Tag Archives: Jessica Swanepoel

Generous Souls

Off we go to St Lucia estuary for a camping long weekend. Let’s take the minimum guys, we can buy food locally. Just clear out the fridge and bread bin and let’s go. We’ll buy charcoal and meat and etc from the local Spar. I won’t even take any wine! Rather we hit the road now, shop later.

Let’s take a tent for the three teenage girls, and the twelve year-old fella and I will sleep in the back of the pickup. The simple life.

Except I realise at the first tollgate that I have left my wallet in Westville. Complication. To turn back or not. In my rucksack I find Tom’s saving card, daily withdrawal limit R300. I had just changed his password, as we had not used the account for ages, so we were good to go. We just gotta be frugal, kids, we got R300 kuphela.

And that’s where they blew me away. All four of them said “Dad, we’ve got money! You can have our money, Dad”. They each had R200 pocket money for the weekend and offered it freely! What stars.

Thanks guys, I may need that, but I have enough to fill up with diesel and we’ll just go easy and discuss it before we spend anything, OK?

The next morning I managed to activate my eWallet and cellphone banking at an internet cafe so could now draw R1500 a day! Problem solved! I gave them each R100 to thank them for their generous offers. Their eyes looked like chocolates and ice creams!

Off we went to the game reserve (entrance fee R245) and to the water park (R120 for the four of them). We wuz rich! The girls bought swimming shorts with their own money.

St Lucia camping 2

The next day that amount I could draw had ‘kindly’ been reduced to R200 (“for my safety” – Thanks FNB!), so I had to make the speech again, and again they rallied around with their offer of chipping in, but with Tom’s R300 and my R200 we were fine. We ate boerie rolls both nights – cheap!

– St Lucia camping –

Here’s an isimangaliso* pan with buffalo, waterbuck and zebra (click on the pic). The Indian Ocean is just behind that high forested dune:

St Lucia Mar 2014 (5)

Tom got on with fishing . .

. . while the teenage girls did what teenage girls do . .

– Jess took a lovely picture of some grass – with a kudu as a backdrop –

~~oo0oo~~

*isimangaliso means ‘miracle, wonder, surprise’ in isiZulu

Boy Legs

Aitch bought a range of new broekies for our growing eight year-old girl. Different shapes and colours. She’s loving this Mom and Daughter stuff and the girls are gonna test which work best.

The ones Jess liked the best were the “boy legs” shorts-type of panties so this morning Jessie donned a pink pair. ‘Those are the “boy legs” type, Jess, they’re lovely’, said the Mom.

Just then Tom walked in and Jessie hoisted up her T-shirt and paraded her new pink panties, showing up beautifully against her mahogany skin.

Look, Tom she cried, These are Boiled Eggs panties!

~~oo0oo~~

Movies from Mars and Venus

Jess & Tom watch a car chase with guns blazing.
Tom roots for the shooters while Jess holds her breath.
When its over a guy says to a girl “You OK?”

