Category Archives: KwaZuluNatal

Child- and Adult-Rearing Tips

Barbs Kirby, special lady, died recently. The news brought some reminiscing, so I went looking in old sent mailboxes…

email to Barbs & Rip Kirby Sent: 22 March 2019 10:18 PM Subject: Chirpy wisdom

I suddenly had a clear moment in my fuzzy brain and thought of two things from way back when. And I thought “I must tell the Chirpies!” So here are the two stories I wrote down, you good people:

Story 1: When we first got infested with children I thought, What the hell are these things? They looked like a lot of fun so I’d play with them. Then for some unknown reason, they’d start crying and it was less fun.

Luckily, the Kirbys were frequent visitors and – with three blonde daughters – they were experienced. They said: “Always try feeding them first. Then see if you need to do anything else.”

Pearl of wisdom! That helped us LOTS!

Story 2: When the lil bastids started jolling I was on my own, no Aitch. So I started laying down the law: What you could do; Where you could go; When you must be home. Harumph!

Of course, they ignored it all, and just when I was about to start fighting with them, I suddenly thought: What do I want most? Their safety? Or to fight with them? And I remembered my jolling and how much fun it was. That’s when I remembered the Kirbys telling me they fetch their girls from clubs downtown or wherever.

“We fetch them from Wherever, at Whatever time – No matter where they go, we will fetch them, even if it’s very late at night,” they told me.

So I started saying “Where are you going please? and what time do you want me to fetch you?” or “Phone me when you’re ready, and I’ll fetch you.”

I fell into the Kirby method, and it has worked like a bomb! They tell me where they’re going. They phone me when they’re ready and I fetch them. And USUALLY not very late – often earlier than I would have expected and certainly earlier than I often got home in my day! Dodgy areas, sure. Same as I used to go to.

Right now, they’re snug in bed after saying, Love You Dad And Sleep Tight and all that shit that I never said to my father! Or him to me…

I love it. Thanks, Kirbys! Cheers, Pete

~~oo0oo~~

The Kirbs replied:

Thanks for the reminders.

Yep the bottom line is Trust. You are a GREAT father. So glad we could give you bits of advice.

Love you,

Rip & Barbs

No Divine Engine Overhaul?

I left the tyre place with my four brand-new polished rubber slippers on my Ford feeling chuffed and stable, if R14k lighter, when a shiny new and way-too-big for a 4-seater sportscar white BMW X6 switched on its hazard lights at a traffic light. The driver hopped out and ran to the car ahead of him. A dull faded green old Korean sedan in trouble.

The two drivers nodded, one hopped in and the BMW driver started pushing, soon joined by his tubby passenger, leaving the BM blinking at the lights. I followed them by driving round the BM. Soon they pulled over huffin and puffin. No sign of life in the old faded green jalopy. ‘I’ll give him a tug,’ I shouted through my open window and they nodded and ran back to the shiny new white thing, their part in the attempted rescue done.

I pulled off in front of the faded green thing and hopped out to fish for my tow rope, but the scrawny 30-ish bearded driver in a grubby mechanics overall had done this before. He had a rope out like a flash and bopa’d it to my tow hitch. I’ll watch for your hand out your window I said, ‘OK Uncle,’ he said.

Three times he dropped the clutch and the faded green hopped and screeched, tyres belching blue smoke (was he in first gear!?) but no go. He’d wave me on, his scrawny arm indicating, ‘Try Faster.’ I had to stop at two red lights, ran a third as all was clear and then at the fourth, BANG! he ran into me! Omigoodness. I pulled over, hopped out and we both surveyed the damage: My tow ball unaffected; his bonnet looking horrible, his already low-value car now worth less. Damn! Had his brakes failed? Had he lost focus? Had he texted his poppie? I didn’t ask.

Where can I tow you to where your car will be safe? I asked. ‘I rent a room in the location outside Meerensee, can Uncle tow me to there?‘ I’ll tow you to the nearest petrol station where you can ask the attendants to keep an eye on it while you arrange things, I offered. At the Shell station we pushed his car into a good spot as he told me his story. Blown head gasket, fixed, then blown again – ‘I think I used the wrong oil. Oh man,’ he sighed, ‘I just hoped By Grace it could have lasted until I got my drivers licence!’

