Along The Great Grey-Green Greasy Limpopo River (Part 1)

The kids had barely left the park and I had barely time to catch my breathe when I went off to explore ("to visit" sounds a bit unadventurous) the Limpopo province with my fellow GVI volunteers. This annual trip had been postponed many times now - at first it was meant to be a mid-year break but it had turned into an end-of-year break instead. No complaints here however, I felt like getting away, far away preferably, for a little while so this was perfectly timed.

It began in Upington airport, famed for allowing hunters easy access to the north-west of South Africa and noticeable lack of a bagage-claim area. Your luggage will be sort of "dumped" next to the check-in counter (one of two)...you get the idea. So here I boarded a tiny, healthy looking but rather bouncy airplane. First stop: Cape Town. Now for those of you with some geographical knowledge of South Africa this will not make sense. Since my destination was Johannesburg (north-east) and my current location is the north-west it does not make a lot of sense to go all the way south only to fly back up again. Actually it does make sense, and not only because the direct flights to Jo'burg (or Jozi) were full, but because flying this tedious triangle cost exactly the same as a direct flight. I've not quite worked out why this is, but when I do you will be the first to know.

Arriving in Jo'burg is always exciting. Will I get mugged? Held up at gunpoint perhaps? Maybe even, cross my fingers, car jacked?! One can only wish. Alas, since I was not flashing my camera around or driving a rented BMW I admit I did not make for an interesting target. In all seriousness though, there is a lot of paranoia attached to Johannesburg and if you pay too much attention to it you will never be able to enjoy yourself in this very cool town. I was staying one night at the Backpacker's Ritz in the Hyde Park area of the city, one of the rich northern suburbs. Despite its name and location this hostel is ridiculously affordable (R110 for a bunkbed) and a very chill place to use as a base for exploring the city. Even spending an afternoon at the Ritz is interesting since there are usually a few very colourful characters hanging around. Of course I did neither exploring nor "hanging" since I was completely defeated from the journey and the Kids In Parks programme. After catching up with two of my colleagues over a few beers I was about ready to collapse in the lap of our charming waitress (call me!) but I controlled myself and fell into a deep sleep on one of the bunkbeds.

The next morning we awoke to the friendly face of Sting. Rubbing the sleep from our eyes we quickly realized it was our coordinator, Pete, from GVI who has a - it has to be said - passing resemblance to the singer. Showered, packed and paid we made our way out of the hostel only to be greeted by our trusted friend, the GVI Siyaya (minibus). Oh and yet another GVI volunteer, Madelen, was also present. There were a few tears (mostly mine) at this happy reunion, but we quickly made our way to the airport again to pick up the last member of this motley crew - always wanted to use that word - Ben (from the States) who had just driven up from Golden Gate Highlands NP in the Freestate. We all got along so well at once it felt as if the past ten months had not really happened and we were still on our training in the Kruger. One piece of advice about the Jozi airport however: do NOT make a wrong turn or you will be forced to drive aimlessly until you actually reach a Zimbabwian borderpost. So know where you are going, that's all I'm saying...


With high spirits (and a lot of wine), cameras at the ready and bellies filled with Swedish liquorice we began the first leg of our journey, to Marakele National Park...
















Pic: Eventually found Ben at the airport.
















Pic: Mad & Kristel in our precious Siyaya

Pic: Jenny doing what she does best!
















Pic: Pete doing his best Eminem impersonation. Word.
















Pic: She took us all the way.

Kids, Kids & More Kids In Parks

I know what you were thinking: he's given up his writing like so many others. It's fun for a while but then you invariably get tired of it because you haven't been keeping up with your thoughts or realize that nobody is reading your ramblings. Unfortunately I have not given up yet, I was simply...unavailable...for a few weeks due to several hundred schoolchildren invading my every living moment.












Pic: The PR picture in front of the KiP bus.


On the first of November we began our Kids In Parks (KiP) programme in Augrabies Falls. This ambitious project set up by the national parks and several sponsors is intended to allow all schools within a certain distance to visit their park free of charge for three days and two nights. Obviously we don't let these undersized balls of adrenaline run free for three days - we prepared a fun-and-fact-packed schedule for each and every school...which we almost never stuck to since this is Africa after all. A schedule in Africa is like David Blaine's latest stunt: impressive, with the best intentions, but it's just not going to work. In any case it did give us an idea about how to fill up the days. We had powerpoint presentations, a three-legged water race, a national parks game, talks on alien plants and the foodchain, in-the-field water tests, sunset drives in the park, a nature concert and of course a guided walk to the falls...plus we also had a lot of shouting, laughing, nervous breakdowns, monkeys, blood, sweat and tears.












Pic: Marisa giving the obligatory powerpoint...


Now I can go on with some amusing anecdotes, like the time we scared the living daylights out of three boys who just did not want to be quiet in their tent by scratching our nails over the canvas or the time I pretended to be a black eagle to illustrate how these birds catch their prey. But I won't. Since I do have a lot more to write I will keep to what mattered most: what we learned from the children. You see the overwhelming majority has never set foot in a nature reserve or national park ("how is that possible? there are so many in Africa!") and is even less aware what their purpose is aside from attracting a great deal of pasty looking foreigners who regularly drive past their villages. The Kids In Parks project allows them to finally witness their natural heritage for themselves and without having to pay or worry about a single thing. Just show up at school in time to catch the KiP bus, bring a sleeping bag and you'll be good to go!












Pic: Elton, our head ranger, doing water testing with children at the river.

What has struck me most after these four weeks is the unbelievable variation in educational level between children of the same grade/class. Most children came from grades 5, 6 or 7 - which means most were between the ages of 10-14, although it wasn't uncommon to find 14 year olds in the same grade as 11 year olds. This is due to an utterly insane education policy which states that if you've failed a grade twice in a row you automatically move up a grade...makes sense doesn't it? You fail, twice - the level is obviously too difficult for you, fine - you get rewarded by going up in the exact same level. Wait...what? Alright I hear you say, but the government probably does not have the resources to establish different levels of education. That might be true but that's not the government's excuse for having a single education standard: equality is the excuse. You see, "they" reason that establishing different levels of education or (God forbid) special needs classes for mentally disabled or dyslexic children would be unequal. Such a system would automatically create inequality since not all children would get the same level of teaching. (if this is starting to make sense to you please let me know)












Pic: Hilarity ensues during the water-races.


