Mom & Fats

Last night Ma Mary didn’t have much to tell me. She has been distracted – they’re moving to Greytown soon and that takes up a lot of her thinking. But she did tell me she remembered Fats Waller’s song Alligator Crawl and can still play it.

So tonight I phoned and asked, Do you want to listen to some music? Ooh yes! she was keen, so I played this:

She loved that; she couldn’t remember Aint Misbehavin’ but the music freed her mind; And she was off! We went through four tonsillectomies: Her own as an adult soon after her wedding – she bled a bit afterwards; then Barbara’s – she had to get stitches in Frank Reitz’s surgery as she had a bleed while recovering; Sheila’s – she had to go back into hospital; mine – we went to recover on Kindrochart, no bleeding.

In the Boksburg-Benoni hospital when she was finishing her training her sister in charge said to her, I want you to become a theatre sister. But, Mary says modestly, ‘I don’t think I had the guts for it.’ She rather went and did her midwifery at Addington in Durban. I think assisting births takes lots of guts too!

‘Oh here comes my cocktail,’ ended our call, as it occasionally does.

~~oo0oo~~

Sounds like a fun frailcare, but her cocktail is completely alcohol-free; a mocktail: a painkiller and sleeping tablet, crushed with a pestle in a mortar and mixed with yoghurt, followed by a tiny quarter sandwich, which always ‘Is delicious, even though I’ve already brushed my teeth.’

Homeful Again

So I sold my forever home and bought a camper. ‘Grey Nomad,’ I thought. Well, I soon found out: A Nomad I Ain’t. Also not grey. It’s gone white. Here’s what’s wrong with being a nomad: Weekends, long weekends and school holidays. Suddenly rocking up without a booking is frowned upon.

So the three years on the road turned out to be around twenty months travelling and the rest comfortably holed up at a special low-low beer-money rental in Broose’s 4-bedroom 3-bathroom beach cottage in the metropolis of Mtwalume, KZN South Coast. The only hard part about loafing on the Souf Cose was that niggling feeling that I really should be looking for a place, a home.

So, in stits and farts, I did. Nottingham Road. Fort Nottingham, Mtwalume, Shelley Beach, Hibberdene, Pennington, I looked; One place in Scottburgh was under R900k for absolutely everything I needed, two bedrooms, big deck, fully furnished, all appliances, aircon, two huge TVs, the works. Owner desperate to join his daughter in England. Pennington got a second and third look – lovely village – but the commitmentphobia held up. After much dodging, I did look at Howick, the Southern Hemisphere’s largest above-ground cemetery. I would definitely not have, but Tabbo made me promise I would, and then he died, meaning I really had to. So I went.

AmberNow, AmberThen, AmberGris 1 through 7, AmberNyet, AmberNever, Eagle something, St Johns the baptist, etc. No. Just NO. Then the town, where a number of grey-haired biddies thought, At Last a Buyer! as I praised their lovely homes and what was great about them. All true, but that did not mean I was about to reduce my savings by two to three million. Sorry. Then I had a clever procrastinating thought: Kick for touch! I asked to rent a place so I could see if I could live in Howick. No problem, I was introduced to a new tannie. She had plenty of places to rent, but ‘the daughter may be a problem,’ she said – Jess was with me by now. Thanks Tannie, You made it easier. Bye, Howick.

On to Mtunzini. Now I got serious. This is a lovely plekkie. Near all the Zolooland reserves, the forests, the coastal resorts. Great birding. Like Pennington, off the main road, so quieter. Better run than the South Coast towns, so this looked right. So I looked at homes. A lot of homes – R2.4m to R3.6m. Oh boy. Well, I’d rent out part of the property to help with an income, right? What am I thinking? Me, the world’s worst landlord.

What I should have done is go back to my checklist: 1. Spend less than the R1.99m I got for my Westville home – a target long abandoned cos of arched eyebrows as estate agents showed me better places in better locations; 2. Be as much off-the-grid as possible; 3. Have good comms – cellphone or fibre; 4. NOT behind a gate of any sort; None of the expensive homes ticked all four.