Jess (16) asks Tom (12): “Do you think he likes her?”
Tom: “Huh?”

~~~oo0oo~~~

Xmastime Hedge Mail

Jess was 12 and Tom was 8 and even though they would (sort of) believe me when I would say: “Err on the side of spoiling your Mom n Dad, and listening to your Mom n Dad if you want Xmas gifts”, they felt they would hedge their bets and write to Santa as well.

Off they toddled up the road to the PnP centre with their aunt Janet, visiting from Botswana, to post their petitions in the big red letter box.

Jess had given me a copy of hers. It said “Please may I have . . “ before each and every separate request. Extreme politeness was evident.

Tom’s envelope was addressed to Father C. Jess thought it would be better to address hers to Santa C – more formal. Janet had helped with the spelling.

All together now they shoved them through the slot and turned to go.
After two paces, Tom swung round, looked hard at the slot and said sternly:  “Read them, OK?”

——-ooo000ooo——-

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Below an earlier – 2007 – letter:

Jessie Dec 2007 Age 10

Talent

You can’t understand teenagers. Whenever I offer to sing to Jess and her friends to save her the cost of tickets to Justin Bieber she says “OmiGawd, Dad, NO!”
When they’re in the car and I offer to sing instead of listening to their CD’s, iPods, Blackberrys or whatever, I get a loud chorus of “No Thanks Pete!” and whispered giggles to Jess about her weird Dad. And some “OMG”‘s.

But she has a soft heart*. Yesterday she came to me and said, “Dad maybe old people would want to listen to you”.

~~oo0oo~~

* also, I'm the main source of funding

Rise up, Comrades!

“We’re watching the Comrades Marathon out on the road again tomorrow!” I announce to the gang. My house is infested with five know-it-alls. We’ll get up at about 5.30 and be there by 6. The route is about 600m up the road and we like to watch the ‘up’ run if we’re home.

Aaw, Dad, can’t we watch on TV? It’s much better graphics, says the lazy one.

Here comes the sun . . and the helicopter:

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Grumble, grumble! But then the first runners arrived! And now they’re into it: My five cheer every runner.

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They loved it. Especially breakfast afterwards. Thanks Dad!

~~oo0oo~~

Mutiny on the Bakkie

Mutiny on the way to Lilani Spa. It’s cold and drizzling, so the back seat of the bakkie thinks cycling has become a seriously kak idea and they’re making it known:
I’m NOT riding!
We’re NOT going!
You can’t force us!
It’s too wet!
It’s too cold!

‘Snot optional,’ I intone each time. ‘Snot optional’.

This got them giggling and making up their own snot sayings:
She SNOT riding.
He SNOT riding.
We SNOT riding!
SNOT funny, Dad! SNOT funny, Pete!

So off they went pedaling in the drizzle, shivering and shouting and giggling. I drove ahead to get out of earshot of the whining. Looking back, here come the four of them . . . What a goon show!

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The road to Lilani is 17km of downhill. All long gentle downhill. It’s Lazy Man’s Biking Paradise. From Ahrens to Lilani you don’t have to pedal. You simply place your bum in the saddle and gravity does what it did to Newton’s apple. What’s not to like?

And when you get to the bottom, what do you have to do? Jump into the hot springs mineral waters and soak. If you’re 9 to 15 yrs old of course you’ll take great delight in saying repeatedly, ‘Dad it smells like a fart,’ cos it’s sulphur springs, and it does, but its great.

Downhill biking, warm water, cold beer if you have a driver as I didn’t, and – almost always – solitude. Heaven. If you haven’t been to Lilani Spa, get your ass over there. You can drive right in if you like, and you can stay overnight too.

Here are The Four Mutineers again:

We were in a bakkie this time, not a VW kombi, cos Aitch was gone and the ban on bakkies – ‘the suspension is too hard’ – no longer applied.

~~oo0oo~~

An Earlier Mutiny which may have given them ideas . .

Back to School for Mars & Venus

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~~~

Lion spark

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!!

Mfolosi (45)
Mfolosi 2013 Dec Sunday

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 doing a tribal dance
– the communities climb a tree – Jess & Minenhle –
Mfolosi (16)

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~~~

Birthday Treat

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~~

Die Donkie is n Wonderlike Ding

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.

~~oo0oo~~

Mini-Shova 2013

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.

The GODBiRitoLS

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!

Lilani Bike Ride (1) crop

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! –
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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.

Lilani Sleepover_1-001.jpg
– It’s all downhill from here – Yay! –

See another Lilani Spa bike ride here.

Read what I know of the history of this lovely resort here.

~~oo0oo~~

Pearls Before Swine

On Friday, August 3, 2012, Pete wrote: You can’t understand teenagers. Whenever I offer to sing to Jess and her friends to save her the cost of tickets to hear Justin Bieber or whoever, she says “OmiGawd, Dad, NO!”
When she’s in the car with friends and I offer to sing instead of listening to their CD’s, iPods, Blackberrys, bluetooth to my speakers, or whatever, I get a loud chorus of “No Thanks Pete!!” and whispered giggles to Jess about her weird Dad.

But she has a soft heart. Yesterday she came to me and said “Dad maybe old people would want to listen to you sing.”

~~oo0oo~~

Steve Reed wrote: Want to listen to you sing?  Only old people who are drunk and who are also wanting to sing. I suspect this type of forced exposure to our dubious talents (though with only the best of intentions) would have been responsible for a substantial degree of traumatic stress to our own kid . . . Character building though. 

Anyhow, good to see the SAfricans doing well in the Olympic medals. 

Aussies have brought a bunch of retired sportsmen out to have a go. The pre – Sydney games sports development initiative is now a thing of the past.

Go the ZA’s! . . and good on the Kiwis.

I wrote: Ah, austerity over posterity? The calvinist ideal. Usually used to deny poor people their fair share; but in this particular case I agree with it, I’m afraid. ‘Specially here, where much money is spent looking for medals (and my favourite: building plush, empty, white-elephant stadiums) while people have no jobs, houses or electricity. Even the lotto’ charity’ gives money to ruddy sports clubs rather than genuine charities. Bums me.

~~oo0oo~~

Back to singing: Fine tradition, drunk warbling.

Steve: One of Australia’s best has yet again done his country ‘proud’ . .

Australian Olympic rower will offer his apologies to the shop owners whose windows he damaged. Booth will also pay more than $2000 to the owners in a bid to avoid criminal charges. The 21-year-old Melbourne University student was intoxicated during the incident as the team was out celebrating.

The men’s eight rowing team qualified 6th just hours before the incident. The Australian Olympic Committee have little doubt of Booth’s involvement and say he is responsible for all reparations. Many believe the incident has caused embarrassment for the Australian Olympic team. (Me: Drunkenness has cause Aussie embarrassment? C’mon! Get real).

Booth fainted and hit his head at the police station after being arrested. He was then taken to hospital as a precaution. OK, now that’s embarrassing for Aussie.

And no, they take NO Drugs. This liquid has long been declassified as a drug by the anti-drug, pro-booze industry . .

I wrote: Having once (long ago) experimented with this very same liquid drug, I spose I should keep quiet at times like this . .

Steve: Still doing controlled experiments myself. Let’s call it research. 

I wrote: Yep – C2H5OH taken internally . . ongoing experimentation. Cos there’s still so much to learn . .

