Kruger National Park - Celebrating A Life, Celebrating Wildlife, Celebrating Friendships

Journeys don’t unfailingly deliver what we expect, and sometimes there’s an unexpected journey to be made which we’d rather have differently. These journeys come too soon, too suddenly and far too quietly. If we’d been in a different place, like Uganda, for instance, we might’ve missed the opportunity to celebrate a friend’s remarkable life.

Komatipoort was our first destination, a place of serene beauty where we camped out on the banks of the Komati River, surrounded by cane fields, their stalks reaching more than two meters into the sky. Now and then, we’d hear the slap and pull of oars on the surface of the water as canoeists came paddling past our campsite or the whine of a boat’s engine as anglers searched for the best fishing spots.

Each morning, I would eagerly anticipate the first sip of my coffee, the warmth seeping into my hands, as I gazed out at the Lebombo mountains. This was the site where Samora Machelle’s plane had tragically crashed years ago. As a child, I would wake to the sound of our Mirage fighter jets patrolling the border with Mozambique, a naive fear of war mingling with my lack of understanding of our country’s politics.

Triggers are a buzzword nowadays, and it is here in the Lowveld that many of my childhood recollections are sparked. The older I get, the more indelible than ink my memories are.

In A Prayer for Owen Meany, John Irving writes, “Your memory is a monster; you forget—it doesn’t. It simply files things away. It keeps things for you, or hides things from you—and summons them to your recall with a will of its own. You think you have a memory, but it has you!”

I so often wonder what my Mother’s memories were as the files of her mind were erased by dementia. She did remember her childhood for a while, too, often whispering to me that she wished to return there.

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And then we headed to the Kruger National Park, where nature was still in the throes of winter.

Fires had ravaged much of the southern landscape, leaving the already parched earth scorched and barren. Polka-dotted, apple-green new growth had started sprouting, with little clumps of sweet, tender shoots and leaves, an invitation for grazers to return.

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We headed straight to Skukuza, where pensioners’ discounts sweetened our visit and lengthened our stay. August, after the school holidays, is an excellent time for a holiday, if you qualify.

Skukuza, the largest rest camp in Kruger, could meet the requirements as a small village with all its facilities. Here, guests are treated to a range of services that make for a comfortable stay, including a car wash, a bank, and a spa. Other conveniences such as a public telephone, post office (which is a luxury, or their website hasn’t been updated recently), car hire, delicatessen, shop, conference facilities, two swimming pools, communal kitchens and bathrooms, and of course the world-renowned Skukuza Golf Course, ensure that visitors have everything they need at their fingertips. If memory serves, I seem to recall one can even fly to Skukuza, and a flight from Oliver Thambo International Airport shouldn't take more than 2 hours.

After our morning game drives, Butch and I would return to the campsite, grab our binoculars and head off to walk along the boardwalk snaking a few meters from the Sabie River’s embankment.

With my predilection for steam trains, we headed off to the Kruger Station, located along the historic Selati line, which offers a deli, bar, restaurant, ice-cream stall, coffee shop, and a kids’ zone.

I must confess that after years of being in remote areas where we were often the only guests, I did enjoy the commotion of tourists. Butch and I, unknowingly, hungered for conversation and chatted gluttonously to anyone who asked for directions or inquired about a sighting. A highlight was the American couple with aching knees and hips sitting on a bench resting after a long walk. We could sympathise; our conversation turned to exercise and ended with a suggestion that we cycle the US’s East Coast.

Imagine cycling through Acadia National Park, a wilderness area on Mount Desert Island in Maine, with a network of carriage roads built by John D. Rockefeller Jr. in the early 20th century, or the Florida Keys Overseas Heritage Trail, a 90-mile multi-use trail running from Key Largo to Key West. Thank goodness we can allow our minds to travel freely.

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The Kruger Park Central Region, which encompasses 30% of Kruger’s surface area, is home to a large share of the cat population, including lions, leopards, and cheetahs. The sweet grasses and abundant browsing trees in the area attract large herds of antelope, gazelles, giraffes, buffalo, zebras, and wildebeests. This, in turn, attracts other predators, including hyenas and wild dogs. Where the food was, there would be cats. We headed that way.