Eish, maybe THAT was why he ran into the back of me?

I left him a cold drink and some cash and he was way too grateful for an oke still in such a pickle, praising ‘The Man Upstairs’ for helping him thus. Meantime there I was, R100 lighter and my feet firmly Downstairs on terra firma. I muttered to myself, He coulda just fixed you car rather!, but I didnt want to spoil his smile.

Damn!

~~oo0oo~~

Open Sesame

Weird that a bakkie’s electric window winding mechanisms don’t last eighteen years, don’t you think? And that one can’t get spares after so short a time?

Being without a working driver’s door window made me a bit sad. That was OK, though as it made my kids even sadder. They were my automatic gate openers and parking boom and toll booth payers. Actually they did it with surprising good humour, enjoying rolling their eyes at me and sighing. I think, I believe.

Then Willie Panelbeater found an after-market window-winding mechanism for me. The driver’s door window is back in business. Once again I am rolling up to tollbooth windows nonchalantly.

Meantime, the two rear windows had been playing up for quite a while, and eventually conked. So far we’ve been unsuccessful in our search of Olde Parts Suppliers and scrapyards, so I have had to Heath-Robinson a fix for the left rear door.

– Window Closed –
– Window Open –

Now for the right rear. We’ll take turns sitting in the back, cos having windows like these, that don’t open all the way, is not fun! Shouldn’t be allowed. How can you look cool if you can’t hang your elbow out the window?

Update 1: Both rear windows have yielded to my mechanical skill and know-how and can open and shut again – and: All-The-Way open! Elbow-hanging cool can now take place. Also photography out the window in game reserves. Admittedly all very manual, no electric motors involved, and closing them if it starts to rain or a lion wants to stick its snoot inside entails stopping, opening the door and manhandling them closed.

I call it nostalgia, a wonderful throwback to Mom growing up on Nuwejaarsvlei and driving to town in Dad Frank’s yellow 1927 Erskine Tourer. Read about that here.

~~oo0oo~~

Update 2: I bought an exercise mat on special and quickly, before any exercise could take place, cut it up and covered up the gaping hole. Netjies huh?

– not levver like the seats –

Bonamanzi GR

My favourite thing about Bonamanzi is the sand roads that wind through the trees. Beautiful. And of course, the birdlife.

And the glades under the big trees where you want to stop and picnic; and the big shady trees you can camp under.

Tamboti grove Bonamanzi
Campsite Bonamanzi
Shady glade campsite in Bonamanzi
Picnic site Bonamanzi
collage creatures of Bonamanzi
Camping in Bonamanzi
Brian in Bonamanzi

This time we booked a self-cater ‘treehouse’:

Bonamanzi treehouse

We’ll be back, but we’ll be camping again.

~~oo0oo~~

The Great Escape

Jessie’s spotting again. We booked a stay in a treehouse at Bonamanzi. Arriving too early for check-in, we took a walk in the camp while waiting for the key.

Dad there’s a yellow frog. Where, Jess? Omigawd Dad, there’s a snake! Where, Jess?

I aim my binocs where she’s pointing on the ground and spot a beautiful, slender green snake. It lunges forward. Now I’m watching a bright green snake with a bright yellow frog in its beak. It makes for a tree, carrying it’s prey like a tiny peeled mango. Now, if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that our little yellow frog has croaked.

– Aargh! Didn’t have my camera with me! –

But wait! The unhappy frog is unwilling to die, and with a mighty kick it ruks los and hops off, snake in pursuit. That frog hopped well over twenty times higher than its full 36mm body length, three huge jumps in a row with that frog-catching specialist snake in hot pursuit. Then suddenly, maybe becoming aware of our presence, the snake changed it’s mind, abandoned the chase and beetled off. The frog paused for a breather and let me get close:

– cellphone camera is better for close-ups –

The frog was a Tinker Reed Frog, the snake likely a Natal Green Snake, but could also have been a Green Water Snake. About 600mm long I’d guess.

– the scene of the hunt, the grip and the escape –

Here he is, saying Holy Shit That Was Close!

Actually, I couldn’t find his call, so as a placeholder, I used a frog I hope to hear in the Chimanimani mountains on our upcoming trip to Zimbabwe. Enjoy.

