Sitting On The Fence In The Kgalagadi - Nossob

It’s midday,  I'm sitting in the Honey Badger typing this blog. Now and then, I look up, binoculars at the ready, and see small critters sitting or clinging to our fence. They’re our pole dancers.

My company is a lizard, Cape Glossy starling with a slurred warble, an ever-chatty White-browed sparrow weaver, a party of sociable weavers and a wagtail. The barn owl is asleep across the way. A double-banded mongoose has just scuttled past, dipping under the truck and into a burrow. The ground squirrel has stopped covering himself in sand to cool down and must’ve gone to  ground for a siesta. The crimson breasted shrike in his scarlet waistcoat is  always a joy to behold. 

This morning the lion’s roar sent us off in a mad dash to the exit gate in the hope of seeing their spoor before other vehicles obliterate them. We’re off to see who’s still about before the sun heats the day and sends the nocturnal animals off the roads and into the brush. Watering holes are our best option. A drink of water after the hunt and before they sleep is a pattern cats follow.

It’s five-thirty, and the sun’s reddening the horizon. Temperatures have dropped slightly, and the cool breeze calls for a sleeve over our T-shirts. Our alarm sounded at four-twenty this morning, and here we are ready for a morning of great adventuring. The queue at the reception office is already a few people deep. Most of us are heading north with the sun on our backs.

Yesterday, after our epic drive to the Polentswa picnic spot, after the cheetah sighting and subsequent kill, we returned exhausted yet exhilarated. The big cats always steal the show but make for exciting stories around the pool later where one upmanship is the name of the game. 

But I’m getting ahead of myself. I think it’s amnesia after our daunting trip to Nossob on our first day.

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We'd heard rumours of a devasting fire which had raged  and swept through the Kgalagadi unabated due to hot winds on numerous occasions along our way up but it was only once we'd entered the park that the full impact of the devastation hit us and the proximity to our visit there. Large tracks of land and  dunes lay barren. The only signs that there were once trees were the blackened skeletal remains of trees now burnt stumps. One tree was still burning and palls of grey smoke was billowing from deep within the root system. Blackened clumps of grass and ash charcoaled the landscape. 

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Life as we know it changes in a heartbeat, one minute we're smiling with the joys of spring and the next minute we hear a siren on the dashboard and on closer inspection the chirrup of birds gets drowned out by pfffft, pfffft ppffttt getting ever louder and longer. One of our tyres was acting up. We know the drill and stop.

“What? That’s your jack?”  a guy, willing to help, but in a desperate hurry asks, both hands clutching bunches of hair. “Is this a six-tonne truck?" He exclaimes his face scrunched up.  "It would help if you were using a 7-9 tonne jack. See, it’s tilting to the left." Butch can't see him he's under the truck.
"Lord! you should have more than that steel plate, the jack's sinking into the sand. This can only end badly, for all of us. Lift the truck higher. No man higher. Is that all you can do to lift this truck? Listen, man, I need to get to the border by this evening.” The agitated man continues. I can see he’s very stressed. They have at least 120km, and it is already noon. There's no possibility of him passing safely alongside us. Taking a shortcut through the bush is dangerous, illegal and might result in a puncture too. 

“No! No, no! that thing is useless. Is this the first time you’re taking the wheel off? How are you going to get that wheel off the back of this truck.?" He gesticulated arms akimbo bouncing on the balls of his feet giving the setup a once over. "Oh, I see. You do have a winch. Is it electric?"
Butch is still jacking the truck. "You'd better be careful. The axil’s going to come down on your head.”  Someone else takes up while pacing. Everyone's hackles rising. Setting me into an anxious panic. 

Butch, a man who seldom takes orders from anyone, except moi, let alone done all the work, while a team of onlookers shout the odds giving liberal advise, bit down and did the job admirably, changing our rear right wheel. What he initially thought was a leaking valve turned out to be a small crack in the tyrewall. Too large to plug. 

The last thing you need when you’re under pressure and a convoy of vehicles has stopped in both directions because of your flat tyre is advice. I know how much I hate being directed and instructed, especially when one's anxious. My mind’s in a turmoil, I forget the simplest things, and my memory is a blank.

“You’ll have to dig this wheel out; I’m telling you you’re never going to get this wheel off. Never mind, get the other one back on. Fetch your spade and start digging.” 

By now, I’ve pruned the thorny bushes on the verge, I’ve looked, and couldn’t find, the Leatherman, I’ve helped with the winch, pushed the bike rack up to aid the knocking out of steel pins, I’ve directed traffic, and slowed speedsters down. I’ve explained our predicament a dozen times. No one can pass us; we are the spanner in everyone’s works.