This equal (hahahaha...) system is the cause for some of the children I met to be very behind on their classmates. A child about to begin secondary school would be expected to read and write adequately in at least (in our area's case) Afrikaans, and have some understanding of English. Well you'd expect wrong. In one grade 6 class there were a few who could barely manage a legible sentence in Afrikaans whereas one boy was reading and writing in perfectly acceptable English! Same frigging grade people!! I now understand their teacher's challenge a little better: when in a class of 30-40 children some are very much ahead of the pack and others are way behind, how do you give each the right level of teaching? It can't be done. At one point during the programme we hand out exercise books to all and do some activities related to nature and the park: such things as writing a poem, doing crosswords or reading a story and answering questions. In my group (around 20 kids usually) I would be helping two boys spell the word "kudu" while a bit later explaining some of the careers in the park in English to another group. With some I would have difficulty having them remember their own province, let alone the 5 national parks which are located there, and with others I'd be going over the different European countries. Same grade.











Pic: Posing with a few marshmellows.



Poverty is of course an issue with which most people around here struggle. Since we (me, my supervisor Angela and our two conservation students) shared every single moment of the day with these children we all were confronted with this and while I think we had all become used to what life is like around here we were still in for a few unpleasant surprises. The little boy who had only an old dusty blanket to sleep under immediately springs to mind. On the morning of the third day the children have to sweep their tents (three people per tent) clean. I noticed that one of the stretchers (army beds) in one of the tents was covered in sand. Not thinking about the cause I asked the boy if he would help me take out the stretcher so he could clean it. Only after this was done I noticed his dirty blanket, also covered in sand. This was so because at home he (obviously...) sleeps on the ground, hence the sand...











Pic: A winning water-race team with me, Lize and Marisa.


There were many moments when we nearly lost our tempers and some moments where we actually did - I never thought I'd say the "f" word in front of kids but everybody has their limits. There were days when we were all at the end of the road. The same meals every day, which were a treat for the children but became somewhat of a challenge for us (sausage and beans for the tenth time at breakfast...whoopee!). The long days and the short nights, which we often spent in a tent of our own...there would be much to complain about if it wasn't for the fact that we had some amazing children visiting us, learning from us and appreciating what we were trying to do. Some will never learn of course but that is true anywhere, most were very interested and a few are now considering a career in the national parks. Nearly all enjoyed themselves regardless of what we were teaching them, which is also a positive result I think. The hugs, "thank you's" and "miss you's" at the end of those three days made it worth it, as well as the knowledge that we were able to give them something which they rarely, if ever, get: generosity and (for just three days) freedom from worry.













Pic: On the boardwalk with one of my groups.












Pic: Alien plant talk by Marisa.


The goal to give these children an unforgettable learning experience has been achieved, but I admit that I have probably learned as much if not more from the children in return. By far the best experience I have had this entire year and one that will stay with me forever. The letter me and Marisa received from one school says it all really and is now one of our most prized possessions (hope you can read Afrikaans).

Curiously South African

Noticeable differences between life in Europe and life in South Africa as experienced by a volunteer.

- One can be thrown in jail for using plastic bags. (Littering carries a life-sentence I think)
- South Africans drive on the left side of the road. This is not a huge problem, despite being completely daft, since they do the same in Botswana and Zimbabwe.
- South Africans do not like British people. (Curious given the above statement)
- 83% of white South Africans feel a need to live in the UK. (Even more curious given the above statement…but at least they know how to drive)
- It is a sign of manhood to drink mixed drinks. Coke and rum or a G&T are preferred. Beer is for girls.
- Ketchup is an unknown substance. You want some to go with your fries, ask for “tomato sauce”.
- Riding in the back of a pick-up truck or “bakkie” is common practice and even legal. Piling it full of children is preferred as they tend to fly further but don’t hit the ground as hard as an adult.
- If it don’t say “Hilux” on the back of your truck, it don’t mean shit son.
- Overland safari trucks are legal target practice to ease in that new .375 rifle or sub-machine gun.
- Traffic lights are called “robots” in South Africa. Yep, they really are on top of the latest technological advancements. VHS players are the ultimate in home entertainment.
- One can buy nearly everything at the robots. In dire need of a coathanger or a cell-phone charger? Just stop at the red light, bru.
- People casually use highways as sidewalks. Hilarity ensues.
- There are 11 official languages. Those Belgians are whiny little girls.
- The official past time for all South Africans is “braai-ing” or having a barbeque.
- Use of a gas braai/bbq is punishable by death and mockery.
- Using coals and firestarters (those white cubes) is how women and insecure men light fires.
- “Manly men” only need wet wood, a mixed drink and some toenail clippings to start a roaring fire that will last for 27 days.
- There is a National Braai Day. Archbishop Desmond Tutu is its patron. Seriously.
- South Africa can boast to having both the best and worst politicians in the entire world.
- Every single televised event, be it sports, glamour or music is sponsored by one of the, or a combination of, the following companies: SASOL, Vodacom or SAB Miller.
- South Africa is innovative: they invented Kreepy Krauly’s to keep our pools clean (and the kids entertained), x-rays and managed to first successful heart transplant. To top it off they also invented some amazing AIDS cures such as onions, potatoes and garlic.
- Best meat tradition in the world. Those Germans have got nothing on this. Boerewors is the finest sausage on earth and biltong (dried meat) kicks jerky’s ass every time. South Africans keep the most impressive dogs in the world. Most of them can also eat you whole. The boerbul comes first to mind – think hound of the Baskervilles only bigger, or Staffordshire terriers or steffies – my personal favourite cuddly toy and good for taking out cobras, lions and burglars.
- South Africa can boast more ways of killing a person than any other nation, past, present and future: the deadliest snakes on the planet (black mamba anyone?); the most aggressive land mammals (just try the Big 5), the most lethal mammal on the continent, the hippo; malaria (800,000 African children a year); AIDS (just eat an onion!); the most dangerous roads after Iraq; the dodgiest cities in Africa...and killer lightning which fries 200 people annually. Beat that suburbs of Paris!!

Now all these facts contribute to making life down here very interesting, although sometimes you can't stop to think how interesting something is because you better start running.