~~oo0oo~~

ruks los – heroically frees himself with a well-aimed kick in the fangs with his one leg the snake didn’t quite secure; or maybe boxed him a left hook with his free fist?

Birthdays

Jess and Tom share a birthday, so Tuesday was lunch in Umhlanga Rocks for urban Tom, and Thursday was a picnic in Mfolosi game reserve for nature guide Jess. Once again we forgot to take pics in the gateway centre, being far too busy eating, chatting, banking – Tom – and shopping for clothes – Jess.

A warm overcast day with a cool wind in the game reserve, and we remembered the cameras!

Breakfast was egg-mayo sandwiches and coffee made by Jess; Lunch was gourmet burgers flipped by Dad. Jess had brought three puddings, but we couldn’t – took them home.

On the way out an open game drive vehicle from a lodge outside the park needed help. The mighty Ford Ranger could help the Toyota Landcruiser with jumper cables and a no.10 spanner. Unfortunately his battery was dead as a dodo and needed a new one swopped out from a lodge backup vehicle, which was in the park with four staff members to lay out a lavish lunch for the pampered guests. But hey! we scored an ice cold beer and a coke from their cooler box. Thanks, safari guide man!

~~oo0oo~~

Like Lightnin’

The kitchen tap mixer started leaking and I couldn’t complain. No-one would listen if I did, as I now own the joint! Luckily we have a three litre plastic jug, so for the last couple months Jess and I have fetched water from the bathroom to use in the kitchen. It’s the simplest solution.

I did go under the sink and loosen the fitting and check out what was needed. A 22mm spanner and a new mixer. In Westville we saw a beautiful one for a mere R3000 so we carefully placed it back and tiptoed out of the plumbers supplies store. I chose to focus on my dilemma of not having a 22mm spanner and stick with that useful loophole. After all, the bathroom basin in the cottage is a mere fourteen steps from the furthest of the twin sinks.

Anyhow something happened that wouldn’t wait and didn’t have an easy/lazy solution: The soakpit started overflowing. So I dug it up and fixed it. Well, would have, but there were only two spades and the guys helping me – who actually knew what they were doing – were using them.

Ownership is overrated.

I kept planning though. I even priced a 22mm spanner, but decided against buying it. The next day, checking my slip, I noticed the hardware store had actually charged me for it. So I rushed back to the store – ten days later. Luckily they were chill and handed me the spanner, so I have one less excuse. One day I’ll buy a shiny or matt new silver mixer and become a plumber. My pants do slip below my belt sometimes as I Ben Dover, exposing my jockeys and more, so I’m partially qualified.

~~oo0oo~~

Meanwhile, the creatures in the garden don’t mind.

~~oo0oo~~

Mfolosi Day Trip

This time we must remember to take photos, Dad! Especially one of us in a recognisable place – a nice backdrop. Right, Jess.

Lots of eles, including one herd heading north in a long straggling line through the bush, crossing in front of us twice, thanks to a dogleg in the road. I counted fifty, but Jess, who hadn’t counted, said, No Dad, there were about fifteen! So I said OK there were forty. Luckily I took a video of one of the batches moving past – added below.

We give eles lots of room, as Jess is very cautious of them. Even at a good hundred metres a few of the young males gave us the Hey! Watch Yourself! ear shake.

Lots and LOTS of warthogs, all happily covered in mud. One sounder had longer crests/manes than usual – and light, like blonde – looked like Rod Stewart as a quintuplet. Seven square-lipped rhino; One mama with a small calf crossed right in front of us – no photo!

Surprisingly, a number of birds considering the stiff breeze that blew all day. We considered taking lunch in the car, but Sontuli picnic site is sheltered, so we used the last available table. Good to see a number of people having lunch there, parking an assortment of very capable and well-modified 4X4 vehicles with raised suspension and knobbly tyres next to the Fiat Unos that keep them humble.

Another photo missed by staring-in-awesome-wonder was a gathering of vultures on a wide sandy beach on a bend in the Black Mfolosi River, sunning and sand-bathing. Joined by Woolly-necked Storks, Pied Crows, Blacksmith Lapwing and Yellow-billed Kites.

