Aitch – Page 7 – Bewilderbeast Droppings

On Safari with a Bushman – 3. Brief Cook’s Tour version

Zambia, Malawi and Mozambique via Botswana. We only had a bit more than a month, so not as leisurely as we would have liked. Can hardly believe it was fourteen years ago – 2003! The kids are now 19 and 15!

Mostly we drove at a leisurely pace and didn’t do great distances. We did put in a long day of driving on four stretches, which allowed us to chill on other days: Lusaka to Chipata in Zambia; Blantyre in Malawi to Tete in Mocambique; Tete to Vilanculos in Mocambique, and lastly Zavora to Nelspruit back in South Africa were all long-hauls. On those days we left early with the kids strapped in and sleeping. We’d drive for hours before breakfast. Aitch always had food or entertainment for them.

LuangwaWithKids (1) Tom — – TomTom and Stripey enjoying lunch – life is good! –

For the rest our days were unhurried. Slowly with the windows down, as we didn’t use the aircon. Anyway, speeding and potholes are not a good combination. At places we liked we’d stay up to three nights. Each of our five three-night stays felt like a complete holiday on its own. The Bushman off-road trailer proved its worth at every stop, unfolding like a luxury Bedouin oasis, replete with shade, cold fridge, lounge chairs, books, binocs, groaning tables, food and drink. Next time, belly dancers.

Waterberg, South Africa

– the only time we needed the awning – Waterberg trees were see-through –

Zambia

On through Botswana and to the Zambian border at Kasane where a ferry carries you over the Zambesi. One of the ferries had dropped a big truck overboard and got damaged, so only one was in operation, which slowed things down. Took about four hours and we were safely across the Zambezi river in Zambia. Tommy took to the “fewwy” in a big way and called all boats fewwies for a while. The battered and half-drowned second ferry and truck and trailer were visible looking sad at the side of the riverbank. The border post was pleasant enough. They charged us more for our “minibus” and tut-tutted sympathetically at my exaggerated protests that this was not a fee-earning taxi, but just our vehicle! Laughingly insisted “Well, sir, it’s the rules.” Had a good chuckle and they wished us well in their country.

In Livingstone we camped on the grounds of the Maramba River Lodge. It was full, so we squeezed in near the gate – not the best site, but quite OK. Lovely pool again. Drove to the falls at daybreak where a vervet monkey snatched Jess’ breakfast apple out of her hand. Our first sight of the falls from the Zambian side. Spectacular and different, showing the interesting rock face with the very low flow.

We drove to Taita Lodge on the very lip of the Batoka Gorge downstream of the falls overlooking where we had rafted years before. A warm welcome and a great lunch on the deck hanging over the river. Ice-cold beer, great sarmies. Looked for Taita Falcons, saw Verreaux’s (Black) eagles soaring below. Tom & Jess banging on the dinner drum and xylophone was un-musical, but no other guests around, so no one minded – in fact the staff loved the brats and spoilt them with attention. I thought I’d better step up and perform, as Aitch had been doing all the lessons and homework, so I taught them Cheers! Salut! and Prost! Life skills.

Whoa!

On the way out of Livingstone we hit the best section of road we saw on the whole trip – brand new wide black tar with centre white stripe and side yellow lines! Amazing!

The road was in fact so smooth that the ole kombi fainted. And died. Stat. Not a shudder or a hiccup first. Just suddenly nothing. That much-dreaded “CAR TROUBLE” silence thing! Well, after 197 000km I spose it’s OK. All my mechanical skills, like turning the key repeatedly while muttering fierce incantations, didn’t work. So I hopped out and unpacked the back where I had heard kombis hide their engines. Lifted the lid to stare at that thing. That’s my other mechanical trick: I stare at and swear at engines. I’ve sworn at sumps too, in my time.

Some school kids walked up and said Don’t worry, they know a mechanic at the nearby village, and the toothy one on the battered bicycle offered to go and call him. Sure, I said, not hopefully. “JP” from Gauteng, on his way to service some big crane, stopped his rented car and kindly offered his assistance. Soon he was joined (I was amazed) by Carl the mechanic, who had indeed been summoned by those schoolkids. He had a metal toolbox on his shoulder, and between the two of them they peered, prodded, unscrewed, fiddled – and broke the distributor cap! Using mostly my tools and swallowing the ice-cold drinks I passed them, they eventually gave up. ‘Must be something computerised in one of these little black boxes’ was their verdict. Right!

‘There’s a VW agent in Lusaka’ says Carl cheerfully. Right! 200km away. As they’re about to leave, Carl spots a loose wire under near the sump. Kombis have sumps, ja? Finds another loose end of a wire and joins the two. Vrooom! I mean, VROOOM! Apparently the wire was from a cutout switch to a heat sensor in the block. The kombi roared to life to tremendous applause! Well, four of us cheered. JP said ‘My pleasure’, Carl said ‘R200’, I said ‘Bargain’, Trish and the kids said ‘Thank you!’ and we were on the road again!

Next stop Lochinvar National Park at the south end of the Kafue National Park. We’d never heard of it but saw it on the map. Quite a bumpy road got us to the gate after dark. ‘Sorry, but you can’t go in’, said the soldier with a gun. ‘Sorry, but I have to’, said me. ‘You see, I can’t let these little kids sleep out here and nor can you, so hop onto your radio and explain that to your main man’. Back he came – ‘Sorry. The main man says the gate is closed’. ‘You just didn’t explain it to him nicely enough’ I said – ‘Please tell him I can’t, you can’t and he can’t leave a 22 month old baby sleeping in the sticks’. Off he went and back he came. ‘The main man will meet you at the camp inside’. ‘You’re a marvel, well done, thank you!’ we shouted and drove in on a 4km free night drive in Lochinvar. No animals, but some nightjars.

We slept in the kombi. Next day we sorted out our fairly primitive campsite, saw the ablutions were out of commission, so rigged up our own shower. Nice big trees to hang it from.