Colourful - Local Observations Part 2

Politically correct definitions of whom or what a person is have always been controversial and prone to changing on a whim for no apparent reason (in most cases). Nowhere is this more of an issue than in South Africa. The term Rainbow Nation is not just a colourful way to describe the new and much improved South Africa, it is in fact an accurate description of its population, which is indeed very diverse. Over the centuries all sorts of people thought the tip of Africa would be a good place to live including Europeans, Arabs, Indians, Asians and of course Africans themselves.

Coincidentally, the Bushmen or Khoi-San people were the lucky ones who got here first – in Southern Africa and even the world if some archaeological research is to be trusted – but were pretty much kicked around by everybody that followed. Now only a few hundred remain scattered around the Kalahari area. The cliché of first-come-first-serve definitely did not apply to these people.

Anyway…While back in the good old days of migration, colonialism and bloodshed it was relatively easy to put a label on people (white, bossy types were obviously European; darker coloured people that ran all the shops were obviously Indian and people that kept bugging you about the direction of Mecca were of course Muslim), nowadays it is not as simple anymore. Calling a white South African a European is a good way of getting your teeth removed as is arguing that Zulu’s were colonialists from further north. In my opinion I would prefer it to call all those people with an African passport…guess…African! More accurately people should be identified by their home country, so somebody from South Africa is a South African regardless of colour. Makes things a lot simpler and, the magic word, more equal.

The South African government tends to agree with me on this – equality is key in this country after all. But (you felt that coming didn’t you?) this does not seem to apply to employment. In the employment game it is all about colour – where you’re from is irrelevant, skin is what matters! The apartheid regime left the majority of the population in complete poverty by making everything the “ previously disadvantaged” were given worth less: their education was severely under funded, work could only involve menial tasks and the land given to them by the government was the most infertile of all. When the democratic government finally replaced this farcical brotherhood these inequalities had to be mended naturally. Allowing people to live anywhere they wanted to and giving everybody a chance to have a career in any profession of their choosing was relatively easy – educating the previously disadvantaged is slightly more difficult since it takes more time, costs a lot and would need an army of competent teachers that did not exist.

Try as you might, training and educating all the blacks, coloureds and Indians to a level where they can compete with the white population for jobs has to take time. There is not any quick fix, just patience and the knowledge that things will eventually even out, but the new government had other plans. Positive discrimination! Or as they put it: (black) empowerment. This implies that if a white man and a black man apply for the same post, be it as street cleaner or bank clerk, the black man will be preferred. Regardless of the fact that discrimination is a word that can only imply something negative, this type of preferential treatment undermines black people, white people and the education system itself. Many black people working in jobs previously reserved for whites are often regarded as incompetent because people suspect they only got their current job due to the colour of their skin; which, to be brutally honest, is sometimes indeed the case but negatively impacts those who worked hard to win their position through merit alone. White people on the other hand, aside from obviously being discriminated against, have become disenchanted with their new country since they no longer see any opportunities for themselves: they’re no longer the “corporate colour” and they know it. Often I have met white people who asked me why I came to their country, in a tone of voice that implies I must have some kind of mental problem because I cannot see that there is no future for young white men anymore. And finally the education system suffers as well. So much political weight and precious finances have been wasted on this empowerment scheme that could have gone a long way to adjusting persisting inequality in primary and secondary schools. Schools that have predominantly white pupils are still able to teach on a level not far removed from the highest standards in the developed world (for your information: this country is not a developed country…by conventional definitions anyway), whereas black or coloured schools are scraping by at such a pitiful pace that most are not even able to afford enough chairs, desks or basic teaching materials. Let alone organize a field trip, to a national park say, unless one government ministry or another subsidizes it. Once graduated the white kid moves overseas where he or she has a chance at getting decent employment and the black kid has to stay behind in a job he or she is not trained to do because of a poor education.

Getting an unequal start will most likely haunt you for the rest of your life unless you fight like hell to get somewhere where you can make a difference – at the very least offer your own children a better chance. Now this might be applicable to any country but in most it is first and foremost wealth that separates those who have a chance from those who do not – in South Africa, even after all this time, it is still your colour that decides where you will end up. For now.

The Big Guy's Gone

He had quietly walked up the stairs and kneeled at our sleeping bags before we even knew he was there. Nudging us awake, he whispered loudly: would we like to go hunting? Half asleep, half awake I searched in the dark for my phone. The blue screen lit up: 12.00am, midnight. It was the first night with just the three of us left on top of the watchtower; the others had left the previous day amidst fond farewells and a few tears. We were keen to accompany him on this midnight adventure, feeling privileged he now considered us worthy. Feelings of privilege do not imply feeling like getting dressed however so we stumbled down the stairs in our pyjama’s, sleeping bags secured under our arms as we climbed on the back of the bakkie. We would have been the most improbable and the most under-dressed hunting party in the history of the universe were it not for him compensating for our comical appearance by his sheer presence and vast experience. Even if we had dressed in “Greenpeace” t-shirts and chained ourselves in front of the wheels of the car, we would still have looked like a credible hunting party. Because of him. The sick impala we were looking for narrowly escaped with his life this night but that is the nature of the hunt: unpredictable. We returned to the farm some time in the early morning, tired and smelling faintly of gun smoke but still immensely proud that we went on a hunt with him.

While sitting around the campfire the stories of his close encounters with fate in the form of a sharp pair of horns or a lethal claw almost came alive. I remember the story of him hunting a buffalo years ago. It was the fair kind of hunt, a balanced game of who is hunting whom. The man by himself with nothing but a rifle and his senses, the animal with its own weapons and instinct, nothing more than that. How it should be. The hunter, if all goes well, will only need one or two shots; the buffalo only needs one twig breaking underfoot to become the hunter. This time he fired one shot and prepared for the second, killing shot…which never came. A blocked rifle is ever a possibility but can never come at a more unfortunate moment than when one is staring the fury of nature in its eyes. The roles have now changed and he has to think fast to avoid the horns of the hunter – up a tree, the only refuge in this situation, albeit not an ideal long-term one. The animal is right underneath him, it knows he is in the tree and it is not going to leave until one of them lies dead. Hours pass, the buffalo has not given up and neither has he. Desperate but determined he keeps one eye on the rifle he is trying to repair and the other on the eight hundred kilo’s of rage underneath him. The faulty bullet finally lets go. The second shot, at last.