– same stretch of river, different visit –

Also saw buffalo, wildebeest, zebra, giraffe banging heads, baboon, impala, nyala and kudu (only one); Went on a detour in search of cheetah, sent by an excited lady on her own in a bakkie who said we couldn’t miss them. The spot she thought the group of four cats would obligingly wait for us was about twenty minutes away. But Jess wanted to go so of course we did. The friendly lady hadn’t nailed them down so they’d felt free to wander off. Still, nice drive on a road we don’t usually use as it’s an entrance route from the western Gengeni gate which we have only exited twice to explore the interesting Ulundi to Melmoth road.

More birds seen and heard: Tawny-flanked Prinia, Green-winged Pytilia, Fork-tailed Drongo, Fiscal Shrike ‘hangman,’ Black, Ashy & Dusky Flycatchers; Rattling Cisticola, Rufous-naped Lark, Brubru, Chinspot Batis, Klaas’ Cuckoo, Indian Myna at the Nyalazi gate, Greater Honeyguide, Scimitarbill, Black-crowned Tchagra, Brown-hooded Kingfisher, Blue & lipstick Waxbills, Village Weaver; Emerald-spotted Wood, Cape Turtle & Red-eyed Doves; Crested Francolin, Bateleur, Cattle Egret, Gorgeous & Orange-breasted Bushshrike; Dark-capped Bulbul, Yellow-bellied Greenbul, Yellow-fronted Canary, Mocking Cliff Chat, Burchell’s Coucal, Speckled Mousebird, Egyptian Goose, African Hoopoe, Hadeda Ibis, Pied Wagtail, Redbilled Oxpecker, Petronia, Cape glossy Starling, White=throated Swallow;

Note to self: Rather get Jess to take the selfies and ussies! And remember the backdrop/background!

– Mfolosi Ele Procession –

The Last Tanza in Zini

There goes my last Tanza cup. Damn! They’re my best – thin ceramic, lovely to drink from. Were my best. Its a tragic loss – Jimmy Buffet even wrote a song about it:

Actually, my last delicate cashmere china cup lasted longer than I’d have bet. It went everywhere with me on my travels. Here one of them is at home, enjoying the birds, Sambucca the Lab’s company and my Tom-made Breakfast for Dad, which Sambucca can smell. She’s probly thinking ‘unfair!’

Health brekker laid on, Binocs, Birds, Coffee and a Labrador – whattalife!

Go and have a look at them on entoceramics.com – they’re the ones with nguni cattle artwork. We had bowls and plates with insects and sunbirds too. Time took its toll on them. The last cup travelled with me in my bakkie camper after I’d sold my home and lasted well, but I bumped it with my elbow and when it hit the tiled floor – kaput. Oh well, sold my Westville house March 2022 and bought a cottage in Mtunzini May 2025 and the last cup made the full journey.

Check out Tanza’s entoceramics website for the beautiful artwork

~~oo0oo~~

Dramatic Stoep Kill

I sms’d Jules (she wasn’t wakker genoeg to be on signal.org yet) from my stoep after she had visited me while I was whiling away my last weeks in Westville, waiting for the sale of my home to go through so I could hand over the keys to the new owners, and hit the road in my Ford Ranger. ca.2022. The year. The Ranger is 2008.

Jules! I just saw a kill in my binocs! A flying predator flew low over the water, executed an instant 180°, then a vertical lunge and nabbed its prey, biting its head off. (I imagine that last part, the prey was actually too small to see that kind of detail).

I spose I could have been more succinct: ‘Dragonfly Munches Miggie‘

While he was chewing, another dragonfly challenged him. A brief aerial dogfight ensued, then discretion was judged the better part of valour and they said Wag n Biekie and called a truce. Or maybe the challenge ended once he’d swallowed?

Exciting stuff! I’ve had my exercise for the morning.

I managed to shoot him while he was burping contentedly – his prey show up as even more blurry whitish fuzzballs.

~~oo0oo~~

wakker genoeg – ‘with it’ enough

stoep – porch; veranda; patio; favourite perch

miggie – gnat; midge; flying sitting duck; maybe muggie?

Sun Under The Yardarm

‘Help yourself darling, it’s a free world,’ says the auntie fishing.

I’d asked if my stopping on the causeway would disturb their fishing.