Lochinvar – Scottish name, one sposes – has beautiful flood plain lakes on the Kafue river in the middle of dry surroundings.

In Lusaka we found that VW agency. They told us replacing the cracked distributor cap was no problem whatsoever, they could do it with one hand tied behind their back. In fact they’d have a new one ready for us in a mere two weeks when a spares delivery was due. We drove on.

South Luangwa National Park in Zambia was my main destination of the whole trip – I had read about it for decades. It was everything and more I imagined. What a river! Flatdogs Camp just outside the park was a blast, too. Big shady trees, a hearty meal available in their casual restaurant if you didn’t want to cook, we didn’t – pizzas or burgers – and a swimming pool with a home-made painted cement slide. Jess loved it so much she wore a big hole right through the bumular zone of her cozzie.

There we met an American Mom with three kids. She’d married a Zambian man in the USA and had shipped over a converted yellow school bus to tour around Zambia.

– the three ZambiYanks with Jess n Tom –

Then into the park – South Luangwa Park! – a long-awaited dream. It was terrific. Saw puku antelope for the first time.

– Thornicrofts giraffe looked huge, but zoom back and the sausage tree dwarfed him –

To get there we had to drive from Chipata town – that dreaded road we’d been warned against! Well, the grader had been a few days ahead of us and it turned out to be one of the smoothest stretches of gravel on our whole trip!

Luangwa Road small_cr — – travelling tinker –

On to Malawi

As you approach big water – the sea especially, but here it was a big lake – you encounter more and more sand. Deeper and deeper sand, which 2WD vehicles towing trailers sometimes have ever-so-slight problems negotiating. So it was that even before we first caught sight of Lake Malawi I got that uh oh! feeling, accelerated but no go, I was slightly stuck in sand in a park in a village. I hopped out to let down my six tyres, thinking A: Why were you lazy, you should have done so earlier; and B: Because I use a manual pump and it’s hard work getting back up to tar road pressure in hot weather. But just then I was saved ! Religion saved me!

A few young people from a nearby big group who were watching me ran up: “No, no. Don’t worry. Hop back in. We’ll push you out!” Turns out they were Bahá’í Faith folks having a picnic on a day of religious significance to them (maybe the Birth of the Báb in 1819?). They believe in World Peace. Me too, brothers! I firmly believe in three chief tenets: World Peace, Friendly Pushes and not having to Re-inflate Tyres – long-held convictions! Handshakes and good wishes all round when I stopped on firmer ground.

Our destination was Chembe village on the shores of Lake Malawi, Monkey Bay and the famous Cape Maclear, where we had snorkeled some ten years earlier. On the way I provided more entertainment to my appreciative family. A steep hill got the better of our 2.3 litre 4 cylinder petrol engine as I had been dawdling, birding and tree-spotting. The old kombi just couldn’t drag the Bushman any further. I had run out of steam, even in first gear. My bad. I pulled up the handbrake, hopped out, pulled up the trailer brake, unhitched and swung the trailer round manually using its handbrake, and faced it downhill. Now the kombi was a powerful beast without the brick on its butt, so I could drive it down, reverse up to the Bushman, re-hitch and retreat back down the hill. Then I found a place wide enough to turn my rig around and take a run at the hill – easy this time. Fine when you’re focused!

Aitch’s goal was the freshwater snorkelling off Mumbo island in Lake Malawi, cichlid fishes, and bats and swifts in a water cave.

– Stephens’ Ace Luxury Lakeside Lodge. Deluxe – or was it Emmanuel’s? –

Emmanuel’s had a vacancy so we booked in for a few days. Fair-minded people will agree with my assessment of it as ‘luxury’ but Aitch veto’d that and stuck it firmly under ‘basic with roof,’ even though the shower was almost en-suite. She insisted on ‘basic’ even when I reminded her that, unlike ten years ago, no cockroach had run up the outside of the mozzie net here. Some people are just hard to please . .

– true confessions, I airbrushed my boep out of this pic –

Outside the room, Aitch was in heaven. This was her main destination:

Mocambique

Leaving Malawi we crossed the wide Zambesi at Tete, where we stayed in a motel on the right bank as we wanted to head straight off the next morning. Probably Aitch’s least favourite lodgings of the trip – mozzies and an empty swimming pool. Leaving town two garages had no petrol. They said the word was that the town on the far bank had, so we crossed back over the Zambesi, filled up and crossed back again. The kombi liked that! What a bridge! What a river!

Then, after a long day’s drive, our biggest luxury – three nights at Vilanculos Beach Lodge. Sea, sand, a bar, lovely food, huge soft beds, friendly staff. Especially João, who spoiled the kids rotten. They thought he was a wizard, as he had this magic trick, writing up cooldrinks to our room number!

We took a boat to Bazaruto Island and then on to Two Mile reef offshore in the big Indian Ocean. Lake Malawi and Bazaruto were Aitch’s main snorkeling destinations and she LOVED them both! Two-Mile reef really is ‘like an over-stocked aquarium.’

: Two Mile Reef, two miles east of Bazaruto Island off Vilanculos, Mocambique

Zavora Bay near Inharrime. Stunning lakes and a wi-ide bay; A reef at the point, so you can walk in and snorkel in sheltered water for a kilometre; Lovely cottages – houses, really, on top of the dunes overlooking the bay. Our best find in Mocambique. We hadn’t heard about it before and we fell in love with it. We agreed: “We MUST come back here one day!”

: Ponta Zavora, Mocambique

: One Child, One Beach

Here’s where the kids got sick. We tested them – high positive readings for malaria. Looking back, we suspected the one night we had let them stay up after sunset at a shebeen on the banks of the Zambezi in Zambia – parents drinking alcohol and enjoying the music and laughter, irresponsible louts. Luckily the Zavora lodge owner gave us Coartem pills which we fed them – Tom took some persuading, pursing his lips tightly at first. Early next morning we set off for South Africa. A stop at a pharmacy and clinic in Xai Xai and a stop at ‘the ex-pats clinic’ in Maputo only scored us some anti-inflammatories.

