Drotsky’s Cabins with Kat-‘n-The-Four-Kin-Airey’s – Botswana

We skedaddled to meet the Aireys, who were searching for a Honey Badger. Nothing beats meeting up with family, especially when you’ve been starved of familiar faces, as we were, particularly over the festive season, when we all hit a little slump. Sometimes, late at night, when we wondered what everyone back home was up to, our eyes would secretly mist over.

When we got the call that Butch’s nephew, Brett, and his family would be in the area, we made plans to meet up without hesitation. As soon as we’d set up our campsite at Shametu, we were off to meet for tea—a G and T. 

We’d all do our thing for Christmas, but on Boxing Day we’d meet and continue our journey to Drotsky’s Cabins in Botswana together. Santa, the sneaky bugger, left us a gift under the Aireys ’ tree. Each got a monogrammed Lizzard stainless-steel water bottle. We’ve not stopped using them since. Butch asks, “Would you like your drink in your Lizzard or your Yeti?” I have to think carefully about my choice now. Both are superior products.

Our route took us through Mdumu Game Reserve, where we drove leisurely and later stopped for a picnic lunch by the river and on the floodplains. We travelled along the western edge of the swamps.

Butch and I have become so accustomed to being alone, with all our own mishaps, that we couldn’t help but bump elbows and give a high five, laughing so hard we cried, when Brett told us he’d driven straight into a tree, bruising his front bumper. I was reminded of the saying, “He who laughs last laughs loudest.” I smothered my giggles immediately.

Ahead of us lay the Botswana border, which was a breeze. Our stocks were low, so we filled our baskets with fresh vegetables and other essentials at the Boxer shop in Shakawe. Butch and Brett went to buy new SIM cards while Debbie and I did the shopping.

The heat was unbearable, and we couldn’t wait to check in at Drotsky’s Cabins.

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I love fruitcake. It’s a tradition in our home to have a Christmas cake, but unfortunately we didn’t have one this year. Woolworths in Swakopmund was the only shop I’d come across on all our travels that stocked the little fruitcake slab with a thin line of marzipan and icing. I bought the entire stock of two. Ebenezer Scrooge couldn’t have hidden this little treasure any better; only I could slice it and present it at teatime like a slice of heavenly manna.

Walking towards the bar, I spotted a cake sitting pretty on the desk at Drotsky’s Cabin, a proper Christmas cake. Wrapped in cellophane, it looked like a beautiful, first-prize-winning entry at the school raffle. It had my name on it.

 Before I could stop myself, the sluices opened, and I gushed, “May I have that cake?”

“No, you can’t!” the person behind the cake said, surprised.

“Why not?” I said

“Because it’s mine,” she said, wrapping her arm around the cake protectively.

“Oh! Can I buy it from you?”

“No,” she said

“Name your price!” I retorted.

“You can’t have it. “ Stop it!” she said authoritatively.

My voice choked, my eyes burning; I relented. “OK, but in my defence, you must know I’ve not had a proper Christmas cake this year, not even a morsel.”

That softened her. “I tell you what, I’ll make us a lovely pot of tea and cut the cake. How’s that?” she said kindly.

“F-f-f-fine,” I said, getting emotional.

That was Mrs Eileen Drotsky. She gave me a moment to compose myself, then went to set the tea.

I skipped to the dining room, where a lovely mug of Ceylon tea was made (my interest was not wholly in the tea, but for propriety’s sake I pretended). I drooled, gluttonously awaiting The Cake. When we sat down to tea, four slabs were on a cake plate, overlooking the parklike gardens flowing into the sluggish river below.

I did remember my manners. I eyed my generous slice of cake like a dying man crawling across the Sahara for water. The cake was a gift from Eileen’s sister-in-law, renowned for her fruit cakes. Only after I’d had two slices and sipped my tea did my conscience prick with guilty delight.

I loved every crumb. Eileen, I’m sorry I was so rude. You saved me from making a complete fool of myself. Debbie, who came looking for me, knew she had to refuse the last slice. My eyes probably said it all. Sorry, Debs. Still savouring the fruit, nuts, and Maraschino cherries, I joined the family at the bar, where my drink sat forlornly, sweating as the ice melted in the heat. The soggy coaster clung to the bottom of my glass like a limp lettuce leaf.

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Under the trees on a vast campsite with a glorious river view, we set up camp: the five Aireys and us. While Butch and I sat impatiently, waiting for them to set up, they declined our offers to help. We enjoyed the shenanigans and did another happy dance in our Honey Badger, with a bed made up and a cooling fan ready to switch on.

I know it’s terrible to feel envious, but I did. I admit it. I saw Debbie with Rae and Cat and the extraordinary relationship they share. It was lovely to see the girls jump in to help and support their Mum. Moments like these bring my loss to the fore and make me long for my girls (all six of them).

Women’s laughter filled the air as the girls set the table, plated delicious tapas, lit candles at night, and took on menial tasks such as doing the dishes or the laundry. They did everything quickly and efficiently, never complaining of backache or fatigue!

It is customary to have access to children when they’re “small” because they depend on their parents, but once they taste independence and become adults, we oldies lose touch. We’re not cool, bright, or exciting enough when our paths diverge.

Older people need the company of youngsters, and they might even learn something from us, I’ll have you know. We didn’t know what to expect, and I anxiously awaited the outcome of the three generations under the same trees. Would Butch and I be amusing and informative enough, and clued up on technology, to meet the high standards of three savvy youngsters?

