'Mum'
Darkness. The ink black sky punctuated by a thousand crystal gems. Silence, I check the time and realise it is too early for the dawn chorus. I slide into the driver’s seat of my Toyota 4WD pickup – or bakkie as they are affectionately known in this country – and take my mother’s pounamu from Aotearoa and hang it from the rear view mirror. We are ready now, her and me, mother and son about to embark on a road trip through a country she loved.
We are heading from Plettenberg Bay on the south coast of South Africa, west along the coast to a town named George, turning north and bisecting the country in two via Bloemfontein to Johannesburg and finally to the northern most tip of the Kruger National Park where the borders of South Africa, Mozambique and Zimbabwe converge. 1800km across the heart of this alluring country. I can’t wait.
In three days time we need to be in the Kruger; ready to meet clients to guide them across Mozambique. This is ‘Bhejane 4×4 Adventures;’ Frank Carlisle’s business, an ex section ranger from the Umfolozi game reserve who I used to work for 12 years ago. Friendship has spanned the years I have been away and he has offered me a job as part of the logistics crew on his tours.
I jumped at the chance and because of that I am now sitting in a bakkie, music from the i-pod massaging my eardrums and the glow of an African sunrise gracing the eastern horizon and causing the mountaintops around me to flare pink as the dawn tendrils tickle them.
‘Mountain dawn,’ George, South Africa.
We stop for coffee at George and, coupled with a brief ‘safety meeting,’ I find the hit of black gold very pleasant as we turn inland and climb through the first of many mountain ranges towards the interior of the country. Pink Floyd on the stereo, slowly we attain the summit of the mountain range, my view hemmed in on all sides by steep outcrops of jagged granite barring the way and guarding the secrets of the inshore lands like a jealous lover. As if to further the intrigue there is mist lying in the valleys of the mountains and the driving becomes blind, consciousness coming and going in waves.
‘Misty Morning’ Western Cape, South Africa.
As the morning progresses the sun wins the battle with the mist and it recedes leaving the sun’s rays lying like harsh white shards of glass across the cold road.
‘Into the light’ Western Cape, South Africa.
Suddenly the mountains surrender, we are out and I am dumbstruck. I see the reason for the mountains’ jealousy. Not wishing to share this type of Eden with anything, biotic or abiotic.
Space. I have never seen anything like it. The plains roll away from me in all directions, the grass burnt golden under the African sun. A carpet bordered by hazy mountains in the far far distance, shimmering with a grey translucency that testifies to their remoteness from my vantage point. I stop the bakkie, grab the camera and try to do it some photographic justice but my efforts are left wanting. It is one of those things that can’t be photographed properly. The vista is just too grand.
African plains, The Karoo, South Africa.
“You can have anything you want, you can drift, you can dream, you can walk on water, anything you want.” Pink Floyd chirps from the interior of the cab. I turn, smile at Mum, hold her close and point the Toyota’s nose northwards across the golden savannah.
There is no cruise control in the bakkie but due to the undeviating nature of the road and the complete lack of traffic, I sit comfortably with both feet resting on the floor for hours at a time, the white median line of the road, cleaving the bonnet in two.
‘Road-block’ Eastern Cape, South Africa.
Mountain ranges intersperse with achingly wild, flat plains and I realise we are climbing a giant staircase away from the bushveld towards the predominant highveld of the Gauteng province in which Johannesburg nestles. As we gain altitude the mountaintops acquire snow and sit in contrast to the arid plains beneath.
‘Winter Savannah,’ Eastern Cape, South Africa.
It is a strange thing but, even surrounded by so much natural beauty, I am made constantly aware of the effect human kind has had on this vast landscape. There is no wildlife. In centuries gone by these plains would have been teeming with game, from vast herds of elephant, zebra and wildebeest to the myriad of insect life that would have accompanied them, their livelihoods dependent on the huge herbivores to which they were attached.
Now it is gone, no trace left, the plains devoid of animal life for as far as one can see. Shot out by settlers intent on destruction well beyond their means. Trophy hunters who would have had a veritable army of people to hand them freshly loaded guns to continue their murder. Ivory shipped out to adorn the keyboards of aristocrats in countries where their owners would have had no idea of the grace and beauty of the animals to which their keys rightly belonged.
It Is one thing to look at this from a moral standpoint but then another far more chilling realisation hits me. With the plain’s inhabitants gone the knock on effect is a scary thought. Huge swathes of energy lost; an ecosystem in total decline with the cumulative effect being only too apparent.
Pink Floyd whispers synonymously from the stereo “You can own everything you see; sell your soul for complete control is that really what you need? You can lose your selfish mind, see inside, there is nothing to hide, turn and face the light.” I dial the volume up, sit back and continue on my way.
Eventually the road leads to the Kruger National Park. We enter the northern end and immediately I am enveloped in the sound, sights and smell of a ecosystem without the visible presence of humans. Mopane trees shimmer with the oranges and yellows of the dry season, seemingly made of gold in the low, winter-evening sun. Above them sit the harsh, huge skeletons of the Baobab trees. It has been many years since I have seen one and I greet them as old friends. We take a brief trip through the park and I am eager to try out the new wildlife lens I have lugged from the UK. My first shot is of a lilac breasted roller and I am happy with the result.
And then, as if to spoil me, we run straight into a herd of elephants at the side of the road. Close enough to hear their stomachs processing the vegetation they are stripping from the trees, the only other sound is the incessant click of my camera shutter. Further down the road as the sun sets we see a lone wild dog trotting down the road. A very rare viewing indeed, the camera whirs as much from a research perspective as any personal gratification – every sighting has to be reported to the park authorities.
Dusk turns to night in the blink of an eye, characteristic of being in a land closer to the equator, and we make camp beneath a huge tree in the bush. Fire kindled and food cooked over the fire in the traditional potjiekos (three legged cast-iron pot). We sit with the sounds of the African bush all around. The shrill call of the African nightjar, followed swiftly by the call of a nearby bush baby; I gaze up through the canopy of the tree and see the Southern Cross shimmering above me. I take Mum from the car and place her on the African soil – we have arrived.