When we got to Nelspruit/Mbombela hospital they tested all clear! The Coartem had done its job perfectly. No parasites detected! Phew! We spent another night there just to be near the hospital. A day trip to Kruger was enjoyed by the kids who seemed to be saying, What’s The Fuss?

Our last overnight before getting home to Westville was a quick stop at Badplaas. Indoor hot water pools and garish plastic slides in red, green, blue and yellow. So fake after all the natural wonders we had seen, right? Jess said, Mom! This is the BEST place we’ve been! Oh boy, holidays are gonna be different going forward, I thought . .

Two Memory Highlights:

Firstly, the rivers – stunning! The Limpopo, Chobe, Zambezi, Kafue, Luangwa, Shire, the Zambezi again (at Tete it’s wi-i-ide and beautiful), the Save and the Limpopo again, were all magnificent and welcome and we stopped and stared. South Africa has some lovely rivers, but these seemed wider, swifter-flowing and often clearer. I love rivers.

Secondly, the friendly people. Everywhere we went we were helped and fussed over and we heard laughter and “No Problem!”, and quite often, as in SA: “Are these your children?” I love people.

Accommodation: We camped 14 nights; Basic shelter with roof 6 nights (better than it sounds, Aitch!); Comfy lodgings 7 nights (luxury!); Spoiled ourselves with super-luxury 5 nights; The last two involve food brought to you ready-cooked and dishes magically disappearing, never to be seen again. I say that’s lukshury with a Capital KSH!

Duration: Five 3-night stays; Three 2-night stays; Eleven 1-night stands;

~~oo0oo~~

Cook’s Tour: Thomas Cook (1808 – 1892) was an English businessman best known for founding the organised travel industry. In 1855 he took two groups on a ‘grand circular tour’ of Belgium, Germany and France, ending in Paris for the Exhibition. The expression ‘A Cook’s Tour’ was humorously used for any rapid or cursory guided tour: Like, “If it’s Tuesday, this must be Belgium.”

~~oo0oo~~

On Safari with a Bushman – 2. The Preparation

Having decided “We’re Going” we wanted to keep things simple.

Over-preparation can cause delays, complications and second thoughts! I took long leave (I asked me, I said yes, I hired a locum optometrist, all good). Trish was between jobs – looking after kids was her current full-timer – so she was good to go. Mario serviced the kombi for us – so its 197 000km service -and gave me his usual lecture about looking after it. He told horrific stories about his trips up north in 4X4’s and how terrible the roads were. Especially the road between Chipata and Luangwa, ‘the worst road in Africa.’ I made a mental note.

And instead of buying all sorts of stuff I bought a . . .

. . drum roll ! . . . . 1995 Bushman Tracker 1 Off-Road Box Trailer

trailer Bushman Tracker with RT tent and awning up 1 — – Bushman trailer annotated – Don’ worry, we loved it! –

trailer Bushman Tracker with RT tent and awning up 2

– the boesman’s main feature unfolded – the 3-table kitchen at the back –

R27 500 cash. Made in Nelspruit / Mbombela eight years earlier. It had a stove, a gas bottle, a tent, a mattress, a table, ground sheets, cutlery and crockery, a spice rack and a 45l water tank. What more could you possibly need?

In the kombi I removed the bench seat in the middle row and fitted the single seat for Tommy’s car seat next to the new National Luna 65l fridge (about R6500, if I recall correctly) so we could walk around both sides to the back bench, to which Jessie’s sturdy and comfy car seat was attached.

That back bench seat also folded down to become a double bed, so we could all sleep in the kombi if need be, as I also rigged a removable bed between the two front seats for Jess and for Tom we had a mattress on the floor. While checking the tyres Jacks Tyres showed me a second-hand kombi mag wheel just like mine, so I bought it. Now we had two spares, like rugged okes!

For each of the kids I had a rectangular six-sided mosquito net “cage” made that zipped closed over them once they were in bed and we then lifted up the four corner straps and hooked them to fittings I had affixed to the kombi ceiling, completely enclosing them each in a mozzie net “Four Poster Bed”.

We were ready to go.

We packed food for three days plus plenty of snacks – Aitch’s forte. The rest we’d get on the way, in line with my motto: Weight is the enemy!

~o0o~

On Safari with a Bushman – 1. The Decision

We’d been meaning to go for ages but, you know – procrastination.

The idea of a long road trip up north is a common dream and – like many Saffers – we planned to do it ‘one day’: We would go on a “safari!” Safari: a Swahili word meaning just plain journey. Probably originally from the Arabic سفر (safar) meaning . . . a journey.

Then one lazy day at home in 2003 I read a lovely interview with an Austrian bloke who had traveled down through Africa on his own from Vienna to Cape Town on a motorbike. The journalist interviewing him asked him about the trip, his adventures, his highlights and his challenges. He’d had a fun time.

The journo then looked down at his bike and said: “Hey – this is a dead-ordinary street bike! What on earth made you choose this bike for your African safari?”

“Choose it?” he said “I didn’t choose it. I had it”. That did it! I got up right there and then and started pacing around. ‘Acting strangely’, according to Aitch.

Within a few months of reading that Wake-Up! What Are You Waiting For? call we had hopped into our petrol 2,3i 2WD four-on-the-floor manual, no difflock VW Kombi with 195 000km on the clock and headed north.

Two little problems: While procrastinating we had adopted Jessie, now five, and Tommy, now 22 months old. But what the heck, even after we’d modified the kombi it was still a six-seater. There was room for them!

Let’s get ready! What will we need?

Mom’s birthday 2003. Jess about to snuff the SINGLE candle! Tom thinks What!?

~~oo0oo~~

Saffers – South Africans

I Don’t Read Science Fiction . . .

Aitch did.

She introduced me to Douglas Adams’ five Hitchhikers Guide books. For years I just looked at them on our library shelf, stuck in my natural history and science rut. Of course we’ve all read about them and seen many quotes from them, like these:

“In the beginning the Universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move.”