We did realize at the time we had experienced a holiday unlike any other. Only now do we realize how fortunate we were to have met Tinus and his loving family when we did, out there hidden in an oasis deep in the South African low-veld. When I returned to Campfire Safaris in January of this year Tinus had just left on holiday: a pity I thought at the time, but I would be back soon enough for my next bush-craft lesson from the big guy. It was not meant to be however as he passed away not so long ago. Despite the knowledge that he undoubtedly is where he belongs, in a much better place, I can’t help but feel the loss of somebody who was taken before his time. He could still have touched others with his wisdom and motivation to defend the environment. On the other hand I am also convinced that his family and the hundreds of people he has taught will carry on his work; I know I will.

I made a short video of him back in 2005 while he was demonstrating the peculiar mock-charge of a black rhino – a hilarious hide-and-seek routine which ends in the big animal hopping around on all four’s. Both him and his wife were about to leave Campfire for a short time and this was the last lesson he wanted to show us before he left. Tinus had perfected this little skit over the years and the movie shows him hopping around just as the rhino, with the group standing around crying our eyes out laughing at his antics. Then at the end of this routine, just as he is about to get into the car, he turns around to us, waves, and says, “We love you all.”

"I lift up my eyes to the hills - where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.


He will not let your foot slip - He who watches over you will not slumber; indeed, He who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.


The Lord watches over you - the Lord is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night.


The Lord will keep you from all harm - He will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forever more."

(Psalm 121 - A Pilgrim's Prayer)

Colourful Observations: Local Part 1

Bringing up the issue of race or colour in South Africa is still difficult and in some places it is simply not done. It has been over a decade now since the country ended minority rule and finally became a democracy, in the process giving freedom and equal rights to its entire population no matter their race, gender or standing. The Rainbow Nation was born at last, uniting all of its people beneath one flag, and the promise of tomorrow never tasted so sweet.

But…

Does the colour of your skin still make a difference in South Africa today? I will explore this question in the following and upcoming articles, making observations of what I have seen and heard myself during my stay here, beginning with the area where I live – the National Park and our slice of the Northern Cape province I call home.

Let me first tell you a little bit more about this place in order for you to better understand the situation: this area of the Northern Cape is, much like the rest of the province, very sparsely populated. The harsh climate (semi-desert) and the lack of industry or other economic activities are mostly to blame for this – few people would be motivated to move to this area who weren’t born and raised here. There is only one major city in this area of the province, Upington, but even many South Africans have never even heard of it let alone are able to pinpoint it on a map. But for those of us who live near it (120 km away in my case) it serves as a lifeline to a more developed world – mostly because it’s the only place around here you can get some KFC (I’d kill for a Wrap right now). The thousands of square kilometres that make up the Northern Cape know only a few “oases” – the area around Augrabies Falls is certainly one of them, as far as the regional standard goes anyway. The park itself generates a healthy number of tourists every year of course, creating much sought after jobs for the local population, but more importantly farmers were able to grow grapes in the soil along the Orange River. Raisins and wine are the two (and only) exports of this region, but it is certainly better than nothing as both goods generate enough investment and tourism to be profitable. In fact most people’s employment history could be summed up as follows: you worked in the grape industry, worked at the National Park or never worked at all. Still…most folk around here tend to fall in the latter category. Unemployment in South Africa as a whole is a problem, but in the rural areas it is even worse: 50% of the rural population is out of work at any given time, usually this percentage is even higher. Around here much of the work is seasonal (grapes), creating periods of high unemployment in between and forcing many families to live on the income generated during grape-season.

Working in the National Park could be considered something of a luxury as it provides its employees with a decent income, a place to live if they so choose, health-care and the best job security a person will be able get around here. Although compared to Europe or even more developed areas of South Africa an income of R3000 is pretty low – that is the kind of money regular employees make in the park (approximately 320 Euros). That’s monthly wages, just to be perfectly clear. Unfortunately for the locals nearly all of the vacancies at the park concern jobs requiring more formal education and work experience than most people have around here, invariably causing these positions to be filled by people from further away. On the upside however, the National Parks try to initiate projects which especially call upon local contractors and labour, such as construction work, fence building, alien plant removal or erosion control – not the most glamorous work imaginable perhaps but essential for many families to survive out here. Besides these two main employers, people do find other work in the farms and guesthouses or in shops at the nearby towns (some even travel as far as Upington). Many others find their salvation at the bottom of an empty bottle, but I will leave the harsher realities of the area for later.

The population statistics of this area of South Africa are also a bit different than what an ignorant traveller from Europe (read: me) would have expected. The majority of people belong in the “coloured” category – trust me, that is the politically correct term. Foreign visitors who expected to see a lot of Africans (black) interspersed with the occasional whitey will be surprised to find few of both around here. In case you’re having trouble picturing what exactly a coloured person looks like – well just come down to the Cape provinces and see for yourself because I’m not about to describe them to you. If somebody asked me to describe a white person I would say: well, they’re…white aren’t they? The same applies here. Coloured people are…well…coloured! There is some confusion about their origins amongst the many visitors to the area that I feel obliged to set straight: coloured people are not the result of frowned-upon romances between white colonials and black natives. While there are undoubtedly plenty of mixed-race children the coloured population of South Africa is not the result of a massive interracial love-fest. In fact the majority of coloured people are descendants from the original (as in the very first) inhabitants of this part of southern Africa, namely the various Bushman tribes. There is quite a lot of arguing over what to call the people many now know as Bushman (or San), but the truth is that they themselves do not have a name for their “people” and apparently do not really care what the rest of world wants to label them as. Good for them I say. Eventually of course some white “adventurers” came upon this area as well as some African tribes from the East, signalling the end to life as the Bushmen knew it…but that is a whole other can of worms, which I will keep warm for another day.

In the area where I live coloured people, not Africans, are the majority – one of the few places in the country where this is so. This has presented me with many sad, but at the same time comical, examples of how the government has been trying to implement an equal employment policy for the previously disadvantaged majority.

But more on that in Part 2.

Who To Elect?

“Blurry” is a term politicians hope the public will never use to describe them – at least that is what they are supposed to hope. It is certainly a struggle no matter the century or location. Some politicians simply have a better understanding of the definition for “transparency” than others. At the moment the ANC appears to be struggling with this exact word and what it might mean. At the recent ANC policy conference held outside Johannesburg this was all to obvious: at the opening of the conference many exhuberant delegates were waving flags and chanting in favour of the party’s number two, Jacob Zuma. However at the end everybody seemed to be back on-message and singing the praises for Thabo Mbeki.

