In Trouble Again: More Adventures in Bonamanzi.

March 20, 2026 / stidyatkusane / 4 Comments

At seven, on the dot, I set off. Despite the long, busy road I would need to travel to get to my destination, I was in high spirits. I never had any doubt I would be going back.

The Game Reserve I was headed towards is near the iSimangalosi Lake St Lucia Wetland Park. In the old days, before the arrival of the Europeans, much of eastern Zululand must have resembled the wild, elemental, densely vegetated land now protected within its confines.

Most of that coastal forest is now gone, either cleared for cultivation or given over to hectares upon hectares of sterile pine trees, which support very little in the way of wildlife. This is why I keep returning to Bonamanzi. It is a microcosm of what large sections of the coastline must have looked like before it got converted into farmland and towns.

Walking through its forest, the trees surround you, loom over you, crowd you in. In places, it turns into a vast, impenetrable thicket in which, if you were stupid enough to fight your way into it, it would be very easy to get lost. The diversity of plant species is amazing.

The rich plant life brings with it a wealth of wildlife. Over 426 bird species have been recorded in Bonamanzi’s diverse ecosystem, offering a good chance of spotting rare ones. Game is abundant, especially Nyala. Brightly coloured butterflies flit through the trees and, as you walk, you become aware of scuttling creatures and disparate rustlings. At night, the trills of tree frogs and the chirping crickets provide a musical backdrop.

I arrived at our campsite just before lunch, expecting Mark – who is far better organised and equipped than I am – to have everything up and running with his usual military-like precision. Apart from a pile of canvas discarded on the side of the road, there was no sign of him. I was puzzled. He had left Pietermaritzburg at four in the morning because he had wanted to beat the Durban rush hour traffic and get to Bonamanzi as early as possible. He had even phoned from Ballito to confirm his whereabouts.

Gavin, who was using our site to make a phone call because there was no signal at his site, explained what had happened. Mark had left his tent poles behind and, rather than buy new expensive ones in Empangeni, had opted to drive all the way back to Pietermaritzburg to fetch them. He had calculated it would cost him less. He would only be returning the following morning.

So, I set up my tiny igloo tent in the shade cast along the edges of the forest. Then, I got out my camp chair and sat in it with a mug of tea, soaking up the surroundings. It was good to be back

At about four o’clock, with the temperature subsiding, I wandered over to the other camp where Gavin and Gwen had parked their vehicle. Gwen (Gavin isn’t much for this birding lark) and I decided to go for a walk down a road that wound out of the forest and into more open country. Not far down it, I got my first good sighting – a female Black Cuckoo Shrike. Unlike so many species of birds, where the two sexes differ, she is as striking as the male, although her colours are markedly different.

Dusk was setting in when we headed back. As we neared a point where two roads join, Gwen stopped and pointed. “Look what we missed,” she said. Because we had been so intent on scanning the trees for birds on our way down, we hadn’t noticed the tiny, faded “No Walking” sign, almost obscured by the grass. The prohibition made sense. We had just made our way through good buffalo country, an animal you don’t want to tangle with, especially the solitary males who are notoriously grumpy.

I had supper with Gavin and Gwen. It was a beautiful, balmy evening. As we sat drinking in the glowing firelight, we could hear, away in the distant gloom, the eerie ululations of a hyena. The hoot of a Wood Owl echoed through the trees. A Night Ape’s sudden, piercing scream from a nearby tree caused me to almost spill my beer. While we were cooking supper, we were joined by an inquisitive and very tame Genet who took up a position behind a Fluted Milkwood, intently monitoring our moves.

After supper, I made my way back, through vine-laden trees, down the path that separated our two camps and went to bed.

Early the next morning, Gwen and I went for another walk. This time, we kept to the park rules and followed the main road, which led to various Tree Houses. The sudden loud crack of a breaking branch and a weighty pushing of foliage nearby caused us to spin around in alarm. We both had the same thought. Elephant. Wild elephants can be unpredictable and dangerous. They are not an animal you want to creep up on or surprise unless you have gun support. We did not have that luxury. I am not one to take unreasonable risks. Neither was Gwen. So, we did the logical thing. We high-tailed it out of there.

As we hurried along, we could hear the swish of Trumpeter Hornbill wings, and then one of the great birds whooshed into view, alternatively labouring and sailing, flapping and gliding. As it flew, it omitted its wailing, baby-like cry: “waaaaa-weeeee-waaaaa”. It was another bird to jot down on my list after I had put a safe distance between the elephants and myself.

Further down the road, we came to the main workshop area for the reserve. On the other side of the road, there was another campsite with a swimming pool near it. From deep in the undergrowth which surrounded it, we heard a Green Malkoha. SASOl describes its extraordinary call this way: “A clicking ‘kik-kik-kik, winding up to a loud ‘çher-cher-cher-cher’; sequence ends with rapid, clacking sounds”. With its plastic-like, bright yellow beak, the Malkoha is a shy, easily overlooked bird that frequents forest edges. My excitement levels mounted. I have been after this highly elusive bird for years.

Then, the bird fell silent.

We decided to abandon our search for it when we heard the crack of another fallen tree. The elephant must have followed us. We were contemplating how best to dodge them when Mark, who had returned with his tent poles, pulled up in his bakkie. We hitched a lift back to camp with him. Our caution proved wise. Later, we heard that one of the elephants, in a fit of pique, had destroyed an outside geyser at another site.

