THE JOY OF TOUCHING MY BABY BAOBAB TREE

 

My two days old baobab

THE JOY OF TOUCHING MY BABY BAOBAB TREE

Have you ever touched a three-day old Baobab tree? Not? Me neither; except for this morning, touching my own little big-tree. I now battle to think law, to think about my “mob-justice” matters and murder and serial rapists and so on. How difficult to think on the ConCourt’s latest judgment on the doctrine of common purpose; ten judges sitting; five in favour and five against.

What is now on my mind?

My baby baobab. Two days old.

Or, for that matter, have you ever touched a sprouting Franschhoek Oak tree [that is in all probabilities an off-spring of the South African oaks growing in Delville Wood cemetery, that in turn hails from our flagship botanical garden in Capetown, Kirstenbosch; the oaks there, were originally brought from France to my country during the 1600’s] and now growing in Rivonia where Nelson Mandela was hiding at Liliesleaf; my Oaks at just on 2 years old are far too small for anybody to hide under or to sit in its shade; I have to sustain them otherwise … no, I don’t want to think about the ”otherwise.”

Or, have you ever touched a baby Mopani tree sprouting somewhere?

Or a baby impala lily tree?

What about a sambokpeul-tree? Well, I don’t even know what it looks like, yet I am growing it.

All of these “babies,” except the Oaks, are a couple of days old. The oaks are almost just on 2 years old and doing well.

I am not a botanist, nor an arborealist or a gardener of longstanding. In fact, I am at 74 years a very young gardener: I only started gardening with five vegetables [tomatoes, basil and something else] on the 1^st of January 2013. Later on, my gardener brought me five “Malawi-pumpkin seeds” that turned out to be ordinary butternuts and that, you can buy in abundance from your local grocer. The second lot were indeed from Malawi and I tended one that grew and grew and grew. During covid-19 lock down, I donated it to MES to make food for the street people: 15 kg pumpkin soup. Several others were averaging 7.5 kilos.

Then my sister, who lived in Wellington Western Cape passed on, and, on the way back from the funeral we stayed over at Franschhoek on a kind of a farm and that’s where I picked up the oak seeds.

My wife: “What are you doing?”

Me: “Picking up oaks.”

She: “What for?”

“To grow.”

“It grows slow and gets big.”

“I know.”

“The root system are huge and probably extremely invasive?”

“Yes.”

That was just more than two years ago and my five oaks are still babies standing on a home-made, tailor-made trestle-table for my maternity ward plants; during winter they lose their leaves, just like their big brothers and big sisters; come spring, they spring into life with new leaves just as their big brothers and sisters. The first seasonal change from summer to autumn, all their leaves fell off; I was heartily disappointed in myself; that was the definitive proof of me being a failure to grow oaks. My brother-in-law, put my mind at ease: “Don’t worry, that is what oak trees do in winter.”

Then we attended a 70^th birthday party and met other oldies having a whale of a time with weird and wonderful stories and using cell phone cameras sending WhatsApp images to their children in New Zealand [or other places] bragging that we oldies can have parties and we can enjoy it; eating ice-cream, drinking coffee or perhaps tea, some even had rooibos. Some oldies were sharing pills that were prescribed by their doctors, whom are the best in South Africa, and helped them a lot; “you should try it as well, my brother tried it and it was spot on, try it.”.

Thea, her husband Pierre was officiating at our mutual friend’s wedding 45 years ago, was telling me how she collects seeds; always collecting; always stopping her vehicle to get out and to harvest seeds; not only collecting but cultivating them at the retirement village, later on planting them out into the wild. She re-introduced trees that were extinct, on her brother-in-law’s farm; new life sprouted around these indigenous trees and wildlife is returning to where they belong.

She sent me three different seeds using a very unwilling, recalcitrant “courier” an ex-professor in geology who promptly lost the seeds. “Who does she think she is to use me as a courier? I’ve got better things to do” [yes, he is an expert on searching classical music on youtube]. Renosterkoffie-tree, huilboerboon-tree and pronksterttuitpeulboom-tree [on the list of threatened trees]. Undaunted, she couriered other seeds, using a willing and well-paid courier and three days later I got them: VanWykshout-tree, sambokpeul-tree, kremetart [Baobab], adenium lily [impala lily], koraal-tree, mopani tree and a snail vine tree.

