Two Bits: The more things change . . .

We chanced to see a lightning-quick movement ahead on the hillside, then it froze, camouflaged against the bracken and long stalks of grasses that had sprung up since the recent rains. It took some time to clearly make out what we were looking at: a large cat – very large – about two metres long, including its long tail.

It had large spots, too large to be a Genet, tail too long to be a Serval. Big liquid eyes. At first you are not sure that your eyes are deceiving you – here, in the middle of the Champagne Valley? But it really was a young leopard, not 50 metres from us, trying to be invisible from us interlopers. A few seconds later it streaked into a big patch of bracken in a small ravine and disappeared from view.

That was one of the highlights of our weekend escape into the ‘Berg, where we love to ramble through the estate and sometimes into the Little Berg, to watch nature so completely different from here at the coast. Further down the valley is a small colony of White-Fronted Bee-eaters, way out of their normal stamping grounds of Northern Zululand and points north, but quite happily settled into the bank of a stream in a quiet corner of the land.

Nearby are the ruins of what appears to be an old Boer farmstead. All that remains are a few broken walls, but a dozen or so thriving pear trees bear testimony that someone once tried to make a go of farming in this remote spot.
Pin-tailed Whydahs furiously chase other wandering males away from their hens and Long-tailed Widow birds flap majestically through the long grass.

Overhead are Black-Shouldered Kites and Jackal Buzzards. Occasionally one sees the swift forms of the little Amur Falcons, which will soon start to gather on the telephone lines to Winterton for their long flight back to Siberia. The sunbirds are busy in the veldt flowers, mainly the Amethyst and Greater Double-Collared. A pair of Striped Swallows have rebuilt their nest under the eaves of our little house, as they do every year, which pleases Rose no end.

Much as we enjoy being away from it all, we felt duty-bound to sit through the President’s state of the nation address and mostly it was instructive. He made all the right noises, said all the right things, but pardon my cynicism as I saw all the old, familiar faces around him and wondered how many are compromised beyond redemption.

I was quite taken aback when, the next day, I was talking to an elderly Afrikaner from Pretoria who said that for the first time he though he would vote ANC “to make sure Cyril has the support to win”. Well okay, he certainly is our only hope for action against corruption, though it is going to take an awful long time to stop the runaway train. Nine wasted years, plus some.

Among Ramaphosa’s closing remarks that “We are the servants of the people,” evoked a sharp sense of déjà vu. Forty-odd years ago I sat at the media table of a National Party rally in Ceres and remember clearly as though it were yesterday, John Vorster saying: “Ons is die dienaars van die Staat,” and look where that got us! The arrogance of the ruling elite then is not that different from the arrogance one encounters all too often today.

Another curious happening last week, following hard on the heels of the revelations at the Zondo commission, was the quick arrest of Angelo Aggizzi and others who had given evidence. This was followed by an appeal for other whistleblowers to come forward with evidence of corruption. Meanwhile Gavin Watson, if evidence is to be believed is evil incarnate, is as free as a bird! I don’t know what is happening behind closed doors. Maybe Aggizzi has cut a deal, but if that’s how whistleblowers are going to be treated, don’t expect a queue to form at the door, fellers!

A first this weekend was a visit to a spot I have never heard of before. High in the Drakensberg near the Oliviershoek Pass, near the Little Switzerland resort, is a monument to the Kaalvoet Vrou. There in the windswept veldt is the bronze figure of a shoeless, doekie-clad woman marching resolutely northward. Apparently in the 1830’s a number of Boer women declared they would rather walk barefoot over the ‘Berg than live in Natal under British rule.

I need to brush up on the history of that particular moment, but it sounds not too dissimilar, is it not, to the frustration one hears from one’s friends about the current state of politics. Ironically, the woman depicted in the statue, Susanna Smit, sister of Gerrit Maritz, died in Natal, which meant that she never did walk barefoot across the Drakensberg. Many of us, in desperate moments, talk of leaving but never do.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

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The other day, my wife asked me to pass her lipstick but I accidentally passed her a glue stick. She still isn’t talking to me.