“There is an art to flying, or rather a knack. The knack lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss.”

“For instance, on the planet Earth, man had always assumed that he was more intelligent than dolphins because he had achieved so much—the wheel, New York, wars and so on—whilst all the dolphins had ever done was muck about in the water having a good time. But conversely, the dolphins had always believed that they were far more intelligent than man—for precisely the same reasons.”

“Don’t Panic.”

“Anyone who is capable of getting themselves made President should on no account be allowed to do the job.”

“He felt that his whole life was some kind of dream and he sometimes wondered whose it was and whether they were enjoying it.”

“You know,” said Arthur, “it’s at times like this, when I’m trapped in a Vogon airlock with a man from Betelgeuse, and about to die of asphyxiation in deep space that I really wish I’d listened to what my mother told me when I was young.”
“Why, what did she tell you?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t listen.”

“Space, is big. Really big. You just won’t believe how vastly, hugely, mindbogglingly big it is. I mean, you may think it’s a long way down the road to the chemist’s, but that’s just peanuts to space.”

After Aitch died I finally read them. All. Voraciously. How could I not get hooked with those lines and others like this:

“The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don’t”

I also read Adams’ real-life travel book on vanishing species where he says something about how the rhinos “trotted like boulders”.

I can clearly hear Aitch saying, “See?! I TOLD you! Hmph!” – triumphant grin, nose in the air.

=========ooo000ooo=========

Adams’ artistic sensibility is both specific and elusive. He can go from distraught to delighted in the space of a modifier. He combines Gary Larson’s irony, Bill Watterson’s wistful idealism, Oscar Wilde’s keen social observation, and Dorothy Parker’s mischievousness. But set in space. In short, he is a genre all to himself.

Jeff O’Neal, bookriot.com

=========ooo000ooo=========

It bugs me that our “Restaurant” and “Mostly Harmless:” books are missing from Adams’ “trilogy in four parts”, so here’s an internet pic of all five, just because.

Lloyd’s Camp, Savuti

We flew east out of Oddballs from the nearby Delta Camp airstrip, leaving the green delta behind; then across the dry Kalahari to Savuti:

The flight was a bit bumpy in the hot clear air and Aitch started to go green about the gills, but we landed before she resorted to any lumpy laughter. I’m up in front, co-piloting.

At the Savuti strip we were met by pink-cheeked Emma the Pom in an open game drive vehicle. She was the camp chef – and the airstrip fetcher that day.

– fetched from the airstrip by pink-cheeked Pommy chef Emma who drives us right up an ele’s butt . . –

Just three of us in the vehicle. The last time I had been to Savuti was in 1985 when I’d arrived in a crowded old Land Rover full of two Aussies, a Kiwi, a Zim, a Pom and a Yank on a budget overlander. We pitched our tiny tents in the public camping area and the eles bust the water tank.

Sixteen years later, luxury! Emma took us on to camp and fed us overlooking the famed Savuti channel. After Oddball’s semi-roughing it: YUM!! Fresh food, cold beer!

Jenny and Lionel Song hosted us. She was a honey and a gifted artist; he was lion-obsessed. And we had Texans with us, so we did a lot of lion-chasing. ‘Myomi’s pride’ (or Maomi) was the focus. Gotta see lions; Lions gotta have names.

So first thing in the morning we’d hare off to where the lions had last been seen and at last light we’d hare back to camp – Lloyd’s Camp game drives are in Chobe, a national park, so you can’t be out after dark. Once on the way we saw two ratels or honey badgers, ambling along busily, stopping occasionally to skoffel around. At least we did slow down to watch them awhile. A very special sighting for me – my first ratels in the wild.

In Lionel’s defence he was doing his job, the Americans – two guys and a lady – were frequent repeat guests who worked for Southwest Airlines based in Dallas – world’s biggest carrier at the time. They were delighted when he gunned the Cruiser after a lioness as she started sprinting at a giraffe. She and five others brought down the giraffe and that was it, we spent the rest of the day watching lion lunch.

The good thing is a vehicle is a great hide, so I could scan around for birds too. While doing so I saw two ears above the grass some 100m off. A cub watching and waiting. It stayed right there till the pride leader looked up and made a funny high-pitched bark and they – turned out there were three of them – came running straight onto the carcass and started making a nuisance of themselves. When we left they were all fat as ticks, but had hardly made a dent in the huge female giraffe.

Next morning we drove straight back at first light and all that was left was a blood stain on the grass, a chewed head nearby and scattered bones! Two males had arrived and they were lying there the size of dirigibles. Eight round lions and three bloated cubs. They looked like the animals from Rollin’ Safari:

Roolin Safari — – find them on youtube – hilarious –

Savuti Botswana (1) — – Lionel & Jenny Song –

In camp Lionel, teasing, said to a guest who asked about the Lloyd of Lloyd’s Camp: ‘You should meet him! Pity he’s not here. He’s 6ft 4in tall with long black hair tied back in a ponytail”. Yeah, right! Lloyd Wilmot’s a legend in deeds, but not in stature, and no longer in hair.