Now, my baobab seeds are starting to sprout, and already my friends are worried about the space it is going to fill: “You obviously forgot it is going to be gigantic?” I think their worries are unfounded and definitely pre-mature. My baobab is only two days old. Have a heart. And when my tree is an adult, I won’t be here to tend it. When this tree is mature, nobody who is alive now, will be around to look after my tree. When it reaches old age, nobody for the next 400 – 450 years will be around. Stop worrying. In the meantime, I would ask somebody to look after my trees: “Please cultivate my trees with a long-term view of life and of trees.”

Let’s get back to the baobab. I touched the sprout this morning. I am an ordinary guy who is intrigued by this thing we call LIFE. Life is very simple: you either grow a baobab in your backyard [aka a maternity ward], or you don’t. Easy and simple.  

What is so strange about growing an acorn from Franschhoek?

Is it strange to grow a baobab in “captivity”? Goodness knows where the seeds came from originally. What matters now is that it is growing in Rivonia Johannesburg and it is in its pot in my maternity ward among my other plants. My neighbour is kind to me; his angel’s trumpets are crouching over the boundary wall, guarding over it with its bright yellow trumpets that last a day or so – then others get the opportunity to guard over the very young baobab.

Looking on at this lot, I am flooded with emotions: can it be true? Can it be real that I am growing this tree? I have seen very young upside-down-trees in Zambia who look like teens hanging around in Hyde Park, sporting an iPhone – trying to look and act as if he/she is an adult. When I was driving past them in a rental car on my way to Kariba Dam to see for myself the dam that the Late Queen Elizabeth II visited in the 60’s, I never had the faintest of an idea that many years later I would grow some [I am still waiting for four seeds to sprout].

The story of a baobab? Do you really expect me to tell you that? No, I am not going to, because I know that you, my reader, have already asked Prof G. O. Ogle for an expert opinion. Or, if you use chatgpt, it gives you more than you can chew. How to grow a baobab from seed? How to tend it? And lots more. These artificial intelligence guys will tell you that you should soak the seeds in hot water overnight [how do you keep the water hot?]; I haven’t because, so my reasoning goes, it does not happen in the veld, so why should I do it? My seeds love me for not soaking them.

My neighbours angels trumpets

At this point, I am just basking in the sunlight shining on my two baobab seedlings and my five Franschhoek acorns and on my impala lily and my Vanwykshout-trees and my sambokpeul-trees and others that are still labouring under the crust of the soil to break free to see the light. Walking this morning in my maternity ward, I was welcomed by my neighbours bright yellow angels trumpets voluntary. If you worry about me and my trees, for instance where to plant it, I am of the opinion that you are pre-mature. Or, if not premature, why don’t you think SMALL for a change? That is what the Japanese are doing for centuries: thinking small then you are really thinking big.

All of a sudden it makes sense, not so?

If you are suffering from being a left brain-cerebral-type-only, click on this link for starters:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adansonia

Neels Coertse

Rivonia

Wednesday

23 October 2024

E-mail account: neelscoertse@wirelessza.co.za

 

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Week 22 SOUTH AFRICAN LITERATURE?

 

Hollow City

On our way back from Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens in Capetown, I decided to concentrate on Afrikaans literature for at least the next 12 months – and this is in my mind a very broad concept. It includes translations from other languages into my mother tongue; and it includes literature that originated on this huge continent called Africa. And it includes legal literature.

And I am going for it. Having said that, I am also writing notes on my iPad of the literature I am reading.

Here is a list of literature I have compiled in the meantime:

1.   HOLLOW CITY by Tim Haynes and photographer David Edwards. I found it to be brutally honest, that is both the write-up and the images. Moving and disturbing all at the same time. This is my city that I know very well. When I was a young law-student at the erstwhile Rand Afrikaans University, I was doubling up as chauffer for the South African Airways [as it was then known] and as such I got to know this city and surrounds very intimately. And has changed but completely and it hard to say and even harder for me to admit that these changes were not for the better, in stead it has deteriorated dramatically and I have to admit, against my will, that it is murderous and rapacious den of vice. And there are still wonderful people in their trying their level best to improve life deep inside the city: people like Tim and Dave.

 

A Home on Vorster Street 

2.   A HOME ON VORSTER STREET deur Razina Theba. A very brave lady this. In light of her being of Indian origins, and South African, she writes with an honesty that is sobering and enlightening.It is appalling what happened to them and that it was meted out by a supposedly Christian Government of pre-1994. Her parents succeeded to raise their children fairly normal in abnormal circumstances – I salute them and I salute you.