The biggest issue is the upcoming ANC election in December when a new leader must be chosen – this person will most likely become president as well – making the fight for the leadership all the more relevant to all South Africans and the region. At this moment it seems likely that current president Mbeki will run for a third term as party leader, effectively blocking his greatest rival, Zuma, from becoming president of South Africa. Zuma, who was recently acquitted from a rape charge, has many sympathisers within the ANC who feel he has been wrongfully accused because Mbeki felt threatened by him. Nevertheless, Zuma’s financial advisor has been convicted for fraud and he himself could still face corruption charges…blurry.

President Mbeki is still popular, but his two terms in office have been characterized by attempts to centralize much power in the president’s office and away from the party. His quiet, backroom diplomacy has failed to bring political change to Zimbabwe, even though Mbeki has been promoting South Africa as the “superpower” in the Sub-Saharan region. His unwillingness to take a tougher stance on Zimbabwe’s leadership and his refusal to acknowledge the severity of the HIV/AIDS situation in his country during his first term have caused him to lose much of his popular base…blurry.

Despite these two frontline candidates stabbing each other in the back while smiling at the cameras, other candidates – unencumbered by blurriness – might yet emerge: Tokyo Sexwale, a former political prisoner on Robben Island turned prominent business man saidhe would run if asked; but he has probably been out of the party’s top leadership for too long to have a chance. Cyril Ramaphosa is another possibility. A former trade unionist with strong international ties, he still occupies a place in the ANC’s leadership. He has not made any noise regarding the candidacy however and people wonder if he would really wants the job. Finally, Kgalema Motlanthe, the ANC’s secretary-general, could become a compromise candidate. With the trade unions, the communist party and other opposition parties all questioning the ANC’s current leader’s sincerity for a democratic South Africa, perhaps it is time to hope for a radical change in leadership for the African National Congress.

My Transfrontier Park

I will be the first to admit and defend the statement that South Africa has to be one of the most beautiful countries in the world. There's just no getting around it: this place must have been first in line when natural beauty was handed out. Despite its many social problems, South Africans can rest assured that their natural heritage is well protected by the National Parks and is available for all to see, even for the poorest amongst them. Most of the parks are reasonably easy to access, some will even allow pedestrians access, and all can provide good to luxurious accomodation and facilities.

But there are a few renegades to this rule. The Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park is one of these. It is difficult to access, being situated in the northern most tip of the country, squashed between Namibia to the west and Botswana to the east. The last 40km to the entrance are not even tarred, making it difficult to reach with regular cars. Vehicles without a decent suspension and people with weak bladders or prone to migraines might want to avoid it alltogether, as it can get a little bumpy. A species that will not be found in KTP is the day-tripping tourist: this fact makes it all the more attractive in my eyes. Due to its remoteness and size it is impossible to visit for just a day and most visitors will be travelling for a week or longer along the endless dust roads, perhaps crossing into the Botswanan side of the park as well. Speaking of size, the park is about 3 million hectares, making it a bit bigger than the Netherlands and exactly one million hectares bigger than the more famous Kruger Park.

It is true wilderness. Of all the national parks and reserves in South Africa, the KTP is without a doubt the most pristine. This simply because of its size, a minimum of human interference and the chance for wildlife to actually migrate, something which has been made impossible in all other parks, including Kruger, because of the fences. And while the South African side still has some basic tourism infrastructure, the Botswanan side only has a few 4x4 roads, making it one of the roughest and loneliest areas to travel through in southern Africa. This is one of the harshest environments in the region, with summer temperatures draining all moisture from the earth and winter nights reaching well below -10 degrees. Massive red sand dunes greet visitors upon entrance, while herds of antilopes (predominantly oryx, eland, wildebeest and springbok) play the endless cat-and-mouse game with the predators of the Kalahari - lions, cheetahs, leopards and hyena's.

I went to KTP a few weeks ago with two of my charming colleagues from GVI, namely the volunteers from Namaqua NP and Tsitsikamma NP. We had intended on making this a true GVI reunion, but logistics are sometimes tough to manage when people need to come from all over the country to one of the least accessible places one can imagine. As all the traditional camps were fully booked (not a rare occurrence) we managed to persuade the park manager to allow us to stay in the Education Centre - normally used for visiting schoolgroups. This centre, about 30km from the nearest restcamp, is hidden between two massive dunes and is on a staff-only road in the middle of nowhere. It was our private desert camp, and if not for the lack of heating at night it would have been truly perfect - trust me, getting up to go to the bathroom at night (which was located outside of course) was a true feat of willpower. The temperature dropped to -6 at night you see.

I will spare you any further details of our daily activities, but will instead leave you with several of my best pictures - I took about 400 of them. Not in vain either because our final tally of "What Did You See" beats any wildlife experience I have ever had - alright, except getting charged by an elephant, but it was a close call! To sum up:

Three leopard sightings. One of which was of a mother with subadult cub. Not a glimpse either: mom and son walked in front of the car for about twenty minutes. I know.

Two lion kills. Our second sighting was of a fresh eland kill and we arrived just as the man was taking his share. A few minutes later he was joined by about six cubs and two females. The cubs were especially keen to inspect our car (we were the only ones there) and if I had stuck my arm out of the open window I would probably have lost it.

Two brown hyena sightings. The brown hyena is NOT the hyena we always see on those documentaries or in the Lion King movie. This one is very shy, mostly solitary and much less aggressive than its spotted cousin. A very rare sight to be sure, and we were priviliged with two. Think werewolf and you have an accurate picture of them.

Several wild cat sightings. A nocturnal predator, we were lucky to see them in the evenings because it was too cold for them to hunt at night.

Countless horny things (antilopes I mean your dirty rascal).

We were very lucky indeed. I hope you enjoy the pictures.

My Campfire Reunion

Although the title is slightly misleading, there was a reunion of sorts. But it was not held at Campfire nor did it include any of the friends I've made there, except one. My very first foreign visit since I arrived in South Africa and needless to say I was looking forward to it. Not only because since my remote location makes any visit from Europe (or US for that matter) a bit of a challenge and therefore a rare occurrence, but also because I wanted to hear some first hand news, any news, from back home. It would also be interesting to get an outsider's opinion about life here in Augrabies, as I have grown used to it by now - the shock when I return home next year is not something I'm looking forward to.