The marmalade colours of the Mopani indicated that we would also see large herds of elephants. 

This section of the park can be quite congested, especially on weekends and holidays. Resting on its roof, its nether regions exposed, was a grey sedan in a culvert—the aftermath of the weekend’s shenanigans.

Letaba, one of our favourite campsites, is where we spent a few nights. The impala lilies and aloes were in bloom, and the iconic statue of the elephant was precisely where I remembered it to be!  Even the squirrels have no fear and took a bite of my avocado, in season, ripe, waiting to become guacamole. Here, not much has changed over the years—a good thing.

The unbridled joy of schoolchildren on a field trip lifted my spirits, and I was treated to a double whammy when a very serious but adorable little girl asked me to pose with her for a selfie. What an honour, and one of my favourite photographs of our trip.

She asked me if I was a Gogo. She missed her Gogo; they used to spend holidays together, but that’s no longer possible. She told me solemnly.

True to its word, this section of the park delivered the goods, and we were treated to an excellent sighting of wild dogs on the hunt, all their senses were focused on an antelope, and we didn’t feature at all. Catching the matriarch’s eye took some focusing.

Along the Letaba River, we spotted elephants, hippos, and the occasional crocodile basking in the warm sun on the sand.

Water hyacinth has unfortunately taken root in some of the dams and rivers, adorning the hippopotamuses’ heads like a pretty bonnet, suitable for a photograph but not good for our river systems. I prefer the sighting of a hamerkop catching a lift on the back of the beast far more.

There were elephants galore. All along the river, crossing the roads, bathing at ponds or quenching their thirst at the cement dams dotted around the park. These pachyderms never disappoint, and I’d like to know of one person who tires of watching them or photographing them? They are always magnificent. We were in for a treat.

One day, we came upon a pride of lions feasting on a giraffe they’d taken down alongside the dirt road. It took us a few minutes of careful scrutiny to count the whole pride as they lay camouflaged in the dry grasses under a forest of Mopani trees. Ten Lions was our consensus.

We were privy to watching the vultures, and later, a hyena arrived. Initially, the scavengers had to maintain their distance. If they encroached on the carcass at all while a lion was feasting, they’d quickly be chased off by a bloody growl of annoyance.

Only after all the lions had had their fair share and were lying in the shade, sated and dozing, could the birds and hyenas tackle the scraps.

The next morning, we returned to the sight, and once again, they’d all made swift work of the hunt, and nothing but a few scraps of skin and bones remained. Now it was time for the sweepers to fill their bellies, and maggots, blue flies, and ants took over to clean up.

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Alongside the road, nestled in a water drainage pipe, we saw a nursery of two fluffy hyena pups come out to play while their mother napped. A third pup would poke his nose out for a peep, but didn’t dare to show himself yet.

Elegant giraffes are always a pleasant surprise, and this time we were treated to several sightings of giraffes of all ages and sizes.

We now know that Wildebeest, Zebra and Buffalo continually migrate. The migration of zebra and wildebeest in Kruger National Park begins in May, initiated by the dry winter conditions in the northern regions. As the grasses die back, the animals start a southward journey in search of better grazing, usually arriving on the Mondolozi plains, just north of Lower Sabie, around July.

Looking through my photographs, I smile when I see a buffalo, so stoic, silently watching, their ears twitch only when it dismisses an annoying oxpecker. They give the impression of being docile, a lumbering beast and slow, but once aggrieved, they transform and, like a diesel engine on a track, unleash their power, becoming unstoppable. They are not to be trifled with.

As the season shifts towards spring, the migration cycle begins anew, with animals returning to the granite plains, revitalised by seasonal rains. This perpetual cycle highlights the resilience and adaptability of the Park’s wildlife, which is affected by rainfall and controlled burns in certain parts of the Park.

This migration in Kruger National Park is a dynamic event that sustains the Park’s vast ecosystem and showcases the connection between the land and the wildlife.

The convenience of the Honey Badger made it possible for us to stretch our game drives with coffee and rusks at a watering hole, or we'd enjoy a biscuit and tea while observing a woodland kingfisher concentrating on its catch, or we’d listen to the frenetic chatter of arrow-marked babblers, wagtails, and sparrows. At the same time, the starlings swooped down for easy pickings.