 

3.   RACCONTEUR ROAD Shots into Africa by Obie Oberholzer; a photographic essay of my country. I take only five pages every now and again to read it and I read the photographs as well. How do I read a photograph? With my magnifying glass; then I take my time to scour it up and down and left to right and diagonally bottom left to top right and bottom right to top left – slowly and deliberately and just looking at the detail.

 

4.   VREEMDE STORIES UIT AFRIKA [Foreign Stories from Africa] by Johann Lemmer who live in the Groot Marico district. That is the habitat of Charles Herman Bosman – the doyen of the veld and stories of that area and era. Johann Lemmer was also a sculptor in his own right and I saw his sculpture of ANNA KROTOA.

 

5.   DINK VERDER [THINK AGAIN – a very loose translation] by Hibbe Van  Der Veen who lives in Kempton Park Gauteng. One thing is for sure and that is that he does not aspire to be awarded a Nobel Peace Prize for literature at all. He writes short “stories” and he just dots down his thoughts as and when it strikes him.

 

6.   Citizenship rights in Africa: http://citizenshiprightsafrica.org/

 

7.   The South African Government White Paper on International Migration:  http://www.dha.gov.za/WhitePaperonInternationalMigration-20170602.pdf

 

8.   GOD EN WETENSKAP EN ONS WAT GLO [GOD AND THE SCIENCES AND WHAT WE BELIEVE] by Prof. Isak Du Plessis. I’ve read it years ago and am due to read again.

 

9.   THE PROMISE by Damon Galgut the 2021 Booker Prize winner. It is due to be read again.

 

10.       A SHORT HISTORY OF SOUTH AFRICA by Gail Nattrass.

 

11.       COUNTRY OF MY SKULL by Antjie Krog. Due to be read again.

 

12.       NERVOUS  CONDITIONS by Tsitsi Dangarembga. Due to be read again.

  

13.       DIE MOOISTE MEISIE IN GENUA Ilja Leonard Pfeijfer translated by Advocate Fanie Olivier during 2019. I only purchased it yesterday [22 June 2023].

 

Kuier in 'n plaaskombuis

14.       KUIER IN 'N PLAASKOMBUIS resepte en stories van gister [Short visit to a farm kitchen, recipes of yesterday] by Nico MOOLMAN. He tells me that he wrote it for his children and then only afterwards started publishing it.

This list is not complete and I am working on it.

What do you read at the moment? And what do you intend to read for the next 12 months?

Please write me your story: neelscoertse@wirelessza.co.za

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Week 21 DONKEYS

Plumtree, Zimbabwe

Donkeys.

Donkeys

Strange animals those things and yet so useful and …

My late dad used to tell the story that only the very poor people, during the Poor White Problem in South Africa, had donkeys. And they had.

Early 2017 I visited our gardener in Zimbabwe to find out for myself how he is doing; the rumours I heard were that he was suffering from epilepsy and that is serious.

Some years prior to him “retiring” to his home “town” in Zim, he was severely assaulted by a vicious man with a brick; that brick struck Leonard on the left side of his head and caused a lot of traumas. He was hospitalised for one night and was discharged on the pretext of being drunk and the wounds were not too severe. I am not a medical expert at all, but my take on it, is that the mere fact that he was struck with a brick on his head, warranted extra caution from the medical specialist examining him; I hasten to add that it was on a Friday night that he was injured and that it is the normal time for this to happen. And these medical specialists are probable traumatised themselves.

We got to hear of this incident the Saturday morning and we immediately went to the Hospital and found him on the pavement. He was dying, so it seemed to me.

Well, he underwent brain surgery at the Johannesburg Hospital and he mended satisfactorily.

Then he got seriously ill and once again I took him to another hospital and they saved his life.

His brother took him back to Gwamagwama in the South West of Zimbabwe; that is deep rural.

The people have cell phones and TV’s all connected and charged with solar power. But there were elderly Black people who never saw a white person in person at all. My presence caused a stir. As we were driving past, you could hear the excited shouts: “Mlungu. Mlungu.” They would jump up and down, arms and hands waving excitedly and them shouting “Mlungu.”

