A Magnificent Man not a Messiah

Today’s a day of celebration of life rather than mourning.  Yet what I’m about to say here may not be the slant that much of the media flock are taking.  Partly in that it’s my personal view, but also because if one truly reflects on the past 23 years of Nelson Mandela’s life, we may remember moments with mixed emotions throughout that tumultuous time in South Africa’s history. 

There is no doubt that Nelson Mandela was an incredible man, one who endured so much and yet retained his humility, integrity, humour and genuine, personable character throughout his latter life. His approach to listening to both sides first, thoroughly, and then taking a stance is something that I learned very early on in my adult life, thanks in part to him, and is perhaps the thing that stands out personally as his legacy more than anything else.  Having been very fortunate to have shared a small, intimate lunch with he, his daughter Zindzi and other MP’s at his 80th birthday party held at Skukuza in the Kruger National Park in 1998,  what struck me was, as clichéd as it may sound, just how very down to earth and normal a man he was.  He was totally unaffected by any of the fuss around him, although being an intimate affair, there wasn't much of that fortunately.  My mother too had the fortune of meeting Nelson Mandela, having been very involved through her work in the ANC over many years, but more specifically The Children's Foundation and has some personal, very touching letters from him that I came across only last week.

Nelson Mandela & Liz Castle

Despite it having been a special life, he was a man often placed on a pedestal by many, almost unrealistically, as he was forced into being a statesman due to the brand that 'Nelson Mandela' had become in his absence.  It was a brand that meant many things to many people, depending upon what they wanted it to mean to them, much like one imagines the meaning of Jesus or Mohammed to some through the ages.  The result being that the ‘Brand’ itself became far greater than the man and the ANC themselves.  People are quick to give all the credit to Madiba for the peaceful transition to democracy, yet he was guided by so many.  One particular incident that stands out, and only emerged many years later, was how Joe Slovo influenced Mandela into making the calm, peace forging speech that he did immediately after Chris Hani’s assassination.  That was a turning point.  Again he was talked into donning the No.6 jersey and walking out into Ellis Park stadium, not something he came up with himself, but again a turning point in history.  But to his credit he had the humility, brutal honesty and ability to listen to reason and wisdom.  Traits which most of our world leaders have sorely lacked through the ages.  

We must remember that Mandela came a long way from an advocate of Communism and Nationalism (not too different from Julius Malema’s current agenda) at the time of his release and a few years into negotiation, to where his policies evolved at the end of his term in Government to a more moderate, level-headed, Capitalist lead democracy with some Socialist tendencies. He was certainly not perfect, but a remarkable man with a unique legacy and revered by leaders around the world.

What disturbs me however is how much of the outside world see him as some sort of Messiah. Much like they may have treated a fellow named Jesus 2000 odd years ago, who was merely a man going about his business of preaching the Torah and trying to help his fellow villagers to help themselves, through hope and sensitivity.  Mandela was a man, a great man that’s for sure, but a mere mortal human being who made the right choices when it came down to it and helped leave a legacy that is worth striving to emulate in many ways.  A man who sacrificed family life for his political beliefs and aspirations, and yet had time to make up for it to some degree later in life.  Celebrate this man’s life, but guard against giving him all the credit for how South Africa got through the transitional phase of democracy and the rainbow nation ideal that prevails.  Expats fear not; South Africa will not go down the tubes because Mandela is no more.  Though, perhaps he was not vocal enough, perhaps due to his health, as to the awful state his beloved ANC has found itself in and the country dragging along with it.  It is now time for some fresh and drastic changes on the political landscape, and if Mandela’s legacy can aid us in that process, then I'm all for it.

Nkandla report: The end is nigh for some as we've clearly been 'naai'ed' - to coin an Afrikaans expression

As an advocate for transparency, yet I hope one still prepared to accept differing perspectives upon which to debate and eventually draw my own resultant conclusions; I just cannot understand what on earth Zuma's advisors were thinking here.  This flies in the face of logic, let alone any form of sensitivity to the status of the country and the millions of impoverished, or even the call for basic, appropriate budgeting for such a requirement.  It smacks of ignorance, arrogance and blatant indifference if not mere mental retardation.

I see no way out of this one for Zuma now.. Time for 'the people' to wake up and smell the rot in some quarters me thinks... (read the full Mail & Guardian Article: http://mg.co.za/article/2013-11-28-nkandla-report-zuma-in-the-deep-end/)

Voter Apathy: An Inconvenient Truth

The official statistics showing the level of voter apathy amongst the South African youth in the upcoming elections should be a major concern in terms of stifling potential political change.  More alarming however is the apparent lack of understanding of how democracy can work for one. 

Perhaps it has suited some political parties, strategically, to keep the potential voters from understanding this powerful tool out of deserved fear.  What is of particular concern is the fact that so many of the youth (18 years+) having become disenchanted by the ANC’s rather dismal record, greed, corruption, cronyism, poor management, misspending and lack of delivery against promises made, and yet still don’t feel that there is an alternative to vote for to affect appropriate change.   Either that or the other major parties haven’t done a particularly good job in marketing themselves effectively to the most important market of all, ‘the future’.  This is a very sad indictment in so far as our future political landscape is concerned, tantamount to short-term accounting and a massive opportunity should any particular party set their eyes and ears firmly on the future. 