“At his rate, I’ll have to dig a path  around you to get past this truck, it's too wide. No, I will not go through the brush to get a thorn in my tyres. Thank you very much.” He tells smart Alec.

“If he doesn’t get that wheel on straight, he’ll strip the nuts. You don’t want that.” Two new-comers say conspiratorially.

Bless the lovely couple from Cape Town, who turned back, saying, “we feel so guilty leaving you here we had to turn back!”. And thank you to the chap who took up the shovel and gave Butch a hand and a breather.

The four, sun tanned, muscled Chippendale lookalikes, in the Land Cruiser had this to say as they slammed on brakes  “Jammer Tannie, die manne is al weer laat!”   leaning out of their windows comically and apologised for getting there “after the Oom had done all the work”, but whizzed off before being handed the spade, leaving us in a trail of dust and sand in our eyes. The wheel turns slowly but surely, I thought, rubbing my scratched eyes.

Eventually, with the truck still on the jack, the hole was big enough to wriggle and wangle the old 150kg wheel off the hubs.With the added thick wood slab, we could stabilise and lift the truck further to fit the spare wheel, but the hole around the flat had to be bigger first, and we’d hit a hard rocky shelf. Eventually, with a lot of elbow grease, patience and perseverance Butch got the job done. Relieved, he could move the truck onto a shoulder and wave the traffic jam on. 

Thank you to all the good Samaritans who helped and encouraged us. Of course, we regret the inconvenience caused, but as someone said, “tomorrow, it may happen to me.”

Ninety minutes later, parched and hot, we rolled the 150kg flat wheel into the Honey Badger, re-loaded the bikes, and dispatched all the toolboxes, bags and boxes into their assigned hatches. It’s incredible how forgetful one becomes under pressure. It took a few litres of water to quell our thirst, but we were on our way to Nossob rest camp. The tyre pressure monitor behaved itself and didn’t beep again.

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We were assigned a lovely campsite on the fence with a private bathroom, dining area and scullery. After a stiff Scotch or two, an early supper, and a quick shower, Butch was man down. Who could blame him?

Today’s our sixth day in the Kgalagadi. We’ve extended our stay and plan on relaxing. Chillin’ out is the only item on the agenda. We’ll get up when it suits us and do exactly as we please. We’re pensioners, after all, and we’ll leave the chores for another day.

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Ten days later.: After an extention made easy by the wonderfully professional and helpful lady at reception, we moved to the general campsite, which we enjoyed, there we met our neighbours, enjoyed afternoons at the pool with the "swimming club". Where all the world's problems were solved by retirees with a lifetime of experience and time on their hands. 

Oftentimes we'd go out on sunset drives, where we'd enjoy our sundowners. We bought delicious roosterkoek from the lady who baked bread and rosterkoek daily. I could have two loads of laundry done by Olive who has a laundry service going. Her girls would accompany her on her deluvery rounds. I wonder whether they realise how special their childhood in the Kgalagadi is. Olive continues to pray for our safe return after our wanderings and sometimes drops me a message. Such is Kalahari kindness.

We were treated to magnificent sunsets and sunrises due to the daily dust storms and experienced a phenomenon we'd never seen before, the clouds were tinged pink during the heat of the day. A reflection of the red sand dunes we were told. Could it be as a result of the widespread fires clearing the dunes of yellow grass we wondered? A rare sight indeed. 

Every evening we'd wonder down to the wifi tree to see which child thought of us and we wold respond to messages. Our days are busy, long and hot but we're loving every minute of this new rodeo. The new steps, as predicted, didn't last for more than ten days. They weren't designed or made for African conditions nor the devastating corrugations. With cable ties Butch tied them up, never to be used again. Using the powers of modern technology we were able to purchase a new set of Thuli steps, compact and robus, from Takealot. They were delivered to  PostNet  who via DHL delivered them to a contact in Swakopmund.

In lieu of steps we used "stepping" stones and hoisted ourselves up with arms and legs stretched out.  The wondefully kind Da Silvas gifted us their step. Which we gratefully accepted and is now a prized possession and will be doing Africa with us.

One morning, after I'd closed the exit gate, to go on a morning drive a young girl gesticulated that there were lions around, we'd heard the male's roar and were on his spoor. His huge paw prints punched into the sand where I stood. They were right there on the fence a mere 50 meters from where we were parked as I alighted the Honey Badger. The penny dropped. The gesticulations were a warning to get my butt on the other side of the fence. This pair was tired, hungry and a tad frustrated.  The mating game is like chess, every move has a counter move and takes time, a few days time! A group of us were privileged to stalk and watch a mating pair before they trotted off to find a private spot under a shady tree to recover from the night's shenanigans!

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