Ken was due to arrive later. He is not someone whose timings you can ever predict, so we had no idea when that might be. The sun had already given up on him and sunk below the distant ocean, when the familiar sight of his much-travelled Kia came bumping up the road in a cloud of dust. The next chapter in my much- thought-about, but yet-to-be-written, book, Travels With Ken, had begun.

*This illustration of mine was based on a real event – only we were headed, in reverse gear, down a very narrow, torturous, steep-sided and winding mountain pass…*

The next morning, because the sun was shining, we decided to explore the many rough bush tracks that crisscross the forest. We didn’t see much in the way of birds, but the foliage the car kept brushing against was swarming with tiny black ticks. They launched themselves, in waves, through our open windows.

By midday, we had had enough of fighting off their continued assaults, so, because it was boiling hot, we headed for the swimming pool.

I was sitting in it, cooling waters, sipping a cold beer, when I heard it again. The Green Malkoha. This time we found it.

Birdwatching is like a civilised form of hunting. Besides wanting to increase the number of birds on your Sightings List, you are motivated by the sheer thrill of the chase, although there is none of the associated cruelty and destruction of life.

Finally recording this rare bird brought forth the familiar shot of adrenaline, followed by high fives, the punching of air and mobile phone messages announcing my latest triumph. We birders are a competitive lot…

We had supper at the other site. Feeling tired, I chose to leave early. Back at it, I found the contents of our dustbin strewn across the ground. I decided it must have been the work of the Genet, who had visited us again, and went to bed. We could clean up the mess in the morning..

For some reason, I couldn’t sleep. I was still awake when Mark and Ken returned. I was vaguely aware of an animated conversation between the two, with Ken demanding to know what had happened to his 10-litre bottle of water, which was no longer where he had left it.

I dozed off. Sometime later, I was awakened by a racket outside my tent. My immediate thought was that it was Mark rearranging his bakkie – something he is wont to do – although why he should have chosen the dead of midnight to do so escaped my logic. The noise carried on. Then silence.

I decided the time had come to investigate. Sticking my head out of the tent, I was greeted by the sight of a slightly bedraggled, disgruntled Ken stomping about amongst his scattered possessions, softly cursing to himself.

“Bloody hyena! Look what it has done?!”

I looked. Ken’s ‘bush’ fridge, with a gas bottle in tow, had been dragged at least ten metres from where he had carefully set it up under a Boer Bean tree. A large chunk had been taken out of the lid, which was now smothered in a foamy silver saliva. Although Ken had tightly secured the fridge with octopus rope, the animal had managed to squeeze out a tub of Butro from the top and polished off the contents.

Adding to Ken’s annoyance, the animal had also made off with one of his sandals, the two of which he had neatly placed outside his tent! (Gwen found it, the next morning, in the forest, with a large chunk bitten out of it).

After moving the rest of our gear to the safety of the kitchen area, we returned to our respective tents. I was woken, a little later, by more vaguely irritable snuffling noises. I tentatively shone my torch through the tent fly, scanning the campsite. Shambling along without haste, I picked up the hunched body and hungry head of the maned animal of the night.

“Bugger off!” I shouted, “Scat!” “Get lost!” “Shoo!”

Rather to my surprise, it obliged, making off into the gloom with a cringing, bear-like lope. Then, it stopped, swung its cadaverous head around and fixed its eyes on me. In the reflected light of my torch, there was something very scary about those glowing yellow orbs. I began to feel distinctly uneasy. Hyenas do most of their hunting at night. They are good at it. When their blood is up, they will take on a lion and survive to hunt again.

Unarmed and protected only by a thin plastic tent (I was suddenly envying Mark and his thick canvas one), it dawned on me that I was at rather a disadvantage should this boil down to a fight to the death between the werewolf and myself. I had a small penknife inside my rucksack, but I didn’t think that would be much use in a scrap with an animal whose ferocious jaws can crunch through the thickest of bone. I zipped the tent flap back up and buried myself in my sleeping bag.

Fortunately, the hyena chose to call it quits and disappeared into the forest. Seeing it, in the half-light, had given me the creeps. I can understand why hyenas have a notorious place in African legend. I could also accept the widespread belief that the “shadow soul” of witches inhabits them at night.

Any hope it had departed for the night was to be dashed. It returned a bit later, and then, again, a bit later after that. I didn’t get much sleep for the remainder of the night.

The next morning, I made a point of driving my car right up to my tent flap in the hope it would prevent the hyena from biting off my head or, at least, give me a place of refuge should the need arise.

Later, we discussed the matter. The hyena had obviously become a problem animal, habituated to humans and human beings’ food. We decided to report its presence to management so that they could possibly relocate it to somewhere it couldn’t cause more mischief.

*Ken, still scowling over what the hyena did to his fridge. Mark is in the background*.

Afterwards, we drove down to where the Hluhluwe River ends its journey. Lake St Lucia glimmered beyond it, a silver sliver against the dark backdrop of the dunes that separates it from the Indian Ocean. Driving towards the now lazy-moving river, the forest opens up into parkland and glade, the grass cropped short by the buffalo, wildebeest and antelope which graze here.

We parked by a fig tree, near where a boat was moored in the river. I sprang out, binoculars at the ready. As I squelched across the fallen fruit, some deep-rooted survival mechanism suddenly kicked in. I glanced down at my feet. I was glad I did. I had disturbed a Mozambique Spitting Cobra. It reared up in front of me, hood fully extended, tongue flickering ominously. It was a fairly small one, although I don’t think that would have made much difference to the toxicity of its venom. Survival mode kicked in again. According to my birding colleagues, I did a ballet-like pirouette and fled. They said they had no idea I could move so fast. Neither did I. I was just glad it hadn’t expectorated into my unprotected eye or sunk its sharp fangs into my leg.