His brother, Norman told me afterwards, that he reached celebrity status in his village for hosting a Mlungu; he was even enjoying eating groundnuts that were specially prepared for him. Norman had to show the visitors, who all came from far to listen to this story first hand, where the Mlungu sat down and where the shells of the groundnuts were “stored.” He was an instant celebrity for hosting me at his homestead.   

And I found donkey-carts as a common way of transporting goods and people.

Modes of Transport in Zim

I want to take you on a journey thru that deep rural part of Zimbabwe called Gwamagwama; will go into a kitchen and we will listen to Bollywood music deep inside the South West of Zimbabwe where they have telephone poles and telephone wires without the service to use telephones; there is better and more reliable connection with internet than non-existing telephones. They charge their phones and TVs using solar power and solar technology while they roast the groundnuts in tin cans over a log-fire in a mud-hut with a thatch roof.

Gwamagwama Zim

Please write me a letter at neelscoertse@wirelessza.co.za 

 

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WEEK 20 LIFE IS DIFFICULT; LIFE IS A FANTASY; LIFE IS A MYSTERY

Video taken of the Star Wars Millennium Falcon 

during load shedding in South Africa

The first three words in Dr. Scott Peck’s book THE ROAD LESS TRAVELLED, are: “Life is difficult.” [My cursive]

Well, well, if you buy that story, then I think you are precluded from complaining even in the face of load shedding in South Africa; maybe from life threatening illness? Why is that? I submit to you that these words LIFE IS DIFFICULT takes out the sting; it takes out the “why me, Lord?”; it takes out the bite: because life is difficult. And complex. And a fantasy [not always resembling Tim Burton’s NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS]. A mystery: just have a look at your own life and ask what would have happened if you did not take the turns that you took? Well, that is maybe too far fetched a scenario. Let’s stay at the place where you and I are; let’s be acutely aware that we are alive and not dead [unless you stopped living before your actual death; you stopped laughing; stopped doing new and fresh things; stopped developing and stopped developing your mind; stopped being in awe of life; stopped looking at the symmetry in plants; stopped looking at stones and so if you stopped living you are in trouble.

No. I don’t want you to resemble my life or to do what I do or to think how I think. I hope you get the drift of my argument.

Video of me building the Star Wars Millennium Falcon

I overheard a snippet of a radio interview with this gentleman [listening to his voice, it is clear that he is not a youngster neither is he charismatic] who, very clear and calmly asserted that humans are created to be creative! And I echo that in this blog post: we are created to be creative! Stop complaining! Create something! Anything! Start sketching. Plant a plant and watch it growing. Cut open a tomato and marvel at the symmetry. Think that each and every pip is a potential plant with potential tomatoes.

My daughter and son-in-law gave me an incredible birthday present. They gave me a toy! Yes, at my age at 73, I got a toy as a birthday present. You watched my video I took last night during load shedding of this Star Wars Millennium Falcon. When Eskom allowed me to have electricity at 22:30 I went back to my dining room table and continued building. It was so quiet. It was so dark outside. And me sitting building this outrageous, preposterous and over the top “thing.” No, I am not a Star Wars fanatic. But that thing, the Millennium Falcon, caught my attention and I am in its grip; it is fascinating. The problem with this lot is when you are so deeply involved in building it, it is hard going to bed; you simply cannot “switch off” as it were. Eventually when sleep overpowers you, you go into a deep peaceful sleep.

The next four images show you the construction process going on.

T[G]o play! T[G]o be creative!

Maybe you are interested to built jigsaw puzzles; I am aware that you do get even 3d puzzles. Or you are besotted with cross-word puzzles. Reading is absolutely essential; without it you’ve had it, my friend. It is over with you! Keep on reading and keep on reading difficult literature; why do you want to keep on reading the easy stuff? No, go for the difficult stuff. I cringe when I visit and I don’t see books especially when it is academically trained people – no books any where to be seen? Maybe a magazine!

Keep on reading the latest developments in your primary training career. My career of choice, law, is not static. A guiding principle is that the law is not a chemical process neither is it mechanical; it is people driven. I am driven to keep up with developments in my career choice; at the moment I am rather deeply in researching international human migrations. It impacts heavily on the South African society and our people that are leaving these sunny shores, for other countries are impacting those countries. My country’s roots are deeply embedded in international migration: we are a diverse lot in the rainbow nation.

Migration does have its own peculiarities and its own synergies.