– Lloyd and his fellow safari guide sister Daphne –

It was 2001 and the Savute / Savuti channel was dry, so the only waterholes were supplied by boreholes. The Savute flows with water from the Linyanti river. It apparently flowed in Livingstone’s time, around 1845, then was dry in 1880 and remained dry for over 70 years. It flooded again in 1957, dried up again in 1982, flowed again in 2008 and the marsh flooded fully in 2010. This was documented by Dereck and Beverley Joubert in their films Stolen River and Journey to the Forgotten River. Mike Myers tells how the whole dynamic of the region changes depending on what’s happening with the water. I heard in Maun how Lloyd Wilmot had found a crocodile up under an overhang in the rocky hills above the marsh around 1982 after the channel ceased to flow.

~~~~oo0oo~~~~

skoffel – rummage; being a badger; badgering?

Some history from Lee Ouzman’s Jacana Enterprises site: The Wilmot family first came to Botswana in the early 1900’s. Grandfather Cronje Wilmot’s son Bobby Wilmot was part of the group that were involved in the early exploration and opening up of the Okavango Delta at a time when it was virtually unknown and unexplored. Bobby’s son Lloyd, once a hunter, now a conservationist, is a veritable mine of information. You name it – he’s done it. Swimming with elephants, tracking lion, leopard or cheetah on foot, building hides to view game at remote waterholes, following the amazing African migrations and more. His famous Lloyd’s Camp in Savuti was a legendary place of wonder and excitement and not surprisingly probably more credited in wildlife documentaries than any other camp in Botswana. It was here that Lloyd developed his special affinity for lions. It is not surprising that one delighted guest wrote of Lloyd Wilmot: “While Lloyd is my shepherd I Wilmot fear…”

– Lloyd and June Wilmot – early days at Savuti –

~~oo0oo~~

Lloyd has since retired and written his memoirs in a rollicking book of mischief, daring, fun and – yep, occasional recklessness! He identifies the South West Airlines people as Doug Reiser, Mike Costello and Linda Fuller. I’m going to search to see if any of them have written something about their hairy adventures with the naughtiest little boy (aged about 70 now) in the bush! ( . . . didn’t find anything, but look what happe ned 29 years later).

~~oo0oo~~

(Here’s Trish’s 1993 photo album on our trip – I have copied, posted here and discarded the album. Downsizing – Selling our home)

The Photo Archives

I hardly ever carried a camera back when I was beautiful and had just the one chin. “I’m video’ing it in my head” I would say.

Of course now I’m really grateful other people carried cameras and I could get pics from them. Even in the days when you loaded a roll of film in the dark and wound it on by hand frame-by-frame some people carried cameras. I salute them!

And I admit I would grumble when they said “Stand closer together” “Smile” “Hang on! Just one more!”. Of course some people would think they had put in the roll of film when they hadn’t and all our posing (“poeseer!” remember SanMarie the game ranger’s joke?) was in vain. Yes, I’m thinking of you Taylor. He posed us in various ways on a buffalo carcase and when we eagerly asked for the photies weeks later (they’d had to go off “for development” of course) he had to sheepishly admit he hadn’t had a roll of film in his steam-driven camera. Luckily Trish had been there and took this:

Anyway, my memory of that moment was much better than his pic would have been: I remember a bloody carcase with glistening red meat still on the bone and lion prints around the sandy scene. We were posing looking over our shoulder, worried the lions might chase us off their prey at any minute. When later we did get a pic from someone better organised than Taylor – Trish – the truth was far more mundane. The photo spoilt a good story! Here we were, not one of us looking over a shoulder:

Wilderness Walk.jpg — Intrepid non-photographer on the left with impressive camera bag, no fillum

So although I do have some slight regrets I still think I was generally more “in the moment” than many camera-occupied companions over the years – and I saw more birds. Anyway, my memories of what happened are usually far better than boring reality. Usually I play the starring role in them.

Once I met Aitch things changed of course and we had a fulltime photographer in the house. The years from 1986 are well documented. Then the kids arrived and the number of pics went through the roof. Thank goodness for digital! Even now when we drive through a game reserve Jess will say “Mom would have said ‘Stop! Go back!’ and you would have to reverse and she’d take a picture of a flower, remember?”

With cameras as ubiquitous as they now are all this smacks of days gone by. I was prompted to write this post when I read this yesterday: ‘If a millennial goes to a beautiful place but doesn’t get a photo, did they ever really go?’…

To end, some advice for Taylor:

Here’s a graph showing camera sales in 1000’s since 1933:

Time Scurries

Hate it, but it’s true: Things fade. A month late on our annual tribute. Six years now. Don’t worry, you still do occasionally cause changes to the way we do things, and “But Mom said . . ” is still used to some effect!

Jess still regularly asks if there wasn’t more we could have done to save or cure Mom. When she hears of a new treatment for some or other disease she’ll ask “Why didn’t they do this for Mom?” I explain the difference between bacteria and viruses and cancer to her each time.

Here’s what she wrote to you this Mothers Day:

Yeah, I cried . . .

She was on her Bhejane field guide course up north of Hluhluwe and lonely as anything. Her selfie was taken in the little wooden Wendy hut she stayed in. I love the brave smile.

~~oo0oo~~

I shoulda said Gosh!

Jaynee J had a luxury courtesy suite at Centurion Park cricket ground and she invited us to watch a game. The Springboks / Proteas were playing someone in an international test match. 2001, so Sri Lanka, maybe.

Jayne didn’t call it a courtesy suite; she called it her ‘champagne suite’. Jayne Janetsky could POUR, and – as always – she had laid in enough stock for a siege. Or a rainy day. And that day Centurion Park was not like this:

Centurion cricket ground — – internet picture –

It was like this:

Jayne J Champagne Suite Centurion Cricket (2) — – me telling Jessie “See love, this is cricket: Not much happens” –

This led to puddle-jumping with Jess behind the stadium:

I had great fun watching the people. Especially a guy in the next-door Telkom box, scanning the crowd with powerful binoculars, looking for girls. Whenever he saw someone watching him he’d say “I’m looking for my sister.”

We had to take two year-old Jessica along and it wasn’t really her thing. It rained off and on, so we were indoors with Celebrity Guest Barman Johnno Green, who was intent on quality control, sampling and plying. Boobs and Booze. Aitch and I took turns amusing Jess and keeping her (mostly) out of the adults’ hair.

After a while (cricket matches carry on and on and when you think they MUST be finished, surely? – they stop for tea) I had to feed and change Jess and decided to take her back to Jayne’s home. Change of scenery for her and a break for the adults.

On the way back to the stadium, with freshly-fed and -wiped Jessie strapped in the car seat behind me, I missed the freeway off-ramp to the stadium. Didn’t have a clue how I’d get back to the stadium now, so I was kinda tense and focused and fuming. What if I missed Jayne’s famous lunch? Finally I figured it out and managed a tricky u-turn after the next off-ramp and got back on track. Finally I could relax.

“Pete?” came a little voice from behind me.

Yes my love?

“FUCK!”

“FUCK FUCK FUCK!!”

Oh, boy . . . . .

Fame! Riches! The Life of Aitch

Hey, they’re making a movie on the life of heart surgeon Professor Chris Barnard.

The 3rd of December 2017 will mark the 50th anniversary of the world’s first heart transplant, so they obviously want to cash in on that.

Aitch worked with him after his heyday until he retired. On 14 December 1983 she went to his farewell. See the post she entered in her diary below (CNB = Christiaan Neethling Barnard).

Aitch & Barnard at the heart-lung machine — Barnard & Aitch

I wonder who they’ll get to play Aitch? Maybe Olga Kurylenko, Bond girl in Quantum of Solace?

And I wonder what percentage we’ll get of the gross earnings? Surely they won’t cut her kids out of the proceeds?

~~oo0oo~~

Barnard wrote a book One Life. If I wrote a book on Aitch I’d call it One Wife.

~~oo0oo~~

Later: A new book published shortly after this post featured Aitch in a group picture taken at that farewell.

Mother Mary Methodist

Tue 2nd May 2017 –

I got a phone call at work from a good friend of the folks who had just visited Mom and Dad – “Your Mom was saying strange things and was not herself, I think you should visit”, said Keith Griffiths. I phoned sister Sheila, who phoned other sister Barbara, and then drove to Maritzburg.

Mom was physically fine, but a bit confused and – tragically – with marked short-term memory loss. Trying hard to be alright, she asked me ‘How’s Trish?’ Trish who died six years ago. Dear old Mom has had a ‘turn’ leading to sudden short-term memory loss. Tragic. She has always been so sharp and organised. Luckily her long-term memory and sharp sense of humour is unaffected.

DAMN!! Probably a transient ischaemic attack (TIA) or “mini stroke”.