I found the encounter deeply unnerving. What the hell was going on? First elephants on the march, then a marauding hyena, now a snake with an attitude problem!

On our previous visits to the area, I had done a great deal of walking in the park. Discovering what was lurking in the woods had now given me pause for thought. I needed to be more cautious.

But, I still wanted to find the rare Rosy-throated Longclaw that resided in the moist grasslands we were driving through. Needless to say, luck wasn’t on my side here, either. We saw plenty of the more common Yellow-throated variety, but its uncooperative relation eluded us.

Back in camp, we found a friendly ranger who was fixing an electrical problem. He confirmed that, besides the hyena prints, there had also been the spoor of a solitary leopard. I began to feel a little guilty. I was the one who had insisted we stay at the remotest campsite. Now, I was wondering about the wisdom of that choice.

That evening, we returned to the hide that Gwen and I had discovered on our illegal walk. It was shaded by two Sycamore Figs whose massive roots had burrowed their way to sustenance deep down into the earth. In a dead limb, on the side of the one tree, a pair of White-eared Barbet had excavated a hole for their nest and were flying in and out. A tiny Malachite Kingfisher took up its perch to the side of us on a bare patch of branch overhanging the pool. Perhaps, because the sunlight was more dazzling at this time of the day, or perhaps because we were just happy to be there, the iridescent blue of this particular kingfisher seemed a richer colour than others we had seen. To top it off, a solitary African Marsh Harrier swooped, curved and sailed around and around the glistening water surface.

Watching it all, I experienced a primitive quietude that conquers all fear. The redemptive power of nature. In a darkening world where I sometimes feel like I am trapped below decks in a sinking Titanic, such moments are becoming increasingly rare (I was to return home to discover Trump had just launched his ill-thought-out and disastrous war on Iran).

The light began to fade, and the bushes and then the trees on the bank darkened. It was time to head back.

On our final day, we decided to go back to the northern section of the Park, which we had previously driven through. It is a good place to find the habitat-specific Lemon-breasted Canary. As we drove, the forest gave way to wood and then Acacia savannah, dotted with palms, the favourite haunt of the Canary.

Coal black in colour, the cotton soil in which the palm grows can be treacherous after rain. Fortunately, we had several days of dry weather, so we felt it was okay to venture on. In the end, we didn’t find the canary, but the road did lead us to a beautiful Fever Tee forest alongside a river. Just as the Baobab is the tree which symbolises, for me anyway, the hot, low-lying areas along the Zambezi and Limpopo Rivers, the Fever Tree is the one I identify most with Zululand.

Exiting the forest, we had a wonderful sighting of a pair of Crowned Eagles, perched in a tree. That made Mark very happy. They’re his favourite birds. Earlier, we had also got a Southern-banded Snake Eagle, a bird confined, in South Africa, to this narrow strip along the Zululand coastline.

Back in camp, with twilight falling, Gwen and I headed off into the forest one final time (Ken had driven off on his own separate mission). Where a labyrinth of trees met overhead, knotted together with monkey ropes, we were rewarded with a wonderful sighting of a Narina Trogon, bright green in the foliage, with its crimson belly and waxy-yellow bill. Despite the poor light, Gwen managed to snap some wonderful pics. It was a good way to end the trip,

*Narina Trogon. Pic courtesy of Gwen Stokes*.

We got back to camp to find Mark, who had slept soundly through the hyena visit, had also not escaped the wilderness unscathed. His shirt was off, revealing a back covered in angry red welts. He thought it was mosquito bites, but it was too widely distributed and looked more like some sort of nettle sting that had caused an all-over rash. Or a spider? We were considering the possibilities when I suddenly remembered the warning notice in the ablutions and realised what the true culprit was – caterpillars. Gwen, prepared for any eventuality, rushed off to her vehicle and returned with anti-itch ointment and medicine to treat the bites.

(Mark’s run-in with merciless insects didn’t end there. A couple of days after he got home, he went down with Tick Bite Fever.)

We are not ones to complain, however. Travel wouldn’t be travel without its travails. We are already planning our next trip to Bonamanzi.

GALLERY:

A Crippling Blow: Cartoons for January and February 2026

March 1, 2026 / stidyatkusane / Leave a comment

The Government of National Unity (GNU) faced a critical year, navigating internal policy disagreements and public scepticism while preparing for pivotal local government elections at the end of the year.

With his attack on Venezuela and threatened invasion of Greenland, US President Donald Trump continued to shred the last vestiges of international law, replacing it with an order where superpowers exercised unrestrained dominion over their spheres of influence.

The NFP’s withdrawal from the KwaZulu-Natal government of provincial unity (GPU) destabilised the governing arrangement and opened the door for the EFF to potentially assume a king-maker role in the provincial legislature.

South Africa faced mounting pressure to explain Iran’s participation in naval drills off Cape Town, a move that further soured South Africa’s already fractious relations with the US. In response, the Presidency claimed it had issued a directive to Defence Minister Angie Motshega to cancel Iran’s involvement.

Five years after the initial outbreak of foot and mouth disease in South Africa, and two months after the minister of agriculture announced a “comprehensive national vaccination campaign” there was still no mass availability of effective vaccines. In the meantime, farmers were losing millions in production losses, livestock deaths and the destruction of generic material built up over decades.

