– life – bokdrols of wisdom –
I try and teach the kids about waste, litter, environmental awareness, biodiversity, etc. As I start talking they don’t look at me. They look at each other with THAT look, then swivel their eyes on me in unison, put on a polite “Yes, you were saying?” look on their dials, switch off their ears and nod and say “Mmm” “Mmm?” until they see my lips stop moving.
Then they’ll ‘innocently’ ask something deliberately unkosher like “Can we get a cat?” Lil bastids.
Vacuum clean your room, please Jess. 16yr-old Jess. 2014.
“OK”
On goes the whine, to be switched off ten seconds later.
Stomp, stomp, a delegation to come and see me:
“Dad, I can’t vacuum!”
Why not, Jess?
“Cos I can’t hear my music!”
She watches my jaw drop, grins triumphantly and marches back to continue the vacuuming.
Mission accomplished: SERVED my Dad!!
I’ve left the kids alone at home, so when an urgent call comes I take it.
It’s Tom.
Dad! We need to get a lamb roast and rosemary and garlic and small-cut vegetables to roast. It’s a slow roast and we don’t have any rice or lamb stock in the pantry!
OK Tom, we’ll do that.
He’s been watching a cooking show on the box.
I Love it !Question is – did he do it?.
Oh, yes. The girls (Jess plus 2 visitors Sat night) had fish n chips take-away and Tom made a lamb shank each for the boys (me and him). Delish. I had the last of mine (and Jon & Dizzi had a piece) last night.
He did clean forget to roast the veges, mind you!
TomTom
– Please drop me off and don’t get out the car, Dad.
Hugs, fist-bumps, “Love you Dad” all done and said safely BEFORE we get there.
Mouths a silent “Love you” again as he walks off into purgatory.
JessJess
– Please can you come in with me Dad?
Gives me a big hug in her classroom in front of her teacher; gets me to walk her onto the playground where her mates give her a big hello.
~~~oo0oo~~~
Friday, December 20, 2013, pete swanepoel wrote:
Went back to Mfolosi today. Kids were mad keen, especially Jess. Determined to see a lion.
So we did. A lovely big male. I thought that’ll keep her quiet for a while. Only to find out later that dear old silent-one Jess couldn’t see it from back in the canopy where she and her friend Sindi were snugly seated – at their request. But – being Jess – she didn’t say anything at the time!! There was a car blocking her view and she didn’t say a word! Had a quiet drizz in my arms at the picnic spot afterwards! Ai! Die Kinders! (Tom would have raised hell if HE couldn’t see it). I’m amazed Sindi didn’t say something. She’s not usually shy.
To my embarrassment I notice I took 44 pics – and not one of the kids.
Steve wrote: Haai. Next trip make sure Jess is in the front seat and has charge of the binoculars!
Me: My Jessie had choice of seat, being the oldest, and has her own binoculars. All she needed to do was squawk and we could have edged forward by a metre or so but she froze. As she does. The good thing is now we’ll have to go back!
It gets hot but nothing Sahara. I don’t use aircon in the bush. We drove north in October, which the Zims call suicide month, without once switching the aircon on. All windows down is all. When it gets too stinking hot wet towels work amazingly well.
My godson Gary Hill worked as a ranger at Mala Mala for a couple years. Also had a ball, took lots of pics and ran their blog. Loved it, but has moved on. They pay shit and prospects are few, so after a while its comes time to move on.
Find his swansong here:
Brauer wrote: Lyin’ and dandelion??
Surely they don’t qualify as communities. (The kids had said ‘Dad! Don’t stop here!’ I asked why not. ‘Too many “communities” Dad!’ What?! Look at the “communities,” Dad!’ they said, pointing at the local people. I shook my head and asked them when they last looked in a mirror!! Pests).
“WE sang rap”?? Must have been THEY and then the old toppie serenading them with a bit of Mama Mia accompanied by eyerolling.
Me: Hey, WE sing:
I woke up in a noo Bughatti
I woke up in a noo Bughatti
I woke up in a noo Bughatti
I woke up in a noo Bughatti
I woke up in a noo Bughatti
I woke up in a noo Bughatti
and
My nigger, bad nigger , my nig nig nigger
My nigger, bad nigger , my nig nig nigger
My nigger, bad nigger , my nig nig nigger
My nigger, bad nigger , my nig nig nigger
My nigger, bad nigger , my nig nig nigger
and
I gonna PICK the world up and gonna drop it on yo fuckin head
What? You don’t know the classics?
~~~oo0oo~~~
PS: Later Jess told me she HAD seen the lion but just not as well as she’d have liked to!
PPS: My favourite sighting was the meadows full of flowers. They were amazing!
~~~oo0oo~~~
Pics of my self-styled “NOT communities” on other trips:
~~~oo0oo~~~
Let’s go to the lion park, Dad, I’ve never seen lions!