~~~oo0oo~~~

TIA – caused by a temporary disruption in the blood supply to part of the brain. The disruption in blood supply results in a lack of oxygen. This can cause sudden symptoms similar to a stroke, such as speech and visual disturbance, and numbness or weakness in the face, arms and legs. However, a TIA doesn’t last as long as a stroke. The effects often only last for a few minutes or hours and fully resolve within 24 hours.

But Mom’s memory loss is still apparent a week later.

She blames a bad fall she had when she banged her head hard on a corner near the kitchen door.

~~~oo0oo~~~

I phoned them the next morning:

Dad says he told Mom to stay in bed till the sun came up but she didn’t. He thinks she should see an audiologist as she doesn’t listen! He’s as deaf as a post and her hearing is great, making the joke all the better.

~~~oo0oo~~~

Mom says she prays for Tom n Jessie every day that they’ll understand their lessons and pass their tests.

I asked her in mock-worry if that wasn’t cheating?! Mary Methodist immediately saw the joke and hosed herself. Slightly cautiously, though. She was raised not to tempt fate. No, she didn’t think asking for divine intervention was cheating on their behalf, she chuckled.

~~~oo0oo~~~

In the midst of a big cleanup, Sheila found a photo. On the back is written:

Marjory, Pat and Peggy – Harrismith 1938 – Signed DC Reed

*** pic here ***

So she phoned Mum for more info:

Marjory was Farquhar – her younger sister was Dossie, who was Mum’s great mate and bridesmaid, She now lives in an old age home in Bethlehem and she and Mum chat quite often. Pat was Bland, Mom’s older sister. Peggy was Hastings – Michael’s sister – she had a lovely sense of humour – she had three kids and then her husband walked out on her. So she came back to Harrismith and married Bert Starkey – her kids were Barbara, Stuart and AN Other.

~~~oo0oo~~~

The “DC Reed” Mum thinks was Peggy’s cousin Daphne, whom they called Dodo – Mum says she was lovely and they all loved her.

It’s really a gorgeous pic and Pat looks so full of fun and nonsense, which she usually was!

So now you know. Love Sheila

~~~oo0oo~~~

More Mom Memories:

One day, before Mum started school, Brenda Longbottom came to play. She lived across the road in Stuart Street and was much older – a full eighteen months older. Mum very proudly told Brenda about a book she was reading – all about a little girl called Lucky.

When Brenda saw the book she told Mum in a withering tone that the little girl’s name was Lucy, pronounced Loosie, not Lukkie! Mum was devastated.

(Years later I was also teased for getting hard and soft ‘c”s mixed when I said Sir-Sum-Fur-Rinse for circumference. Hey, we read phonetically ‘by our own selves’, so this happens!).

~~~oo0oo~~~

Mary’s niece Frankie Cowie married and became a McCarthy. She named her sons Patrick and Henry. When a grandchild was born she phoned Mary with the good news and asked if she could help with a name. ‘A name that goes with McCarthy.’ Well, Mom knew not to suggest Gert, even though that was the granpa’s name, so she immediately asked: ‘Have you thought about Benni?’

Benni McCarthy was South Africa’s ‘bad boy’ star striker in the national soccer team and was very much in the news at the time. A real character, he marches to his own drum and has even been a rap artist! Now he’s a coach and father of four daughters.