I’ve an idea Jess! Let’s procrastinate; kick for touch! So we rented a lovely 4-bedroom 3-bathroom wooden cottage at the edge of town bordering the forest for five months. All the while lovely kind Dee, KZN’s most patient estate agent stuck by me, patting me on the head and saying moenie worry nie.

In the end I did what I always do: Ignore the checklist and go cheap, eventually buying a lovely small pozzie on leased land for R1m and I’ll show you the pros and I’ll ignore the cons. It was cheap; It has great solar power – one 6KVA and one 3KVA; It has two water tanks; it’s fully furnished, all appliances, lots of toys; it was cheap; a small garden rigged for automatic micro-irrigation twice a day. All I have to do is rip out the azaleas, columbines, daffodils, daisies and other weeds and plant the right stuff; Also get rid of a mess of flower pots, hanging and earthbound, many garden gnomes and two concrete table and bench sets out of four. And as I mentioned, not expensive.

It is lock-up-and-go. OK, it’s behind a gate in a caravan park, true. I can’t have it all, but I can have savings in my pocket! Two out of four’s not bad. And I don’t have to shop for anything! I hate shopping, and there’s more than enough stuff here for a lifetime. Goodness Ntuli and Strongman have stayed on working one day a week each and have taken a bunch of excess stuff home with them. Willie from Sondela Second hand Stuff Store brought a trailer and carted away two fridges, a deep freeze, a tumble dryer, a bed/couch, sundry other stuff and gave me some cash.

So we’re settling in to our new log cabin and loving it. Jess is thrilled, which helps a lot; the small place has four aircons and nine mounted fans – a clue to what summer will be like in Zululand! Three TVs and a jacuzzi which delighted Jess. One drawback she really didn’t like was the poor comms. FINALLY! she said in desperate relief, when we got fibre. It took ALMOST THREE WEEKS, Dad! We’ve elected not to hook up the satellite dish – it can sommer sit there as a status symbol.

Oh, and Jess got a lovely, relaxed, unfazed welcome.

~~oo0oo~~

Shingwedzi Camp KNP

We took the eastern vlei route northwards, from before Mopane camp – the road less travelled. Lemme check the map: It’s the Nshawu waterholes route and leads past the Grootvlei dam and Shibavantsengele viewpoint on the Mocambique border. I loved it. Some open plains and vleis for a change from dense Mopane trees and Mopane scrub. Many herds of zebra and wildebees, some waterbuck, a few impala, and a few huge ele bulls…

zebras on the grassy plains

Also Chestnut-backed Sparrow-lark on the gravel roads and flocks of Wattled Starling (some in full wattle).

At Shingwedzi, a Hamerkop, a juvenile Little Sparrowhawk hunting, Green Woodhoopoe, Golden-tailed & Bearded Woodpecker, Red-billed & Yellow-billed Hornbill, Arrow-marked Babbler, and a noisy early morning Hooligan’s Robin (actually White-browed Robin-chat),

A Rock Monitor Lizard came to visit Jess at the chalet. She told it to footsack in ruder language than that.

Rescued! After eight days of blissful peace I started worrying. I remembered the long spanner I need to free my spare wheel from under the bakkie is in the camper in Pretoria. A flat would leave me stranded. I approached a sensible fellow Ford Ranger driver who is headed out on a wilderness walk tomorrow and he rescued me in a jiffy. Now I have a dusty spare wheel inside the cab where I can get to it, the nuisance of its bulk almost guaranteeing I won’t have a flat.

Jessie followed the route of all (OK, this) weevil, calling me across to photograph it. She then bravely also took pics with my camera’s super-macro. In my pic you may notice the bugs eyes are wider cos there was a lot of wheezing in getting down on my knees.

A pair of Bennett’s Woodpeckers foraged right outside our chalet.

That’s it. After ten lovely nights in Kruger we’re on our way home.

~~oo0oo~~

Olifants Camp KNP

We followed the right bank of the Letaba south-eastwards towards Olifants camp, driving with the flow then hit the left bank of the Olifants, flowing even browner and more strongly. Now we’re driving against the flow, the confluence of these great Lowveld rivers somewhere behind us.

Four ‘Thunderbirds’ crossed the road (Ground Hornbill), three of them flying up into trees; new antelope seen: Kudu and Nyala.