DA leader John Steenhuisen announced that he would not seek a third term as party leader, saying he wanted to concentrate on his portfolio as Minister of Agriculture and fighting the ongoing foot and mouth outbreak. According to reports, he was pressured into leaving following bruising inter-party controversies over the previous three months.

In his State of the Nation address, President Cyril Ramaphosa cited the strengthening of the rand against the dollar and the country’s removal from the grey list as some of the key indicators that the country is making progress.

KwaZulu-Natal’s economy could face one of its most severe shocks in decades if sugar giant Tongaat Hulett collapses, with government and business leaders warning that thousands of jobs and the entire agricultural value chain were at risk.

South Africa’s water crisis continued to worsen, fuelled by mismanagement, ageing infrastructure and the deliberate vandalisation of water treatment plants.

Book Reviews

January 10, 2026 / stidyatkusane / Leave a comment

published by UKZN Press

The spectacular rise of birdwatching over the last century has led to a proliferation of literature on ornithological matters, aimed at both novices and professionals alike.

Rather than dealing with the prehistory, evolution and habits of birds, a subject covered in many of the other books about birding, this one is slightly different, concentrating instead on how our various Southern African birds got their names. Because these names have often changed over the years, this, of necessity, involves setting the clock back repeatedly.

In lesser hands, this could have resulted in a muddle, but Adriaan Koopman (who is Professor Emeritus at the University of KwaZulu-Natal) and Eckhart Buchardt (an avid birder with a special interest in names) have successfully navigated the obstacle, providing a crisp and often witty guide to the subject. Given the confusion of names that existed back in history, it becomes understandable, too, why scientists felt a need to simplify things

Birdwatching, of course, begins with noticing differences. These differences help us to allocate names to the various types of birds and then to divide them into species and subspecies. All birds have at least two names: the standard common name and the Latinised scientific” name”. In addition to this, there can be national, dialect and popular/slang names. The main purpose of the scientific name, which always comes in two parts, is to enable scientists to communicate internationally without any possibility of confusion.

The popular or slang names (eg Toppie for Dark-capped Bulbul), are the ones that have fallen into common usage. Some of these slang names are very colourful, expressive or descriptive. There is an obvious rightness to many of them, in other cases, less so,

As a multilingual country, South Africa has an extensive range of bird names. Understandably, many originate in England, and this can lead to some confusion. In England, for example, there is only one kingfisher, and it does, indeed, live mostly on fish. In South Africa, there are seven species, of which several (such as the Woodland, Brown-hooded and Pygmy) can be found far from water and consume a different diet. They look like the English kingfisher, though, and are part of the same family so the name has been kept.

In Chapters 5 to 7, the authors examine the contributions made by various early English ornithologists, such as Edgar Layard, William Burchell, Richard Sharpe, John Gurney and the Woodward brothers. They would later give way to a new generation of pioneering South African ornithologists. Edward Leonard Gill was the first of these to meet the need for a new type of informative book to help people identify birds, publishing, in 1936, his A First Guide to South African Birds. The lodestar, however, was Dr Austin Roberts, whose “Roberts Birds of South Africa” remains the benchmark against which all other local bird guidebooks are measured. More recently, the adoption of IOC standardised English names has entailed changes to long-entrenched English bird names in southern Africa – a move that has left some birders lingering unhappiness (do they really expect me to go back and change all my old bird lists?).

Many birds are named after their most striking colours or physical appearance. Other names are based on their behaviour or are influenced by the birds’ favoured habitat or the sound they make. In many cultures, birds are used as markers of seasons or changing weather, and this also holds true amongst the names given to them by South Africa’s indigenous people. The booming call of the Southern Ground Hornbill, for example, is believed to presage rain.

Not to be outdone, various ornithologists, explorers and collectors have made sure their contributions were not forgotten by bestowing their own names on a bird (a familiar example is Burchell’s Coucal or “Rainbird”. Likewise, Gurney’s Sugarbird and LeVaillant’s Cisticola).

In the case of Cape Dutch and Afrikaans names, these often come from close observation of the bird in its natural habitat. Some of their names have slipped into popular usage (think Korhaan, Bokmakierie and Piet-my-Vrou).

Similarly, many of the African names link the bird to the natural environment. Others have their origins in myth, fable, custom and local beliefs, providing another interesting aspect to the whole question of bird nomenclature and linking it, in turn, to a common humanity.

In compiling this fascinating compendium on the subject of how birds got their names – obviously, such names mean nothing to the birds themselves – the authors have left no stone unturned. Full of insight, information, and imaginative sympathy with the natural world, South African Bird Names is a triumph of painstaking research. Handsomely produced, with a neat bibliography and index, plus illustrations, it looks set to become the authoritative work on the subject.

published by Jacana

David Bristow is a veteran travel journalist, tour guide and avid explorer, in the tradition of some of the great adventurers of old. He is also a natural storyteller with a gift for pinning down the smells and atmosphere of the African landscape.

In this rich and highly readable compilation of some of his best stories, he skilfully blends history with anthropology, as well as relating some of his own experiences in the wilds. In the process, he reveals a lively and compassionate engagement with his subject matter, while supplying discreet but telling characterisations that help bring the events he describes to life.