The Malemas of this world may be somewhat delusional, but they have a very strong point in recognising the plight of the youth of this country, particularly under the current financial crisis, fuelled by the ANC’s fraught education system debacle.  There is an undercurrent of an angry youth worldwide (note those behind the burgeoning Arab Spring around the world), and we must not be complacent in our belief that this is not a bubbling issue for our own beloved country.

So, here’s hoping that our good and honest politicians (note the oxymoron), take heed and address the real concerns of our disenfranchised youth before it all ends in tears.

The Philosophy of Life Summed Up in Minutes

On visiting the magnificent (and magnificently poor and rather run down - in parts) Eastern Cape recently, I was encouraged by my oldest son to take him through to Grahamstown for the day.  No he didn't want to visit the Albany Museum, nor take in a poetry lecture at Rhodes University; instead he wanted to visit about 5 'girl-friends' who happen to go to school there.  It’s a long story, but I'll leave that for him to write about one day.  Being a generous dad-sort, I obliged, and thought that the drive alone would be good time spent together catching up on things one doesn't often get the opportunity to share with a teenage son in this hectic lifestyle we appear to have been sucked into.

Fortunately for me at least, one of the girl’s dad’s, Justin, hearing of my pending visit to his farm’s nearby town, arranged to meet me for a drink at the infamous Albany Club.  Now The Albany Club, for those who don't know, is the old ‘gentlemen’s’ club of old, steeped in tradition, wooden panelling, historical pictures wall-to-wall and old taxidermied animal heads.  Heads of beasts that once roamed the area in their wild habitat, now peering through glassy eyed stares at the thousands of events and boozy buggers who have propped up the bar counter over the centuries.  It is a place that only relatively recently has allowed Jews, women and non-white folk to enter the front door, let alone become members (although few seem to have taken up the opportunity it seems despite Xhosa being a prominent language amongst the local white farmers who frequent the place).

An incredible place, The Albany Club, in that despite being a Jo’burg born and bred, and Cape Town based for a decade and a half, I knew virtually every person in that bar that day.  It was wonderful, and only something that can happen in a small-town place like Grahamstown.  The familiarity of everyone is intriguing, and yet despite nuances of ‘vibes’ both good and not so good being evident between them, there was a general courtesy and banter even amongst the biggest rivals.  I say ‘rivals’ purely because the one bloke had stolen the other bloke's girlfriend from him at the age of 14 at Peps Palace in Kenton-on-Sea back in 1980, and the other had never forgiven the bugger.  The latter term of which I don’t mean literally, of course. 

Whilst ‘kuiering’ (visiting and indulging) with these fine lads, a big brawly farmer, whom I hadn't seen in years, came up to greet me, and flattered me like only a brawly farmer with hands rough and the size of wickey gloves can do to a city slicker like me.  He said, “-ell Greg..”, with rolled accent on the ‘r’ you understand, this is the Eastern Cape afterall, “..I see you’re quite the philosopher ol’ chap..”.  To my surprise, not only to his complimentary meaning of ‘philosopher’ being attributed to me, but the fact that he is an avid Facebook reader it seems.  Reader is the operative word, in that I have never seen him write a damn thing in return, merely scanning the sites for updates on who’s doing whom and what around the world perhaps?  I know that there are many of my vintage who do the same.

Nevertheless, despite his flattering comments, I was recently sent a copy of an address made by an Aussie comic and graduate of the University of Western Australia (UWA), Tim Minchin, on receiving an Honorary Doctorate, which I thought summed up life rather well.  Philosophically speaking of course.  And so, rather than attempt to compete with such brilliance, thought I’d rather share it with all of you.  Enjoy.. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yoEezZD71sc#t=714

Cynical on the Syrian Scenario

Call me a cynic, but I'm not convinced by the US and UK’s intended approach on Syria.  Why?  Well not because I think that what the Syrian government and their forces are doing is worth supporting, however I just don’t believe that US Intelligence is what it used to be.  Having served with Nato Intelligence myself on operations within the SA Navy in the late ‘80’s, I am not coming from an entirely naive perspective here.   I don’t think that one has to be a rocket scientist to have some scepticism when it comes to the US Propaganda Machine and the nonsense it churns out to unsuspecting middle-class America as untampered, legit proof of anything.  The Russians are not convinced, nor are somewhat more astute ordinary Americans and Brits this time around it seems, judging by recent poles, as to their government’s intent on going to war against Syria merely based upon the notion that the Syrian government backed army  used chemical weapons. 

I'm not saying that their information is definitely incorrect either.  However evidence seems to be mounting as to a rebel led tactic of using chemical weapons themselves on innocent people in order to provoke a seemingly gullible US/UK led attack on the Syrian army.   By all accounts, this tactic seems to be working.  One can reasonably doubt the power of a rebel PR machine so powerful so as to have even the usually gullible American ‘man in the street’ questioning their government’s apparent gung-ho stance.  Perhaps the lessons of Vietnam, Iran, Iraq, Kuwait and Afghanistan are coming home to roost?

Either way, if I were to be giving any advice to my old Intel colleagues of old, it would be to make damn sure this time, and to keep emotions and political agendas out of it completely (if that’s possible).  Otherwise weigh up pretty smartly the consequences of mayhem in the Middle East (which will undoubtedly flow), not to mention the costly damage to homes and infrastructure as well as the innocent death toll. 