Twenty five eles came down to drink below me as I drank coffee at the Olifants camp restaurant while Jess had a nap in our chalet. Five wandered back into the bush while the big Ma led the others, including smallies, across the wide and swiftly flowing Olifants river. Lovely to watch the crossing. Every now and then a little one would disappear underwater and the rest would wait till they found their footing and emerged again, trunk held high.

Tracking & Signs of the Wild

Signs of carnage on our stoep! A kill? Looks like a big eagle caught an old grey and white goat and plucked out all it’s fur.

Oh, hang on, cancel that. I just remembered Jess gave me a haircut. She cuts the parts I can’t see. Back there. Behind me.

~~oo0oo~~

White-bellied Sunbird, Paradise Flycatcher, African Firefinch, Kurrichane Thrush, Bataleur, Marabou & Saddle-Billed Storks, Fish Eagle, Wahlbergs Eagle, Goliath Heron, House Sparrow, Brown-crowned Tchagra,

Yellow-bellied Sand Snake spotted by Jess in camp.

Letaba Camp KNP

We’re back in the Kruger Park as we wait for our camper to be de-rusted. Staying in chalets, to Jessie’s delight.

Late afternoon view across the Letaba from the restaurant stoep.

Restaurant Scops owlet – right above one of the outdoor tables.

Four kingfishers. Here’s the Woodland:

The Letaba eles and squirrels and monkeys were all well-behaved. The daughter not so much when I said Hey, Smile! in the elephant museum.

Lots of tree squirrels in camp. One darting across my path looked different. Turned out to be a Dwarf Mongoose living under the spreading root mass of a palm tree.

Owls: Verreaux’s Eagle, Barred, Pearl-spotted, Scops. Doves: Red-eyed, Mourning, Laughing, Ring-necked, Green Pigeon. Kingfishers: Grey-headed, Woodlands, Pied, Brown-hooded. Storks: Openbill, Marabou, Saddle-Bill. Barbets: Crested, Black-collared. Herons: Grey, Goliath, Striated.

Grey-headed Bush-shrike, Retz’s Helmet-shrike, Puffback, Yellow-breasted Apalis, Green-backed Camaroptera, Grey-headed Sparrow, FT Drongo, Water Thick-knee, Natal Spurfowl, Egyptian Goose, Blacksmith Lapwing, Lilac-breasted Roller, White-fronted Bee-eater, Fish Eagle, White-faced Whistling Duck, Palm Swift, African Oriole, Grey Go-away Bird, Yellow-billed Oxpecker, Violet-eared Waxbill, Indian Myna, Ground Hornbill,

Then the peace was disturbed by a flurry of phone calls where we could barely hear each other and a stream of messages I couldn’t reply to. Very poor comms. All were accusing me of getting older on April Fools Day, some using rude language like ‘septuagenerian’ is there even such a thing? Time to move camp…

~~oo0oo~~

KNP – Kruger National Park

I Worked Hard All My Life

. . Apparently

Today, a sudden thought popped into Mom’s head (first time I’ve ever heard this):

I remember when you were little, Lina or Selena was off cos it was Sunday evening and you were washing the dishes. And you said,

“Mom! This is not a job for a little boy.”

Background: As a kid I was certainly spoilt and did very few chores. All my clothes were washed and ironed, my food cooked, my dishes washed, things got done – as if by magic, but actually by Lina Mazibuko and then Selina, and by Judas Thabethe, Anna and Jan Radebe, then July. 

So I was probly suffering terribly! The effort! The injustice!

~~oo0oo~~

What’s That Noise?

Twice I heard it coming from the forest in front of my deck. A deep rough short growl. Some sort of animal. Maybe bushbuck can growl too, not just bark? I thought.

Both times a pedestrian was walking past at the time, so maybe it was humans weirdly clearing their throats?  Dunno. Mystery noise.

Later around sunset, sipping red wine and scanning around with my binocs I spotted a Palm-nut Vulture right on top of a tall Douglas Fir. Yay! I love it when birds sit still. Time to show off my little camera’s zoom.

The Palm-nut Vulture Gypohierax angolensis is a real Mtunzini special and I hadn’t seen one yet in the seven weeks we’ve been here.

