The Long And The Short of It - The Honey Badger

I’ve been avoiding this topic for quite some time. If I can ignore it, like an ostrich burying its head in the sand, then the truth can be kept hidden in a secret chamber I haven’t been able to access—the proverbial can of worms.

In my view, as long as I had stories to tell, pictures to look at, and memories of our travels, I was content. The moment to face the facts would come later; that day has arrived. Today is the day I say it and accept it. My mind has been stretched by many new experiences, and it cannot go back to its old dimensions. I will not allow that.

The five stages of bereavement, developed by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, include denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

Butch might tell you I have been stuck in the anger (pissed off) stage for months. Probably true, yes, but my anger is rooted in fear.

Fear of what the future holds.  

There was no way to bargain; in my hand, I had no cards for that.

So here we go, I’ll spill the beans.

Now that I come to think of it, I have probably lived vicariously, in the sense that if I do not let go, the Honey Badger is still ours, tucked away somewhere safely, where memories conjure her up like a Genie and present an idyllic, adventurous life filled with possibilities.

---oOo---

While we were in Worcester camping at Uitvlugt Guest House, we decided it was time to put the Honey Badger up for sale.

The Honey Badger was in perfect condition, having just returned from Bushwakka, where she was thoroughly examined, and every inch was scrutinised with a fine-tooth comb.

New fly screens, drawers under the bed, new coasters for the kitchen drawers, a new shower head, the refrigerator was overhauled, every cupboard inspected, etc., etc.

The tyres and rims were inspected once again to make sure there were no leaks or punctures, and Mossie at Tyre King in Worcester said she was A-okay and had many thousands of miles on the soles.

Ben Burger, a well-renowned Diesel serviceman and our trusted mechanic at Brandwacht Diesel. Who serviced her and pronounced our girl 100% perfect.

Her electrics were tested and probed by Pro Fitment Centre, which replaced every electrical component that needed a switch. She would light up like a Christmas tree, we were promised.

Finally, the Honey Badger went for a service. Two days later, she was declared fit as a fiddle and ready for another adventure.

This new adventure was unlike anything I had ever experienced, and I was devastated, but felt, in all honesty, that I must respect Butch’s decision.

Since Butch lost sight in his right eye, he has adapted remarkably and copes with every eventuality, including his balance, reading, and working on his computer. Still, once his Heavy-Duty Code 10 Driver’s licence expires, he’ll be unable to renew it.

That puts a different spin on things and is life-changing for him. I have just renewed my licence, but that doesn’t quite cut it for him. He is the driver and navigator, and I am the recorder of our journeys, and that is what it is. In fact, my driving annoys him, and neither of us would be able to cope with that.

Our first course of action after thoroughly spring-cleaning the truck, unpacking all our personal belongings, boxing everything, and delivering our personal effects to our storage unit was to find a safe place to store her.

Butch thought it would be best to park the truck in Cape Town, where it would be more convenient for prospective buyers interested in perusing her.

Once she was 100% ready, I did a little photo shoot to show her vital statistics, inside and out and a video to emphasise her amazing qualities.

I used Facebook Marketplace to place our advertisement, and within a few hours, we received the first phone call.

Oh no! That had me shaking in my running shoes, but once I’d been introduced to the lovely young couple from Johannesburg, I couldn’t be happier. They spent an hour with us, giving our girl a good once-over, loved her, and asked many questions, which Butch was happy to answer.

They were, they said, only looking and browsing for the future. We didn’t mind; they were our test run. How fortuitous for both of us.

When we put the Honey Badger on the market, we could with a clear conscience say she was in a tip-top condition, ready to roll, revved for adventure and rumbling with new energy.

---oOo---

For convenience, Butch found Cameron, a motorhome enthusiast who owns Cape Motorhomes, on social media and arranged to take her there for safekeeping on Koeberg Road, Brooklyn.

I followed Butch in the little car all the way to Brooklyn, not a very pleasant drive because I knew it would be the last time I had the privilege of driving behind our truck. This was it. The final curtain.

WB Yeats had this to say in one of his poems, echoing my thoughts and what I’ll have to do until I have laid her to rest.

I will hide my “face amid a crowd of stars”.

We made it in one piece, parked the Honey Badger, and unbeknownst to me, said my final farewell to her. It was a wet winter’s day in Cape Town, and I’m sure the droplets collecting and running down her headlamps were tears. She looked so forlorn.