I’m looking for herons and finfoot at a little inlet into the river. As I sit quietly I overhear their talk. ‘I’d even settle for an eel at this stage,’ says one. Ah, nothing’s biting, I gather. Then something I couldn’t catch followed by, ‘Well, there’s an aeroplane that’s flown over somewhere.’

Ah, time for a dop! It is after all, well after 8am. The sun may still be well under the yardarm, but she’s probably right about that aeroplane . .

~~oo0oo~~

Feature pic: High tide in the nearby mangroves

dop – a shot of booze; tipple; a stiff drink

How Hard Can It Be?

Dad, I can’t think what to have for our third supper camping. Don’ wurrie Jess, I’ll do the first night, you just do two suppers. What’ll you do Dad? she asked, maybe regretting opening her mouth. Don’ wurrie Jess, I have a plan.

Her query had reminded me that our cottage came with three stainless steel braais, two built-in, and three braai grids, and two huge bags of charcoal – not your garage forecourt size – and eight plastic-wrapped bags of braaihout.
I packed the grid, a bag of braaihout, fahlahter, safety matches, and two T-bones. I was going to become a brauer. How hard could it be?

At Bonamanzi there’s a built-in brick braaiplek, no grid. I go scouting the sixteen sites, only two occupied, and find a grid, collecting twigs as I go. At dusk I set the well-packed pyramid-shaped pyre alight and stand back watching the blaze with satisfaction, marveling at how easy this is and how okes gaan aan about their secret and foolproof ‘methods,’ etc and blah blah.
When I have glowing hardehout coals – and admittedly still a bit of flame, I’m hungry so I sandwich the Spar-marinaded vacuum-packed very thinly-sliced bargain T-bones into my nifty snap-shut stainless steel braai grid that came wif the cottage, and plop them on top of the camp grid over the red hot coals. With a bit of flame.

I’m attending them noukeurig when the other camper drives in in the dark and I make the mistake of shouting across my coals, How was your drive? Turns out he thinks he should tell me.

He bustles over and tells me. I didn’t catch his name but if it isn’t Earnest it should be. Great detail about how their drive was not good, no elephant. Then where he’s from and what his 4X4 is and which one he actually wanted to buy (Nissan Pathfinder / Nissan Patrol) and how – exactly how – he built his own camper trailer on his parents farm and what he kitted it out with with his own hands and how although the trailer was old, the wheel bearings were still shiny silver when he took them apart. Also the pros and cons of a gazebo.

I’m shuffling and he’s getting into his stride and I’m polite. A fatal combination, which brings Jess with a torch to say, Dad you’ve burnt the meat!

~~oo0oo~~

braai – barbecue

braaihout – barbecue

braaiplek – barbecue

brauer– barbecue deskundige

deskundige – expert, but only in pyromania

noukeurig – barbecue with focus

gaan aan – barbecue talk

~~oo0oo~~

The campsites here are lovely

Nice winter birdlist in three days:

Yellowthroat Petronia, Purple-banded Sunbird, Emerald spotted wood Dove, Red eyed Dove, Egyptian Goose, Spurwing Goose, Great white Egret, Cattle Egret, Grey Heron, Reed Cormorant, Anhinga/Darter, Greater Honeyguide, Stonechat, Rufous-naped Lark, Orange-breasted Bushshrike, Gorgeous Bushshrike, S Boubou, Chinspot Batis, Puffback, Golden-tailed Woodpecker, S Banded Snake Eagle, Fiery-necked Nightjar, Wood Owl, Fish Eagle, Yellow-breasted Apalis, Crested Guineafowl, Spectacled Weaver, Darkbacked Weaver, Green Woodhoopoe, Yellowthroated Longclaw, Eastern Nicator, Camaroptera, Yellow-bellied Greenbul, Bulbul, Fiscal Shrike, Brown-hooded Kingfisher, Striped Kingfisher, Crowned Lapwing, Spotted Thick-knee, Ashy Flycatcher, Dusky Flycatcher, African Goshawk, S Black Tit, Fork-tailed Drongo, S Black Flycatcher, Black-crowned Tchagra, Pied Crow, Lipstick (don’t call me common) Waxbill, Crested Barbet, Yellow-rumped Tinker, Pied Wagtail, Cape Glossy Starling, Red-breasted Swallow, White Helmet-shrike, Burchell’s Coucal, Crested Francolin, Crowned Hornbill, Hadeda, African Jacana, 59