Reading about it on my Roberts Bird Guide app, I suddenly realised that strange call I’d heard this afternoon may have been the vulture!
They say, “Call: Deep grah, ahrrrrr call, also grog-grog-grog notes,” so probably.

Told Jess about the bird, showed her the pics and described it’s call. Bladdy terrible child said:
Ah, like you when you’re clearing your throat.

No supper for her. Oh wait, she’s cooking tonight . .

~~oo0oo~~

Vakansie Drama

Vacation; Holiday; Spans of sea and sand and sun, and fish in the aquarium; That’s a lekker place; For a hol.i.day!

Us Vrystaters went to  Durban once on a lekker-by-die-see holiday. Back in the sixties. Oldest sister Barbara got stung by a bluebottle.

Over the years Mom has related the tale often about how the dreaded blue ‘Portuguese Man O’ War’ stung her poor child.

But today it was worse! Things took a more dramatic turn! She told the familiar tale again, and then got to the part where poor Barbara was ‘attacked by the Spanish Armada.’

~~oo0oo~~

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portuguese_man_o%27_war

Mother Mary Call

Tell me where you’re staying again.

We’re in Mtunzini in a lovely wooden cottage on stilts in a forest. Lots of birds, Mom.

Well, be careful of the elephants.

Our forest doesn’t have elephants.

Good. The last time I saw elephants in a circus in Harrismith we sat in the high seats back from the circus ring. One of the town’s awfully fancy ladies walked in and sat in the front row at ring level. She was wearing her hair piled up high and her dress cost as much as a small car. Tickey the clown came in carrying two buckets of water. He threw one in the ring, wetting the sawdust, then threw the 2nd bucket straight at fancy madame, who shrieked and dived to the side. It was filled with confetti!

Next, we discussed cellphones and telephones:

At 95 Stuart the phone table was a converted hatstand. On the plot outside town – Birdhaven – the phone was fixed onto the wall. I kept a chair next to it to sit on while chatting.

Mrs Rogers from the forestry* phoned one day. You know Mrs Swanepoel, she said, We use this party line as a business phone, and your kids are on the line all the time! Terribly sorry Mrs Rogers. It won’t happen again! And I took away the chair so you kids couldn’t stand on it to reach the phone!

Seems I had a deprived childhood.

*(actually the pine plantation – plantations are not forests!)

Hold My Beer!

When Aitch and I were dating I got invited to a farewell party in Westville. Mike Coppinger and Jumbo Williams were leaving for Zambia to hop onto the Zambezi and kayak their way to the Indian Ocean and they needed a bunch of fellow kayakers to drink them on their way.

We met there after work and it was a festive opskop with a lot of hooligans in a well-stocked pub. After a few pints I took control of the situation and demonstrated who was in charge by casually suggesting to Aitch that we leave my car there and she drive me home at the end of this excellent jol as I could see it was going to be a big one. Then she could give me a lift back to my car in the morning.

Well . .

She looked me dead in the eye and ordered two beers. Proceeded to say Me Too whenever I had another, something she really was not actually equipped to do. Soon she was rather wobbly and as I had also had a few, we decided to call a taxi and leave both cars behind.

Gave me a hard time that one for the full twenty six years I knew her.

~~oo0oo~~

More Mom Memories

Mom says sadly that she was reading Rex Harrison’s biography when her maculae gave in. So she never got to finish it.

She laughs about his song in My Fair Lady, Never Let a Woman in Your Life – ‘AND,’ she says, ‘He was married four times!’  I can tell you didn’t finish that book, Mom. I looked up his Wikipedia entry. It was actually SIX times.

Me the Driver – Mom tells of a time I got behind the wheel of Marie Bain’s car and my big mate and younger sidekick – Marie’s grandson or grandnephew – Gareth Taylor, sitting in the back, leapt into the front seat crying, I Don’t Wanna Die! Mom and Sylvia had a good laugh at his dramatics and sense of humour. I was too young to drive then but was always mad keen; I’d sit for hours in all our various cars – Annie’s beige 1949 Chevy Fleetline, our beige Morris Isis and light blue VW Beetle, our faded dark blue kombis, Annie’s green and white Opel Rekord – going thru the gears operating the clutch and gearshift. I can almost ‘see’ Marie’s car but can’t quite remember what it was. I imagine this probably happened outside Herano Hof in Stuart Street, where Smollie and Marie lived then.

