Ngolwesibili 24 August
The poles are finished, so the plan for the day: check broken poles in an area in the south of the reserve. It’s so different to the sand forest here in the north. Both just as beautiful.
The Landcruiser takes us out of the reserve, through 1-7 gate and we turn south on the corrugated gravel road. Five minutes driving, past a few local women cutting grass on the verge, and we’re at the gate leading into Lulu Bush – private land that is part of Phinda. Seven explains from behind the wheel that these women work 2 days a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays, cutting grass on the roadside, paid by the municipality.
The bush here is dense. And grey. But the grass is black. Charred remnants of a poachers fire that swept through the area a few days ago. Bush meat is sold in the community, cheaper than precious beef and chicken. Phinda has been lucky to escape the recent spate of rhino poaching that has wracked most of the reserves in the country though. Inyamazane (antelope) are much less of a loss.
We continue south, next to the double fenceline that helps protect the cows in the community from the deadly Corridor Disease, carried by buffalo. The lazy brown-eared ticks that transport the illness will not cross the 2-metre distance between the two fencelines.
A Burchell’s Coucal flits up from the grass. Silhouetted against the sky a small snake dangles from its razor-sharp beak. Quick decision for the Coucal: foresake the meal for now and escape the blundering Cruiser or hang on? The snake drops in the grass next to the fence - a baby puffadder. Dead.
We drive on, past the Isibhicayi River. When it floods crocs wash downstream, under the fence and into the community. Jimson tells me of when a small boy was taken by a croc a few years ago. Fishing is an extreme sport here. A handful of local women take their chances, but the water level is low.
The straw-yellow grass is thirsty, Seven tells me. This section has not been burned by the team yet. The first rains will come soon and it will be safer to burn.
The thicker bush opens up and Inkwazi floodplain lies below us, in all its majesty. Inkwazi ranger trainer camp stands sentry on the ridge, and thick, yellow-dry grass covers the flats below. We walk the fenceline, checking the number of broken fence posts. “Six.” says Seven.
Back in the Cruiser. Back through the gate. Back into the reserve at 1-7 gate. Jimson and I jump out: we’ll walk the elephant fence, checking for sections that are damaged by animals that have run into the fence. Dry branches that touch the wire are fine, but when it rains they bleed off the electricity. So we’ll look for those too. We’ll meet up with Vusi and Nkosinathi who started off in the other direction. My little backpack carries water and skaftini (lunch) for we will not be done by lunch.
The path we walk ducks inside and outside of the double strand elephant fence, as do we, very carefully. Two harmless looking strands of wire: low enough to keep the ellies from entering and destroying the sand forest and enough electricity to stop the heart of an innocently escaping nyala. Later other scavengers will join the flies already feasting on the fresh male nyala carcass, lying where he fell, next to the fence.
The notebook is always ready and the ear is keen, tuned in to pick up any new Zulu words. I write down “dilika” for homework. But then I decide to ask Jimson rather. “Well,” he says, “If we you were up on top of that marula tree over there, I would call out to you, ‘Hey you, dilika, (come down) from the tree.” All in Zulu. And it’s the way he says it. We laugh and I’m glad I asked.
The sun is high in the sky now and it’s lunch. We duck off into the sand forest and find a small hill next to a drainage line (riverbed). Orange and grey. The lichen grows thick on the white of the monkey orange trees around us and a crowned hornbill wings up the drainage line past us, silently.
Jimson explains that we are two of us walking together in case we get in trouble. He says that if a lion takes me he will shout at it and try chase it off. It’s good to know that he’s got my back.
He tells me he has two wives, and that the girl we met at Forest Lodge a minute ago is his daughter, his eldest of 12 kids. He laughs when I ask if his wives live together. Of course not, they will fight. One lives in Mtuba and the other lives in KwaJobe, 150km apart. One week’s leave in Mtuba and one week in KwaJobe. No fighting. Six weeks on Phinda. One week Mtuba. One week KwaJobe. Six weeks on Phinda. So it goes.