This is Jess. I remind her that she has, actually, in Zambia – but she was little – five years old, 2003. I must show her the pics in South Luangwa Park.
They’re in hard bargaining mode, as we’re on our way to my folks’ place in PMB. It’s my ole man’s 91st birthday lunch, which is why I’m dragging them to Sleepy Hollow. It’s not their best place to visit, so I agree: Behave sociably and we can go to the lion park after lunch. OK?
By the time we get to the “Lion Park” it’s closed, but we can “see the lions only”. Same price, one hundred Saffrican Ront. I decide stuffit, let’s rather do this properly. “Stuff these lions” I announce, “We’re going to Mfolosi game reserve for the day tomorrow”. “Let’s go and see if we can spot some real lions”.
We left at 6:00am sharp and were in the park at 8:40am, already paid and entered, R240 for the five of us and the car for the day.
We had a ball. The kids were expert spotters, we saw lots & lots of eles, rhino, buff, giraffe, nyala, impala, bushbuck, wilderbeasts, wartpigs ensovoorts. – And a clear sighting of a gorgeous bush shrike!!
We sang rap and Mama Mia all the way there and back. And we laughed! These brats have decided they don’t like mixing with too many communities. Especially in crowds. Used to be bantu, then plurals, anderskleuriges, euphemisms, etc. Now its communities.
“Don’t stop here, Dad” as we drive through a village, “there are too many communities here”. I threaten to buy them each a mirror so they can check their mahogany brown selves whenever they think of such nonsense, but they just hose themselves at me.
They must have introspected a bit, though, because at lunch at the picnic spot they announce: “Hey we’re the only communities here!” To shine them up I made them do a spot of community tribal dancing in a tree.
And of course the two 12yr olds Tom & Lungelo couldn’t miss the opportunity to disgust the teenage girls by letting rip on the way back, causing a hasty winding down of windows and heads hanging out for fresh air till the green fumes could waft away.
So the lion park sparked a search for ‘real’ lions.
We didn’t see a lion this visit, but I heard a whole lotta lyin’.
~~~oo0oo~~~
Saffrican Ront – South African Rand; worth anywhere from US$1.42 (1973) to less than a dime (2015)! Depends when you ask;
ensovoorts – etc.
~~~oo0oo~~~
Broke a bowl cooking supper. I MAY have uttered a small selection of mild imprecations because Tom said:
And you used to kiss your wife with that mouth?
Jess sixteen and Tom twelve; It’s a beautiful rainbow day, and the Dizzis (Jon & Elize Taylor) treat them to a meal at Spur
Minenhle and Lungelo tag along and, thank goodness, the younger set get their own table. Selfies and ussies and burgers and milkshakes. Heaven.
~~oo0oo~~
So we’ve survived Jessie’s Sweet Sixteen party. The wild breakout and breakaway is yet to come. They had an innocent ball. Tom helped get the place ready:
No sex, no drugs, not even any rock’nroll. I didn’t even smell cigarettes!
Swimming, sweets and hiphop & rap music instead. Mainly hip hop. With lumo lights:
The guys went home, and all I got left now after midnight is six girls snoring in the cottage.
Next day they were back to being kids:
~~oo0oo~~
. . Later, Jessie started getting to grips with her sweet sixteen gift: A scooter and scooter lessons.
~~oo0oo~~
Cosmoore Jenny Fyvie wrote: So divine; looks like they had a lot of fun. The way it should be! Enjoy the sweet sixteen while it lasts. Was Tommy banished?
..
Yep, Tom went off to a friend’s place – better! Twelve and Sixteen don’t really mix well on occasions like this – 🙂
~~oo0oo~~
I was going too fast, but we were late and I could see miles ahead along the sweeping roads on the hillsides of Lesotho. A speck of dust would show up then disappear as we rounded a hill, then reappear later a bit nearer, but still far away. Eventually a car would materialise, turn into a white bakkie and sweep past in a cloud of dust.
We were hastening to get to Sani Top after entering Lesotho near Ficksburg, and zooming over Khatse Dam after waiting a while for the brakes to cool so they’d work again after too much braking for sight-seeing down the steep decline to the dam.
Little Jessie and Tom are strapped in the back of the VW kombi, me and Aitch in front. The Dizzis were waiting for us and Aitch hates keeping anyone waiting and especially the Dizzis, so I was putting foot, it’s true.
Dusk was approaching as I rounded one more bend. My eyes widened and the donkey’s eyes widened much more. Huge, in fact as he stared at his impending doom. The look in his eyes was quite fatalistic, and he was rooted to the spot, massive bundle of sticks and bushes loaded on his back and sticking out more than his body width on both sides. On the left a high bank, on the right a cliff plummeting down to the river valley far below. Swerving was out of the question, as was hard braking, so I manual-ABS’d, slowing down as much as I could without endangering us.