The scope of the book is wide – Bristow discusses his encounters with wild animals, the changing environment, and touches on various milestone historical events. There is an insightful and sympathetic portrait of the missionary David Livingstone, which, nevertheless, doesn’t spare us the great explorer’s personal failings. Two of his stories relate to the Wild Coast. Both are tragic in their outcome – the wrecking of the Grosvenor and its aftermath, and the great Xhosa Cattle Killing, inspired by a prophecy and which resulted in widespread starvation.

There are also some less familiar gems. He rescues from history, for example, the now all but forgotten story of Coenraad De Buy, frontiersman, renegade and Bastard King of South Africa. Equally fascinating and remarkable is the story of the quarrelsome and fiery, five-feet-tall, gender-bending Dr James Barry, who managed, for the most part, to keep her real identity hidden while serving as the Cape Colony Medical Officer in the early 1800s.

Amongst the wealth of similar engaging anecdotes is the story of the building of the Swartberg pass and the discovery of Die Hel, an isolated white settlement that existed in one of the more inaccessible parts of the mountains. The author’s enthusiasm for his subject is equally evident = in his descriptions of the rediscovery of the ancient city of Mapungubwe and the various legends and local folklore that surrounded it.

Generous, humane and moral, there are some wonderfully Boy’s Own humorous touches to the stories which relate to his own life in off-the-beaten-track places – like his encounter with an angry hippo. Written with professional assurance, Loony Birds, Lion Men and the Snake that was a Gerbil is a book bursting with incident, humour, humanity and a love for the African continent.

‘Tis the Season of Ill Will: Cartoons for November and December 2025

December 27, 2025 / stidyatkusane / Leave a comment

Msunduzi Municipality claimed to have made progress in clawing back millions owed by defaulters, but serious questions loomed over the effectiveness and cost-efficiency of the recovery process.

Ongoing testimony before the Madlanga Commission of Inquiry has revealed deep divisions and bitter infighting, as well as criminal infiltration, within South Africa’s police force.

DA leader John Steenhuisen’s controversial decision to ask President Cyril Ramaphosa to replace Minister of the Environment, Forestry and Fisheries Dion George with party spokesperson Willie Aucamp exposed deep divisions within the DA.

Imprisoned tenderpreneur Vusimuzi “Cat” Matlala claimed he paid former Police Minister Bheki Cele R500 000 at his penthouse.

US Secretary of State Mark Rubio confirmed that the US intended to ban South Africa from the G20.

The ANC scrambled to stabilise its hold on KwaZulu-Natal as the Government of Provincial Unity (GPU) faced a critical test when the MK Party motion of no confidence in Premier Thami Ntuli was to be debated.

KwaZulu-Natal Premier Thumi Ntuli survived an MK Party motion of no confidence, after a chaotic sitting of the KZN Legislature in which the motion was ultimately defeated.

From Shingwedzi to Satara: More adventures in Kruger

December 13, 2025December 16, 2025 / stidyatkusane / 14 Comments

I was overcome by a sudden wave of apprehension as we drove into the Shingwedzi campsite. There were far too many people in it for my liking, and their obvious affluence made me only too aware of my lowly status as a permanently hard-up Political Cartoonist.

Perhaps it is a misplaced nostalgia for a simpler world, growing up on a remote farm on Zimbabwe’s eastern border, but, for me at least, much of the fun and romance has gone out of camping. Back then, you would just toss a few leaky canvas tents, some basic cooking equipment, a couple of wooden crates of beer, a sleeping bag, and a pile of fishing rods into the back of a battered old bakkie and head off to “The River” (as everybody called the Zambezi). Nowadays, to qualify as a serious camper, you have to drive a top-of-the-range 4 X 4 with all the mod cons and latest gadgetry built into it. Or, a ludicrously expensive vehicle that unfolds into a skyscraper.

During my life, camping has gone from ‘roughing it in the bush’ to ‘glamping’. With Ken’s battered Nissan X-Trail and our two tiny igloo tents, we were oddities, relics from a bygone era. All the other campers looked sorry for us.

I guess this is where we are headed. The whole attitude to the great outdoors has undergone a fundamental change. Wildlife is now viewed in terms of resource management, another commodity to be commercialised, marketed and exploited, a further branch of the ever-spreading tentacles of modern capitalism. To look the part, you need a massive bank balance, so you can upstage your neighbouring campers.

But maybe it is just a case of sour grapes, on my part. If it furthers the cause of nature conservation and animal preservation, who am I to object?

I cheered up immediately when, early the next morning, before the parrots were awake, we escaped, once more, into the familiar vastness of the bush. We had chosen to do the Shingwedzi River Loop, which is one of the most beautiful drives in Kruger. Huge riverine trees fringe the river, and its banks form big floodplains, bringing in the birds and animals. Statuesque Lala Palms are plentiful. Streamlined Palm Swifts swirl around and nest in them.

A highlight of the route is Red Rocks, a significant geological and historical site, known for its large, heavily potholed slabs of sandstone – part of the Karoo Supergroup – that have been eroded and exposed over the millennia. To the local indigenous people, this site was known as ‘Ribyenera-ra-Gudzani (Gudzani’s Rock), deriving its name from one of their gods. When passing through the area, they would always make an offering as a way of homage and to ensure safe travel. It was also visited in 1870 by the American Captain Frederik Elton, who panned for gold here.

Red Rocks. The exposed sandstone slab is slightly upriver.

The Thsanga Hill lookout, near the Bataleur Bushveld Camp, provided our breakfast spot that day. Before we started cooking, we unfolded our camp chairs and sat gazing out into the silence of the flats that stretched out below us, awed by the view. I couldn’t believe there was so much of it. Once again, I felt overwhelmed by the age and might of this old continent and all too aware of my insignificance in it.