Back to basics: what are you doing with your time? Life is still difficult, not so? But life is even fantasy and most definitely mysterious.

Please write me your story: neelscoertse@wirelessza.co.za

 

 

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Week 19 NAMES OF PLACES IN SOUTH AFRICA ON OUR TRIP TO CAPETOWN AND BACK

My note book with the place names we wrote down

 

How do I translate, or for that matter, how do I explain these names to a person not versant in Afrikaans or the Afrikaans culture?

GANSBAAI?

AGTERTANG?

TIERPOOT?

STOFKRAAL?

SOPHIASDAL?

WOLWEFONTEIN?

BOONTJIESKRAAL?

OORLOGSPOORTRIVIER?

RIVIERSONDEREND?

DWYKASTASIE?

This is just a tiny, random selection of names of places we drove by, my wife and I jotted down in my notebook my friend gave me; he bought it in Athens on their recent trip. In one of my previous Blog notes, I gave you a link to some internet learned discussions on the study of place names or for that matter, the study of names. We once met PHARMACY in a hotel next to the Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe and I had some things to say even about the naming conventions of old: Victoria Falls.  That is honouring a queen that never ever even came close to have a look it – her granddaughter who passed the other day, visited Zimbabwe to officially open the Kariba dam wall and I visited Zambia some years back to have a look at the dam.

RIVIERSONDEREND – this one is easy; I think so. In English [this is a direct translation] it means River-without-end. Does it make sense? Well, it does not make sense to me even though I am Afrikaans speaking. Yes, I can read it in both languages: river-without-end. Is there such a thing? In South Africa, oh yes – no, I have not been at Riviersonderend, but I saw the road sign to it. Are there rivers without end? In other words, it starts somewhere, goodness knows where and it does not end; it goes on and on and on and …

DWYKA STATION?

I took a very bold step and googled this very peculiar place and found nothing, but I can assure you that we drove by the turn-off to Dwyka station. Change your search parameters is the keyword. And I did: DWYKA and I found something of interest, here is a short quote from Wikipedia:

“The Dwyka River is located in the Karoo region, in South Africa. It flows from the North-west, joining the Gamka River as a tributary at the Gamka Dam. In the 1870s, the Cape Colony government expanded its railway network inland, towards the diamond fields of Kimberley. A station, also named Dwyka, was built where the line crossed the Dwyka river.”

And still, I am none the wiser what does that strange word DWYKA mean? I found a Dwyka Mining Group. No attempt to explain the word DWYKA. They can penetrate the earth and extract our rich minerals to create wealth, but no attempt to tell me what the word means. Maybe some official working at Dwyka Mining Group might read this and respond – oh! I would be delighted and would inform you straight way.

OORLOGSPOORTRIVIER: Funny how places in my beautiful country have the word “river” as part of the name of the place. And “poort” in Afrikaans which means “gate,” “doorway” or even a “narrow pass between precipitous mountains.” Let us proceed and have a look at this place: Oorlogspoortrivier. “Oorlog” means war, and in our country, I suggest that this is a reference to the Anglo-Boer War 1899 – 1902. Here we go: this river was part and parcel of the Anglo-Boer War and it was in a narrow pass between precipitous mountains. List of colloquial South African place names tells me that the place does not exist. Oh no, it does, at least we saw the tag at the turn off.

Bilingual dictionary

BOONTJIESKRAAL. This place is also non-existent according to this list I have referred to above. Once again, we saw the name tag indicating in a direction which we did not go to. Having said that, let us examine this BOONTJIESKRAAL. The word “kraal” occurs in a number of place names in my country. This word is, to my mind, rather rich in its diversity of meanings; my first thought was that I can describe it in relation to where you keep your cattle safe at night and you open the gates early tomorrow morning and the cattle can’t wait to get out into the veld. I challenge you, even if you are not versant with Afrikaans to have a closer look at the photograph; I took a photograph of my bilingual dictionary referencing “kraal.” You might go on a tangent or a “road trip” reading this in Afrikaans. “Boontjies” is Afrikaans for beans. Make up your own story about this lot.

WOLWEFONTEIN. “Wolves-fountain” will be a direct, and perhaps a [c]rude translation. Wolves, what I’ve read about them, are rude and crude and yet refined. This place, likewise does not exist according to the List of colloquial South African place names, and yet, we saw the turn off to that place. Then, I asked myself the question why is there reference to “wolves” in that name? As far as I am aware, we don’t have wolves in SA. I found a website that asks the very question I asked – I will take the bold step and say I don’t think there are real wolves in my country.