Breakfast Epiphany

Often in my young life a bowl of dry crumbly uphuthu would arrive ready to eat, absolutely delicious with milk and sugar which I’d add all by my own self. Yum. Then the bowl would disappear never to be seen again until it was back sparkling clean on another day, filled with phuthu. Like magic. Made by Selina, mostly, who might also make egg, toast and bacon on a flat plate. I was pleasantly spoilt and didn’t know how things worked. Just that they did.

Recently we bought a 1kg packet of Nyala mealie meal from Mtunzini Spar and I’ve been successfully making iphalishi, slap pap, soft maize meal porridge to rave reviews from Jessie. Today I thought How Hard Can It Be? I’m going to make phuthu. Oh boy.

I make my phalishi in a glass bowl in the microwave but for some reason I think phuthu has to be made in a stainless steel pot with steel handles on a gas hob. Ouch, bliksem those handles get hot. So add the meal to the water that burnt me, add more meal, steam up the spectacles, stir occasionally, whoa! a lump has flown overboard and plopped down between the stove and the cupboard. Now I have to grovel and stretch in the tight space to get it out with my bum in the air cos I told Jess we mustn’t leave any crumbs for ants or cockroaches or mice. We found some mouse poo when we moved in and I was telling her that’s what brings certain snakes – the smell of rodents. Sometimes I should just shurrup.

To stir occasionally I have to hold the lid with a double-folded dishcloth and also the pot handle with the same hand while I’m stirring with the other hand so it doesn’t slide around. What’s that smell and why is Jessie laughing? Oh, the dishcloth got into the flame and is burning quite nicely. Damn.

Check the recipe on the Nyala pack: Stir occasionally, cook for 35 to 45 minutes. 35 to 45 minutes! Are they mad? I don’t do anything for 35mins non-stop. On average I do 35 unproductive things in 35 minutes.

Eventually its done and it tastes quite nice although its stickier, not dry and crumbly as I remember it and like it best. Once we open doors and windows the burning smell fades but the pot looks terrible, black and crusty, sending Jess off into uncontrolled giggling.

After breakfast Barbara phones and puts Mom on the line. She listens amused then says, Put water in the pot and heat it till the black crust loosens up.

OK, but no more phuthu. Forget it. That’s my breakfast ePiphany. Tomorrow Jess will make egg and toast if she can stop laughing like Audrey Hepburn.

~~oo0oo~~

Rave reviews from Jessie: I freely admit she is generous with her praise and in fact is very disapproving of Gordon Ramsay’s foul-mouthed rants describing food as shit and worse. She says even though at times it’s difficult, you can always find something kind to say about Dad’s cooking.

~~oo0oo~~

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~~

Zap! thbbpt!

That’s the sound of the drongo in my backyard catching a butterfly then spitting out the wings while chewing the wriggly part.

I know, I must ID them, I will. Gotta rush right now though. Never put off till tomorrow what you can put off till Wednesday Week.

Here goes, fingers crossed:

Southern White-barred Charaxes – Charaxes brutus natalensis

Green-veined Charaxes – Charaxes candiope

Dunno yet ii

~~oo0oo~~

Pffft! didn’t seem right for spitting or thpitting something out. Calvin & Hobbes were more thbbpt! and so I’ve changed to thbbpt!

One Tree One Day

.. Three Big Birds

Southern Banded Snake Eagle
Black Sparrowhawk
Palmnut Vultures

The Southern Banded Snake Eagle’s loud calls kak kak kak-kak-kak-kao, and the Black Sparrowhawk’s persistent rapid chip chip-chip, attracted my attention. The two Palm-nut Vultures were silent.

~~oo0oo~~

A male Southern Mocker Swallowtail fluttered in but wouldn’t sit still.

A Citrus Swallowtail too

On another day, an Olive Sunbird kicked up a huge fuss and I searched, hoping to spot a snake or an owl or whatever was causing such rude language. Nothing. The Sunbird then went quiet and hopped onto this strelitzia flower for a drink.

~~oo0oo~~