Why The Sabiepark People Love the Bush?

Brent – the tame Englishman, as I call him – got to know Sabiepark in 2002. He was a bit “disorientated” when he arrived, because he has a great aversion to snakes and spiders. In addition, Marisa made him believe that the only toilet available was a real farm-style “long drop”. When the city slicker arrived in his black Mercedes, his eyes anxiously searched the area. He was very relieved to discover modern plumbing. (The drainage system of Sabiepark is a most effective “French drain” – of which Chris van Rensburg says: “The grass is always greener over the septic tank.”)

When Brent and Marisa returned to Cape Town after a fortnight, our son-in-law was a convert. He had discovered a new passion: Sabiepark. After 14 days, his English had become so rusty that he told some Johannesburg friends of the “rhinoster” that he saw.

Something of which we, the inhabitants of Tarlehoet, are very proud is our very own “kreepy-krauly” – ideal for the bush. It works without electricity. The patent is that of my youngest half-brother, Cules Malan of Pretoria – a practical person who has a cure for every ailment. A piece of hosepipe from the storeroom was, on his recommendation, simply tied to a stick by means of a piece of wire. Tokkie (who can fabricate a tap washer out of a piece of shoelace) was responsible for mounting the contraption. When she was ready, she gave the order to “switch on”. Her assistant had to suck. That’s me, incidentally. But first I had to blow, in case of a possible bug or snake in the hosepipe. I gave a huge suck, and for my troubles received a mouthful of dirty water. And then the “kreepy” crept. The floor of our pool was soon cleaned, even of the obstinate leaves and branches of the marula tree. One complication: every time Tokkie cleaned the pool, her back ached. Even in this respect there was progress. A new “kreepy” was devised, a thick pipe with a broom. This was the patent of our first-born, Johan. The sucking and blowing requires strong lungs. But it works!

Tokkie using our bush kreepy-krauly. A zebra can’t be worried.

Sabiepark’s new TV venue – or “club house” – was erected in 2004, complete with sliding doors and braai-places. Previously, we made do with a single rondavel near the office building, one with straight backed plastic chairs and a cement floor. It wasn’t really comfortable. Neither was it elegant. Some time ago, one of these new flat-screen TV sets was installed. Even DSTV. One Saturday, we watched a rugby test against the English. In the TV room we sat jam-packed, like sardines. Biltong and dried “wors” – a great local delicacy – did the rounds, and everyone had something to drink. When a few patriots jumped to attention to sing the two Afrikaans lines of Die Stem in the national anthem Nkosi Sikelel iAfrica, an American visitor from San Francisco warily asked: “Must I stand?” The game began. The man from California sat on one side, nursing a ceramic glass with Old Brown Sherry. He watched the enthusiastic audience in amazement, more than he watched the game, shaking his head and giving his own comments. Disappointed, because the Springboks lost badly, everyone, each with his/her own torch, had to find the way to the car in the pitch-dark night. Remember – that was the pathway on which a leopard had caught a blue wildebeest not so long ago.

Bush humour – of the classic “laugh-with-a-tear”-kind – often arises from a city lad’s slow adaptation to bush things, such as gas, paraffin and batteries. Things do not always run smoothly. One gas escapade was quite amusing – in retrospect. It began with a visit by Cules and his family. The previous day, the office had off-loaded a new 48 kilogram gas cylinder. In the nick of time, as the old one was nearly kaput. But at this point, the timing ran awry. When Tokkie called for a switch-over, I was under the shower. Sopping wet, and very naked. I grabbed a towel, and rushed out to activate the new cylinder. In my haste I, unfortunately, forgot to open the cock of the new cylinder. When it hit me, I rushed outside again, losing my towel in the process. But I was too late. From stove to fridge gave up the ghost. And the Malans had not had coffee yet, and no shower either. It was quite a job getting everything that should burn, doing just that. Especially the obstinate fridge – darn!