Smollie walked with a stoop and had stiff legs. I remember him getting into the passenger seat was quite a performance. The seat had to be well back so he could swing his straight legs in.

First Piano – an Otto Bach? – Mom bought her first piano from Marie for 100 pounds. Paid for it from the money Annie paid her to do the Caltex garage books. Central Service Station in Warden Street. Corner of Southey Street. Opposite Barclays Bank, Freddies Grocers and the Town Hall. Diagonally opposite the Deborah Retief Gardens – the village square. Next door to the VC Cafe in Southey St, next door to the Portuguese Grocers in Warden Street. Annie’s complex consisted of her Caltex filling station, the Flamingo Cafe, the Platberg Bottle Store and the workshop behind her office off the forecourt. In years gone by it was known as Caskie’s Corner – her mom-in-law, Granny Bland was a Caskie.

Older sister Barbara has just (2025) renovated a wooden cupboard which was Annie’s mechanic At Truscott’s tool cupboard for Volkswagen tools only! It was painted Caltex green (as were many things around us – even the horse trough).

Scotty her English teacher – Miss Helen Scott – recommended they read Absolom! Absolom! by Wm Faulkner “so of course we didn’t,” she says ruefully. Rebel Mary.

Then a few years later, she found another Faulkner book, The Sound and the Fury, in the library at the Boksburg & Benoni hospital, and on night duty she and her nurse took turns reading it to each other.

Firecrackers – I asked if she’d heard fireworks last night – New Year’s Eve. Yes, even she couldn’t sleep! That reminded her: In Harrismith as schoolgirls ca.1945, Mom and Sylvia bought sparklers and wheels. She thinks for New Year or Guy Fawkes. They put them in a shoebox. They were planning to set them off at Granny Bland’s back gate. There were a few visitors who gathered there.

Suddenly they all went off at once – the whole box! Sepp de Beer had decided to light the lot!

A Concert for the Troops! – At their grandad’s Royal Hotel, Mom and Sylvia decided to give a concert to ‘raise money for the troops.’ They charged a penny each to watch. Mom played the piano, Sylvia danced and they both sang. She thinks they raised enough money to maybe get some troops as far as Kenya. ‘Maybe a shilling’!

I said, That may have made the difference to win the war. That cracked her up.

The English Visitor – A regular annual guest at the Hotel was a Mr Lewis from England. He came for two months every year to escape the harsh English winter. His room was upstairs looking towards the railway station. While he was there, all kids were banned from going up the beautiful wooden staircase. And – There was to be be dead silence from 2 to 4pm every afternoon! Mr Lewis was having his nap! One day he stormed out onto the pavement in his pyjamas and berated a local lady who had been talking to her friend across the road at Kathy Bain Reynolds’ garage! How dare she converse in seSotho while he was out from England!

The Garage across from the Royal – which can be seen in the photos of Oupa Bain’s funeral procession was owned by Jack Reynolds, a handsome man, say Mom. He was married to Kathy Bain, and when he died early – after having bad lung problems and going blind – Kathy took over the running of the garage, just as Annie had when Frank died. So two intrepid Bain ladies ran garages in Harrismith.

Dances in the Harrismith Town Hall – There was no alcohol you know. People would go across the gardens to the Central Hotel for a drink. Oh, I asked, Would they carry their drinks back across the gardens to the dance?

No, they’d bring them in their stomachs.

The dentist’s (Dr __) mechanic and his wife were wonderful dancers. But after a few trips they – Would dance even better?  I suggested, dancing being one of the reasons I drink.

NO!  Their dancing got worse and worse, says Mom.

Proper Order Restored

After two years and nine months of sad stoeplessness, order has at last been restored. I have a stoep, a LaZboy, my coffee and my binoculars in place again as they should be.

Aaah

~~oo0oo~~

stoep – porch, patio, deck, veranda

And: My coffee got an upgrade – and a Narina Trogon is hooting as I sip n scribble.