AGTERTANG: what for a word is that? I asked my wife and her impression is that it is reference to “backward people” whatever that may mean. Incidentally that was my idea as well, until I grabbed my dictionary and was told otherwise. Agtertang according to my Bilingual Dictionary means: “afterguide [of a wagon]”. Well, well, I never. But there it is. Have a look at the English translation of it, and it is referring me back to “agtertang.” Back to where I started. And nothing wiser.

Colesberg goat

It seems to me as if this word AGTERTANG has got a lot do with farm equipment such as wagons; wagons have been replaced by trailers of all sorts. My story about the goats I saw in Colesberg [remember my photo of that beautiful proud ram with his curly horns?] were transported not on a wagon, but on a factory-built trailer. And I phoned my friend, Leendert Joubert who grew up on a farm in the Orange Free State, as it then was and now referred to as FREESTATE. Our conversation was so far wide ranging that I decided there and then that I have to do further investigation into this word AGERTANG. It brings us in the centre of our cultural heritage in South Africa and that is the aspect that I want to investigate further and then report back. Well then, till later on AGTERTANG.

Please write me you story: neelscoertse@wirelessza.co.za

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18 Week 18 Gansbaai and its second-hand shop

Tools in my garage that are similar to those in Gansbaai second-hand shop

Old pliers in my garage similar to the one in Gansbaai second-hand shop

Restoration in progress in my workshop - the bundle of white "string" is actually 

"riempies" for that half-size child's chair that I finished on 7 June 1991

During our roundabout road trip to Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens, Grootbos Florilegium, Gansbaai, Willowmore where the "godless-boys" get whipped, Middelburg and its road-hauliers and Rivonia, we had an experience in Gansbaai. Oh yes, it is highly possible to have an experience, even in Gansbaai, only if you are on the lookout for an experience in Gansbaai; you can easily miss that unique and once in a lifetime experience because it happens in the most unguarded and most fleeting of moments. That moment you are concentrating to get out of there! Or if you concentrate on other much more mundane things than getting out of there. And when you miss that moment, its gone for ever and not to be repeated.

I almost missed out on a once in a lifetime moment in Gansbaai.  Am I facetious? Remember I live in big city and anything smaller, hold untold surprises and experiences. The huge rocks in Gansbaai are spectacular – there are, however, more to Gansbaai than rocks and the redundant lighthouse at Birkenhead Bay. For those of you who are curious about the Birkenhead that sunk there many years ago, click on this link.

 

Rocks at Gansbaai

Rocks at Gansbaai

Redundant Lighthouse at Birkenhead near Gansbaai

We had a slow, relaxing, contemplative drive back from the old, deserted, non-operative lighthouse at Birkenhead Bay and stopped over in Gansbaai; it was a deliberate stop over, after spotting this small sign pointing to a second-hand shop. We are suckers for that kind of a thing. Inside we were welcomed by a shy youngster, trying to hide behind something that can double up as a counter or something you can buy and take home to restore and exhibit in a prime spot at your home. She was shy, trying to hide and, simultaneously trying to see who these strangers are! Why are they here? Where are they from? Where are they going?

My wife drifted off in a direction, me sauntered just around looking. All the while thinking of this young girl and the beautiful “shop attendant;" is it her child? Maybe, just maybe? Maybe too young? But one never knows; age is no restriction; might not be hers? Then, if not, whose is it? Its none of your business. Forget it. Let it be. Why is she in the shop and not playing around at home in the garden? Does she have friends? Siblings? None of your business. I know. But I am intrigued. It is still not your business.

 Me: "Hallo young one"

 She: just staring; crawling deeper behind that cupboard.

Her hand in front of her mouth, feet nervously beating an unknown rhythm on the plank floor. Staring. Beautiful eyes. Her mother's? None of your business.

Me: "What's your name?"

She: staring; seeking refuge behind that box; staring.

Me: "Is this little one your daughter?"

"No."

 Me: "Oh!"

 "My sister's."

Me: backing off deeper into this treasure chest, and further away from getting closer to family explanations.  

My wife: "Look at these Garfield tins. So nice. The price?" Garfield eats spinach. There are youngsters at home that became interested in spinach as well. 