I can just imagine Frankie throwing her head back and HOSING herself at Auntie Mary’s suggestion!

~~~oo0oo~~~

Two years on, 2019: Went to the farm for boxing day as Mom had suffered 3 or 4 TIA’s starting early xmas morning. Very distressing. Couldn’t remember if she’d had xmas or not, and could not at all remember opening pressies with the great grandkids.

She recovered well and was fine later, but weak – and often worried about what she was thinking or saying. “Ooh”, she said, “I almost asked you, How’s Trish? but she died, didn’t she?” Hey, well done for catching yourself in time!

Meantime, of the ten people staying there, seven fell prey to the collywobbles and some vomiting. Talk about Jingled Bowels.

Also, due to complaints from the intolerant, one poor farm rooster got shot due to excessive enthusiasm on xmas morning. Poor bugger was probably just singing a desperate poultry carol, praying that by being pious he wouldn’t be the one invited to the festive table! Maybe Jungle Fowls, Jungle Fowls, ?

~~oo0oo~~

Ken Gillings’ Hysterical Tours

Dear old Ken died too soon. His tours were hugely educational – and such fun. You had to listen carefully or you’d miss his wicked Sergeant-Major little asides and throw-away comments. And you had to stay up late in the pub after the day ended to hear his best ribald Sergeant-Major jokes. We should have recorded them all. Well, here’s one, anyway.

We walked the Fugitive’s Trail from Isandlwana to Fugitive’s Drift. Ken arranged for a local man to take us to the start and fetch us at the end in his taxi – a shiny new Toyota Quantum like this:

On the way we stopped to look at something and Ken ordered us to hop out of the taxi. Then he paused, gave a slight grin and said:

“You could call that a ‘quantum leap.’“

~~oo0oo~~

Our traipse along the trail was not uneventful. Once again a bunch of pale people were out of their depth, just like in 1879. Also, our average age was way above that of the pommy soldiers, and we had no horses. Even though we weren’t being pursued by victorious Zulus, panting was heard and hearts fluttered. Some had to lie down a while.

We walked from the Isandlwana mountain to the Buffalo river at Fugitives Drift:

Fugitives Drift down in the valley on the left

We were a bit slower than the fleeing poms at the uMzinyathi (Buffalo) River crossing. Didn’t want to get our shoes wet:

Once again a bunch of bumbling Wit Ous cross the Buffalo at Fugitives Drift

After the tour I thanked Ken for a wonderful weekend and awarded him the Victoria Cross for his brave endeavours. Or rather, my Victoria Cross-on-Zulu-Shield, which I had earn ed by running a 21km half-marathon from Isandlwana to Rorke’s Drift years earlier.

– no blood was spilled in the earning of this medal – and only a mild amount of sweat –

~~oo0oo~~

Syd Sellars’ Success

Aitch loved Syd Sellars. They got on like a house on fire. She was doing marketing for the De Marigny & Lello group of optometrists in Durban, Ballito, Stanger, Scottburgh, etc and Syd did all her printing. They would put their creative heads together and design new logos, letterheads and adverts.

Years later I saw Syd again. He was shocked to hear of Trish’s passing. He would SO have liked to have shown her this:

After 30 years in the corporate world Syd is now doing what he loves best: Teaching children fine art – and it’s rewarding him mentally and financially! I LOVE success stories!

He also exhibits and sells his own art, while his wife Laura helps run the business, being the organiser for Syd the creative.

Isnt that a lovely story!?

100 years

Well, twenty nine anyway. Me n Aitch would have been married 29yrs today! A toast and good memories! We were together 26yrs, married 23, and I got 34yrs of kids value out of it (19 plus 15)! Add all that together = 100yrs. Its just maths.

Jeannie Stewart, Aitch, Jane ___ and me - at 7 River Drive Westville

I had a hard time, as she would gallivant with handsome young bucks on Harley Davidsons when I wasn’t looking:

Aitch was a secret biker chick in her day. She went to the Buffalo Rally:

and she was into convertibles, Cadillacs in America, Audis and Landies in SA:

and into taking photos to mock me:

~~oo0oo~~

Makololo 1997

Aitch’s twin sister Janet and her partner Duncan were running Makololo camp in the wonderful Hwange Reserve in Zimbabwe. Duncan had just recently built the camp for Wilderness Safaris and now they were the camp managers. And they invited us to stay! We flew in to Vic Falls, they picked us up and we had a long slow ‘game drive’ to the village of Hwange; then into the park and a real game drive to the camp in the south-east Linkwasha corner of the huge reserve.

The camp that Duncan built – stunning wood and thatch comfort with only the four of us in residence. One night a woodland dormouse fell into the soup, poor little bugger! He seemed alright.

Fierce fella chased the LandRover with intent!

Sylvester the grumpy lion chased after us with seeming intent! We didn’t stick around to ask him what was bugging him! We accelerated away from his waterhole.

Saw two firsts, there – two lifers! A Red-necked Falcon and a Caspian Plover.

wikipedia pics – thanks

~~oo0oo~~

Gardening for Birds n Frogs n Butterflies n Goggas

Aitch learnt the joy of indigenous plants on the Bluff in 1985 when doing her cardio-vascular perfusion-ing at Wentworth hospital. Ian Whitton, friend and cardio-thoracic surgeon, indigenous gardener and nurseryman extraordinaire, piglet-producer, protea grower, pigeon-fancier, erythrina expert and all-round good friend took her under his wing taeching her about Natal trees and birds. She needed it as a Capie new to KwaZulu Natal. She phoned me breathless one day to describe a new bird she had in her binocs: ‘Koos! Its beautiful! It has a yellow beak, its purply-brown with a black head and it has a bright yellow face. (see bottom of post)

– Aitch with TC & Bella; She sure loved her hounds (especially Bella, hey TC!) –

She also learnt from Kenyan, indigenous guru, horticultural landscaper, author, visionary and gardener Geoff Nichols; She collected seeds and swopped them for plants for and from horticulturalist Enver Buckus at Silverglen nursery; She worked for noted colonist, author, canoeist, British apologist, acrylic painter and Last Outpost historian Geoffrey Caruth Esq Duke of Bhivane at his Geoff’s Jungle Indigenous Nursery enthusiastically selling shade plants; She joined BotSoc (now the Biodiversity Society) and got very involved, especially in the annual big plant sale, working with Sandra, Wally Menne, Jean Senogles, Dave Henry, Diane Higginson, etc; She spent fifteen years ‘botanising’ (as they called it) with Barry Porter on his and Lyn’s Hella Hella game farm. We went there at every opportunity. It became our second home. They would roam the farm spotting and photographing plants and flowers with their posteriors pointing at the heavens, occasionally digging up one for culture with Porter’s Powerful Patented Plant Pincher**, a handy device Barry had welded together to make extracting small plants easy and less destructive. Barry taught us to use Eugene Moll’s tree-ID book using leaves to ID the trees of Natal.

Our first property was 7 River Drive Westville, already mostly indigenous thanks to Mike and Yvonne Lello. On the banks of the Mkombaan River, it was paradise unfenced. We rooted out invasives and aliens and planted the right stuff as directed by Geoff Nichols. On his first visit he told me sternly, pointing ‘over there’, to ‘Get rid of that inkberry.’ You know how Geoff is. Right! Sir! A month later on his next site inspection he said ‘You haven’t got rid of that inkberry!’ Oops! True. So I undertook to do it that week.

A few days later I set to with my bow saw, sawing off all the branches and then cutting down the 100mm trunk just above the ground, Then I garlon’d that and composted the bits n pieces. Phew! Done! Finally!

A month later Geoff was back. ‘Who the hell cut down the tassleberry?!’ he bellowed. ‘And you STILL haven’t got rid of the inkberry!’ I never lived that one down. We planted five tassleberries to make up for it. They have male and female trees, so that was best anyway. I am pleased – relieved – to report they did well over the next fifteen years!

Aitch didn’t mind a bit of attention, so when our garden was chosen to be on display for Durban Open Gardens she blossom’d n preened and was in her element! She LOVED showing people around the garden and re-assuring them that it was quite safe* even if it did look a bit wild. In fact she would keep the entrance and pathway to the front door and pool very tame, civilised and trimmed so as not to scare people and put them off wild gardening. The hidden parts of the garden could go wild and host the 112 species of birds we recorded in the garden over the fifteen years we lived there. For 32 of those species we saw nests or fledglings.

7 River Drive garages from Burnside (Heather & Gordon Taylor's place) — – 7 River Drive garages from Burnside (Heather & Gordon Taylor’s place) – the exotics are mostly not ours –

We put in a bird bath outside our bedroom window and plumbed it to a high tap I could reach from my bedroom window to fine-choon as water pressure fluctuated; and left it running with a fine little spray of water for fifteen years. The birds loved it. Me too. The tap is visible against the far wall on the left; the birdbath is hidden behind Jess.

– there’s the high birdbath tap outside my bedroom window –

– the bank above the Mkombaan river – me Tom and Neil Humphrey, Aitch’s Dad, kind grandpa to Tom –

~~oo0oo~~

*In fifteen years we saw one Natal Black Snake, two Brown Water Snakes, a few Herald Snakes, a resident House Snake, regular Spotted Bush Snakes, tiny Thread Snakes, a couple of Night Adders, and that was all. None of them really dangerous.

One year we decided to make a large pond by damming a little stream that flowed though our garden into the Mkombaan. It came to be called (by Aitch) ‘Koos’ Folly.’ In my defence, Nichols was involved in the planning. We built a substantial dam wall next to the Voacanga on the bank, covered in bidim felt and strong and long-lasting, creating a deep pond about 8m X 4m in size.

Which the very first flood filled it up to the brim with silt. One shot. Pond now a shallow little mudflat with most of the flow passing under it underground. I learnt: Don’t mess with watercourses.

– should be easy – right? – nope! silted up –

Some murdering had to happen. There was a mango tree in the grasslands and a fiddlewood behind the house. I bow-saw’d and de-barked and felled. Then I garlon’d. That would sort them out. Well, only years later did I finally get rid of the last shoots that kept sprouting. I developed a genuine respect for their kanniedood properties! A massive syringa on the banks of the Mkombaan I just ring-barked and garlon’d. No cutting. Two years later it crashed down across the river, bank-to-bank, forming a bridge you could walk across.