Still being in possession of my precious rental car I went to pick up my Campfire buddy from the busstation in Upington, 120km away. Unfortunately it was a Saturday afternoon, the time of the week when the roads in South Africa are not for the faint of heart. Especially in our rural areas, many people like to unwind during the weekends in very colourful ways - usually some heavy drinking is involved beforehand - and lying, tumbling and crawling over the roads is one of them. Doing my best to dodge the masses and nearly failing as a little girl suddenly came out of nowhere and crossed the road, I couldn't help but think if these people had made some kind of communal suicide pact...I believe one man succeeded in this because I saw his unconscious/lifeless body lying in the ditch next to the road. I presumed he was just passed out, but one never knows around here.

In any case no roadkill -human or otherwise - was committed and we safely arrived back at Augrabies. First thing's first of course, we immediately began watching the homevideo's from Campfire which I got from Laetitia when I was there in January. The very worst of the worst, our Circle of Death party, we had already seen and were not keen to see again however so we skipped over that one.

Having a friend from home visit made me feel as if I were on holiday as well, I had obviously taken the week off, and I was determined to see as much of the park as possible. And the best way to achieve this was of course by hiking the (in)famous Klipspringer Trail once again. The summer heat was decidedly gone however so the going was a lot easier than the first time. I do feel a bit guilty for taking my friend out on what is a tough trail any time of the year and especially the last day was a bit of a struggle, but we made it in the end. I do hope the pain has gone by now, so if you're reading this please except my humble apologies once again for making you walk it...

We did have several great wildlife sightings along the way however, chief among which is without a doubt the mighty fish eagle that was resting on a tree along the river on day two of the trail. I managed to get a good snap of him (or her, tough to tell with fish eagles) as he flying off. We also had some very close encounters with three giraffe who did not notice us approaching until the last few meters and with a gemsbok (oryx) who was so lost in his own thoughts that he nearly ran us over.

In the end we spent a great week discovering the park. It was especially important to me as having a friend from home come to visit made me realize that the world I left is still there and waiting for me to come back to it. That sounds a bit dramatic I know, but it is the truth. Although instead of making me want to come home again, this visit gave me new strength and motivation to live out here in remotest Africa until the end of the year. My friends will all still be there when I return and that thought keeps me going.

(Thanks for coming to visit me Hil, good luck with the research and see you on the flipside. Oh, and don't forget to take off your sunglasses when it gets too dark :P)

(The first day of the Trail, struggling through reedbeds)

Up Close and Personal

If I have to judge from what my friends, family and random Brazilians have said about my blogging, I am carefully optimistic that my writing is not complete bollocks. Unfortunately I have one very harsh critic, myself, and "he" is constantly thinking of ways how to improve or change what I have written so far or am going to write in the future. One such personal criticism my sun-dried brain came up with recently is that the blog could use more intimate, personal observations or messages. Not that the previous postings haven't had their share of my own mind, but I can do one better I think.

I know what you're thinking. Just stop whining about it and just write already!

I will, rest assured, but I am not able to right now because of work related nonsense. By the way, I am not able to say that I do not have the time for it as those of you who have been to Africa know that there is no such abstract concept here. Unless maybe in the urban centres of South Africa but let's face it those might as well have been anywhere in the Western world. So time is not something I consider on a daily basis. Very refreshing I assure you.

So until I can sit down and write properly about what I haven't thought about yet I will send along some of issues that are clouding my thoughts at this very moment. (intense or what?)

1) "That's Mr. Banana Beak to you, Fuzzy!" - Explanation: as one half of my brain is constantly occupied with such things as work, walking, speaking, and gosh-that-eland-is-getting-rather-close, the other half is always playing back my favourite movies. The quotation is from one such movie...and if you do not know which than you have no business reading this blog (or you're not from my generation).

2) Oh yes...George W Bush. Just as a humvee that keeps crashing through wall after wall or house after house, the driver not knowing where the brakes are, so does President Bush rule the most powerful nation on the planet. Constantly knocking through walls which everyone assumed were indestructible. Pardoning Lewis "Scooter" Libby is the latest in a long and disturbing row of bad decisions. The sentencing of Libby could be considered as the last glimmer of hope that there was still some control over the US government's use of intelligence and war propaganda. Scooter exposed a CIA agent to journalists, jeopardizing not only said agent but also her husband who was a US diplomat at the time - a diplomat who was publicly against the war in Iraq. Such underhanded tactics have no place in a free country and Libby was justly sentenced for such a breach of national security. Fortunately for him his president did not abandon him, a protectionist "buddy" attitude which generally has no place in politics, especially if it concerns a convicted criminal. Libby still has to pay a significant fine and has two years probation, but not going to prison for 30 months will surely come as a relief to the man. Hopefully he will be able to make good use of his time now that his political career is finished...maybe an executive position at Halliburton?

3) The South African elections. A one-party system cannot be called a democracy and it is time for all South Africans to realize that it is now allowed to vote for another party besides the ANC. Freedom was achieved over 12 years ago now, surely the biggest step that had to be made, but since then the government has been struggling with the smaller (but not much less difficult) steps of running a complex country like South Africa. A lesson that I had hoped they had learned by now is that no one party (or one person) should remain in power for more than, say, ten years. Change in politics is important for a smooth-running democracy. Because if there is no fear of an election loss politicians will eventually become placated and lazy, it's as simple as that. President Mbeki said that he might consider running as the ANC candidate again and likely become president for a third term. And why shouldn't he? He faces little or no oposition, especially from other parties, and no doubt he has grown used to the trappings of office, the curse of almost all post-colonial African leaders. But in the end it is the people's choice that will determine the country's future, for better or for worse. I hope they have grown as weary as I have with the ANC.

...more to come.

P.S. It is now possible for anybody to post comments on this blog, no need to log in anymore.