My reverie was interrupted by Ken, in need of sustenance, firing up the skottle. It was a reminder that I had an integral part to play in this ritual – preparing the instant coffee

Although neither of us had sent out an invitation, a Giant Plated Lizard, which had its residence in a nearby pile of rocks, joined us. Despite his rough, scaly exterior, the lizard was a friendly sort and took a shine to Ken, in particular.

Heading back, our progress was stopped by an elephant at the point where the road crosses a sandstone shelf on the Shingwedzi River. It seemed to take some pleasure in holding us up, before, with a dismissive wave of its trunk, ambling off to drink.

After a short break back at camp, we headed out once more. The sun was sinking when we drove down the road that leads to the confluence of the Shingwedzi and Mphongolo rivers. Despite being a short drive, it proved productive. Sitting with its grey feet clamped to a favourite branch overhanging the edge of a pool was a Grey-hooded Kingfisher. Unlike its common brown-headed cousin, which you are likely to regularly see bobbing its head up and down in your garden, this Kingfisher is relatively scarce. It took me ages to find one and then – as often happens – I saw four in four days. Such is the nature of birding.

We scanned the water below where it was perched. A solitary Yellow-billed Stork stood, poised on one leg, lost in stork-like contemplation. I was angling to get an artistic photograph of the bird when Ken let out a gasp -” I don’t believe it! It is another Greater Painted Snipe!”

We had seen one in Mapungubwe and, because they are so scarce, assumed that was our quota for the trip. Now, we have found another. Instead of skulking around the reedbeds, as my Sasol bird book said it should, it was way out in the open. Someone must have forgotten to inform it about its correct habitat.

I didn’t want to allow Ken to, once again, be the one guzzling wine out of the “silver goblet” that night (the reward for having made the best sighting of the day), so I redirected my critical gaze to the surrounding trees as we drove away from the confluence. A bird flashed before me. I followed its flight path to a nearby tree. It was a diminutive Pearl-spotted Owlet grasping its kill – a White-rumped Swift. We were both puzzled. It is unlikely the Owlet could have caught the Swift in flight, so we could only assume it had ambushed it near its nest. The Owlet stared imperiously down on us, as if questioning our right to interrupt its hunting expedition.

It was a good sighting, but I was forced to acknowledge that Ken had trumped it with the Grey-headed Kingfisher and the Snipe. Maybe I was a bit off my game..

*Pearl-spotted Owlet with White-rumped Swift*.

Although the sun was now below the horizon, we decided to do a quick dash to the Kanniedood dam area and were immediately rewarded with the sight of two lions, dozing on the far bank. Then, we retraced our steps back to camp. It had been a good day. We decided to reward ourselves by dining at the restaurant that night.

On the day of our longest drive, along the S50 (an alternative to the main tarred road) and then on to Satara in the South, the sun finally arrived. By 0930, God had turned the temperature up to 42 degrees. It continued to rise thereafter. In this breathless air, even the birds had fallen silent (except the hornbills, of course. Nothing dims their racket).

During these long, hot, dry months, before the rains break, life becomes a relentless battle for survival. The rivers dry up, and the animals are forced to travel great distances to find water. Amongst all the sand in the dry river beds are the odd soft pools where the hippo have congregated to puff and blow. The elephants, knowing where the underground water is, dig wells. Other creatures take advantage of their thoughtfulness.

*Searching for water*, *Shingwedzi River*.

Over their long evolutionary history, most animals have adapted to such extremities in weather; however. Because many have become specialist feeders, they can co-exist in times of drought.

We drove on through the thickening heat. Perhaps it was the sun messing with our heads, but between Shingwedzi Camp and Dipeni Dip, we got into a spirited, if nonsensical, discussion about what birdwatching must have been like in the Age of Dinosaurs. Later, back home in Curry’s Post, it would lead to this cartoon:

We rejoined the tar road just north of Mopane. The sun was still climbing steadily up the back of the bluest sky, and the temperature gauge in the car was now showing 45 degrees. Nearing the Olifants turn-off, it began to dawn on Ken and me that we were the only vehicle driving along with our windows down and no air-conditioner pumping. Some visitors were even shooting their Big Five photos through the glass for fear of letting a minuscule amount of hot air in to damage their sensitive, suntan-lotioned skins. Contrariwise, Ken believes that when you are in Kruger, you have to experience it in all its extremity to get the full feel of the place.

It’s another thing we agree on. Enduring such extremes of weather can be a form of mini catharsis, a kind of redemption. Like pilgrims on an arduous journey designed to test your faith, it is a way of separating the true travellers from the faint-hearted. You emerge from it feeling a better person and wiser.

We were headed for Satara. The open plains surrounding it attract many species of ungulates. With them come the predators, including lions, leopards, cheetahs and the nomadic Wild Dogs. Also, vultures and Marabou Stork, the undertakers of the veld, who feed on the kills they leave behind.

Wiping the sweat from my brow, I suddenly became aware that something else had changed. Driving along the dirt back road earlier, it had felt like we had the whole park to ourselves. I was alone in the wilds of Africa, a modern-day David Livingstone opening up new territory.

