He approached the barman and speaking in a voice laden with Welsh said, “Excuse me, where’s the toilet?” And the guy just looked at him. So, he repeated, “Excuse me, the toilet?” Nothing.
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"I can only tell you things that happened as I saw them, and what the rest was about only Africa knows." – Oom Schalk Lourens
Out of nowhere (as is typical in Kruger) we spot some baboons strolling out onto the road in front of us, so we slow down and watch them go. After a while, we start thinking, “Jeez, they’re taking a long time just to get across the road”…
Delivering meat to Spur and meeting Rodriguez at SABC Studios—a usual but not-usual day in Joburg…and all the while the world was ending.
The robber’s grave was turned the other way. A scarlet letter on the landscape. On our school trip to Pilgrim’s Rest in the Eastern Transvaal (now Mpumalanga) we learnt about the gold rush, did some panning, bought some guinea fowl curios, saw the majestic Mac Mac, Horse Shoe Falls and Bridal Veil Falls—but the robber’s grave.
Coming from South Africa, this tree was the closest thing to a celebrity that I had ever encountered; it was a huge moment (and I revelled in it) but Yvonne just didn’t believe us … so, in fact, she was the cause of all the trouble that was soon to follow.
I knew immediately when they had spotted us; the Cujos went berserk. I froze. And tried to think past the I-am-going-to-eat-your-heart-out-if-you-so-much-as-breathe noises that were emanating from the barking banshees above me to the right.
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As dark descended we imagined thousands of impis creeping their way through the long grass, closer and closer to the mission—and then the sudden light upon their faces as the Red Coats set the roof on fire. Guns firing, assegais penetrating; the vicious cries of war.
The view was incredible, stretching the eye to Langermann’s Kop across the valley. It was dark inside. Gloomy. But in a mystical, magical kind of medieval way that ignores the horrendous hygiene, disgusting food, rotting teeth, dubious medical practise and bubonic plague more typical of the time than any cliché of marvellous masquerades and happy ever afters.
That train cake. It came from a cake book that Patty had—The Australian Women’s Weekly Children’s Birthday Cake Book, which was surely beamed down to suburban South Africa from some sort of 80s party goddess.
The Parktown Prawn is a browney-orangey-reddish colour, with long spiked legs and piranha-like teeth that it uses to eat the meat of its enemies—cats, dogs, people and the odd bird…people. Some reasons why you wouldn’t want to meet a prawn in a dark alley…