There may be another agenda at play here, and these two countries don’t have a particularly great track record at toppling regimes and replacing them with something much better now do they?  For more: http://www.washingtontimes.com/news/2013/may/6/syrian-rebels-used-sarin-nerve-gas-not-assads-regi/

Women’s Day Conundrum

This is a subject that I fear requires some sensitive treading, as it could easily result in tears or worse.  An analogy perhaps that best describes one possible outcome is the explosion I once remember as a child, which occurred in our home kitchen when the pressure cooker lid simply exploded away from the pot, sending boiling, sticky stew across the entire room from ceiling to floor.  So I intend to tread lightly, although perhaps reluctantly, and I hope you'll appreciate why I say so.

Anyone who knows me well will know that I love and have always loved and respected women dearly my entire life.  I'm not merely talking about women in the sexual or sensual sense however, but rather holistically in the very sense of the word ‘love’ together with its many different facets and manifestations.   Having grown up in a rather female dominated extended family on my mother’s side, in terms of men and boys being totally outnumbered, I suppose it could either have been inevitable or perhaps the polar opposite.  My mother was one of three sisters, and my gran and her own three sisters, the sole survivors of a family of 5 siblings, where the menfolk died relatively early.  Extended family get-togethers were boisterous to say the least, with many high pitched female voices jostling for attention and very often all talking across one another in a cacophony of sound that only one born into such a family could find endearing.  My father and my aunts’ two husbands were simply drowned out, and usually retreated to the safety of the braai (bbq) area for a welcome reprieve perhaps.  

As kids however it was an extraordinarily exciting and colourful exposure to the passion and complexity of women of all ages, and far more exciting to be in the lounge or kitchen, than standing around the braai with business and sport being the sum total of the conversation. With the women, conversation was far more liberal in every sense of the word, emotional, feisty, yet always passionate, caring and nurturing.  Ok, sometimes a bit bitchy, but not often.  As children we were brought up to be seen and very much heard, encouraged to say one’s bit no matter how trivial it may seem.  If you didn't, then you would simply be drowned out by the loud natter and simply slide into the background of the room with little attention or sympathy for that matter.  Best then to rather join the lads at the braai.  But the women’s conversation was always far more interesting and stimulating.  I suppose the fact that they were all highly intelligent women had a lot to do with it, despite all being housewives, they had opinions on everything and strong ones at that.  It’s an environment that I still find myself drawn to at parties, perhaps tiring of the 2 dimensional conversation around the braai, I tend to find myself drawn to the kitchen very often.     

It is with this background in mind that I find the concept of Women’s Day somewhat bizarre and rather patronizing.  I know that there are many women who strongly believe in its purpose and rightful place on the calendar of public holidays.  However, having come from a family were respect and love for women was not only common place and good old fashioned manners strongly entrenched, but also an appreciation for the fact that women could do anything they set their minds to.  I therefore find the generalised drivel us men are constantly bombarded with in the media about ‘women’s oppression’ and ‘men not being sensitised’ or all portrayed as ‘bullying brutes’ rather hurtful if not darn right insulting.  I know I'm not alone here, as most of my own mates most certainly hold the very same ideals, (though many wiser fellows would not have opened themselves up to this debate).  These sweeping statements about female oppression in society need to be kept in check and put into perspective.  Sure we understand that many men are ignorant outside of stereotypical social ‘norms’, and that there are men who rape and plunder.  But to give the impression and paint all men with the same broad tar brush is ridiculous. 

I find it amusing that were one to make similar stereotypical comments about a race group or culture (or women for that matter), as many women do about men, one would be had up for racism, xenophobia or sexism without hesitation.  Generalised sweeping statements have no place in this world, and that goes for social oppression and sexism.  It is simply a lazy uncouth way of grouping people together in one’s own stratified mind.  That way you can be sure that you will garner much more support from guys who sympathise with your honourable desire to get more males to open their hearts and minds and take up the battle alongside you, if not simply see women as equals.

You've been fleeced by your own mates..

I don't feel that great about having contributed significantly to the massive bonuses paid by the big 5 SA construction companies and their alliance partners.  Bonuses paid to their directors, thanks to their corrupt contract rigging and profiteering that went on between them in the lead up to and post the SA Soccer World Cup. To think, that the cost of the World Cup preparation was boosted purely by greed and personal bonus gain.  I know of a few, who suddenly became debauchedly wealthy during that time. 

Interesting how those folk, always quick to jump on the 'political corruption' bandwagon are rather quiet at times like this.  We're talking Billions of Rands here, and yet it's not a major newspaper headline on every paper in the country or news network. Why is it that the likes of Brett Kebble, Peter Gardener (Leisurenet), Glenn Agliotti, Dave King (hiding out in Australia), John Stratton (hiding out in Australia too), Greg Blank and their ilk (all of a pale hue incidentally), are not seen in the same light as our most corrupt of politicians.  Double standards, racism?  I'm not sure. These companies have fleeced far more from from the state coffers, contributed by you and I the tax payer, and unsuspecting shareholders, than Jacob Zuma and all his cronies put together - allegedly..  We should be outraged!

I'm often intrigued as to how it is that the most vocal of doomsayers in this country and many of those who have emigrated it seems, are the very same people who run red lights, complain about taxi drivers, political corruption, traffic and police corruption and the like.  Yet ironically it is often these very same people, many of them friends and family members of many of us, who head up some of these organisations and those who are quick on the draw in pulling out their wallets when stopped for a traffic violation.  

