Hadidas are like roommates – terrible, screaming roommates who never pay rent and possibly poop on your car.
The hadidas in my tree are driving me mad and I think they know it. It starts just before dawn.
The sky is soft and grey. The world is quiet, peaceful. And then – skreeeeeaaaahhh. One hadida.
Skreeeeeaaaahhh, skreeeeeaahhh. Now three. And suddenly my tree is a full-blown conference centre for South Africa’s noisiest feathered citizens.
I don’t know what they’re discussing up there but judging by the volume and passion, it’s either the price of worms or how best to destroy my will to live.
Let’s be clear: that tree wasn’t planted for them. It was planted for shade. Aesthetic value. Maybe a nostalgic swing one day. Not a biological air-raid siren system.
But hadidas… oh no. They see opportunity. They see timber. And they arrive with the subtlety of a brass band falling down a flight of stairs.
Things I have tried to get rid of them that did not work?
Loudspeaker playing Metallica: they harmonised. Offering peace offerings (birdseed, bread, dignity): they brought friends.
I once made eye contact with one. I swear it winked. I swear it winked… The worst part? They don’t leave.
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It’s not a quick morning performance. They linger. They gossip. They clomp around like they’re wearing combat boots.
The branches shake, my soul trembles and I begin to think they should be classified as psychological warfare.
And then, the baby hadida arrives. It sounds like a vuvuzela being stepped on by a goat in an echo chamber.
My neighbour says they’re part of nature. Yes. So are locusts. So is lava. Doesn’t mean I want them in my tree at 4.58am on a Saturday.
The solution? Acceptance. I’ve begun responding to them in kind. Hadida: skreeeeeaahhh. Me, in my gown with a coffee: “Yes, Kevin, thank you for your input.”
We’re communicating now. It’s not peaceful, but it’s honest. They are not leaving.
And I can’t afford to either (thanks interest rates). So we coexist. A little like roommates. Terrible, screaming roommates who never pay rent and possibly poop on your car.
Some people are woken by birdsong. Sweet, melodious little whistles. A robin. A dove. Maybe even a gentle coo.
Not me. I wake up to hadida heavy metal. Every. Single. Day. Under my own tree. Sigh… But, hey, it builds character. Or at least it builds rage.
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