Keagan, Kat and Rae were so charming that we fell under their spell instantly. I think Kat bowled Butch over. She’s inquisitive, attentive, fun to be with, and capable, too. They shared an interest in birds, which endeared her even more to Butch. Her questions were intelligent, and her interest in and willingness to learn were genuine.

With his Robertson physique and good looks, Keagan could, I’m sure, charm a nun and defrock her right out of her habit. Keagan inherited his great-grandfather Oupa Jan’s genes. Oupa Jan was an extraordinarily handsome man in his time and a talented rugby player. With his fine sense of humour and commitment to Kat and his family, Keagan ticked all our boxes.

We have made pinky promises to get to your exercises in due course, but watching you and Kat makes us doubt our abilities. Butch and I are committed to exercising regularly to stay healthy and able to complete the course we’ve embarked on.

Rae-Rae, you truly are sunshine. We loved how well-informed you are about the critical decisions awaiting you, how committed you are to the causes you support, and how willing you are to listen, take note, and consider advice from others who are often uninformed and offer only well-intentioned, emotional opinions. On issues that women my age had no access to, such as abortion, fertility, single parenthood, marriage, menopause, careers and domesticity, you’ve educated yourself and have clear-cut principles. I know you will make informed decisions in due course.

The way you all support each other so fearlessly is remarkable. A family that fights together stays together.

---oOo---

Butch and I went on two lovely long cycles exploring the area where we were staying. We experienced Botswana's potholes and the heat while pedalling. We really do enjoy our cycles; it's the best way to explore.

Our little pit stops for a drink and a snack let us feel the place, and being so close to communities lets us greet and wave; the communication, though brief, is a connection I think is important. We're not just tourists in ivory towers.

We took turns preparing and cooking supper at night, mainly on the braai. For us, it was a treat to sit down to a delicious dinner without lifting a finger. On a few occasions, Debbie served her friend’s Christmas cake, carefully wrapped and stowed all the way from Johannesburg, and I loved it. Conversations were lively, with lots of laughter as we recalled the day’s events.

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The boat trip on the Kavango River was a highlight. The experienced skipper skilfully navigated his boat, hugging the embankment where the water was deep enough, which gave us good sightings of waterbirds. When an experienced boatman is at the helm, it makes a world of difference for your photography opportunities.

He was the first to notice the cloud build-up, the early flashes of lightning, and the approaching rumbles of thunder. We flat-out ignored these early warnings, unprepared to jump ship and return to the jetty. We told our skipper we'd ride it out.

How thrilled we were that we did. Debbie wore a magnificent head covering made from a waterlily leaf, keeping her high and dry. The rest of us used whatever we could find to protect our cameras. My hairdo was a mess anyway; nothing could straighten frizz, so I let it go.

One does not want to be on the water when lightning strikes the boat. We floated and ran aground on the nearest island, waiting for the storm to pass. Tropical summer storms aren’t like the Mediterranean storms we’re accustomed to in the Cape, and before we knew it, the sun was shining brightly. We scrambled back to our seats to continue our trip.

We celebrated by opening the cool boxes. With snacks and a sundowner, we lazily sipped.

Guides have keen eyesight, and soon our captain spotted a magnificent African Fish Eagle, its beady eye fixed on us. With the sun setting behind him, he was perfectly placed to spot supper. Perched in the dead tree, head thrown back, he let out his familiar cry, ‘kyow-kow-kow’, ringing out in the quiet. This is the Africa we love.

The guide anticipated this. The next minute, he mimicked a call. The bird looked up and locked eyes with the skipper. The guide locked eyes with the Fish Eagle, extended his arm to signal, and smoothly tossed the fish he’d netted earlier in an arc. To our amazement, the Fish Eagle took the bait, swooped in, dived, and snatched the fish into his claws. In one swoop, the bird turned, changed course, and flew off. Supper served.

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The storm was anything but over; during the night, the heavens opened and the cloudburst soaked tents, ground covers, tablecloths, and a few electricals. The washing line drooped under the weight of heavy, sodden clothes, dragged down to an inch above the mud.

Our Oz tent came in handy. A super quick pop-up tent for Kat and Keagan. Promised they’d love it, they accepted. Kat said they slept like babies and that “that’s proper camping”, giving their setup the once-over.

Brett and Keagan helped Butch with some maintenance issues and inspected our Wi-Fi modem. He said the answer to our problems is that we don't have a booster aerial, which he’ll sort out as soon as he gets home. We received the package, and our new booster aerial has been sorted. The kids really do have solutions for everything. Boompie and I say thank you.

All too soon, the time to move on drew near, and it was time to up sticks for all of us. Butch and I headed to Elephant Sands, then to Kasane.

Folding the pop-up tent delayed their departure by a good half an hour. A plan coming together for us. When they finally shut the lids on their trailers, they packed our hearts in too. The lap of honour past us couldn’t be more poignant, leaving two heartbroken old farts in their wake. We went looking for the Pel’s Fishing owl; we are not good at saying goodbye.

We couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to the Drotskys, with whom we spent a good hour chatting before finally setting out. The old Honey Badger wasn't very enthusiastic, but we soon perked up as we trundled along.

---oOo---

I told Butch I’d write to my friend, the Queen of Tarts, whom we’d be seeing soon, asking her to save me a slice of Christmas cake. She’s a smuggler of note; no contraband is too contra for her. I was sure she’d manage the task. They were flying in from the UK to meet us in a fortnight. Butch thought I’d lost the plot. I reminded him it was my Kryptonite and that I needed cheering up. He figured, “Happy wife, happy life."