Corruption breeds corruption, and those who paid our corrupt arms deal negotiators (German, Scandinavian, French, British arms dealers and others), tax dodgers, and those who attempt to pay off traffic cops and rig contracts are all just as vile as the people who accept them.  The same goes for large financial institutions that have gambled the money of trusting, unsuspecting investors to the point of destroying the global economy, yet not their own wealth ironically.  I don't see too many of them in jail or getting angry on the streets of Athens, Cairo or Paris.  They're all playing golf and sipping on Johnny Walker 'Deep Purple' at the same golf courses as the likes of Schabir Shaik and Agliotti, whilst eating sushi off naked ladies navels all with your hard earned tax paying money. 

Perhaps the 'Arab Spring' should refocus its aim at the source of their pain, not the symptom.  This is just the tip of the iceberg, and sadly it's a growing global phenomenon.  It is up to each one of us to stop it in its tracks.

For more on this story.. http://mg.co.za/article/2013-07-19-00-the-flaw-that-broke-the-construction-cartels-back

African Safari - July 2013 - 10th Day in the Bush

Always sad to have to pack up from any holiday, but for me particularly so from the bushveld or Kasouga (another favourite). Something keeps nagging me; 'Why don't you just live here..?!'. I suppose it's the so called 'real world' and all of it's 'real world realities' that play havoc with my head. Nice to know it's always here though until I can find a way to do it for a little longer each time.

Tonight was an exceptional final night though. The boys having cleaned the Landcruiser whilst we packed up things this afternoon, we drove the last few bags of recycling and rubbish to the dump a few km's away and swapped vehicles near there for the 'real world city slicker version' to take us back to Jo'burg, putting the cover on the old faithful Cruiser to rest 'til next time.

On getting back we settled down for a final sundower around the fire in the boma as the sun started to wane and the backdrop turned from yellow to orange to dark African red.

As we sat there chatting about the past 10 days, there was a loud trumpeting from behind the house, which shut us all up rather quickly. The boys ran to the sides of the house to see if they could spot what the elephant was angry about (usually something like a lion in its way which meant that the poor ousted beast might be scuttling our way looking for a safe exit).  And as if from nowhere an entire herd of 20-30 or more elephant appeared from the trees behind the house and at speed headed down our dirt driveway straight towards the house. 


Quick as a flash we grabbed the few bits and pieces worth grabbing, (in my case a magnificent bottle of Australia's finest, a Wendouree Shiraz 1993, my last bottle..), and headed for the stairs and safety of the front deck. The herd was fast, and on reaching the back of the house then split, half going around one side, the other half the other side, straight past the open boma where we had just been seconds before. One young bull elephant stopped beside the boma for an inquisitive sniff of the fire (or perhaps it was the foreign scented Wendouree?), and then with clouds of dust they simply settled into a relaxed mode, wandering around the front 'garden' munching from the thorn trees and down to the water's edge for a drink. Trunks of all sizes dipping down into the river and curling back up into their open mouths. This continued for some time until the sun had set and my fire was beginning to burn out, much in need of a log to keep it alive. But venturing down there then with protective mother ellies on high alert with a few tiny youngsters about and frustrated young bulls would have been unwise.

After this most brilliant display, as if to day "so long", the matriarch gave her typical low rumbling purr and they all stopped what they were doing and followed off along the bank up river, disappearing as quickly as they had appeared.

So finally we were able to head back down to the boma and rebuff the dying embers. Some, it must be said were a little more cautious and found chores to do within the house for a while before venturing out again. But venture out they all eventually did.

Onto the perfect coals (thanks to some unbelievably hard knobthorn logs) our last 1.8 kg chunk of well aged sirloin, bought from my mate Steve Maresch-Botha of The Local Grill fame, marinated earlier in olive oil and rubbed in his secret rub, with some additional course salt and cracked pepper on the fat side, nothing more. A few turns on the open fire grid later, perfection personified, even if I say so myself.

After dins, Dyl and I headed back out to the boma, spotting a large hippo venturing out for a night's grazing. Fire stoked a little, though no new logs needed, Dominican cigar clipped and ignited with on end of a firery red log, and I was like a bushpig in truffledom. An incredible end to another great stay in my one of favourite places in the world, the wild African bush.

African Safari - July '13 - Day 9 in the Bush

A good pooitjie (in this case my Italian lamb shank cum osso buco recipe concoction) takes good time. 8 hours to be exact. Nothing nicer than having one son help prepare the pot and another keep the fire perfectly stoked so as not to burn or stop the magic from happening. All went down with a KWV 1991 Bordeaux blend, when KWV still knew how to make decent wine.

Pootjie (although not the 3 legged kind) with Olifants River behind

In '91 I was slumming my way around Europe, the UK and North America. Many of you I had the privilege of knowing and sharing carefree times with back then. Some old digs mates in Wardo Ave in Fulham and others as we backpacked across The Continent, Canada and the US. Great times still cherished.

Wardo Ave, Fulham digs mates - 1991 whilst KWV made a great wine

Still in the bush, weather's beaut and warm outside. Just had my 'little' bull calf fall asleep snuggled up on the couch with me on the deck overlooking the great river. Quality times I currently cherish.

African Safari - July '13 - Day 8 in the Bush

Bushbuck ram below the deck

I like to think of myself as fairly open minded about things.  Perhaps I'm delusional, but I think not. Take my sons choice of music. Perhaps my early indoctrination infusion of that excellent musical era, the '80's (not hair or fashion lets face it) has paid off, because I generally like their musical tastes. e.g. Dylan seems rather blown away by Dire Straights at the moment. I am honest that I cannot tolerate crap music (otherwise referred to as rap), but for the rest, even the poor cover versions of my beloved 80's numbers, I'm there or there abouts.

