What Makes A Great Fire & A Lekker Braai In South African Bush

Fire fun

At least once in a life-time, every person should make a monumental, never-to-be-forgotten fire. When respectfully pondering about Great Fires, that particular one should be remembered in awe.

My own fire-above-all-fires was really a team effort. Bewitched by the ink-black Namibian night, with stars like huge bright lumps above us, a dedicated trio brought pyrotechnics to new personal heights. This happened on the evening of 27 June 1990, on a vast farm near Solitaire, between Sossusvlei and Walvis Bay in Namibia. Every piece of wood in the vicinity, large or small, was gathered by me, a former neighbour of mine, Chris van Rensburg of Bloemfontein, and my son, Johan. Bundles and bundles were cast into the flames.

The tongues of fire leapt skyward, higher and higher. Even Space Control in Houston, Texas, could hardly have missed the magnificent spectacle through their huge telescopes. “Hey man, whaddy’a think is that big light, there o’er Ê-frica?” “One heck of a fire, maybe, ole’ man. Some kind’a carnival, y’a bet.”

Nevertheless, carnival or no carnival, the fire, and an abundant supply of red wine, created a carnival mood, and as the evening progressed, things just got better and better. Chris and I became convinced that we should buy the farm. It would become a gold mine. Tourists would be drawn irresistibly to the place; the silence of the night, the incomparable firmament and huge fires, like this one, would encourage them to spend their abundance of dollars. Johan was not yet old enough to enjoy the red wine, and to dream as extensively as his elders.

He was, however, energetic enough to stoke the antique “donkey”-boiler until its pipes sang a jovial tune of water boiling with a vengeance, like steam-engines shunting in the night. The following morning the wood was done, the fires heaps of ashes, the heads dim and dreams of instant riches tempered. After due consideration, we boarded our borrowed 4x4 Volkswagen Syncro, and set off to the farm store at Solitaire, to confess about the serious depletion of firewood. Our offer of extra payment was graciously declined by the female owner. At that stage she was not fully aware of the extent of the damage, I am afraid.

When that Namibian escapade took place, our little nest at Sabiepark was still far from a reality. In fact, it was not even yet a glint in the eye. Much later, when Tarlehoet came into our lives, Tokkie and I soon discovered, however: a night in the Bushveld is also a special gift of God, a joy of life to wax lyrical about. Even the magnificent Namibian stars did not eclipse those of Sabiepark. That silence which addresses every sense; those stars so intense that one wants to grasp hold of them; that fire with its dancing, whirling flames… Those wonders of Solitaire which so fascinated us, were fully matched by the beauty of the South African bush.

Overnight my personal values regarding fires changed. Size and intensity are important aspects, sure. Frequency, however, became my overriding yardstick for real fire fun. “Aha! I have warmed myself. I have seen the firelight,” writes Isaiah. (Isaiah 44:16.) This Old Testament prophet was evidently a true lover of fire, and I am in full agreement with his sentiments. Between us, same as Isaiah, I have also seen the (fire-light). Tarlehoet has opened my eyes. And as far as fires are concerned, that dear place now reigns supreme in my mind and memories. Full stop.

We, the Van Deventers, have not yet emulated the size of our Namibian fire at Tarlehoet. I don’t think we ever will. This distinction we accord to famous Sabiepark fire makers such as David Serfontein. Our own, more modest campfires, however, brings daily pleasure. It is a routine such as rising or going to bed. For three full months in winter – 90 glorious days on end – we have our own flames to warm ourselves, every evening during our long hibernation in the bush.

Two additional fireplaces have even been added to our bush villa for that purpose: one at the front stoep, the other one at the back, closer to the dining room and kitchen. To select a fireplace is part of the ritual every evening when day is done. Each has its own atmosphere, charm and attraction. Choice is rather difficult. Both “front” and “behind” as we refer to them, are stacked with a variety of implements. It allows various configurations. Each implement has a name of origin. “Neels’s braaier”, “Manie’s braaier”, “Kosie’s braaier”. Neels Nothnagel was Johan’s father-in-law. He lived on the Rand until his sudden death in 2006. Manie Steyn has been a very close friend since the ‘60s at our alma mater, Tukkies. Kosie Olivier is a neighbour in Melkbos. His son, also a Johan, donated the “braaier”.

Each of us also has a special braai-“uniform” (old clothes permeated with smoke and all kinds of aromas). Furthermore, one’s neck, wrists and ankles must be sprayed to ward off mosquitoes. Then citronella candles and torches are lit. Only then, the fire itself. But don’t rush. Have a glass of wine in between. Or two. All ads up to the contentment one experiences at your fire for the next few hours.

Cooking at Tarlehoet, on occasion differs from the usual open fire – but only on occasion. Next to the grillers, grids, toasting-forks, dishes, three-legged pots and other orthodox barbecue equipment, stands the black-domed Weber-braai, which shows many signs of wear and tear. Its dome is full of dents, and its handle has been reformed by pliers and wire. But from it still emerges champion Christmas turkey, the skin brittle and brown and the meat delicious.