Deeper inside there was this table, or maybe more than one table, didn't count it, and on this table, there were lots of "stuff!  Definitely not second-hand you can count on that. Third hand? Fourth hand? These things are wanderers; it can spot a collector of old hand tools from a long way off! There is a particular look in the eyes of a collector of old tools; that look that only glitters in the eyes of a connoisseur! That collector's hands are also a sure sign of a connoisseur! The way he picks it up; turns it about and around and even slowly and delicately lifts it up and then smells it - not caring who might be watching him; unaware of the staring eyes of the youngster now standing a safe distance from that box and a bit closer to this sniffing old grandpa. Smelling! Caressing. Eyes glazed over.

Drifting off. Still deeper! More to see! More to pick up. And sometimes it is much safer not to smell! Or to pick up! Keep moving is the operative word!

 

Milk jug from the second-hand shop at Gansbaai 

Porcelain!

Lots of it.

Cracked pots!

Shining stuff

Single plates. Single saucers. Single cups. Cake-forks. A knife. A couple of forks. Tea-pots. Dinner plates. Dinner-sets. Gold rimmed porcelain, surely not dishwasher proof; to long ago manufactured.

Once upon a time: when the world was free from e-mails, wi-fi, internet, youtube, streaming, Facebook, Flickr, tik-tok; when that world had its own complications and heart-attacks and illegitimates and corruption and golden-wedding anniversaries and graduations and unknown worlds to conquer. That world where craftsmen made their own tools; appreciate just to look at a roughly logged tree admiring the innards of that tree; sitting on a rock looking at the antics of swallows and wonder how their flight was from where ever they came. Where ladies still hand embroider; knit, crochet; come together as a group of like-minded ladies to knit, to crochet, to make felt, to listen to the others stories of heart-ache and triumph. Women's stuff touching all of our lives.

There was this milk jug. Part of a dinner set! Each piece individually priced as if it is telling me that I could take my chances and buy it!

And I did.

Here is another picture of it.

 

Another angle looking at my milk-jug from Gansbaai second-hand shop

Back to the table(s) proudly displaying those tools. I called that lady who is not the mother of that youngster without name. I called her. And she came - duty bound to come and assist the potential buyer.

 Me: "You have a treasure of old tools."

 She: silent. Staring.

Me: "Just look at this one!" Me holding up a little drill enthusiastically explaining how it works.

Just one look at her, and I swallowed my next word halfway in my mouth.

She returned to her post where she can stare out of the shop window to look at nothing in particular; she was probably eager to record the next sale. Which was me with that porcelain milk jug. And thereafter, my wife with two Garfield tins with sweet stuff in.

Please write me your story: neelscoertse@wirelesza.co.za

 

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Week 17 Middelburg Northern Cape Province. The wheels of trade and industry are turning at a frantic pace thru the open spaces of our country.

English Anglo Boer War blockhouse next to the national highway on your way to Capetown

 Detail of English Anglo Boer War block house next to the national highway to Capetown

I am fascinated by these big trucks on the roads and I am writing again about these giants of the road. And the Anglo Boer War blockhouses that you can see next to the road. 

Heavy duty trucks [20-wheelers!!] are lethal instruments on the SA roads. And as such we should be very, very careful when on the roads. And yet, my wife and I just travelled slightly more than 3300 kilometers from Johannesburg, Gauteng to Capetown, Western Cape to Gansbaai, to Grootbos, to Mosselbaai, past the Owl House in Nieu Bethesda, Eastern Cape, to Middelburg to Johannesburg safely. There was just one incident that called for caution - the entire roundtrip was hugely successful and safe and enjoyable.  We passed hundreds of these 20-wheelers; I was told by a petrol-attendant that these trucks take easily R20’000.00 fuel to fill up. I even saw some with 32 wheels!

I am, in general, positive when I encounter these huge trucks on our roads. I think it is partly because I got my driver’s license on an army truck and ever since, trucks figure in my thinking processes.  It is tangible evidence of the SA trade and industry; the wheels of commerce are turning! [unless there is a strike somewhere for some gripe or two or three or four …]. I am aware of all the caveats and warnings and negativity surrounded these moving objects. How else can they move the goodies? By rail? That is non-existent.

I had a choice when driving down and back what my reaction should or could be? Negative? Or positive? Indifferent? But why indifferent? I think that is a cop out.