The poles have arrived, so we speed off to Izwe to unload them. We speed back the other way to drop everyone at home and a white rhino mom looks just as confused as her baby, with all the rushing around going on.
Back home, back at Umfaan’s Turf and clouds and sunlight paint an ever-changing, always beautiful, background to an already spectacular bush setting. It looks like it may rain. But it won’t, not yet.
Two bats are inside the house, a little lost and very confused. They look like they are trying to sound their way out. Somehow their clicking misses the open 2x1m doorway and we gather them up, one after the other in a bucket, to send them on their way.
The day draws to a close. Fighting or fleeing zebra give away their position close by. Kawoh-kawoh, kawoh-kawoh... A lone hyena picks up the chorus later. The clouds make way for the myriad stars and, below, on our little stoep, a beeswax candle from Holland lights up a delicious spaghetti bolognaise. Just the two of us. And another day, packed with the richness of life in the bush, has passed.
Ngolwesithathu 25 August
Today is pay day and that means half day. The guys will go into Hluhluwe to do their monthly shopping. But first we will work.
A few poles are loaded on the back the Cruiser, they make a good seat for the seven of us guys, also loaded on the back. Seven is driving and a Pretoria Technikon student, Nico, sits next to him. We head for Corridor road, just past Forest Lodge where we were on Monday. I’m the guy who removes the fence staples that connect the fencing to the rotten poles. Mostly. I’m also the guy who digs out the sand that the stamper has loosened. We replace six or seven poles and then load up. The day is done.
But before that Bheki, my ex-colleague from andBEYOND Foundation, stops on his way to the community. I try out the Tonga greeting Jimson taught me yesterday, “Kusile!”. We agree to visit the communities next week, perhaps one of the schools will welcome some part time help from Kristal. I hope so.
Nico is driving and that means I’m given the front seat next to him. I hope I won’t be working with him much, as he definitely presents a bit of a barrier. I can see the Zulu guys assume that I would rather hang with Nico than with them. Not true at all. And leaving me with him means less time to learn Zulu and get to know the Zulu guys in my team.
I’m dropped at home, and the guys all head off, to spend some of their hard-earned wage. Good to sit outside, checking that the vervet monkey’s behave. Kristal serenades the warthog on guitar and practices her Zulu on the monkeys. “It’s our house not yours” she warns them, in perfect Zulu. We are also kept company by a male and female nyala, grazing peacefully just outside our garden. Two lilac-breasted rollers chase off a pied crow, not so peacefully.
Game drive time. Not staff bumble, this is the real deal. Dumi is our guide and we set off with a family from New York. The road goes north and on the right, the other side of the fence, Makhasa Community Game Reserve again. Sand forest gives way to broad-leaf woodland, and then we break out into the open marsh. And two male cheetah. They sleep back-to-back on a termite mound – lion and leopard are an ever-present danger.
We push further north, in search of the elusive black rhino. The cold weather makes them even more elusive. Thembankosi, the tracker, looks for spoor from a seat on the bonnet.
Almost every direction you turn here on the marsh there are animals. Impala. Nyala. Reedbuck. Wildebeest. Warthog. Three white rhino sightings. And many beautiful birds.
Our vehicle wades into a sea of yellow. Heads pop up around us – we have disturbed the nyalas’ dinner: yellow curry bush tonight. It smells delicious but I prefer the biltong and dried mango strips we have at our drink stop.
Two days ago rangers discovered the first hyena den on Phinda. The first ever. We pull up to see the hyenas that have been calling to us each night so far. A pup ventures out from the den to suckle on mom. Dad lies down and looks on lazily.
The moon is shy tonight and almost full. We catch it peeking at us through the trees as darkness falls. Scraggly branches clutch at the sky.
Sparkling lanterns and a roaring fire greet us. Bush dinner for the guests. Not for us though, so we head back to the lodge with the trackers and then home, to let Lize in. A PhD student from Stellenbosch who is staying with us for 2 weeks, doing fieldwork with Ross.
Ross’ girlfriend, Deborah, joins us with Ross and we all enjoy a cold beer out on the stoep before turning in.
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