A common resident in the campsites is the brightly coloured crested barbet, as well as hornbills.  The lovely Swainson’s spurfowl are everywhere. Although we were not actively bird-watching this time, we were still able to compile a good list of sightings. Our favourite bird turned out to be the Woodland Kingfisher, whose distinctive call we recognised all over subtropical and tropical Africa. They are a delight.

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Do you know?: Both hippopotamuses and hippopotami are used—but which one is actually correct? Hippopotamuses – The regular English plural, created by adding “-es.” Hippopotami – A Latinized plural, though it’s based on a mistaken interpretation of the word’s etymology. FYI, it’s Elephants, not Elephant.

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One morning, Butch piped up that the Kruger National Park surpasses all the fantastic national Parks we had visited, and there were many. His reasons are that KNP is affordable (many of the parks up north are exorbitantly expensive), it is well-maintained, and conservation efforts are excellent. It is easy to reach the KNP even if one flies in from abroad. The landscape is diverse, the roads are superb (we are certified road judges), and the campsites and rest camps are fabulous, with an old-world charm that caters to our modern lifestyles through excellent facilities, shops, and restaurants. There's so much to do! he exclaimed, as if I didn't know.

The abundance of wildlife is extraordinary, with a diverse range of species. The weather is temperate during our cold winters. However, summers are hot and humid, but intermittent rain and thunderstorms add to the ambience of the bush. Jock of the Bushveld would have it no other way.

It didn’t take long for me to concur wholeheartedly. Plus, I said: With a Wild Card (available to all SADAC countries and the rest of the world), our Wild Card is the best way to explore Southern Africa’s wild spaces. We’re entitled to 365 days of unlimited access to the parks and reserves, plus the Cape Nature Reserve are included 

Ahh, the birds! A book can be written about the birds of Kruger, Butch says sagely. Yes, I have captured a few on my hard drive, for posterity, I remind him. We see our Valery (a Koribustard)

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While we were in the area, we were overjoyed to have the opportunity to visit a dear friend in Hoedspruit, one of the last links before we crossed the border from South Africa into Mozambique in March 2023.

Life was kind to Michael, “who wouldn’t be,” you might ask, “him living in Hoedspruit and all.” Indeed. He was unchanged by time. In contrast, we had undergone a significant metamorphosis. Our slightly aged skin was bronzed, our hair was a little greyer and unkempt; my plait almost reached my waist, yet we felt more toned, leaner and alive. Adorning my wrists were a collection of vibrant, beaded bracelets, a symbol of my African identity that I vowed to keep until they fell off naturally.

We spent the weekend cycling the dirt roads of the estate, lay in a little later in the mornings, there was no need to rush, we were told; we met friends around his dinner table, where we learned of cyber laws, building projects in a town that has exploded due to the influx of new residents all while we were served a scrumptious meal off the braai grid and a rich, silky chocolate cheese cake for dessert that would make a Queen of Tarts blush. When no one wanted to spend another minute in the kitchen, we went out to explore Hoedspruit’s culinary scene.

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My little rant

What really shocked us was the pittance servers earn. If I’d known, I would not have supported an establishment where my gratuity, intended for the excellent service we received from our waitress, was collected by the owner, who pocketed 90%. The remaining 10% is then pooled and divided amongst all the staff.  Staff were not paid a basic wage and had to cover any breakages themselves.

I know the service industry is cut-throat, but to take advantage of and exploit hard-working people in this way is grotesque. Sadly, if there are complaints, the queue waiting to replace a temporary worker is long and relentless.

In this day and age, one wonders how any business can get away with such an outrageous act.

For interest’s sake, I Googled “protection for casual workers” and came up with the following: “The Casual Workers Advice Office (CWAO) was founded in 2011 as a non-profit, independent Organisation. It provides advice and support to workers, privileging casual, contract, labour broker and other precarious workers.”
www.cwao.org.za/  and the South African Equity Workers Association (SAEWA)  at www.saewa.co.za/ are also for the benefit of the Restaurant and Catering Industry (Gauteng-Central)

Now that the little rant’s over, we can move along. Subsequently, we would gift our gratuity directly to our attendant in cash.