And now a Bronze Caco is going creep and a Bush Squeaker is going sweep. Paradise.

And now even guest beds! OK, now it’s getting a bit worrying ..

Nearly three weeks on my stoep and here’s the birdlist:

Eastern Golden Weaver, Dark-backed Weaver, White-eared Barbet, Dark-capped Bulbul, Hadeda, Hamerkop, Yellow-rumped Tinker, Palm Swift, European Bee-eater, Puffback, Red-eyed Dove, Yellow-bellied Greenbul, Redcapped Robin-chat, Purple-crested Turaco, Purple-banded (or Marico) Sunbird, Olive Sunbird, Emerald Cuckoo, Klaas’ Cuckoo, Trumpeter Hornbill, Gorgeous Bush-shrike, Narina Trogon, Yellow-billed Kite, Burchell’s Coucal, Golden-tailed Woodpecker, Woolly-necked Stork, Sombre Greenbul, Amethyst Sunbird, Bronze Mannikin, Green-backed Camaroptera, Crowned Eagle, Speckled Mousebird, Southern Boubou, Red-backed Mannikin, Tambourine Dove, Green Malkoha, Diederik Cuckoo, Spectacled Weaver, Crested Barbet, Violet-backed Starling, Black-bellied Starling, African Goshawk, Scaly-throated Honeyguide, Lesser Honeyguide, White-faced Owl?, Black-collared Barbet, Cape White-eye, [Scaly-throat HG being fed by GT Woodpeck!], Fiery-necked Night jar, Scarlet-chested Sunbird, Wood Owl, Grey Waxbill, Collared Sunbird, African Fish Eagle, White-faced Whistling Duck, Brown-hooded Kingfisher, Palm Nut Vulture, Crested Barbet (heard), Lipstick (don’t call me common) Waxbill, Yellow-streaked Greenbul,

At the lagoon: Common Ringed Plover

Now we can explore

Mtunzini

Mtunzini, Zululand, KZN North Coast. A new chapter begins after eighteen months in the metropolis of Mtwalume, KZN South Coast.

We’ve had a very friendly welcome, a common refrain being, ‘Watch, Now You’re Here You’ll Never Leave.’

Also my landlord must have spoken to Brooose, my previous landlord. He said, Now that I’ve met you I’ll send a gardener once a week to mow the lawn, as I can see it’s not your thing. How else could he have worked that secret out?

First day’s birds:

Eastern Golden Weaver, Dark-backed Weaver, White-eared Barbet, Hadeda, Hamerkop, Yellow-rumped Tinker, Palm Swift, European Bee-eater, Puffback, Red-eyed Dove, Yellow-bellied Greenbul, Redcapped Robin-chat, Purple-crested Turaco, Purple-banded (or Marico)  Sunbird, Olive Sunbird, Emerald Cuckoo, Klaas Cuckoo, Trumpeter Hornbill, Gorgeous Bush-shrike, Narina Trogon, Yellow-billed Kite, Burchell’s Coucal, Golden-tailed Woodpecker, Woolly-necked Stork.

Jess was surprised that unfurnished meant zero furniture, but I said, ‘We Have Plenty Jess’ and unpacked our fine aluminium folding camping table, two comfortable camping chairs and the mattress from the camper. Manie took a good look at that and offered to return the furniture he’d just schlepped off  to store in his garden cottage after his last tenant left. Another bonus!  These are kind people.

Meantime Willie had almost beaten us back home to deliver the fridge and microwave from his second-hand store.

In Feb I spotted at last what I’d been hearing regularly from my stoep – A Yellow-streaked Greenbul, coastal forest special.

~~oo0oo~~

Good Fencing with Good Neighbours

It’s the annual Westville fair and the Chinese crafts are on full display. Tom has wheedled some extra pocket money and has made a fine investment: A BB Gun. Plastic pellets. ‘But a much better one than the last one Dad, this one’s metal.’ The plastic gun had lasted one day.

Right TomTom, you know that a gun is ONLY for shooting at a target, right?
Yes, Dad.
You set up a target, put your eye protection goggles on and make sure no-one’s in harm’s way, right?
Yes, Dad.