From gas to grass

A thatched roof is cool and full of character. But surrounded by trees, it must be regularly “de-leafed”. Quite an operation. A long pole is needed, like the one champion vaulter Ockert Brits uses. With this pole, the roof should be given a severe beating. The blanket of leaves flutters down. With the leaves comes the dust. Tokkie has barely swept the floor, when the next cloud of leaves falls. It is an essential task. If you ignore the leaves accumulating under the netting wire, the roof would rot. The job is, however, quite a dirty one.

The stability of the cell phone signal has improved. At an earlier stage, every call was a challenge. You had to know the topography. At Tarlehoet, the fourth post from the house at the parking spot was (and still is!) the best place to stand. Brent discovered this. But communication in the bush also has its blessings. Zebras and other game sometimes surround you while you talk on your cell phone. Nice company.

Every house has its skull (even one of a famous tusker of times gone by), a stuffed animal or animal head, a few pelts and/or horns, a special piece of wood, a dish full of aromatic calabash, or an arrangement of pods which all help to establish a bush character. At the home of Ronnie and Elma Schoombie, the neck vertebrae of a giraffe were utilized as candle holders. A vertabra with a candle stuck in it looks just like an angel.

Certain bush fruits are delicious

The marula – the size of a big toe – ripens in mid-summer. The female trees drop lots of fruit on the ground, where it ripens and turns yellow. Marulas can give one a fright when they flop, flop, flop, flop on the roof, but they make a delicious jelly, recommended to be enjoyed with venison. Preserved in alcohol, the fruit is a potent appetiser. Beer is also brewed from it – it has a kick like a karatika. It is a known fact that marulas ferment into alcohol when they lie on the ground. This quality was made famous (and was a bit exaggerated too!) by Jamie Uys in his film Beautiful people, in which elephants and baboons caused great mirth with their antics. Elephants and baboons are, however, not the only ones to enjoy marulas: birds, monkeys and several other types of game also cannot resist the taste. Maybe they are after vitamin C. I believe it goes to show that, even in the life of an animal, a tot can bring a bit of pleasure.

Leaves, flowers and seeds do not only provide colour and aroma to the veld. Marguerite Smal, granddaughter of Cas and Nella Jacobs of Centurion, in 2002 had to do a grade three school project on seeds. Sabiepark provided the material. We helped the Jacobs family to collect calabash from the snuff-box tree and the seeds of bush-willow, russet bush-willow, red bush-willow, a variety of raisins, sjambok-pod, weeping wattle, sausage-tree and star-chestnut. Marguerite earned an A+ for her project. We all passed grade three with flying colours!

The bush has its own brotherhood, as I’ve said before. This is what Martie (Retief) Meiring wrote about it on 7 February 1980 in the Gauteng daily newspaper Beeld: “Black, white, whatever language or station in life, reach over boundaries when they sit in the bush around a fire; chatting about footprints; those large herds of days gone by; warning about a leopard too close to the camp.” This special bush bond has three unique features: firstly a common aversion to rowdiness, to litterbugs, and to all other enemies of peace in the bush; secondly, time for one another; and thirdly, an inclusive comradeship.
True Sabieparkers have respect for nature. They are protective towards all forms of life in the wild. They maintain an ethos of “live and let live” in respect of all their neighbours, man and beast. They avoid noise, drive slowly and walk softly. Only a small minority (often guests of absent owners) is noisy, impatient and inconsiderate. These are the people who damage trees, pluck plants, ape the animals and throw objects into the river. One aimed beer cans at a rhino. A group of young men, after a few drinks too many, lowered their trousers and shook their behinds at people across the river. A couple even left their baby in its carry-cot to the mercy of a troop of monkeys, entered the river cautiously, and in midstream, among crocodiles and other dangers, had a drink. Homo sapiens – the description does not always apply!

With true Sabieparkers you can count on boundless helpfulness. Should the Van Deventers require help with the fitting of a new canvas for the swimming pool, they can just ask Dawie Strydom of Rustig to come to their aid. We did once. He came, soon after a knee replacement, on his crutches, and with his drill, and solved the problem in no time. Should your freezer pack up, there’s only one way out: it must be taken to Nelspruit, more than 100 kilometres away. Kind-hearted Dawie immediately offered his bakkie.

