her tent as I had brilliantly left a light shining all night, so needed to charge the aux batteries by plugging in to Botswana Power Corporation.

To complete my puncture and battery faux pas trifecta, I then moved the car, snapping the charging cable. f&#-it! Luckily, we were fully charged already, and the fridge’s two compartments were back down to 5⁰ and 0⁰C.

Raintree Camp is a lovely place with lovely people, big trees, great ablution facilities, a bar and a pool. We enjoyed our three day stay. Some of the tents are close to the road, so noise can be an occasional factor. New chalets are planned on the water side of the property, away from the road, owner Neil Kendrick told us. So do check it out if you’re headed that way. As a transit camp on the way to or from Moremi, it’s ideally located.

~~oo0oo~~

Botswana Again!

Yay! Camping in Khama Rhino, good to be back in Botswana. Jessie’s first visit. She lost her passport and has only just got round to getting a new one.

Pumping up the tyres after reducing pressure for the sandy and twisty roads in the camp:

Palapye Red VW DubDub Club?

Back at Janet’s place at last. Yay! The Tamalakhane River on her doorstep dry and dusty:

– Father’s Day – a big breakfast at Sitatunga Camp –