The Fab Four Conquer The Kalahari - En Route to Mabuasahube

August 12, 2019 Posted in Review / Travel / The Honey Badger Diaries

Best friends, best buddies, best Boetie (brother) and hiekkelsuster (crochet companion) – that’s what Percy and Sue are to us.

It’s rare to hear siblings of our age actually like each other and choose to spend time together. We do. We’re close, companionable, comfortable and cosy. The recipe works largely because we give each other space—plenty of it. Although I never feel like I’m walking on eggshells, we are considerate, respectful, and appreciative—a winning recipe in any relationship, but easier when you’ve been together since the cradle.

Butch and I turned onto the dusty road at Melton Wold and headed north, stopping for last-minute shopping and a hot chocolate at the Spur in Kuruman. Like many mining towns, it has boomed and been swallowed up in these uncertain times—a sprawling, dusty, and seemingly dangerous town. Security is a major concern, and every street has a parking attendant warning motorists about thieving gangs who will not hesitate to rob and intimidate. Fortunately, I was quite unaware and went about my shopping with ease. All was well.

We had a leisurely drive up to Red Sands Country Lodge, where we’d camp for the night. Just 17 kilometres west of Kuruman, it’s the perfect gateway and overnight stop for the Kalahari or the Richtersveld. We’d reserved a campsite with private ablutions, which was a treat. Butch was eager to watch the Springboks whip the Wallabies, so he went off to the pub as soon as we parked to support the boys in green and gold.

I couldn’t connect the electrical cable, so, with no hesitation (after all, I have a learner’s licence), I reversed the Honey Badger into the perfect position without bumping anything. A milestone for me!

After settling in and getting ready for the night, I set off to join Butch at the bar to catch the tail end of the rugga, and then we sat down to a “traditional” Kalahari German-themed evening. A buffet isn’t my favourite, but it was great not to have to cook, so I looked forward to enjoying German cuisine. The dining room was chock-a-block with diners, as this must’ve been a favourite theme evening for locals and visitors to the lodge.

Unfortunately, we arrived at the buffet a little late, when many of the courses and dishes had been on the Bain Marie for some time. Nevertheless, we enjoyed our meal, and I must mention the Mozart Cake for dessert. It was DE-LI-CIOUS.

The next morning, we set off to meet Percy and Sue. Problem. The exit gate has a height restriction, and we often have to enter and leave via the service gates. The gate didn’t have an automatic opening facility, so returning to Reception to find someone to sort the problem was a bit of an inconvenience. With clenched teeth, we gritted our teeth and then we were off. Traffic was light, and we made good headway.

Our first evening together was spent on the South African side of the border, near McCarthy’s Rest at Springbokpan Guest Farm. Surrounded by beautiful thorn trees, a cosy Lapa with chairs and tables, firewood stacked in the fire pit, and a well-equipped kitchen in an iconic 1970s fibreglass igloo, the setting was perfect for our adventure.

Just up my alley. Hot, clean and prettily appointed, I relished the shower. I enjoyed washing my hair and giving my scalp a good massage; I didn’t know when I’d be able to repeat it, as from then on we had to provide all our own water, and we only had about 260l, with little promise of filling our tanks in Mabuasahube for ten days.

The Honey Badger has two diesel tanks. A basic system was installed so that diesel is pumped from the auxiliary tank into the main tank when the main tank is running low. The pump stopped working, and we didn’t really know how full it was, as most attendants find it difficult to fill the spare tank properly. We were confident we’d be able to remedy this in Tsabong when we filled up. Fuel is much cheaper in Botswana, and we wanted to keep our tanks as empty as possible to make full use of the cheaper fuel.

It would be an early night, as we were hoping to have an early start the next day. Layering my warmest scarves, gloves, beanie and thermal socks, I sat down to enjoy my first sunset. The log fire burned warmly, and we enjoyed our first gourmet meal. Sue and Butch were on duty; it was a proper braai with no frills, where the chops and boerewors would have to speak for themselves. The Greek salad was delicious, and I had a second helping, savoring the crisp lettuce and firm tomatoes. I didn’t know when we’d have this again.

Before switching off the lights at night, Butch checks all our gauges, including electricity usage and water tank levels. He was concerned about our water. We seemed to be losing our precious sweet Worcester mountain water. We couldn’t work out why or how, as we had noticed no wet spots below the tanks, though there was a small patch we’d put down to condensation. This wasn't good, as we’d be wholly dependent on our water supply while camping. We’d have to check this ASAP. We switched everything off. That did the trick.