In the hearts-of-gold-category, Kapous Mouton of Vreklekker also deserves a place of honour. When destructive baboons, in your absence, break the doors of your stoep cupboards, this old faithful – a real jack of all trades – would, on his own initiative, use a pair of pliers and wire and repair the damage.

If you seek expert help with the identification of trees on your erf, call Xander de Jager (erf 247 in Ghwarriebos Avenue). He would come and rub the leaves, smell the flowers and feel the seeds. When he has finished, you can order your nameplates from Kirstenbosch.

When Piet Möhr of Netreg bakes bread in his oven outside, his friends can keep the butter and (marula) jam in readiness.

One morning a crisis arose at Tarlehoet.

The tap outside suddenly started spouting. I jumped into my car and rushed off to seek aid. The first person I met, was Frik Dreyer of Inibos (erf 62, off Wildevy Avenue). This talented farmer from Frankfort and I were contemporaries at Tukkies. Political tensions among Afrikaners in the ‘80s brought disenchantment, and we drifted apart. However, he promptly invited me to his home, lent me his tools and even came to help fix the recalcitrant tap. We resumed our friendship – forgetting and forgiving our points of difference in the old South Africa.

In October 2003 Frik died of malaria, soon after a September visit to his beloved Sabiepark. A sad day for the Van Deventers too. Fortunately, we could have a few bush “sessions” with Frik and Winnie, the friends of Inibos, before he passed away. That memories are precious.

Not only political divisions between Afrikaners yield to the bush bonhomie. In 1999 Dawie Strydom landed in hospital with heart problems. After three weeks, he was back at Sabiepark. Among the first people to wish him a quick recovery, were two black members of Sabiepark’s personnel. The two were invited to dinner at Dawie and Annatjie Strydom’s lapa at their house, Rustig. The late Sipho Lubisi, caretaker at the picnic spot, asked permission to say grace. After that Elvis Khosa, former swimming pool caretaker, took out his Bible and asked whether he could share his daily lesson with the Strydoms. Dawie fetched a Tshonga Bible and when Elvis read form his, Dawie followed in his own Tshonga Bible. A few verses from Psalms and Corinthians. Dawie was deeply touched when he told his co-Sabieparkers at a general meeting of those unifying moments around the fire.

In August 2003 Dawie and I visited Antonie Roux of Rouxkeloos (erf 27 in Maroela Avenue). The motor-neuron illness which ended his life shortly afterwards, had already crippled the dapper ex-Air Force general.† He, the first south African who could pilot a Mirage through the sound barrier, at this stage could only move one hand a little. He had to drink tea with a straw from a mug which his wife, Celia – who died of cancer not long after her husband – held for him.

Antonie had difficulty holding back his tears when he told of a visit the previous Sunday by the chief induna, Eckson Mathebula, induna Willem Shabangu, and another twelve members of their church. Willem, an upright citizen and “father figure”, read James 5:14 to Antonie from an Afrikaans Bible: “Is there anyone of you who is sick? He should call the church elders, who will pray for him, and pour oil on him in the name of the Lord. This prayer, made in faith, will save the sick man: the Lord will restore him to health.”

After the reading, they sang and prayed. The Bible from which induna Willem read, was one which Dawie had given to him. The brotherhood of the bush had been woven intimately, for sure.

† During his last days, Antonie proclaimed his love of his beloved Mariepskop (and of nature in general) by means of a poem. On his stoep one late winter’s afternoon, on 14 June 2003, he dictated his verse of farewell to his daughter Petra Roux. He longingly reminded her how he, a “Silver Falcon”, had cleft the azure sky. He then made peace with God and his fate:

As my sun sinks in the west/may His mercy give me rest. He who commands and is obeyed./Forgive where sinful man had strayed. (with apologies to Antonie)