As we hit the poor ass I probably closed my eyes. WHACK! A sickening bang. Dead, I’m sure. Kombi messed up. I stopped and hopped out thinking: You don’t stop and get out. For safety you keep moving. Like hell you do. A glance at the kombi showrd no sign of anything! That was puzzling but i had no time to think about it.
.
I walked into a wall of cussing and swearing and remonstrating in high seSotho. What the hell did I think I was doing and Who the hell was going to pay and Where the hell was I headed in such a hurry and How the hell was he going to . . . I hardly heard him. I was staring past him at the donkey walking away minus its load, seemingly none the worse for wear! I was so relieved I actually giggled and had to bite my lip.
I immediately launched into a sincere and abject apology oft-repeated and completely ignored. I apologised for speeding, endangering, carelessness, being younger than him, and for breathing. I was sorry that he’d have to catch his donkey and I regretted that he’d have to do all the loading all over again. I was getting nowhere and the tirade was warming up and getting more creative. I saw I wasn’t getting through, so I returned to the kombi and fetched R200 and pressed it into my fully-justified tormentor’s hand.
It was like switching off a radio. He was COMPLETELY satisfied and what were we talking about a minute ago again? A last apology and off we went, just more slowly. We still had a way to go. Phew!
There was a sequel the next morning as we headed back into Lesotho on the same road. There was my man again, so I gave him a cheery wave. He was with a mate and he pointed at us jabbering away, grinning excitedly. We had fun imagining what he was saying. All complimentary, we agreed.
~~oo0oo~~
This time Minenhle joined us, using Gayle Adlam’s mountain bike.
Sheils took us to the start again, in our bakkie, then drove it to her home, which is near the finish line. The night before we had been to the rugby Sharks vs WP and got soaked – Cold and rainy, but the cycling day dawned warm and dry.
Minnie and Jess trundled along, chatting away and eye-ing out the male talent en route.
For the first time, Tom put his head down and pedaled off with intent. I caught him twice, then waited for Jess near Cowies Hill. Never saw him again. Rode the rest alone. At the finish he came up proudly boasting “Blew your doors off, Dad. Beat Jess by MILES!”
Jess & Min took quite a while longer.
Subway sarmies afterwards; then we rode and pushed steep uphills to Sheila’s flat.
Drove home in the bakkie for a hot bath.
Dropped Tom off this morning. First day, last term.
He was great, full of beans. We chatted a bit and he didn’t roll his eyes much when I repeated my Better Marks, Less Detentions speech.
“Gotta go Dad”, he says as he fist-bumps me and rolls off the back seat “My fan club’s waiting”.
~~oo0oo~~
The Great Occasional Downhill Bike Ride to Lilani Spa – The GODBiRitoLS.
Named after the fashion of the more famous GABRAN (Great Annual Bike Ride Across Natal), this one is much better! All downhill; Only a gentle 17km; Perspiration-free; Ends before tedium can set in at a rustic old hot water spring with spa baths! In which you can drink cold beer if you keep your elbow up and your chin just out of water. One inch in front of your belly button: Warm water; One inch behind your belly button: Cold beer. Kinda how I imagine heaven might be.
After, getting back out of the valley is done with the bicycles strapped to the back of the bus – kombi power, not pedal power for uphill travel. Nice and Easy!
This time Aitch drove the kombi, stopping frequently to take pictures, while I shepherded the unruly mob down on mountain bikes. Both of them. My kind of gravel cycling – downhill, downhill, seventeen kilometres of continuous downhill! Don’t ever have to push a pedal in anger. Nor do you need to touch your brakes if you can lean with confidence. Wheee!
The accompanying bus was fully equipped with bike racks, a fridge, a picnic hamper, chocolate bars, cold drinks and a supportive Ma. Luxury.
See another Lilani Spa bike ride here.
Read what I know of the history of this lovely resort here.
~~oo0oo~~
On Sunday, July 14, 2013, pete wrote: Trish’s dear old Dad Neil shuffled off quietly yesterday. As always no fuss. Made sure the family knew “No funeral, no memorial service, no nothing,” before he went.
Broke his hip two weeks ago and although he got wonderful treatment at the Prince Mshiyeni state hospital and the pinning of the bone went well, with no infection and no pain, he was just shy of his 88th birthday and only managed to sit up twice, with much help from daughter Janet and the physio. He never got back onto his feet.
He was a wonderful fella, always helpful, obliging and useful. Whenever I was lax on the home-improvement front (um, that would be ‘always’) Aitch would very pointedly, with an evil grin say “MY Daddy would have fixed that LONG ago;” or if I said “That’s varktap, irreparable,” she’d retort “Don’t worry, I’ll take it to my Dad – HE’ll fix it. He can fix ANYTHING!” Teased the hell out of me, that woman.