Rather disconcerting however to be singing one of my least favourite current pop artist's numbers this evening whilst starting the fire, "I'm rough like a diamond, I'm rough like a diamond..', only for my sons to fall about in hysterics. Apparently it's, "Shine bright like a diamond..". But I do think that there is a certain albeit brutal honesty in my rendition, and I'm sticking to it Rihanna. Sorry babe.

Quiet day in the bush today, relatively speaking. Last night's herd of elephant apparently hadn't gone far as they crossed the Olifants River in front of our spot this morning, with the little ones swimming between two adults, carefully guiding them across and protecting them from the large Nile crocodiles nearby and strong flow of the water 'til safely on the far bank. It's incredible to watch as their trunks become snorkels and the little ones that can't touch the bottom swim with those unwieldy legs. 30 in all, so we missed a few in last night's count. Other than that some excellent bird spotting from the deck and other game already mentioned. I don't like to talk too much about those with the bogus Chinese aphrodisiac appendage, as the less said about their prolific state the better for fear of their annihilation, but we have seen many beauties it must be said. All treated with the toxic horn treatment and die in attempt to ward off would be poachers and kill the market at it's source. But enough melancholy.

Nile crocodile on the far bank where the ellies cross

Game drive at Dawn's Crack tomorrow is on the cards with Chris and Alex particularly enthusiastic. I'm already looking forward to my afternoon zizz.

African Safari - July '13 - Day 7 in the Bush

Having waxed lyrical on many occasions with regard to taking pleasure in the simple things in life, particularly the fact that life is just too short for palatable food, quaffable wine and bearable company, in my opinion it all needs to be extraordinary. Don't get me wrong, extraordinary doesn't mean expensive taste in wine, nor well connected company, and I've already said enough about my view on the secret delights of peasant foods in my previous post. No, sometimes it's the simplest of pleasures that provide the true treasures in life.

To help illustrate my point; tonight we were sitting in our open game vehicle with engine off watching a magnificent black rhino walk straight towards us. Rhino, and black rhino in particular, can be rather unpredictable beasts, with the bulk of a 2 ton truck and the aggression of, well.. a black rhino. As it got to within 20m or so, it suddenly stopped, turned to face a small rocky outcrop to the side in the bush nearby and proceeded to charge lifting his massive horn wildly, when all of a sudden a spectacular male leopard ran from his hiding place. Not that a leopard would have even dreamed of attempting to ambush a rhino, but the rhino just felt pissed off by his presence, and made it known, because he can. The analogy is this. Sometimes when one is focused on the large 'rhino' in life, anticipating its charge and skewering one's Landcruiser like a kebab, one forgets to look into the bush, behind the rocky outcrops of life, for the splendid leopard, and would otherwise be mesmerised and totally oblivious to the great yet small things one simply passes by unnoticed.

Later tonight Dyl and I got us a little lost yet again, during a long evening/night drive, though we finally made it back home. We decided not to have a fire tonight, but rather to heat up a pre-prepared meal in lieu of time and hang about on the deck. 

On walking out onto the deck we were greeted by a herd of elephant right in-front of us, no more than 10m away walking slowly along our side of the bank of the Olifants River. Tiny calves, only weeks old were being shielded from the outside by mothering young cows, and the deep vibrations of the older matriarch's purring communication was clear as she spotted us and cautioned the herd. We watched in silence as 24 elephant casually past us by.

As they disappeared a loud splash occurred in the river in front of us. On shining our torches at what appeared to be overzealous hippo going night swimming to their own tune of REM, a massive bull elephant emerged from the water and stood facing the direction of where the herd had just disappeared. Obviously an amorous fellow in search of a bit of passion. But instead he turned and walked up to our deck, the top of his head about the same height. His large tusks clearly visible as we purposefully avoided shining in his eyes. Clearly inquisitive however he edged closer, grunting and purring and shaking his head in attempt to intimidate and warn us of his might. Eventually his tusks could have touched our feet, he was so close but we dared not move an inch. I decided that talking to him in my deepest, calm voice was appropriate now, and he appeared to listen, everybody on the deck absolutely rigid. Then he slowly sniffed the outside shower head, and reversed up against the tree that the shower head is attached to and proceeded to wipe his bum up and down the trunk like a pillar of Kleenex Babysoft. We didn't take that as a sign of any disrespect you understand, as he clearly had an itchy bum. Then he came forward again, rubbed his cheek on our railing, pulled a few leaves off a nearby thorn tree and proceeded to literally disappear into the darkness without a sound.

Front of the deck where the bull elephant came right up to the previous night, and his 'toilet paper' tree to the right

Those are the special, albeit at times heart stopping moments, that make it all the more real and incredibly special. We are after all merely guests in what has been their wild land and routine for thousands of years. Indeed a privilege.

African Safari - July '13 - Day 6 in the Bush

One of the most important things about being in the bush, or life in general, is the quality of food and beverages one partakes in. Most of you who know me well know that I'm not a fan of fussy, haute cuisine type food, moulded into cylindrical shapes with far too much ponsiness, hand to ingredient ratio and more concern about impressing the eye rather than flabbergasting the tongue. Having had my fair share of 'fussy food' and 'stuck up' wines that people think aught to be drunk in my time, I have settled into a far more brutally honest perspective in taking pleasure in the 'real food' and quality accompanying beverage, and not worry about what other people might think.  Of my greatest disappointments in wine many have been some of the most expensive interestingly enough.