~~~oo0oo~~~

**Barry also made us a bird feeder, which he called Barry’s Bizarre Balancing Bird Bistro. More about Barry and Lyn here.

– Kiza spoils Jessie – Barry Porter’s Bizarre Balancing Bird Bistro in the background –

~~~oo0oo~~~

kanniedood – hard to kill; later we planted a kanniedood Commiphora harveyi down where we buried the dogs

~~~oo0oo~~~

Namibia Birding Trip

Geoffrey Kay, birding optometrist, ‘ornithoptometrist’?, put together a trip to Namibia in 1986.

We landed in Windhoek, picked up a VW kombi and rigged it up with a nice big hebcooler in the back. Ice, beer, gin & tonic. Now we were ready for any emergency.

West to Daan Viljoen game park where a lion’s roar welcomed us that first night. On through the Khomas Hochland into the Namib Desert. Then on to the Atlantic Ocean at Swakopmund. On to Spitzkoppen; Usakos; Erongo Mountains; Karabib; Omaruru; Otjiwarongo; and Outjo;

Then up to Etosha: Okakuejo, Halali and Namutoni camps. In Etosha we saw a very rare night ‘bird‘; Seldom seen.

Then on to Tsumeb; the Waterberg; Okahandja; And back down to Windhoek.

Spot the kombi at the foot of the Spitzkoppen

Geoff Kay, Jurgen Tolksdorf, Jill Seldon, Mick Doogan, Me & Aitch; Three optometrists and three normal people.

1986 birding trip. Geoff, Jurgen, Mick, Jill & us two in a kombi

We spotted 200 bird species that week! Also a new mammal for me: The Damara DikDik.

Jurgen Tolksdorf newbie birder spotted many birds for us with his keen eye. “What’s that?” he’d say. In Etosha one night we woke up to the b-b-b-b-bhooo of a white-faced owl near our tents. We shook everyone awake and grabbed our torches and binocs and went to look for it. Except Jurgen. He said “A WHAT?” and rolled over and went back to sleep with a snort. We searched in vain and got back to bed very late, disappointed.

After a short sleep, on our way back from breakfast we met Jurgen who had risen late after a long night’s sleep and was now on his way to eat. While we chatted he looked up in the tree above our heads and said “What’s that?”.

You know what it was, of course!

~~~oo0oo~~~