~~~oo0oo~~~

Fietsry in the Karkloof

So we enter the 19km event at Karkloof on our pushbikes. Me n Jessie.
Aitch n Tom are going to do the 10km.

We head off and Jess does well, stays on her bike on some gentle uphills, no pushing.
Riding up one hill after 4 or 5 km we hear a whooshing sound, and a wheezing and a loud shoosh and huh and a muttered curse and I realise its not a train or a wind turbine, it’s an oke saying “Spekkies – howzit?”. Young David Hill, peaking this early. He’s let himself go, as they say, since last season when he did Tuli in Botswana and was a shadow of his former self, and is paying the price. Finds his bike has lost all its former zippiness.

We rode together a while, but then gravity took over and off went Hill downhill at an ever-increasing speed on his high-tech multi-shock softail plenty thousand Rand special just when Jess ran out of steam and decided to chill a bit.

MTB Dave Hill

Hill’s bike

After another few kays I realised I was probably leading my category and was in for a podium finish and a prize: First SLOBO home (Seriously Lazy Old Bald Optometrists division). Jess was OK on the downhills (if rather cautious) and slow on all uphills – including some sections of “Dad, come back and push my bike for me”. Even so, I thought I had the win in the bag and was rehearsing my acceptance speech when, with much creaking and panting, an OLDER, BALDER optometrist pulled up next to me and called out “Swanepoel!” It was young Graham Lewis, who, although MUCH older than me, was probably competing for my crown! I tried to delay him but he was eager to move on, so – although I could have blown his doors off – I let him go (on his twenty year old, unsprung bottle store delivery fiets, with his knees whizzing past his ears his seat was so low) as I had to wait for Jess. Ah, well, silver medal, I thought.

MTB Graham Lewis

Lewis’ bike

Meantime, back at the 10km, Aitch was waiting for 24yrs of trouble on six legs – Tom and the Bainbridge twins Peter and Philip. And waiting, and waiting. Hordes of cyclists passed her as she looked back in vain. Fifty, sixty of the slowcoaches they had been ahead of went past. “Have you seen three little boys?” she eventually started asking. Someone had: “I saw three little guys lying down in the grass near the drinks table chatting away” said an observant soul. Back went Aitch to roust them out and get them back on their wheels. “We were talking, Ma” was the explanation.

Just before prize-giving I had a thought and scurried over to have a quiet word with the officials. “First SLOBO home: Swanepoel” came the announcement over the tannoy system, and I stepped onto the podium to receive gold – to tremendous applause. Lewis had been disqualified, and quite rightly so. He’s running the Comrades ultra-marathon again this year, which quite clearly ruled him out on the important “SL” part of the category. Justice had prevailed.

Deprivation

Aitch takes the kids for lunch at a Spur restaurant with her folks – Gogo ‘Ona and Grumpa Neil. It’s two days after their joint birthday – they turned 7 and 11, so it was 2008.

TomTom is wolfing down a bowl of ice cream he has FINALLY been able to wheedle out of his Ma. She feels he usually eats a mouthful and wastes the rest, so he has to persuade her before a wish gets granted.

His Gogo watches and comments: “My, Tommy, you’re eating that ice cream quickly!”

Well, he explains, We don’t get offered it much in our home.

Jessie, Annabelle, Tommy, Nathan
– Jessie, Annabelle, Tommy, Nathan –

~~oo0oo~~