I know it might sound ridiculous, but to me, this truck was like an appendage; without her, we would never have had eight years of exploring, travelling, camping, loving, and laughter. We had fun, we learned and experienced things no book or AI could teach us. We met the most amazing people, only made possible by the security of an Isuzu NPS truck.

Butch and I went from a couple to a threesome. We were a family. I am a true-blood Cancerian.

Of course, there were excruciatingly difficult days, but I had the confidence to know our reliable truck would never leave us in the lurch. In her, we were safe, cocooned in our 10-square-meter home and grounded. I never felt threatened in any way.

She was loved, admired, and sometimes envied. Who could blame you?

Was she just another loss I had to endure, accept as I soldiered on as required, I thought in my darkest moments. My ineffable sadness.

Today, as I write this, I know my anger, which I have carried for so long, is just grief.

---oOo---

Soon calls started coming through of people interested in having a perusal, and two people called to say they didn’t even need to look, the descriptions, photos and my blogs were more than enough.

One man from somewhere near Kleinzee even had a driver on his way to Cape Town as we spoke. His wife was adamant she wanted the Badger, and he knows Happy wife, happy life. To sweeten the deal, he said he was going for broke and would pay the full asking price.

We didn’t hear from him again when Butch suggested he just settle the bill with his attorney’s Trust Account. The minute the money was paid in full, the Honey badger was his.

That happened twice more. We were flummoxed. How daring and blatant these scammers and crooks are.

The Honey badger was only on the market for a few weeks, and a half dozen people were interested and went to have a look at her. On a fine day, rather unexpectedly, we received a phone call from a couple who were interested.

These would be the last pictures I took of the Honey Badger. My last hoorah. The following happened when Butch delivered her to the new owners.

---oOo---

Like us, when you know, you know. They fell in love with our girl and made an offer which Butch accepted. This time, the funds were deposited in Butch's account.

Before we knew it, our beloved Honey Badger was on the road again doing what she does best.

I believe she’s not had a name change; she is a Honey Badger, no matter what. You know, Honey Badger takes no 5h17!

On the day of the transfer and key handover, I was unavailable; I believe it was a stroke of luck.

---oOo---

We believe our gal has been upgraded, she’s had a few nips and tucks, a facelift and an overhaul to make her their own. She’ll be delighted, and I know she'll give them the best of herself for a hundred thousand miles or more.

I have not seen the Honey Badger again until a week or so ago, when a friend sent Butch a photograph of what he thought was the Honey Badger somewhere in Botswana. It was her. She's adventuring again and looks in fine form. I am pleased.

Of course, now we were stuck with another dilemma: our home was gone, and my brittle sense of security was gone. We needed to find a roof over our heads. (We did, but that’s a story for another day.)

---oOo---

A friend, and my Mom actually, now that I think of it, gave me this pearl of wisdom. It is true. I can attest to that.

If we wait until we feel better before we start living, we will wait forever. One day, in my kitchen, before we left on our grand odyssey, my Mom said, “Go live your life, do it sad, do it angry, do it anxious, do it uncertain, and do it afraid. Because healing doesn’t always come before the experience. Oftentimes, the experience is what heals you.”

The friend who doesn’t suffer fools gladly, the one who makes me laugh but always has my back, had to admit I’d done it before, and look how amazing my life had turned out. Indeed. So today I’ll whip up my big girl bloomers and man up. She always says, “Cupcake, life is not perfect, but your happiness lies within you.” Too true.

As an overthinker, I will remind myself that I need not know precisely what is happening, or exactly where it is all going. I shall recognise the possibilities and challenges in my path today and embrace the future with courage, faith and hope. (As suggested by my friend Lynda.)

Strangely, now that I’ve put my thoughts and feelings down on paper, I feel lighter and enthusiastic. Not only have I ticked another item off my to-do list (coming to grips with myself), but I can now look forward to a list with only another three items on it.

Famous last words. I am a puddle, realising this will be my final blog about our Isuzu NPS 300, The marvelous Honey Badger. If you have a drink at sunset, think of her and raise your glass to her magnificence.

---oOo---

Although I am sad, I feel less overwhelmed now. In 2026, a plan is coming together.  The sense of eucrasia that I feel after my confession is a relief. We call it the domino effect.