 

Eskom powerlines crossing over the national highway to Capetown

Shortly before we left, some two days prior, I had a long conversation with a friend who had just returned from a road trip of more than 8000 kilometers thru our beautiful country. He was brim-full with what he saw and what he had experienced. He called it a road trip doing social observation. That turned my head around. I don't have to do the mundane thing of keeping the vehicle on the right side of the road; or just charging down at breakneck speed to get to the other side. Or keep on wishing that the long stretches of tarmac come to an end! There is much to do on the road either down to Capetown or up from Capetown. Remember, my wife was with me. We had long interesting conversations.

But there were stretches when it was silent. What then?

I asked her to write down the names of rivers, spruits, little dorpies, farms and stations (often the only thing left of a railway station was the name on a rusty plate next to the road). Oh, yes, sometimes the ruins of the building-infrastructure were also left.

This reminded me of the fascinating discipline referred to as toponnomy (the study of names of places). Click here to read a Wikipedia write up. I was born under the old South African flag that was very recently confirmed by the Highest Court of Appeal to be hate speech! I never thought that I would live long enough to experience this lot.

Place names written while we were travelling and a sketch of a withered tree standing in front of the DRC in Richmond Northern Cape

My friend gave me this little note book and we jotted some places we passed on our road trip. 

 Friends gave me a little book to use how I see fit – it was very telling that I was absolutely free to do in that book just what I wanted to do: all the pages were blank waiting to be filled with something. Sketching. Writing notes. Sticking things into it. And my wife wrote down a number of interesting names. And when she was driving, I jotted it down. Driving on the N1 thru Bloemfontein, that is where the Facebook-rapist and murderer Mr. Thabo Bester escaped from the prison at Mangaung! Decoding Thabo Bester's mind - click here. There is a Nelson Mandela Drive and Kenneth Kaunda Road. Reading these names my mind recalled some deep-seated memories.

Kenneth Kaunda was the President of Zambia. If my recollection serves me right, it was said that he was a trained cobbler. Another thing I remember of him was that, while he was President, he cried a lot in public. Now, that I am older it is understandable - I do that without thinking twice. Then, I read a tribute to him in his retirement home in Zambia. It impressed me! He was highly regarded in Zambia. And, in my country he was derided as a cry-baby and an enemy of South Africa.

 About Mandela? Enough was said about him!

During our road trip, we were very fortunate, and I hasten to say blessed, in that we did not witness any collisions of any sort. There was just this one incident on the road where this big truck was overtaking and we were somewhat compromised but without any consequences at all - you can see that in my video.

The road workers were doing their job. There were even guys in the middle of nowhere walking next to the tarmac, picking up dirty papers, paper cups, messy wrappings of all our fast-food shops. They put the debris in plastic bags that were hanging around their shoulders. It was obvious that they have to carry that the entire day till they knock off duty. Let me tell you that the sun in the Karoo is brutal! And they were walking, carrying their bags full with our road users' messiness! Shame on everyone that just throw their stuff from vehicles and think nothing of it.

Let us think for a moment or two or three about these unnamed people working constantly so hard to keep the roads in the Karoo clean. Bravo!!! To you!!

Another thing you could do while driving these far-off roads, is to concentrate on the landscapes, the animals, bird-life, road signs, stationary vehicles. Practice social observation -  do what that friend of mine did travelling more than 8000 kilometers! It is a nice way of looking. And of observing. And of trying to make sense of your surrounds. Switch off the radio. Don’t listen to the news bulletins. Concentrate on what you see around you.

Let’s look closer to the landscapes. It changes all the time. The structures of the different trees change. There are shrubs struggling to survive the harsh Karoo climate. Back home you can take your time to do so reading about the Karoo. Click on this link.

As far as you travel, the presence of church towers is inseparable from the horizon! The presence of the Dutch Reformed Churches dominates not only the skyline, it dominates the little town. It is almost always the biggest structure in town. And the address of the church? Kerkstraat! Church street!

If you have the time, stop and see if you can gain entrance to have a look inside. My experience is that the DRC buildings are mostly locked up.

 

The DRC in Colesberg, Northern Cape - dominating the landscape

The DRC in Colesberg is gigantic! It is an understatement to say it is dominating everything in the area! It is absolutely overpowering! It is as if there are no other church denominations that matter! Social media outlets are brim-full with images and information about churches in South Africa.  

Please write me your story: neelscoertse@wirelessza.co.za

 

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