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We spent three nights in Hoedspruit and then continued our journey on to White River.

The landscape is a lush, bottle-green corduroy of citrus orchards, and then come the mountain passes as we travel towards the JG Strydom Tunnel through the Fetakgomo Tubatse Municipal district, one of the five districts in the Limpopo Province of South Africa.  The seat is Groblersdal. The local language spoken by the majority of its inhabitants is Sepedi.

The District, named Sekhukhuneland, is named after the Pedi King Sekhukhune, who succeeded Sekwati in 1861.

The informal markets along the way felt like a breath of fresh air and a reminder of our African adventures. At last, I felt an authentic African vibe again.

Soon, we were scampering along the top of the rocky grass-covered escarpment towards Sabie.

These hazy views must be the reason why there's a thriving village of the same name, I thought as we rolled along the open roads. At last, I knew where the name stemmed from.

Sabie, where corduroy gave way to lush, verdant, green, velvety rolling hills of pine and eucalyptus plantations. It was midday, and yet the mist hadn’t lifted and enshrouded the trees in a silent cocoon. In my mind's eye, I could see the awkward, leggy boy who'd lost almost half his arm in a sawmill accident but was determined to play cricket. He assured us he could grip the ball with only his remaining fingers. He was our team's fast bowler and never let us down.

In Graskop, we stopped for lunch at a quaint English pub, where we enjoyed a quick midday meal before circling back to Sabie and its picturesque landscape of forests, rivers, waterfalls, bubbling brooks, and plantations.

The paintings in the pub were a poignant reminder of the devastation caused by wildfires or forest fires. Unfortunately, there was no time to dwell on that; my beloved had a date with an old friend, and we needed to get to White River chop-chop.

At last, we found our campsite at Busa House for two nights, and Butch had an opportunity to contact his old varsity friend Boy, an ex-Kenyan who grew up on a farm near Eldoret and now lives in the Lowveld.

Boy, Butch's buddy rolled out the ancient map of the Sergoit hills where their farm was, with clear instructions that copies must be made for all the friends who lived there. Past and present.

With legs crossed, a tinkling toot in their hands, these boys got chatting. The one, all about the old days, and Butch brought his friend up to speed on current affairs. Both were hoarse by the time they finished on day one. More visits were in the pipeline.

To include us, we, the girls, were invited to dinner at Boys’ house, where we spent a delightful evening sharing our stories. Sometimes one meets someone with an old soul with whom one finds common ground immediately. That’s how I felt about Karen.

While the two men caught up with the telling of their lives, I got to meet the delightful owner of Busa Self-Catering Guest House, while I went for a wander through her lovely subtropical garden. The gardener, busy tilling the soil, agreed that he had the best career of all.

A charmingly effervescent lady (I would like to say girl) whose face lit up with pleasure when she saw me, and who took my advice to heart, which was to enjoy (take pleasure in) her children, to be kind, patient, to teach rather than instruct, to allow them to experiment, let him make mistakes and fail without judgment. Unconditional love should not come with strings attached. It is only in retrospect that we know how quickly time flies, and soon her precious boy will stretch his wings and soar.

How else does one explain motherhood to a Mum who’s exhausted, anxious and hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in three years?

She told me that in her Zulu language, a honey badger is called Nsele.

We followed Boy's directions and found Uplands, my old school. The walls are still covered in creepers, and the trees are as tall as I remember. Those were bittersweet days.

It is hard to resist a grocery shop selling local produce, and what a find this one in White River turned out to be. We shopped until we dropped; what's more, we could order online later on if we ran out of something special. We were so impressed, we even considered opening a store in Hermanus! The produce is exceptional, the prices are reasonable and the quality is first class.  www.factoryshoponline.co.za 

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Among my photographs of this leg of our road trip, I found this beautiful poem by L.R. Knost.

"Words are Wands

 

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This blog is a tribute to the memory of our dear friend Geoff Williams, 1943-2024. Rest gently.

This is the only photograph I have of Geoff, and for some reason, it's not as sharp as I'd like. I tried it in monochrome, but Geoff was not a man in monochrome; he was a colourful wrecking ball, a Welshman as large and toothy as his smile, which meant he had to be in colour, even if it was a tad oversaturated.