WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T LET THE JO JO TANK HIT THE FLOOR (UNLESS OF COURSE YOUR FALLING OFF A THREE FOOT CONCRETE LEDGE AND ROLLING INTO A DRY RIVER BED)
Today has been a very successful day. Gilbert, Charles, Sipho and I have finally completed one of the houses. The Malueke house now has a set of roof gutters, down pipes and a Jo Jo tank to collect the soon to arrive summer rains. This means that Mrs Malueke and the children will have to carry a lot less water for their use. When the rains come, the tank will be continually filled, the water will be more or less clean and to put into perspective the weight each tank holds. For every time the tank fills, it will save the family the equivalent of carrying TWO THOUSAND KILOGRAMS of weight on their heads! It was such a great feeling to see it all completed and a promising sign for the future, it started to rain and the first trickles or rain water could be heard making its way into the tank.
The tanks are huge things and a real pain in the arse to manoeuvre. There not heavy, one person can lift them, providing that person has arms like Mr Tickle. I got them onto the buckie and one at a time drove them to Dumphries gate, bouncing around in the back as the buckie lurched and lunged over the bumpy dirt road. The plan then was for the four of us to lift it, keep it stable and then lower it over the eight feet high electrified boundary fence. That was the plan. The guys I work with are brilliant, however sometimes in the enthusiasm to get things done, ’more haste, less speed’ seems to go out of the window. The Jo Jo tanks when not stable on a platform and horizontal are very fragile. One of the other great things about the guys I work with is when requested to do something in particular, they do it spot on. In this case ’literally’ may be a better word to use.
The Jo Jo tank was held aloft, high enough to clear the fence without anyone getting zapped. This put the tank about eight feet high. The lads on the other side were shuffling their feet for position and before the tank being stable, the move was on. The lads were stood on a concrete walkway which has a three feet drop on either side, it ground then drops down onto a gradient of hard packed scorched earth that’s littered with rocks. It then falls slowly to a dry river bed. The call from myself and Lindsay repeatedly went out ’don’t let the Jo Jo tank hit the deck‘, ‘don’t let the Jo Jo tank fall’. It was almost a mantra. The guys shuffled, the call went out. The guys again shuffled, again the call went out. The path narrowed, to narrow for what we doing. The writing as they say, was on the wall. In big letters.
The tank wobbled and wavered, it then plunged to one side, the call went out. I just saw it drop from eight feet to past my eye level and then on towards and below my feet. Again the call went out. Asi had fallen off the ledge and was on his way to some good bruising from the hard floor. Incredibly he managed to, in mid fall, manoeuvre his falling body under the Jo Jo tank and then instead of putting his arms underneath him to break his fall, he directed them upwards and underneath the falling tank. He hit the deck, the tank closely following him. The tank hit him with a good whack on the head and then harmlessly roled to a stop shortly after. Jeez, what a save. Gordon Banks himself would have shook his Asi’s hand. I couldn’t contain my emotions……and promptly burst out laughing, Lindsay, Gilbert, Sipho and Charles did the same. What is it about people falling, other people, that makes us laugh uncontrollably? They should bottle falls like this and when were having a bad day at work, we should open the bottle and give ourselves a good cheering up. Asi fortunately wasn’t hurt and bounced up like an uncoiling spring. I had to move the car. The car was in a perfectly suitable place, I simply needed somewhere to laugh.
That evening I went round to Johans and Lindsays for a braai and some drinks whilst the rugby was on. The braai over here are something else, the meet is cooked to perfection over coals and it’s a real get together atmosphere. I also got to meet Johans brother whom was trying to explain to me ‘story’ behind South African music. Its really interesting actually and him and Johan gave me a demonstration of the ‘Stooky’. A traditional South African dance I can only liken to a fast waltz.
Another really good day.
I’ll be heading home on either Tuesday or Wednesday (not sure which yet as the flights aren’t finalised) as much as I want to get home and see people, I can’t believe how fast it has come round. I’ll be really sorry to leave, everyone in the staff village have made me feel welcome and I’ve received invites to braai’s, leaving do’s and game drives and I’ve made, what I’d happily describe as friends in the village. Sipho, Gilbert and Charles are absolutely brilliant lads and I almost want to be able to magically give them the life their searching for. Its not even that much really, work and a bit of money. It doesn’t work that way though, unfortunately. They’ve ‘bagsied’ some of my clothes and I’m happy to give them. I can easily replace them at home, not that I need to, more if I want to. Tomorrow we have one more day left of work in the village, I think I’ll treat the three of them to a beer after we’ve finished.
So tomorrow, its final Jo Jo tank day and final day.