Some of my finest moments have been spent around an alfresco table in rural France or Italy, or a tiny table for two in a tratoria near Grieve in Chianti or beside an out of the way canal in Venice (where I intend to retire intermittently with the bush and write a book or two one day soon..). The food often described as peasant food by somewhat embarrassed hosts, strangely enough, yet prepared with only the finest of fresh ingredients one couldn't find in any fine grocery store. The Rialto Market off the Grande Canal perhaps or merely stopping one's Fiat or Alfa (or Citron for Pierre the French Fighter pilot fans) on the side of the road between Todi and Montepulciano in Umbria and Tuscany or between Saint-Émilion and Pomerol in rural Bordeaux to pick the freshest wild herbs and mushrooms has to be the ultimate. 

So, cooking and eating in the bush (as with just about any other place for me), is more of a ceremony than merely a meal eaten for the sake of hunger and wine or beer drunk merely for the sake of quenching a thirst. Life is just too short for that. 

Family in the boma

In the bush I love to have a fire, no matter what we're eating. It needs to be prepared properly preferably with wood or at least wood charcoal (otherwise it's not a fire and definitely not a braai). Yet it need not be artistically prepared, but must burn large for a while whilst we sit around it and chat about the day's events and pause to listen to the sound of silence mesmerized by the licking flames. In the bush however, the 'sounds of silence' are anything but silent. Anything from crickets to lion and hyena or grunting hippo, which make it all the more rewarding and a little nerve wrecking at times with the odd rustle of a bush or crack of a tree nearby in the pitch dark.

So today we had left over risotto for lunch. It's the kind of 'extra peasant' leftovers one has from the 'peasant' meal the previous night. Now I'm talking proper risotto, with porcini and portabilini 'shrooms, great white wine (Brothers possibly), home-made stock and other ingredients mixed with love and a decent sized bicep or two, what with all the necessary stirring required. The left overs are however too good to go to waste and deserving of Arancini di Riso (risotto balls with mozzarella and salami, dipped in egg, flour and rolled in bread crumbs), fried 'til crispy and all eaten by hand, dipped in a caramelised onion or olive marmalade (the only marmalades made for normal people under 70!). Just ask me and I'll tell you how.

Tonight it was springbok fillets from my old school mate Steve Botha-Maresch, with his own secret sprinkling of The Local Grill spices, straight on the the hot coals, with butternut and butter and a few fresh herbs wrapped tightly in tin foil, cooked on the grid alongside. All accompanied by a Wendouree Shiraz-Motaro 1995 from my very generous, Aussie grand relative-in-law in, Graeme Muller. It was superb.

After all had headed for bed, bar Dyl and I this time, sitting back at the fire with a few fresh logs (leadwood me thinks as they just burn and burn..), listening to the calls of lion and hyena again tonight, and the rustling of hippo out if the water grazing beside us, I just can't get enough!

African Safari - July '13 - Day 5 in the Bush

View of the house from the river bank (I took this very quickly before sprinting back to safety - it had to be done)

Lazy start to day 5 in the bush, with the boys deciding that a sleep in was in order. Much lion and hyena calling activity throughout the night, but the morning was quiet and uneventful, despite much bird watching from the deck and some small maintenance chores that we'd be avoiding up until now.

The night drive route I chose this eve was a long one, but to one of my favourite dams where we've been lucky to spot incredible game over the years. But tonight in the warmth of the setting sun all was quiet, bar sand grouse, franklin, sociable weavers, and guinea-fowl amongst others, heading for their night roosts. Just the clink of our drinks glasses broke the evening sounds as the crickets started up, and the occasional fart from the boys in the rear of the vehicle followed by a small giggle and a shudder of the vehicle, and much gnashing of teeth amongst the rest of us. Fortunately, open game vehicles have a dual purpose, that is for sure..

Tonight a bottle of Raka Quinery around the fire, and a Dominican for me, with not a sound but the rushing Olifants River beside us. Chris and Dyl headed for bed after a while, leaving Alex and I to fend off the wild beasties on our own. Of course made all the easier by great, easy, lingering discussion on matters of worldly importance such as, "Dad, who were you best mates at school?", and "What did you guys do for fun?", followed a little while later with, "Are they all still alive?", and other facets of life that make sitting around a fire with my boys something I cherish and hope to continue for years to come.

Wrap around view of the Olifants River

African Safari - July '13 - Day 4 in the Bush

The late night induced silence this morning in the Landcruiser was unceremoniously disturbed by Alex yelling, "Stop! Hey look it's Mr Fogarty". After bringing the vehicle to an abrupt stop our attention was drawn, with Alex's help, to a small dung beetle attempting to push a rather large ball of rhino dung out of a kudu spoor (hoof impression - for the uninformed). It did indeed resemble the profile picture of the Bishops Prep rugby, waterpolo, Xhosa, Afrikaans master. And for those of you not in the know about the mighty little dung beetle one may be too hasty to regard this analogy as a disparaging one. Needless to say, dung beetles are incredible little creatures although they may spend much of their life in the poo (so to speak) or merely in search of it. Not unlike many humans, the female entices the poor male on, often climbing on top of his carefully rolled and relatively large ball of dung, in which she intends to lay her eggs. All the while the male attempts to impress her with his strength by rolling the ball in a direction, now made impossible by her looming, protruding presence, added to the otherwise perfectly cylindrical shape of the ball. So the harder he tries to go in a direction, the more he finds himself going in a circle.. I'm sure he mutters as he comes around again, "god I'm sure I've been in this sh#t heap before". The beauty of having brought our boys up loving and appreciating the bush, the more it's the little things that we spend time exploring and fascinated by, be they beetles or birds, intricate spider webs, mongoose or other small critters that one can miss if one isn't attuned to them.