Pring pring.
This is your neighbour the lawyer speaking. Do you know YOUR SON is shooting at MY DOGS?

Well no, actually, I didn’t know that. I’ll be right over.

The boys are nowhere in sight so I call them – Tom and a neighbour friend – and present them to the neighbours: the lawyer, the businesswoman wife and the adult son. I get an immediate confession and an apology from the boys, and they repeat their apology directly to the man. So I dismiss them. Off you go now.

Is that the end of it? No. Bitch Kvetch, Blah Blah, Blah bloody blah . .
Well, I say with a smile, Boys will be Boys.
Well, I never did anything like that, he says.
Well, I certainly did, I say, and with all due respect your dogs DO bark incessantly and are extremely annoying, and the little plastic pellets didn’t actually hit them. Never mind the fact that there are a few too many of them. Still smiling. Three dogs maximum allowed in Westville and the lawyer has seven!

Well, says the vrou: THESE KIDS play outside the gates and  the blacks walk past and make the dogs bark.

Mistake.

Firstly, I say with a much broader smile creasing my dial, chest out and going red in the face, These actually aren’t “the blacks.” They’re my son and OUR NEIGHBOURS, and they’re walking HOME. They live here;
Secondly, these kids have every right to play in the street and on the pavements. I’m still grinning, trying to keep it light. You need your neighbours, if possible.

fencing neighbours

Ooh, he says, We’re not racist, when I go to the townships the dogs there bark at me cos I’m white. Kak cover-up, but nice to see you batting for the old bat. She herself makes no attempt to explain her “the blacks.” She’s the tough one here.

I repeat, Let’s just understand very clearly that these kids have every right to play RIGHT in front of your gates. Up to one millimetre from your gate. And YOUR responsibility is to keep your dogs in your yard and not let them run out and menace the kids. One of the girls is absolutely terrified of dogs. And her Dad happens to be a Metro cop and I will join forces with him in seeing to it that you are held responsible if your dogs do ANYTHING to my kids or the neighbourhood kids when out of your yard! . . smiles sweetly . .

Bloody hell!
Well, according to the law I have the right . . .
I am not a lawyer but I’ll tell you right now your dogs should not be out of your yard. Period. I get the kids off the streets as often as I can, they play at our place most days, so let’s just work together, okay?
And anyway, nice weather if it doesn’t rain, and thanks very much for calling me and I apologise again for the plastic pinging of your puppies and let’s be adult about all this as we’re stuck with each other as neighbours. Kay?

Big smile hopefully covers up my eff you thoughts and we withdraw.

We still wave at each other. Him. She doesn’t.

~~oo0oo~~

Later: I was telling friend Stephen in Aussie about the seven barking dogs on my one side and the two barking dogs on my other side: White alsatians bought by non-dog people cos ONCE an intruder jumped over their low fence.

He said: As you probably know, one thing about not living in SA is that mysteriously the dogs do not bark. Except our neighbour’s when there are tradies (workmen) around. But he can only keep it up for about one and a half minutes. A very old labrador. Our other neighbour gets irritated on the rare occasion that the dog barks. So he sits out on the deck and shouts “shuddup.”  Then the dog barks more.

Then she thinks it’s me shouting. And when I try to have a chat to her about this, she disappears. I will have to collar her sometime. Or as they say here, “bail her up.”

~~oo0oo~~

This evening I had curry and an ice cold beer on my new stoep with my children, checking out the birds; especially the black flycatchers with their two fledglings; the parents all black, the babies black with lotsa russet scallops and streaks – their gapes still yellowish.
Then a kingfisher with a cricket in his beak, followed a big praying mantis – lots of protein.
Complete peaceful silence. Not a sound. No shouting, no barking.

Hey! No barking! The dogs are actually quiet for a change.

Hopefully they all fuckin died.

~~oo0oo~~

The Wallace Line

I crossed the Wallace Line. Many other species and even genera couldn’t hack it for millenia, but this Homo sapiens swanepoeli did it – there and back in a day. A short hop from Bali to Lombok then on to Gili Air using either a Lion Air or Batik Air jetplane, I forget which one.