Butch tossed and turned all night. He was worried about the fuel tank. The pump had to be fixed. Without further ado, the friendly owner of Springbokpan offered to check what could be done.

Working on a cattle farm means early starts, and the staff were already abuzz, servicing a Land Rover with the bonnet up, their heads in the engine. We were in good hands. I did a quick recce and felt nostalgic as I walked with the three Jack Russells milling about my ankles along the red sand road to the cattle pens. My formative years were spent on a similar farm, and this walk triggered long-buried memories.

My Oupa (Grandfather) was a cattle farmer in the Western Transvaal (now Northwest), and during the lean winter months he used to drive the cattle herds to fertile pastures in Botswana (Bechuanaland). My mother recalls how they used to accompany their father on these treks. I can imagine how peaceful it must’ve been, slower than now. I can hear the thunderous crack of a whip as the cattle were spurred on, and the children and the team of dogs running and playing along the way, sleeping under the stars at night. Meals around the campfire, and how precious that family time was. In those days, the plains were probably teeming with antelope, wildebeest, cats and other predators. The journey was slow, taking a month or more, and then, when the rains came, they’d return home—a time when seasons changed, but life was a little less.

At last, the hands were dusted off and the verdict was delivered. The diesel pump had burnt out and would have to be replaced. Fortunately, every village and town in Botswana was well equipped for engine repairs. We stopped at the first fuel station on the outskirts of Tsabong; they had a spare parts shop and helped us.

Passport control was a piece of cake, and we slipped into Botswana without hassle. All the officials were friendly; one official enquired despondently about our “imports”; we had nothing to declare. We were waved through.

The diesel pump, connected to the truck's battery, was a 24-volt pump. We thought. The suggested shop couldn’t help us, so we trekked up to another recommended dealer who’d also install a new pump. While the technician was busy inspecting, I sauntered off to the small shopping centre. On my return, I learned that our burned-out pump was 12-volt and connected to the truck's 24-volt system. Go figure. The technician said, “And I thought everybody in South Africa was clever!” Now we have a new 12-volt pump connected to 12-volt current. The installer of the incorrect pump will never be identified, of course. Everyone shrugs incomprehensively.

There was a problem with the diesel supply. This is Africa. Up and down Main Street we trundled. So back we went to the very first stop. We were lucky and could fill both tanks.

At last, we were on our way. Just a few kilometres out of town, we hit the soft sand track to Mabuasahube. This would be slow. In 4x4 low range, we made progress at 30kph—a long, slow crawl. Butch had been under a lot of stress with the diesel pump, diesel shortages, water losses and the border control. Concentrating on this arduous road tired him, and when he thought it prudent, he offered me the wheel. Of course, I said YES!

Boy, was it a new experience for me. The tyres often felt as if they were floating above the sand, and the views were deceptive, as the afternoon sun’s shadows made potholes, drifts and gullies almost impossible to see. Coasting along at 20-30 km/h, I gripped the steering wheel. I moved from the left to the right-hand side of the road, momentarily trying to find the “best” route over the corrugations caused by large trucks and smaller vehicles with hard tyres, as the axles’ vibration created uneven, corrugated undulations. I don’t think Butch relaxed at all.

And then I planed over soft sand and came to a thundering stop on the shoulder of the road. The tyre monitors started beeping. We were losing air. Fortunately, we could make it to the gate without having to deal with a tyre change on this chocolate mousse road.

During the late afternoon, we arrived at our campsite. The Knights were all set up and ready to welcome us. We settled in with excitement. Chairs out, table set up, and our groundsheets firmly pegged down. With refreshing drinks, we watched the sunset, then sat down to a delicious curried tripe casserole, a traditional South African treat served with pumpkin fritters and salad. For pudding, we had brandy-flambéed peaches and camping ice cream.

We were grateful to be there and went to bed with hearts brimming with joy. Long may it last, I thought. During the night, I found myself sliding off the bed for no apparent reason. Subconsciously, I knew what was wrong. We had a flat tyre.

This time, Butch was more than ready, and with Percy’s help, they changed the wheel in a jiffy. We suspected the rim had sprung a leak again. Resetting the tyre pressure monitor was impossible, and for the rest of our trip we had an annoying, relentless beep-beep from the defunct tyre. No matter what Butch did, he could not switch it off. That’s technology for you. Great while it works, frustrating when it doesn’t.