Oh I nearly forgot to mention my stand off with the warthogs, the little buggers. I was heading into the rubbish area and a large female and two young hogs were mulling around, snaffling for food. As I reached the back of the fenced in area, they had made their way to the front and the only exit. As I started to walk towards the exit and where they were munching away, I startled the young ones. The mum immediately confronted me, her body tense and six inch teeth/tusks directed firmly at me. At first I didn’t really bother and carried on walking. She then became more agitated and more defensive, her long head bowed down and she visibly tensed up and got ready to charge me. These hogs are built like mini rhino’s and I reckon if one ran into me I’d be plastered along the floor. I waited by the skip, ready to dive into it and its shitty contents to avoid a steaming and she just stood firmly, not giving an inch. People in the yard started to watch and I felt a little embarrassed at not knowing what to do. I made a few benign jokes and nervously waited. After about fifteen minutes and either realising I wasn’t a threat or I wasn’t worth the hassle, they went back to feeding and I slipped slowly by. It was a good example of how things can turn in this environment, granted not as good an example as the rhino’s running at my car but good never the less. When I buy my metal warthog tomorrow, I might ask the guy to paint a black eye on. A symbolic victory for me.

GODS WINDOW. THE CURTAINS WERE DRAWN.

THREE DAYS OFF

For me, Blyde River Canyon can be summed up in two words, ’breathtaking and spectacular’. I had three full days to enjoy the drive, the scenery and the tranquillity of the area. I could have easily spent another week there and not got bored of the views. They are with out a doubt breathtaking and spectacular.
Months before I was due to leave England I had been checking out the Mpumalanga Province on the internet, looking for things I might like to see when I had time whilst there. I also checked out the topography of the area and satellite imagery on Google Earth. The first thing of personal interest I noticed was the proximity of where I would be staying to the Drakenburg Mountain Range, secondly was a photograph of the view from ’Gods Window’. From that moment I knew I’d be heading into ‘them there mountains’ and I’d be having my customary ‘whiskey toast’ at these places to my Mam and Grandad, both amazing people and both, sadly, no longer here.
Over the last few years it has become almost a ritual to make a toast to these two people when I find myself in places that I know will stay with me long after I’ve left them. The tipple is down to my Grandad. I used to enjoy treating him to a good bottle of whiskey, his choice was Glenmorangie, The Original. I picked a bottle (a litre bottle, oops) up at Heathrow Airport on the way out. The plan as always is to find a secluded spot, drift in my own thoughts, make a mental toast and whollop, down she goes. Always a smile inducing moment, which hopefully is down to the memories and not the whiskey.
The drive to Blyde Canyon is scenically, lovely. The route I chose was along the R535, over Kowyn’s Pass, through Graskop, around the ’Panoramic Route’ then straight North via Bourke’s Luck Pot holes to Aventura Blyde Canyon Resort, where I had a luxury chalet booked for two nights. I did actually try and book the basic chalet but they were all gone, what the hell I’ll have a luxury one, how many times will I pass this way again. Plus I’ve got sixteen months interest free on my Virgin Credit Card!
I had purposely chosen this route for the scenery I would be passing through., high passes that would allow me to first look down on sparse bushveld and later down to massive pine forests and lush vegetation, I would pass six three hundred feet high waterfalls all geologically different, ranging from whispy water drops into deep, dark pools to calcium carbonate falls which build more rock as the calcium deposits collect. I planned to stop at famous viewing spots with magical names like Worlds End, Wonder View and the most famous, Gods Window. All viewing spots that would allow me to see for tens of miles into the distance or along the deep canyon walls whilst listening to the river tumble along the distant floor, Bourke’s Pools and The pinnacle, both carved by water and grit over the centuries. All of these views I would pass along the route, all and more.
Instead I saw diddly, the weather was ‘pea soup’. As soon as I started to gain high after driving through the ironically named town of Hazyview, a dense fog blanketed everything. The driving became very nerve racking as I could only see about ten metres in front of the car on a bending climbing mountain road. The fog was more like a whiteout in that it was blinding to look into. The conditions didn’t make me nervous, I actually like adverse weather conditions, it was the other motorists. The driving in South Africa is on the whole, poor. Major accidents are caused due to the standard of driving and I was alarmed to witness people coming out of the fog at speeds that would give no chance of avoiding a collision, other cars were even overtaking me, going up hill in the whiteout, not knowing what was coming the other way. I narrowly avoided my own insurance argument when passing some numpte whom had chosen to stop on a bend, sticking out into the road . They only became visible at the last second and I had to swerve to avoid hitting them.
I eventually found Gods Window, needless to say the view was, well, viewless. It was a little disappointing not to be able to see anything but the atmosphere created by the mist gave the place a very eerie feel and the drop from the viewing platform could be felt if not seen. I stuck around for a while and drove on, slowly. The fog was very soon left behind, it only really collects around that part of the canyon due to huge amount of trees and dense foliage and the hight. It creates its own little eco climate of rain, high humidity, fog and thicker fog. The remainder of the drive was as I’d hoped, dreamed really. I visited Berlin and Lisbon falls and Bourke’s Luck Potholes. The pot holes were fascinating. Over the centuries the pouring water and collecting grit has been constantly carving the canyon out of soft rock. Where the rock is harder it erodes much slower, sometimes the hard rock literally causes a dead end to the running water. The water and grit then form a whirl pool as it has nowhere else to go and effectively starts to erode straight down as opposed to along. Eventually what’s left are deep, perfectly cylindrical holes. They are spectacular to see and the walls of the canyon and holes are dramatically coloured as the water bores its way through different layers of rock creating a striped wall.