And Neil accepted our kids unconditionally. Simply flung open his arms and got on with the job of being ‘Gompa Neil’ to Jess and Tommy. His usual fine, unfussed, can-do approach to life.
Irrepressible sense of humour, when someone was “gaan’ing aan” too much Neil would show ironic “sympathy” by playing a mournful air violin! He always looked on the bright side, but was running out of joy the last two years, what with being completely blind, missing his one daughter and his other daughter being far away.
He would say to me “I really MISS Trishy so much!” Twin daughter Janet has been a star to him these last two years – and the last two weeks even more so. She’ll sure miss the hell out of him now, as will her Mom Iona, who Neil doted on, cooked for, looked after, pandered to.
His wish for no fuss, no ceremony, no funeral was honoured by his little remaining family, Janet, me, Jess, Tom.
~~oo0oo~~
On Tuesday, June 18, 2013, Pete wrote:
What an interesting cul-de-sac is Elston Place. Sure there are three boring houses with closed gates and aloof umLungus in them, and one high-wall 8-unit complex called Marula-something with faceless people living in it who don’t know that if you live in a ten-gate cul-de-sac you GREET everyone who lives there. They’re at the top of the road so maybe they don’t even know its a short little cul-de-sac?
BUT:
We also have a house with two young kids and good people who will host the neighbourhood kids in their pool; They have direct access to the nature reserve;
Then there are the four run-down council houses with hordes of kids. THAT’s what makes Elston Place interesting. Those that visit me to swim and snack range from three to thirteen, Fezile, Asanda, Katelo, Khanyiso, Michael, Mfundi, Logical & Paul – boys. Andile, Azokuhle, Gugu & Minenhle – girls. Who exactly they belong to, I have not fully worked out. But my kids know, and shake their heads when I ask – again.
Some of the older ones have moved up and on. They’re too cool for our pool, trampoline and jungle gym now. One of them has had a bambino already. Kids with kids. I fright for that.
Some – thank goodness – never grow up!
One house is childless. Occupied by Bill G, ex-Durban Corpse municipal employee who knows everything, especially about how grass and verges should be cut – and specialising in kids’ education (“You must study hard, y’hear? My daughter didn’t play in the street and look today there she is, a doctor. My son didn’t play in the street and there he is, a pharmacist!”). We’ve never seen his kids, so I spose he’s right about that much.
One Mom is Thandi, who works at Woolies and goes to Virgin Active Gym every day, walking her ample bum 3km’s there and 3km’s back, even tho there’s a gym in our nearby centre that she works in – I guess Woolies has her on Discovery Health.
One has a green car and drives her kids to school at Westville Jr Primary every morning. Her kids don’t visit or play in the road.
Lawrence the friendly and polite Zimbabwean worked at Nourish Cafe nearby, but they closed, so now he walks to a far-away newly-opened PicknPay near Thandi’s gym. He has a wife and a little daughter.
We have Naseem from Pakistan with dogs that bark right in my ear when I’m in my bedroom and vehicles that arrive and leave at all times of the day & night. Lovely people, but sometimes I phone them at 3am and ask them ‘Please SHUT UP your dogs.’
And then Deo was our Metro cop. It was good to have a Metro cop vehicle in our road with his smiling face in it. Lately he’d been scarce and I heard whispers of a mistress or two and shenanigans. Now he’s late. Car accident.
I thought he’d been hit in the blue & white Metro car by a truck, but his widow Nkosazana came round yesterday dressed all in black top-to-toe including scarf and hat. She needed me to update her CV so she can look for another job as she was recently retrenched from the security company where she was a CCTV operator. Bliksem. Three kids. Around 19, 16 and 13.
She filled me in on the details: He was driving his private Nissan X-Trail and hit (or was hit by) a Toyota Hilux bakkie. Neither he nor his mistress were badly hurt, but he “wasn’t right” and was sent back to Westville hospital after a while, then on to Entabeni as his condition worsened. There he died and poor Nkosazana (who he’d ‘kicked out’ in October) was only then able to get into their home to try and sort things out. Mistress in the meantime had the house keys and took documents, cellphones, watches and stuff. Luckily his Metro cop colleagues believed her when she explained her plight and took her around to the mistress’ place and got some of their stuff back.
Elston Place also borders the beautiful Palmiet Nature Reserve, and the day before yesterday I saw a new bird at my bird bath: A Yellow-bellied Greenbul.
The End.
No – to be continued . . .
I also sometimes take the plunge . .
~~~oo0oo~~~
Clearing messages on my cellphone:
Message from TomTom:
“Hey Dad you left your phone behind; Phone me when you get this message”
Had a good laugh tonight as I put him to bed! He was suitably sheepish.