Male dung beetle battling away with female hitching a ride

Somewhat reminiscent of that poor dung beetle, I managed to get us a bit lost this morning, taking a route that we'd never explored before (which is something I love to do). I don't generally mind getting lost, so long as I can eventually work out where the hell I am. But this time even the vegetation eventually looked odd and unfamiliar. The worry for me was that as I pretended to be fully in control and knowing exactly where I was, there were cacti succulents growing on the side of the dirt track which made me think that we'd moved beyond the Tropic of Capricorn. Christina intuitively (obviously) spotting my rather quiet demeanour as I blundered on ahead pretending to be cool about it all, on spotting a giraffe, commented rather flippantly, "Perhaps we should ask him for directions..?". But I don't entertain that sort of thing, that would be defeatist, and so I blundered on until the vegetation changed back to something more familiar, thank god, and a track I recognised became visible on a distant hill. I should know better than to not have my most reliable navigator, Dylan, by my side.

This evening we decided to keep our sundowner drive closer to home, due to our rather long expedition this morn, and so headed for a relatively nearby waterhole. As it is with the wild, all is not what it seems, and many a tourist has found that out the hard way, never to live to tell the tale from the tail, you understand.. As we went about pouring our whiskies, wine and cool drinks, whilst passing the snacks between the 3 rows of seats, 5 magnificent white rhino appeared from nowhere for their own evening sundowner drink. Meantime two side striped jakkal (foxes) lay undisturbed in the long grass for ages, only to be almost trodden on by a poor, unsuspecting herd of wildebeest making their way to the same waterhole. Then all hell broke loose as one bull rhino charged at full speed after another and some wild grunting and smashing of horns ensued just out of site, but the clashes were unmistakable.  "That's all very well until someone gets hurt", I'm sure I heard my mother mutter.  Some serious Aspirin would be required a little later, I have no doubt.

Now back at the lodge, having had our boma braai and usual stargazing routine with great wine and some entertaining stories, a distant lion is roaring to our right, some way away, followed by that earie ongoing roar-pant whilst a hyena is giggling in the distance behind us. The river seems louder but the hippo are eerily quiet tonight..

White rhino join us for a sundowner

Wild African Safari - July '13 - Day 3 in the Bush

Cape buffalo bull keeping an eye us

As much as an alarm clock may not appear to have any place in the bush and in nature in general, this morning it got us up to 5 o'clock coffee and rusks. After a little flask filling, for the essential second cup a little later, into the Landcruiser for our early morning drive. The boys, sitting up at the back of the open vehicle brandishing spotlights to lighten up the otherwise pitch black bush on either side of the dirt tracks, in search of yellow eyes (antelope and larger browsers and grazers), red eyes (nag apies - night 'apes') or orange eyes (feline creatures) as we head out in the cold early morn. I often find it difficult to explain to people unfamiliar with the wild African bush, how incredibly lucky and rewarding it is when one spots something of significance in the wild purely by accident. Sure one has to know where to and how to look, but in a wild area spanning 170kms East to West and 500kms North to South one can appreciate that this is no zoo. Stumbling across the big 5 is extremely rare (unless one is being shuttled about by game rangers in constant radio comms with their colleagues and breaking the silence with radio crackling sharing of sighting info amongst them. Even then there's no guarantee. So you can hopefully appreciate the significance of what I've been sharing with you to-date.

This early morning madness didn't go unrewarded either. After about an hour of driving through the bush we stumbled across a heard of approx 300 Cape buffalo, including some impressive bulls and even an albino calf only a few days old. Literally surrounded by the large herd, we eventually managed to head back to the house, only to stumble across 11 lion on an impala kill including cubs a kilometre down the road. Needless to say there wasn't much left of the small antelope by the time we got there, and with a hungry pride of that size there is no doubt that they will have to kill again tonight. Something to consider for our night drive..

A huge brunch of omelettes for those humans amongst us followed by an early afternoon zizz before heading out in the cool of the late afternoon for sundowners at another favourite water hole. As we headed East, a beaut, lone black rhino came trundling out of the long grass off for a drink at a nearby waterhole. All this while I am acutely aware of some serious poaching activity happening only a few kilometers further East as I type, with Anti-poaching teams and local rangers all in hot pursuit.

Black rhino with two ox-peckers on his shoulder

Our prerequisite drinks at a dam a little later although quiet, was still brilliant with prolific bird life abound and the sound of guinea-foul getting ready to roost. A cacophony of sound that only a bushwacker could appreciate. A sound for me that IS the bushveld in the evening, and something I dream about when I'm not here.

Back home, risotto, though not altogether a wild African bush meal, made with the same love and fresh ingredients it can be a little of my two loves in one. Italy in the African bushveld. Needless to say, I had prepared myself with a beaut Chianti Classico, which although not in the same large vain as the Aussie Wendouree Cab/Malbec 1991 of last night, was a softer and excellent, earthy accompaniment and fireside companion. It doesn't end there.. No sooner had we finished dinner around the fire, we were startled by a branch breaking behind us, only to shine our torches onto a large bull elephant munching to his heart's delight, not at all fussed by our presence. In the foreground a lone hippo grazing, with little notice of one another. Some of the family fled for safer heights up the stairs, but soon realised their foolish fears and returned to the fireside for more lingering chats, accompanied by a cigar and I hasten to add, a little schnapps (in lieu of grappa), Milky Way brightening up the sky as orange sparks sprung out of the cracking fire as if to join them. The hyena are going in the distance already. Lets hope the baboon get some peace tonight..

