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.
Janet Humphrey wrote:
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.
– 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.
I did my five-yearly drivers’ licence renewal. Its a good thing when you think the last time I did it I was an irresponsible 52yr-old. In and out in just under an hour, and all the people pretty pleasant or neutral, so no sweat. The only problem arose when I looked at my form after I’d coughed the R250.
They gave me 6/9 vision (AELOHCT – there, I’m 6/6, dammit), and put a Check-Your-Mate photo of some old bald bastard with jowels and three chins on it! He looks like a bloody FreeState farmer caught in the headlights.
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!
– Mfolosi Meadow – the grass was teeming with flowers! –
~~~oo0oo~~~
Pics of my self-styled “NOT communities” on other trips:
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.
– the communities climb a tree – Jess & Minenhle –
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;
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?
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:
– setting up – 12yr-old TomTom helps –
– Jess’ cake was popular – they’re still kids as far as sweet stuff goes –
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:
– they all wore glitter or reflecting stuff – and lumo make-up –
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:
– Aitch’s underwater Olympus was put to lotsa use – much posing –
~~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 – 🙂
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!
– near Sani Top in earlier days –
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.
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.
My rates bill for 10 Elston is around R3500 per month. Last month it was much more interesting: R152 000. I paid R3500 and wrote to them. This month it’s R153 000, so I sighed and made an effort.
I paid R3500 again, wrote again – email – and then phoned the number on the bill for “any queries.”
They immediately said “No, you must phone THIS number, not our number”, and gave me a different number and a name. I did not ask “So why the hell is YOUR number on the bill?” I’m polite.
Got hold of a human being (one that didn’t pick up and put down!) named Helen who looked online and said “Do you also own 11 Elston Place?” Nope. “Oh. It seems a Mr Mb___’s account from number 11 has been transferred to yours”.
Aha! For the last year or so Andile and Lovemore have been asking to charge their Mom’s cellphone while they visit. Their surname is Mb___. Their Dad drives a new Mercedes Benz 320GL which occasionally visits our road. Not often. He has split from their Mom and MAYBE the reason their electricity has been cut is because he has stopped paying his rent and his rates?
AND: He used to work for the municipality, so maybe he got a china to solve the problem by shoving his arrears at no. 11 over onto no. 10?
Hopefully I’ll see resolution soon!!
AND: They haven’t asked for cellphone charging lately. Maybe they’ve had electricity again for the last month or so? I hope so for their sake – even tho it will probably be temporary . . .
LATER:
Credit where credit is due. I was credited in full. Helen sorted me out. Hats off to Helen!!
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!
– Catch Ma, TomTom! –The Family
The accompanying bus was fully equipped with bike racks, a fridge, a picnic hamper, chocolate bars, cold drinks and a supportive Ma. Luxury.
Barry Porter was – rightly – immensely proud of the birdlife on their Hella Hella farm on the Umkomaas River in KZN. We would sit on their stoep many weekend mornings over the years discussing the dawn chorus we had heard before rising, which was ongoing as we drank our early morning coffee and chorus. Barry would tell us how, In all his travels, no place had ever rivalled THIS dawn chorus; “His” dawn chorus. The Hella Hella Dawn Chorus.
He did have a bit of an advantage, what with 5000 acres, numerous different habitats, twenty years of indigenous planting and the the beautiful Krantzes, cliffs, grasslands and the Umkomaas valley!
– Hella Hella Highover collage –
On a rare visit to the big smoke, he and Lyn stayed with us at 7 River Drive Westville and at breakfast he said in awe: This is the first place I’ve been where the dawn chorus rivals Hella Hella! I knew that, but I’d been diplomatic all those years! We were on the banks of the Mkombaan River and had recorded 121 bird species in River Drive, and found evidence of breeding in 20 of them – nests, eggs, chicks or fledglings. Our dawn chorus, too, was magnificent fo sho.
Porters n Pals visit River Drive; Carol, Lyn, Sandra & Trish
Now, our new place, 10 Elston Place Westville was a horse of a completely different kettle of tea (and that phrase was a FreeState Reed-ism), when we got here seven years ago. There was one native strelitzia – the rest of the weeds were foreign nursery plants. The main trees were an avocado, a flamboyant, a loquat and a row of Aussie camelfoots.
Aitch and I soon changed that and this morning I woke up to hear an AMAZING dawn chorus!! Shades of River Drive.
Black-bellied starlings, dark-backed weavers, Westville Kookaburra (the brown-hooded kingfisher), olive sunbirds, bulbuls, white-eyes, turacos, white-eared barbets, drongos, prinias, both mannikins, puffback, boubou, francolin, ‘our’ robin, sombre and belly-aching greenbuls, GT woodpecker and all their cousins were singing, shouting and laughing at 10 Elston Place.
What a joy!
~~oo0oo~~
Terry Brauer warbled:
That is awesome Pete! Summer is on the way and I will bet Aitch is part of that chorus!!
Mike Lello honked:
You mean to say the tenor clarinet – he who never pays attention to the conductor and plays with great volume and gusto – was absent? I have 4 curved-beaked unemployed youngsters on my roof desperate for an audition. Ha Ha (Hadeda!)
Steve Reed chirped: Ibises, Mike, I’m guessing? Maybe not. Breeding well in Queensland. They have a strong presence at any sidewalk cafe anywhere in Brisbane. Especially where French fries are on the menu.
I replied: Yep. I’m sure Mike was mentioning the dreaded Greater Westville Pterodactyl – the HaDeDa, Bostrychia hagedash. I always thought the species name was hadeda, but I looked it up now: hagedash! Young David once rose from a deep n hungover sleep and shot one on his Mid-Illovo farmhouse roof for playing the tenor clarinet with great volume and gusto without paying attention to the conductor. It had got stuck on that everlasting repeat mode we all know, and paid the price.
Here are two lurking Greater Westville Pterodactyls above our roof, perched on the dead avocado tree, waiting to let rip: Ha Ha (Hadeda!)
– Westville Pterodactyls lurk, obviously waiting to pounce! –
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.
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
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.