The problem with fantasies of this sort is that sooner or later, they get punctured. That is what happened to mine as we neared Satara. The plains that make the area so attractive to wildlife also make Satara a magnet for the overseas tourist who gets bused in, in their hundreds, from nearby Hoedspruit. They are easy to identify by their trendy camouflage safari gear (Ken, on the contrary, was wearing a luminous pink shirt he had been given by a sponsor of one of the sports he writes about so well. Amazingly, it didn’t scare away the birds) and the fact that they are clearly not from these parts.

Confronted by a seething mass of them in the main reception/shop area, my mood changed. I grew edgy and irritable, urging Ken, who had begun dawdling over his grocery shopping again, to hurry up and make his purchases, so I could get the hell out. The whole mad pantomime was getting to me.

Walking back to the car, with Ken muttering about what a curmudgeon I’ve become in my dotage, my mood suddenly perked up when I heard, from a nearby tree, one of the defining calls of the Lowveld – a Woodland Kingfisher. Africa is a place of incongruities, and this bird is one of them – a kingfisher that lives in dry woods. Brighter than any illustration could ever be, this striking bird is also a migrant, and its loud, piercing “chip-cherrrrrrrrr…” is only heard in summer. We had been hoping to hear one all trip. Our wish had finally been granted. They were back.

My mood improved still further when, sitting outside under a sultry night sky, a pride of lions, setting off on their nightly hunt, began to roar close by.

After an early morning shower and a cup of tea to wake us up, we set off in the direction of the Orpen Gate. We only had one full day left in the park and a lot to condense into it. We hadn’t gone far when we came upon a male lion and two lionesses lying stretched out in the shade, not far from the edge of the road. They were obviously sleeping off the previous night’s kill.

Word of the sighting had spread rapidly. A long convoy of cars lined the road, all clamouring to get the best viewing position. Seeing a lion is always an event, a small triumph, so we fought our way into the scrum.

Then, I started getting paranoid again. What the hell was going on? I had come here to escape the madding crowd. Why were they following me? On whose authority? I began to wonder, too, about my own motivation. Is this really how I want to experience life in the wilds? It felt more like I was part of an excited crowd at a rugby match.

The lions, on the other hand, were completely indifferent to all the clicking cell phone cameras and yawned and stretched with boredom.

I felt less jittery when, a little later, we branched off the main tar, onto the much quieter Timbavati Drive, which takes you along the banks of the river bearing the same name. It is another beautiful drive. Timbavati is justly famous as lion country, although they all seemed to be taking a nap too, because we didn’t see any on this stretch of the road.

We did see Bataleur, including several juveniles, one of which was tearing away at an old bone. These days, you don’t see many of these magnificent eagles, with their curved wings and short, stubby tails, outside of the major game reserves, so it was good to know they are still breeding and that a new generation was growing up to replace the one before.

Approaching the river, I noticed a solitary vulture wheeling towards us. As we sat there, more and more of the great birds came circling through the sky. News of the kill had obviously spread like a windstorm.

We soon discovered the reason why – a lone Black-backed Jackal had made a kill. Having landed, with a hollow wing thrashing, the vultures half-hopped, half-cantered forwards, looking, for all the world, like a gang of giblet-eyed, greedy thieves. The jackal snarled and bristled. The vultures maintained a strategic distance but showed no signs of fear. They knew the routine and that their turn would come.

There were four types of vulture present – the massive Lappet-faced Vulture with its raw skull and wrinkled, feathery neck; the more common White-backed Vulture, of which we had seen quite a few; the critically-endangered White-headed Vulture, ghostly beautiful in an ugly sort of way; and the diminutive and also scarce Hooded Vulture. Each vulture is a specialist feeder selecting different parts of the carcass to feast on.

*Keeping a strategic distance* – *Lappet-faced and White-backed Vultures*.

I watched them through my binoculars as they continued probing forward while the outnumbered jackal stood its ground. Vultures get a bad rap, on account of their habit of sticking their crooked necks deep into piles of putrescent meat, but I like them. They have a filthy job to do, but they do it willingly, albeit with a lot of hissing and squabbling amongst themselves…

At the Timbavati picnic site, Ken hauled the skottle out again, and we set about cooking breakfast. A safari vehicle, with a raised platform for better viewing, drove in and parked. A couple of young bloods, wearing beanies and puffer jackets, hopped out of its back and began jabbering away in Swedish into some sort of recording device. Not wanting to lose my newly mellowed mood, I did my best to ignore them, scanning the surrounding bushes for birds.

We pressed on. Close to the river, we came across a solitary Southern Ground Hornbill, rooting around in a debris of fallen leaves. It emerged with what appeared, at first glance, to be a beetle. It was only later, when I had downloaded my pictures back home, that I realised it was a tiny baby tortoise. I felt sorry for the poor creature. It had not had much of a life. In the wilds, there is no room for sentiment, however…

In both Xhosa and Zulu belief, the Ground Hornbill’s booming call is regarded as a sign of impending rain. I glanced up at the sky but didn’t see much evidence that the heavens were about to erupt any time soon. I was wrong on that score. The next day, as we were driving back to Jo’burg, my sister sent me a Level 9 Weather Warning, saying severe conditions were on their way. It was on the mark. As we passed through the polluted, industrial hell-hole that is Steelpoort, it began to rain. The following day, on the long drive back to my home, in Curry’s Post, it bucketed down the whole way.

Back on the tar, Ken suddenly drew to a halt on the side of the road and pointed to a group of trees. Sitting under the one, staring at us with glowing eyes, was a leopard. Although a big leopard is small in comparison to a lion, they make stealthy, lethal hunters. Cornered, they can be as dangerous as any animal in Africa. After glowering at us, this one got up and stalked off into the gloom. I am not sure why – perhaps it was Ken’s garish, eye-blinding shirt – but not a single car of the many that drove past stopped to see what we were looking at.