My New National Park II

Aside from satisfying my need to make a roadtrip (at last) I was also drawn to the idea of going to this new park because it was not officially open to the public. A ceremony has taken place last weekend, on the 16th June, so we had the rare honour of wandering through a national park which yet has to see its first sneaker-bearing-camera-toting-cry-baby-carrying tourist. I had a slight feeling that I was about to travel into a wild and unexplored place when we reached the front gate. There were no signs anywhere to direct people towards this pristine wilderness, not on the highway or on the dirtroad leading up to the gate, except for a small sign that stated "Dangerous Animals". This confused me slightly because at Augrabies Falls we also have dangerous animals - leopards, puff adders, cape cobras, thick-tailed scorpions...I was nearly run-over by an eland bull once - but no sign to state this fact to unsuspecting visitors. This simple and vague statement did add significantly to our excitement: we assumed that due to the lack of explanation, all animals encountered within were to be considered life-threateningly viscious and will not hesitate to assault you and those who travel with you. As the gate rolled shut behind us I rolled up my window.

In fact there are not that many dangerous animals at Mokala National Park, but the sign is there to remind visitors that two of its resident species should not be taken lightly - no pun intended - if encountered. The species are namely the rhino and buffalo, not exactly the anorexic supermodels of the African bush and both have a temper to match their size if they are provoked by silly humans. As we drove the two kilometers to the reception area I was naturally hoping to see one of these behemoths next to the road, but alas we had no such luck. The park itself was stunningly beautiful however and a stark contrast to the semi-arid desert environment we had left in the early morning. It reminded me of classic wildlife documentaries in which all of Africa apparently consisted of endless stretches of grass savannah with the occassional acacia "umbrella" silhouetted in the distance. The tall grass on both sides of the road would provide excellent cover for any stalking predator, if there were any of course, and I wondered where the ancient herds of wildebeest and zebra were grazing on this vast plain. The park does have some of the latter two species but as migrating is not an option there are only a few dozen wildebeest and a handful of zebras. Although the rumour is that some wildebeest have taken to the sky by means of SAA (South African Airlines) in order to reach the Etosha Pan, but because of delays and strikes at O.R. Tambo International the idea was soon abandoned.

Mokala is the Tswana word for Camelthorn, one of the most recognisable trees in the park and in South Africa. It is a large, multi-purpose tree which provides shelter, food and protection to many animals throughout the country. Most visitors will recognize it by its large white thorns, although several other lesser-known trees sport similar protective devices. The name was only recently given to the park after what had to be months and months of corporate meetings, working lunches and an endless line of eager consultants. The previous name of the park was Vaalbos - an Afrikaans word meaning Forest of the Vaal (a prominent river) - but because the entire park was moved to a new location last year a new name probably seemed like just the thing. You see, the old park was located about eighty kilometers from the new park but was forced to close down due to a landclaim. These claims are a slight annoyance to the new South African National Parks because the previous governments (in all their precognisance) sometimes forced communities off their land to make room for a national park - or mining operation, or military training ground, or etc etc...Not exactly the most democratic way in which to conduct a country's nature conservation efforts and now thousands of claims have been made by those same people who now want their land back. It is a controversial issue but one that the national parks cannot ignore if they want to break with the past. Augrabies Falls also has a landclaim to deal with, but only concerning a section of the park, because in 1973 a local community was “uprooted” and placed in Namibia (then South-West Africa) and the Eastern Cape. The reason for this was that the government had earmarked this particular patch of land for the South African Army to do their push-ups and curious locals simply had to go. Currently a large part of the former training grounds has already been handed over to members of the community who returned from their exile, but another piece of land which since 1982 has been managed by South African National Parks (then the National Parks Board) is still under review, so to speak.

But I’m drifting off again.

Mokala was formed by combining two private game reserves which South Africa National Parks bought after it became clear the old national park was going to be no more. Fortunately this meant that all the accomodations from these private (hunting) farms would also be sold which meant instant luxurious facilities. The guest accomodations and the main restaurant/bar are all constructed in the typical African style that so many luxury lodges prefer and I have to admit it looks stunning, both inside and out. I was particularly jealous of the enourmous oakwood bar, complete with comfortable barstools, shiny beertaps and a big-screen television: all things I do occassionally miss back in Augrabies if I may be brutally honest. But the most impressive feature had to be the massive open fireplace which could easily provide shelter for a small family (plus dog), further surrounded by the most comfortable couches I had the pleasure of placing my weary self in for some time.

However all this tempting luxury was not the reason we had come to Mokala of course. We wanted to spend as much time out in the park and early Saturday morning we headed out with Marisa’s friend Mark – who works there – for some day-long gameviewing. Despite still not meeting & greeting the buffalo’s or the rhino’s we got some stunning sights of most if not all of the other residents of this curious bushveld/semi-desert paradise. Blue wildebeest, zebra’s, tsessebe’s, red hartebeest and the majestic sable antelope all passed in front of our eyes as we drove over the red sand. Seeing a wild sable was certainly the highlight for me as it is one of my favourite African mammals – its massive curved horns, large body and ink black coat always brings to mind some kind of mythological creature, not quite belonging to this world.

If you’re still reading by this point I congratulate and thank you, I promise to spin an end to this post shortly. I’ve actually got work to do you know.

So on Sunday we went rhino tracking.

I’ll give you a moment to let that sentence sink in.

Beat that.

Yes, on Sunday me, Marisa and Mark went out with a park vet, David, who happened to be at Mokala that weekend to check on the white and black rhinos. As we had not seen any on our drives we were especially keen, but also because this meant a rare glimpse behind the scenes which few people are allowed to witness. Feeling incredibly fortunate and with some excitement we left early in the morning with David to the area of the park where the rhinos are usually to be found, riding in the back of the Landrover. The air was cool but the sun was already out and with warm fleeces on it was a very comfortable if sometimes bumpy ride to the first “koppie” – a small rocky hill where we would take our first telemetry. The black rhinos had been collared before their release in order for the vets to track them easily and keep an eye on their well-being. These animals are still dangerously endangered (while their “white” cousins are no longer on the critical list) and constant monitoring is a must to ensure their survival. When we stopped at the first hill the three of us quickly made our way to the top. This seemed only a short distance from the bottom of the road but turned out to be a steep climb over thousands of fist-sized rocks – I was utterly exhausted as I reached the summit, thanking God for not allowing me to break my neck. David in the meantime only climbed about half-way up because that was high enough for him to get a signal of the rhinos. He shouted up at us, asking why we went all the way to top because now he had to wait for us to climb all the way down again. The man had a point. After making another deal with God on the way down we drove on to two more vantage points but the black rhinos kept quiet so to speak – there were some weak signals which probably meant they were lying down in a dry riverbed.