During ice age glacial advances, when ocean levels were up to 120 metres lower, both Asia and Australia were united with what are now islands on their respective continental shelves – the Sunda Shelf linked Borneo, Bali, Java, and Sumatra to the mainland of southeastern Asia; and the Sahul Shelf linked Australia to New Guinea. But the deep water between those two large continental shelf areas was, for over 50 million years, a barrier that kept the flora and fauna of Australia separated from those of Asia.

The physical aspects and climates of the separated islands are and were very similar, yet species such as leaf monkeys and ponderous-beaked hornbills are found only on the Asian side, while wallabies, spiny anteaters, tree kangaroos and gliding possums are only on the Australian side. So it can be reasonably suspected that an ocean barrier prevented migration across the divide.

Alfred Wallace noticed this back in 1859 and wrote about it in his famous paper sent to Charles Darwin that pushed Darwin into finally pulling finger and publishing his brilliant and famous insights into how evolution happens which he had been dithering over and re-writing for twenty years.

So when we decided to attend a conference in Bali I thought, Aha! Never thought I’d get to do this. Aitch! I announced pompously, We’re going to cross the Wallace Line. OK, she said, as she always did. She didn’t ask ‘What’s the Wallace Line?’ as she knew she would hear it half a dozen times and she didn’t want to hear it seven times. Funny how spouses are much better when they’ve just met you and don’t know you inside out, have you noticed?

So once in Bali, we hopped onto a plane and flew across the deep and 70km wide Lombok Strait to Lombok Island, and then drove to the northwest coast and caught a ferry to a small island called Gili Air. I’m guessing gili means island? – yes: ‘The name ‘Gili Islands’ is redundant as gili simply means “small island” in Sasak.’

On the way there we saw a lot of timber trucks, huge tree trunks being carted off to make furniture. Oyoyoyoy! Someone needs a side table, so tree kangaroos and gliding possums must lose their homes! We won’t stop till the last square metre of our planet is paved, will we?

On Gili Air we lazed on the beach and snorkel’d. A handy current parallel to the reef meant you could just hover as you drifted along the reef. Then walk back along the beach and repeat. Effortless snorkeling in a spectacular ‘overstocked aquarium.’

~~oo0oo~~

I used a pic from Flickr of a jungle fowl found on Lombok. I’d love to see one of these ancestors of the garden ‘hoender.’

hoender – farmyard fowl

Clarens en route to Afriski

Winter 2010 – The Soccer World Cup frenzy was in full swing and I was pleased we were getting away from it all, off to the the relative tranquility of Afriski resort, high in the Lesotho mountains. The kids LOVED their winter skiing holidays!

En route we made our customary brunch stop in the village of Clarens and of course I had to inform our traveling companions, Andrew and Tracey Ogilvie, joining us for their twin girls’ first skiing holiday, that I had known the mayor of Clarens in the olden days. Actually, his son, the FSOC. America has POTUS and FLOTUS, so we can have Hizzoner, The First Son Of Clarens, right?

As I told my stories yet again poor Aitch just had to listen and try not to roll her eyes too hard – (btw, heard a good one: ‘rolled my eyes so hard I almost fell over backwards’).

Hilarious stories like: The TV repeater aerial and car battery on top of Mt Horeb and the walkie-talkie conversations twixt town and top that ensued; The Clarens telephone sentrale saying “34? No, Stevie’s not there, he’s at the Goldblatts, I’ll put you through;” Hilarious, right?

Oh well, Andrew seemed to enjoy them. He’s polite that way.

We were there just before the Soccer World Cup opening ceremony and the first game (Bafana the host nation vs Mexico). The Clarens central grassy square was crowded – a million kids dressed in Bafana yellow, blowing their zulufelas, I mean vuvuzelas and marching around aimlessly in neat lines. We blew out of there and mercifully, the radio reception soon got too poor to listen in.

If it wasn’t for bladdy satellites we would have been totally isolated up on the high mountains, too. So we had to watch some of the games in the pub. Civilisation is overrated.

~~oo0oo~~

telephone sentrale – the telephone exchange, in those days a real live human being who knew what was going on in town and dorp

dorp – village

vuvuzela – instrument of one-note aural torture; probly modeled on the instruments that toppled Jericho