I had my dinner in Bourke’s hole, so to speak. I ate at Jive café and chose the ‘chicken chakalaka’, how could I not. It was spot on, just what the doctor ordered. A huge folded pancake, stuffed with spicy chicken, spicy veg and something else that was spicy. Washed down with a cold castle beer, a bottle of water and a coke. It was spicy.
The drive to the resort took a lot longer than it should, mainly because my eyes were looking everywhere but at the road, the canyon stretches for miles and the sides are a multitude of different rock formations, types and colours with white water rivers gushing out of cracks in the canyon walls. I reached the Aventura Resort at about 1700 and was having a soak in the bath by 1720 with all the free nice smelling soaps bubbling away. The toiletries I’ve brought for the month are a bar of soap, tooth brush and tooth paste. I try to travel light. The chalet was luxurious, a nice size double bed (for one, booo), fully fitted kitchen, seating area and separate dining area, a big bathroom with separate shower and outside I had a car port (for my 4 litre, v6 petrol engined monster very kindly loaned to me from Johan and Lindsay) my own patio and braai (bbq) area. Equally as important the TV channels had plenty of sport on. I chilled in a deep hot bath for ages, sinking another cold castle. I then spent the night having a mooch around the resort, going for a quick walk in the canyon and then watching the kayaking on the TV. I’m definitely getting a touring kayak.
The second day was pencilled in for a day of sight seeing and the afternoon in Graskop village. On the off chance I went back via the Panoramic Route to see if there was any views to be had. The weather seemed pretty clear on the drive and I felt optimistic in getting my views in. ‘Wonder View’ and more so ’Gods Window’ do not as you might expect, over sell these special places. The views are spellbinding. It was early and quiet and I was able to enjoy the almost endless panoramas to more or less myself. Most people turned up, got their shot and got going. I found little out of the way rock shelves and just sat in contented quietness taking in the magnificent views with nothing below my dangling feet for over a kilometre. I only came this way on the off chance as I was going to drive this way on the third day on my way back home. ‘God helps those whom helps themselves’ as they say or at least He let me see out of his window for an hour for my trouble. From my spot I could look down to miles of pine and eucalyptus trees with hazy mist rising skyward from the lush vegetation. I looked up at ten thousand feet peaks, doming into the skyline and across at bizarre shapes carved into the sheer canyon walls. It was great just to sit and listen to the breeze passing through the canyon, the insects and lizards taking care of business on the floor and my own breathing, nothing else.
Graskop is a great little town with plenty of quirky little shops. I saw quite a lot of gifts made out of elephant crap. There was even a splendidly sized dung ball highly varnished, hinged and carved on the inside to make a cigar holder!! I opted for the more simple design of a dung papered calendar for one of my presents to take back home. So I’m happy to declare that some lucky monkey will soon have an office smelling of elephant shit. Your welcome.
In another shop I was witness to a rather bizarre request from an American lady. We were in an antiques shop, the clue is in the type of shop. The lady was looking at an original and very old Zulu shield. She was obviously pleased with her find however there was one problem. She approached the counter and asked ’is this the only colour you do it in?’ the reply form the lips of an obviously puzzled face was ’yes’. Unperturbed she went on to ask ’do you think you will be getting another one in soon, in a diferent colour?’ Bloody Nora woman, its an antique, did she think the man behind the counter was a well disguised time traveller and he frequently nipped back decades in time to fulfil the requests of blind minded wallies. When he explained that it was the one of only a few discovered she simply said ’its fine, I’ll leave it. It would have been nice in another colour’. I’m sure the proud Zulu warrior who fought behind this very shield would be turning in his grave to hear his magnificent shield failed to ’go with’ some Laura Ashley flowered cushion covers.
For dinner I got stuck into an oversized and filling vegetable filled pancake, spicy. That evening I sat on some rocks in the canyon, with a beer, watching a spectacular sunset over the three Roundawels. As the sun set, the rocks of the Roundawels lit up in an array of different colours as the sunrays passed along the history and layers of the sidewalls. The rocks as a whole seemed to glow red.
The next day was my final day off, I chose a leisurely drive home through pea soup fog (it transpired my choice to view Gods Window the previous day was a blessing) then down, back the way I came. I killed a little time in Hazyview, priced up my metal warthog from the guy making them on the side of the road and was back at my cabin by half three.
A great little trip.
Tomorrow the Jo Jo tanks, finally