While on the look-out from the third hill we visited several rhinos were spotted at last. There appeared to be some black ones in the distance, but closer by were at least two white rhinos asleep in a narrow riverbed. Although their black cousins were the real reason we were out there, it would not hurt to get a closer look at the resting whites as well. Because of the more relaxed attitude white rhinos have, David asked if me and Marisa would like to accompany him on foot to where the behemoths were having their siesta. After my intense encounter with a white rhino bull in the Kruger I was very eager to observe them in a more placid state of mind. What followed were twenty unforgettable minutes where we stood and watched three rhinos from a distance of perhaps 40 meters. The wind was in our favour and they never stirred from their nap. Lucky for us because the pitifully small camelthorn trees in the area would not have survived the onslaught of a disturbed rhino for long.

That afternoon we had to drive back to Augrabies Falls. The road was still long and mindnumbingly endless, but it had been worth every single 1200 kilometers. And having not become completely detached from Western society, we had a some KFC in Upington which if I'm honest (again) tasted like little ground-up slices of heaven...

Much has happened since this trip to Mokala: I have had a visit from a good friend of mine from the UK who is now off doing research in a nature reserve near Pilanesberg (close to Jo'burg). Unfortunately we could not fit in a return trip to Campfire (where we met in 2005), but our livers are certainly not complaining. We again walked the infamous Klipspringer Trail, but since the temperatures have dropped it was a significantly more pleasant experience than in the summer heat. Oh, and last week I visited Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park with two of the other volunteers but that deserves a post all of its own...

My New National Park

As a European I am used to reaching any destination in about two hours or less, except under special circumstances such as a holiday. Driving for several hours through any European country will get you quite a long way for our standards of travel, if not into a new country all together. This type of thinking is sadly lost in Africa. Although I have come to realize that there are in fact many more remote places in South Africa than where I am currently living, it still takes me 45 minutes to reach the nearest supermarket - by Western standards an unbelievably long time as we - and I mean the European "we" - are blessed with some type of 24-hour grocery store or super, mega and hyper-market around ever corner. You barely have to lift your 10-hour-work-day body out of your couch and you will already have reached the shops where, let's face it, you always end up buying things you did not really intend on buying. Out here a trip to the supermarket requires careful planning because due to a lack of personal transportation you need to be well aware of which park vehicle is going into town so you can hitch a ride. That is my situation; the regular staff is only taken into town once a month on the back of a trailer in order to do their (yes, monthly) shopping. Who can imagine only getting groceries - and anything else for that matter - only once a month?

Characteristically I am drifting off again. The point I am trying to make is that going anywhere in Africa will take some time. The previous weekend I decided it would be a good idea to take my recently acquired (rental) car for a spin to the yet-to-be-opened Mokale National Park which is situated near Kimberley - famed for its alluvial diamond deposits and man's insatiable need to dig them up, creating big unsightly holes in the process. Although this park is not open yet for the public my good friend and Klipspringer Trail-companion Marisa knew one of the students doing his practical year at Mokale and she arranged for the both of us to stay at his house in the park. With transportation and accomodation all settled we began our roadtrip early Friday morning as the weak winter sun was failing hopelessly to keep us warm. I would be driving the 600km stretch by myself - with Marisa navigating - but I was actually looking forward to it because I have missed driving a car ever since I arrived in remotest Africa. A car, any car, is truly worth its weight in gold out here due to the seemingly endless roads and generally low incomes which prohibits most people from ever owning one. Taking advantage of having a car, even briefly, is therefore an obligation.

Being on the road for six hours can take you very far in Europe. In South Africa we did not even make it out of the province. Straight roads which disappear in the distance, their end never coming any closer is what drivers face when travelling through the Northern Cape province. Those who shared this road with us seemed as astonished as we were at both the loneliness and beauty of these apparently forgotten paths. Once we encountered a decrepit looking schoolbus on the road ahead of us and as we got closer, being comfortably swamped by black exhaust fumes probably responsible for about 50% of the world's CO2 emissions, we saw that it was packed full of students, most of whom were not even able to sit down due to lack of space. Because at that time the road was taking a slow incline I was unable to pass this smoking relic from the 60's and so we became the object of much amusement from the kids at the back of the bus. At times the smokescreen lifted and we could see their laughing faces. We waved and they waved back enthusiastically. After a while I reached for my camera and Marisa took several pictures of them before I was finally able to pass the bus and return to a world of clean air.

The stretch of road between Upington - our nearest "city" - and Kimberley is by far the most lonely that I have ever driven on. During the four hours that it approximately takes to go from the one city to the other we only passed through two depressing looking villages along the way. The rest of the time we drove past massive cattle farms and forgotten nature reserves, all blending into one because it is almost impossible to tell where one farm ends and the other begins. Marisa and I figured that these villages would be a good opportunity to refill and stock up on some snacks, but as we drove through what was supposedly the centre of town I put my foot down and speeded out of there. People were walking aimlessly along the road, often swaying dangerously from whatever drink or drugs they took, skinny dogs chased a rag which was being swept up by the wind and some fat lady was selling dubiously looking grilled meat which would have scientists guessing which animal(s) it originated from. The entire place made me think that if we happened to break down not only our car would be stripped and sold but that the same would happen to us. In these towns people could vanish and nobody will ever find out what happened to them. My thoughts involutarily wandered to all those Hollywood horror movies where hapless hitchhikers and roadtrippers meet their fates at the end of a meathook in some god-forsaken village in Texas (yes, I was playing the Texas Chainsaw Massacre in my head, couldn't help it).

Fortunately none of that happened and before we knew it the familiar unchanging landscape greeted us once more. Finally we arrived on the outskirts of Kimberley in what can only be described as mild shock: we were faced with an urban landscape to which we had grown completely estranged of. Marisa is from the lively Cape area and I have lived in and visited cities in Europe for as long as I can remember, but after only a few months in the remote Augrabies Falls National Park we already experienced urban culture-shock. Neither of us was keen to explore Kimberley further...it looked daunting and unfamiliar...and after a much needed refill we drove a bit further south towards where the new park is located. One interesting anecdote as we reached Kimberley was that when I had pulled into the petrol station for a refill the attendant told me that they were out of unleaded fuel. Not being used to being confronted with a petrol shortage I stared at the poor chap for a few seconds in disbelief before asking him if he could point me towards another filling station which would have this rare liquid. Eventually the car was full of the black gold once again and our destination was at last in sight.