Wild African Safari - July 2013 - Day 2 in the Bush

My boys at the boma with the Olifants River in the background

Well we're back on the bicycle, so to speak. Had our first braai (bbq on steroids) in the boma (outside open braai area). Thanks to Alex and Dylan's vigilant torch shining, at even the slightest noise or rustle, and even no noise at all which was all the more alarming. Not a single lion was to be seen this time (not that they weren't able to spot us of course). But out of sight, kind of out if mind and the ribs were worth it. A nosey civet and grazing hippo were busy doing their thing just below us.

Mock charge?  We weren't sticking around to find out

All this preceded by a rather eventful evening game drive earlier, where we were forced to detour after a herd of elephant decided to stand their ground. One particular young testosterone charged bull being determined to show the herd his brave prowess, as he flapped his ears in apparent irritation in our general direction and made the occasional half hearted mock charge at the Landcruiser. Needless to say, the latter proving rather worth it's weight in effortless 3 point turn, bush whacking style as we turned tail. The detour however proved well worth it with numerous sightings of birds of prey, including a pale chanting goshawk with freshly slaughtered tree squirrel firmly ensconced in it's grasp and a magnificent sighting, albeit it rather brief, of a leopard as it crossed our path clearly on a hunting mission as the sun set. Of course the ever essential Sundowners (drinks in celebration of sunset - or any reason really) were a mandatory start to the night at our chosen waterhole for the evening, with mock Bitters if one held one's G&T to the deep orange of the setting sun. I say that, because 'one' forgot to buy Bitters for pink gin, but I thought my diversion rather ingenious, even if I say so myself..

Sundowners with 'pink' Gin

The night ended with my favourite pastime in the world, flanked by my two boys, kitted in fleece ponchos and beanies, listening to the sounds of the wild African bush, chatting about the meaning of love and life in general. All whilst I worked on reducing a robust Cuban to a mere Spud puff Crisis on the wooden deck overlooking the bubbling Olifants River below. Our silent shooting star gazing was later broken by the sound of pandemonium however, as a troop of baboon began 'bogeming' loudly and rather hysterically, clearly disturbed by lion or another leopard below. As silence fell once again some time later it was time to turn in to face whatever tomorrow's river flow brings with it..

Wild African Safari - July '13 - Day 1 in the bush..

First night at the lodge in the bush at Olifants River Private Game Reserve (part of the Greater Kruger Park) and we settle down for a whizzo and a glass of wine to celebrate the magnificent sunset from the deck overlooking the Olifants (Elephants) River, only for Alex to spot what looked like a lion's rear poking out of the bush below. 

Turns out two lioness' with cubs are living in the bush just 20 meters from our outside shower and open boma (outside fire and braai/bbq area). They later wandered up in the dark past the boma under our careful watch and lay in our driveway until deciding to move on in search of fair game for a kill, half an hour later. 

View from the deck - Note Alex with his constant accessory - until it popped on a thorn tree

The challenge now is, do we use the boma to braai our 18 week wet aged sirloin, fillet and springbok fillets (beautifully nurtured to tenderness by my old mate and restaurateur extraordinaire - Steve Maresch of The Local Grill fame), and my delectable osso buco pooitjie, marinated spatch cock chooks, etc., or do I get the old, seldom used Weber up onto the veranda deck for fear of us being taken as lion bait..? I'm thinking, a large roaring fire in the boma may suffice to keep the beasties at bay, but I can't be sure. One thing I do know, is that the rest of the family won't share my enthusiasm, so I may be there alone. Best I get my best Cuban out for hand to hand combat..

A wee dram or glass of something will make you live for ever (well almost).

I'm interested in your views concerning a discussion I've been having with my dear little couz, Joanna..

Our grandmothers (McLeod sisters born in East London in the early 1900's) swore by their wee dram every evening. In fact, one of their brothers was nicknamed Nippy (which may not be coincidental). Mine ended up living to the ripe old age of 99 with all her whits about her until the last few years, and Joanna's, now 91 still insists upon her whistle wetter of brandy every evening. I'm taking their word for it.. So who needs more proof than that I ask you?!

My gran was known to become the heart and soul of the party at times in her latter years, often photographed at family Xmas doos with decorative balls from the Xmas tree hanging from her ears, whilst doing the Highland Fling.  Much to the encouragement of us grand-kids of course, and scorn of her rather embarrassed daughters (my mother being one). 

Sadly, the old duck got into trouble at her retirement village in her early 90's, because she was sharing a "little glass of sherry" every evening with some ol' bloke she fancied.  His family were up in arms when they heard of this.  Apparently he was a 'recovering alcoholic' and they thought it bad for his health. Poor bugger.  To make matters worse however, they confiscated my gran's sherry just in case she continued to entice the old fella, which I think was rather mean spirited (no pun intended). I think that was the beginning of the end for her..  Had I known at the time, I would have snuck in a hip-flask on occasion.

So the question is, do you swear by a wee dram or a glass of something each night for your health and sanity, and if so I'm interested to know what (not how much)?  I like to know the company I keep you know...