My Zulu is definitely improving, although each day I feel differently about it. The challenge is that very often word for word translations just don’t. Translate that is. So first I need to translate my English questions into different English, English that will fit with what can make sense in Zulu. If that makes any sense at all.
One the chaps I work with, Patrick, complain when Jimson rebukes him for speaking to me in English. “Yes, but I want to learn English!” he says. In Zulu. So I start testing his English. In Zulu too. We are both happy.
Working at Skelm Gate a whirlwind whips by. Red dust, and clump of dry, yellow grass swirl up into the sky in front of us, and then past us on the old Sodwana Bay Road
Ross has done some work on the bird hide at Forest Lodge and is keen to show us. We trundle down in our car and go check it out. Scaly-throated Honeyguide, Blue-mantled Flycatcher and various other decorative, beautiful birds come down to drink. A skittish Red Duiker has more nerves than he has thirst and takes no chances, ducking off into the safety of the bush.
We bump into Lodge Something, Del-Marie, and excitedly she points in the direction of the big ellie bull, browsing a short way from the Forest Lodge deck. Pulling down creepers, back legs crossed he seems very relaxed. He moves towards the guest rooms and Ross cannot resist trying to get a bit closer. He leads us down the path to the rooms. The ellie is now just 20m ahead of us. That is probably just 7 or 8 steps for him at a jog. Gulp! Ross takes a photo and the flash lights up. Dusk is settling in. And it could spell trouble for us. For the flash is not unnoticed by the grey giant, who strolls over to investigate. “Don’t move!” Ross’ command is whispered, with a smile that somewhat belies the danger. For now the ellie is browsing on the bush directly in front of us. Three metres away. And not a fishing story “three metres”, a measuring tape three metres. A half an elephant step and a trunk stretched through the bush and he is on us. My heart is in my throat. And I think it’s stopped beating, in case he can hear. We are fairly well covered by the bush, and soon he loses interest, PHEW! and wanders off to go drink from the pool. We recover quickly and sneak up again, on the far side of the pool. Haven eaten and drunk his fill he finally departs.
But then! We spy a whole herd, a breeding herd, of ellies across the grassy plain. About 15 of them seem to be making their way to Vlei Lodge. Checking the wind, ignoring the rangers’ advice of never walking into breeding herds, we duck under the two-strand fence. We get a great view of them next to the pan, between the two lodges. Eighty metres away three big females, trunks up in the air, pick up our lingering scent, or the scent of Ross’ cigarette rather. By then we have moved safely downwind.
It is difficult to know whether it is because they work on Phinda, or because it is part of the Zulu culture, but animals are always a prominent feature or daily conversations along the fencelines. I catch only part of the stories, and miss most of the humour, but the animals are always there. That I hear. The warthogs are back, and with it the joking and laughing about the dangers of warthog. We all shout a mock warning to Inkosinathi lunching under a tree on his own. “Pasopi inthibane!”.
Thembankosi is trying to describe an animal to me, and in Afrikaans. Something about “Skoolpad” he says with a bad Afrikaans accent. I translate to Zulu. Nope, not helping. The next day he finds an old shell of a tortoise, or skilpad.
Pronunciation errors often lead to interesting place names. It took me two weeks to figure out why Mkuze Game Reserve, adjacent to Phinda is called “Passport” by the guys I work with. It is run by what used to be called the (Natal
Sitting on our stoep, watching the impalas go, suddenly by frantic chattering breaks out in one of the huge trees ahead. Vervet monkeys up to no good again. The chattering is now interspersed with a type of screeching, the two poor Walhberg’s Eagles, nesting in this tree, are defending their eggs from the marauders. The racket continues for some time and in the end we are unsure who the victor is. Perhaps we will see the eagles mating once again.
Friday morning, out at Skelm Gate again. Everyone is tired, and a half day on Sundays is the closest they will get to a weekend off for their 6-week cycle. And then the “ova” pipes up with bad news. Two male giraffe have been fighting, across the fence that separates Phinda from Makhasa Community Reserve. Well, it is chaos. Eleven broken poles, the wire fencing ripped up in 3 places and we now only have 3 hours in the afternoon to fix it all. First we lunch. Thembankosi points to my hat, as I chew down my sandwiches. “Look around.” he says, and then points to the other guys. No-one is wearing their hat. “You will lose your hair if you wear a hat while you eat”. I have been warned. I take off my hat.
The sand is soft, and the holes for the poles are dug swiftly. Some skilful sewing of fencing and soon we are on our way. It’s enough to keep animals from crossing from there to here or here to there. Tomorrow they will start here again, replacing more poles that have been standing (and then rotting) since Phinda’s birth in 1991.
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