Josh writes:
Ngolwesine 26 August
Delicious strawberry yoghurt and a beautiful sunrise for breakfast and then the purring diesel engine announces that the vehicle is just a minute away. I scramble my stuff together and open the door as they pull up.
We head up “Main Zinaav” to drop the digger and tractor drivers. Sleepy animals leap out of the way of the bouncing vehicle. Up on the open marsh in the north again. Black plastic buried in the road tells me that we are in the section called Bishops. Just a few years ago a monoculture crop grew here, where animals now graze. Pineapples. And a reminder of the miracle of Phinda: cattle, pineapple and sisal farms just 20 years ago, now restored to accommodate precious wildlife.
We pull up to the where the tractors and digger sleeps. The digger has had a rough night. The batter is dead and a hyena has mauled the edge of one of the tyres. They will eat just about anything. The digger eventually gets going and we leave 3 guys behind to continue quarrying sand and dumping on the road to be repaired, a few kilometers away.
Back into Lulu Bush, to Dam Wall to replace the rotten poles. As we approach the dam the fresh morning sunlight catches the yellow bark of the fever trees. It is easy to see why the Zulu called this tree Umkhanyakude. For it really does, “shine from afar”. The Latin name: Acacia Xanthophloea means “Yellow Bark Acacia”. Sounds so pedestrian by comparison.
“Umhlosinga” Seven tells me. Another Zulu name for the tree. He explains that when the Europeans came to South Africa and started getting malaria, they noticed that this tree was always around. And so it made sense that the yellow powder on the bark was probably the cause. Wrong. Fever trees love moist areas, and so do the deadly mosquito that carry the malaria parasite. The trees were vindicated but the name stuck.
The botany lesson continues over lunch and this time the teacher is Inkosinathi. He tells me that the Tamboti tree has a poisonous milky fluid in the bark. If you chop the wood you must look away as you strike it, for if the milk goes in your eyes you will go blind. It’s the wrong time of year, but when the pods are out hyperactive worms inside turn them into jumping beans.
I’m restless and decide to use up the rest of the lunch break to take a little walk. To my left is the Mzinene River, dammed up by the ground I’m walking on. To my right is a forest of fever trees, and reeds rise up from the marsh downstream of the wall.
Downwind, upstream and below me a male nyala grazes. Just metres away he pretends he doesn’t notice me. A pied kingfisher darts up ahead of me and I catch the end of a splash further up. Perhaps a monitor lizard. The fever tree forest climbs the dam wall in front of me, and soon I’m in their shadows. And then it opens up to the Inkwazi floodplain ahead. The grass is dry and beautiful but animals don’t like to eat beautiful grass, so the floodplain stands dormant, preparing for the party here after the rains.
Lunch is done, the peanut butter and jam sandwiches have settled and we get to work. A small herd of wildebeest have turned up early for the floodplain party and look on as we change a few fence posts.
The days seem to fly by here. And the distances are far. So we load up and head back up to the north. To the marsh. The digger and tractor drivers pile in the back and we head home.
The grass turns from yellow to black. Not poachers this time - it was a controlled burn to warn the bush against encroaching and to rejuvenate the grass. Well, when the rains come.
Ahead, two baby warthog wheelspin in the ashy soil and race after their mother’s upright tail. Then they are next to us, close to us, still running. And then they are done. Either we’ve crossed the finish line or they sensibly realize that we will easily win the race. Who knows.
The day winds up with something that you might least expect in the bush. Or I certainly did. Karate. Ross is the teacher and Kristal, Debora, Lize and I make up the very uncoordinated, super-keen class of students. Jupiter and moon march up from the horizon, together, and stare down at us through the Albizia branches just outside our garden. Soon we are punching and blocking and soaking up all the advice Ross will let us have. “If every part of you is not hurting, you’re probably not doing it properly”. Fixing fences has slipped to second place as my strength and fitness builder for now.
My body is tired and happy and the bed feels softer than usual. The hyena are quiet tonight. Rubber tyre indigestion I suspect.
Ngolwesinhlanu 27 August
The wind is blowing hard today, a shame for Kristal as fewer birds will visit her today. The Cruiser pulls up and parks. Ross opens and closes the door several times. No one is surprised. On Phinda he is known as Magangane or “Joker”. “Sanbonani…Hello….” he calls out. He sounds so friendly and everyone greets him back enthusiatically. But then Ross finishes the sentence “….Mahlalela….you lazy people.”. They laugh. And know that they should have known.
We head up north, to the north west of the reserve this time though. A zebra has kicked the fence in and we need to lungisa. My arm tires quickly today on the hammer and Jimson offers to take over. He is not surprised, because I am left-handed. You don’t see many left-handed Zulu people very often. This is the hand that holds the toilet paper, not the food, and the Zulu folk believe that even if you are left-handed this hand is far weaker than the right.
The area here is popular amongst would-be escapees and we find another section damaged by a warthog. We sew it up with wire too.
A block of rooms, a shed, a jungle gym and veggie patch, all behind a fence. Welcome to Mandatane (or Potgieter’s for the umlungu) staff camp. For three of the guys I work with this is home. The monkeys have helped themselves to most of the cabbage and spinach in the garden. Ripped leaves lie between the beds. They didn’t even tidy up when they left.
We drive on by, checking fences and then swing back south, heading for the fence at Dam Wall again in Lulu Bush. Teenage baboons scamper away from us in Makhasa Community Reserve. The big males look on, not flinching. Nkosinathi greets them and waves. We almost expect them to wave back and when they don’t it is the cause of much laughter.
I love the Zulu humour. Completely without sarcasm, often teasing, always gentle, never malicious. Laughter rings out across the dammed up Mzinene River as we work. Vusi is searching for his hat. It's behind him, in the hood of his jacket.
We break for lunch. Typical African bush break sounds float up into the clear Zululand sky. Nico is snoring gently under the bush next to me. His slow, steady rumble is pierced by the cry of a fish eagle’s.I drift off in the cool shade.
We’re done replacing the fencing that runs down the down wall and we head for home. Today is rations day and the guys are eager to get back to Izwe to get their supplies.
We pick up a Zulu lady and her child at 1-7 Gate. She struggles to find space amongst all the old poles and rolled up fencing. With a bit of pushing and shoving the fence reluctantly gives up some space on a pole for her. Her son stands up front with the men, Spiderman school bag still on his back.
Vusi quizzes the boy up front. Do you know elephants? Yes, he does. And buffalo? No. “They are a bit like cows, but much bigger. Buffalo also have big horns. Cows have small horns”. I can’t keep up with the rest of the lesson in Zulu as we bounce along the sandy track but the boy looks enthralled by Vusi’s gentle coaching.
Seven or eight white-backed vultures labour to gain height from a tree up ahead. It’s past their lunchtime and the cooling air makes for hard work. The first vultures I’ve seen this week, and it’s good to see they are still around.
Vultures have formidable eyesight and some sangomas peddle the belief that vulture bones and body parts therefore carry tremendous powers of foresight. This has created a market for poachers who kill nyala and other game, poisoning the carcasses for unsuspecting, scavenging vultures. Many other animals of course fall victim to this brutal practice.
The vulture’s head itself is the most powerful, powerful enough to help you dream the lottery numbers if you put it under your pillow. They say. There is no fine print, but no money-back guarantee either and no complaints desk.
Willie the resident Wildebeest welcomes me home. He walks around like he’s the boss and his little herd of impala indulge him. The first week is done. What an amazing week it has been!
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