For four-legged visitors, this shiny, black thing, is too funny for words. Funny people! Giraffe bend down low to pose in the "mirror", when the sun is at the correct angle. Baboons inspect the apparition with respect. Zebras cannot resist it. I have a photo of the inquisitive little zebra (previous chapter, Black and white) at the Weber, evidently bewitched by this strange object which he discovered in the bush.

AND THIS shiny thing? An inquisitive little zebra meets a Weber-braai in a Tarlehoet lapa.

A Bushveld fire and inner peace are synonymous. As soothing as the flamedance is to the eye, so is the music of the crackling firewood to the ear. A fire is a soul mate. No matter what mood you are in. By the flickering flames, one can be exuberant, laughing, chatting and enjoying a good wine. One can stretch one’s legs and swop memories with friends. One can be quiet on one’s own and allow one’s thoughts free play With a lamb chop, some good “boerewors”, a traditional “potjie”, a pot loaf, a few ash-burnt potatoes and onions, or even just an old coffee pot on the coals, you don’t need other company. You could be alone, but never lonely.

Every decent fire depends upon decent wood

In Namibia it was the rock-hard camel-thorn (or its stable-mate, grey camel-thorn). In the Bushveld, the first choice is leadwood, a muscular piece of iron hidden behind a misleading silver-grey bark. This king of the combretums is inextricably part of the African fire-culture. Anyone who knows a campfire that has been stoked with leadwood, knows that those embers are still capable next morning of boiling water for coffee.

A chunk of leadwood is a prime Bushveld gift. Jan de Necker (erf 281, off Appelblaar Avenue) once brought me a beautiful log in his Avis Golf, just to say thank you for something. This log I treasure like gold, or like a bottle of precious mature wine from the best cellars. I keep it for a very special occasion.

Leadwood trees survive the elements with steadfast stoicism. When, eventually, a tree dies, its skeleton remains a monument for many years to come. One sees many of them around the vlei in the Kruger. The Hereros of Namibia even believe that their ancestors change into leadwood trees. Unfortunately, leadwood is becoming very scarce. Previous generations have wasted them. Please, use the wood sparingly and sensibly. That is the law of the bush these days.

Even the greatest fire-connoisseurs have to find alternatives to leadwood. They need not search far. Leadwood has a relation, the red bush-willow, which is the dominant tree in many places in the Kruger. It also produces an excellent braai-wood. In places where it is allowed to pick up wood – not in Sabiepark, remember! – the best wood can be found from red bush-willows. This I can guarantee. Just pick up the old knotted chunks – it seems as if they never decay. Old trunks become tremendously hard. Dumisa, a strong young Shangaan of the Huntington Trust near Sabiepark, after a full day’s physical labour at Tarlehoet, still had enough power left in his arms to break two axe-handles on a stubborn red bush-willow stump.

Sicklebush with its feathery leaves and petite pink flowers certainly do not give the impression of toughness. But its thorns are devils; for tyres of field vehicles they are a constant “thorn in the flesh”. And sicklewood is certainly a winner at a braai. Its coals also have a lo-o-o-ng life.

From its tough stem handles for pick-axes and axes are manufactured. But that is not all. Jan Scholtz of Bloemfontein, who has an eye and a heart for wood, was so impressed with the grain of sicklewood that he swiped a piece from my woodpile, and took it home. The result was a beautiful table lamp which now adorns the dining room of Tarlehoet.

Beware of tamboti

Unscrupulous vendors sometimes sell it as firewood. But tamboti is poisonous – literally. The tamboti tree produces a dark brown wood with almost yellow marks, which makes excellent furniture. But that’s it. The wood contains a poison which causes eye and skin irritation. Its milky juice can cause a bad “day after the night before”.

“Too much hard wood (brandy), mate?”

“No, just tamboti embers.”

Mentioning “hard wood”, one’s thoughts wander. The liquid kind (not only brandy) is guaranteed to add value to your campfire. (If you disagree violently, skip the next part, please.) Truth is, at many a campfire many a song is sung. Usually a bit later in the evening, after good friends have enjoyed one another’s company. One particular song that sounds very jolly after a few club tots, or cold beers, or glasses of wine, has become a trademark of Tarlehoet. It is called Life in the bush and proclaims several wonders of life in the wild: drinking coffee from an old jam tin, making a leadwood fire, bird-watching, etc. “One, two, three, now all sing together: ‘Life in the bush is, oh, so wonderful…’. ”

The words of this particular song were born far away, at Melkbosstrand, while I walked along the long beach one early morning. The waves lapped at my feet. Table Mountain lay dark blue in the distance. A light south-easter was starting to push. The well-known Cape song Daar’s ‘n wind wat waai (There is a wind that blows) kept repeating itself in my mind. That is where the inspiration (and the tune!) for Life in the bush came from. “Life in the bush is, oh, so wonderful…”More about bush fire