In the late afternoon, we did a quick drive down the S100 N’wanetsi River Road. Heading back to camp, toward sunset, the grass began to turn silver, then gold. As often happens, Kruger had saved the best for last – in the strange half-light, we spotted an African Wild Cat scurrying across the road. Safely on the other side, it stopped to look back at us. It was by far the best sighting I’ve had of this shy, elusive animal.

‘The next day, we set off on the long, wearisome haul back to Jo’burg. It had been a good trip. All birders vary in skill, but according to some notes I consulted before coming to Kruger, if you get more than 150 birds in a week, you can consider yourself “a competent birder”. I got 160, which qualified me for this exalted honour. It got me wondering, though, how you measure an “incompetent birder”? Someone who spends a week in the park and can’t find any of the plague of cackling hornbills or a single Grey-headed Sparrow?

*Heading home. The North Drakensberg in the distance*.

I arrived back, in the pouring rain, at Kens house, where his wife had prepared a welcome meal, feeling triumphant…

GALLERY:

Storm Clouds over Pafuri

November 29, 2025November 29, 2025 / stidyatkusane / 12 Comments

*The Luvuvhu River, with an approaching storm.*

Our entry into the Kruger National Park, via the northern-most Pafuri Gate, had all the drama of a big-budget movie. A powerful weather wind had blown in from Mozambique, bringing with it much-needed rain. Soaring thunderclouds were gathering in the east. The sky, on the one side of us, was enshrined in an unholy light. Puffs of wet wind were tossing black leaves across the road.

Three African Hawk-Eagles glided low over the car, viewing us with suspicious eagle eyes. In the growing gloom cast by the storm’s shadow, two spooky-looking White-backed Vulture sat hunched up, curved necks slung low, on the twisted branches of a dead tree. The distant thunder provided the obligatory drum roll…

By the time we reached the Luvuvhu, the storm was almost upon us. The special effects didn’t ease up. We stopped on the bridge for a quick scan along the river. A regal African Fish Eagle sat perched, close by, its washing powder-white feathers thrown into sharp relief by the dark skies behind. I waited for the telling coup de gras – it’s haunting, oh-so-evocative-of-Africa call. Alas, someone had neglected to give it the script. It remained stubbornly silent.

Feeling a vague sense of anti-climax, we continued on. My lingering sense of disappointment quickly disappeared when, beyond Baobab Hill, we encountered a massive herd of buffalo crossing the road. We stopped so I could take photos of some of the Yellow-billed Oxpeckers that were hitching a ride on them.

The sight of the familiar hills of Punda Maria cheered me up still further. I was back home in my favourite part of Kruger.

We like to stay at Punda because, being far from any major centre, it doesn’t attract the usual tourist hordes, flocking to Kruger to find the Big Five. We were a little put out, then, to discover the usually quiet campsite had been taken over by a massive gathering of folk attending a conference

They had also grabbed all the best spots. Weaving our way through the parked cars and smouldering braais, we wondered what had brought them so far up here, a line of imaginative guesswork that resulted in a sudden premonitory flash – maybe they were members of some secret Doomsday Cult?

I was keen to enlist straight away because I thought it might involve some interesting late-night rituals. Ken, displaying commendable good sense, talked me out of it. We had no time for frivolous distractions. It would disrupt our tight birding schedule. Besides Punda Maria, we still had Shingwedzi and Satara to explore. Ken is a man who gets his priorities straight.

And so we decided to have a few beers instead. We had deliberately chosen the most remote corner of the campsite to pitch our tents to get away from the crowd. It also brought us closer to the bush. It paid off. Not far outside the fence perimeter, we heard the low rumbling of elephantine guts, probably one of the deepest and most sonorous sounds made by any animal on earth. It is an elemental sound, evocative of some ancient life force, now in danger of getting snuffed out in our increasingly technology-mad age.

The next morning, we set out to do the 27km Mahonie Loop, which circles the hill on which Punda Maria Camp is built. Punda Maria is positioned on the eastern-most extreme of the Soutspanberg, and because of its elevated altitude, receives the highest rainfall in Kruger, although the surrounding plains are, outside the wet season, usually very dry. Because of this, it contains a wide variety of trees and vegetation types that are scarce elsewhere in the park. Huge Pod Mahoganies (after which the loop is named) abound, there are thick groves of Ironwood, as well as Large-fruited Bushwillows, Apple Leaf, Jackal Berry, Marula, Leadwood, Sausage and Nyala trees. The varied vegetation, in turn, brings in a wide variety of habitat-specific birds.

It was a gloomy day, however, and we didn’t get as many birds as we usually do.

We had better luck in the afternoon when we decided to head up to the View Point on the southern side of Thulamila Hill. We passed two Wahlberg’s Eagle nests, along the way, both currently occupied – the one by the pale morph form of the bird. Seemingly unconcerned by the latter’s near proximity, several Red-headed Weavers had built their scruffy twig nests directly below it.

Captain J.J.Coetzer, who was appointed the first ranger at Punda Maria in 1919, after serving in the East African military campaign, originally sighted his camp on the north side of the hill. It was situated under a large tree, which still stands, near a spring. It is now marked by a cairn. Because of the water, it is a good place to stop to look for both animals and birds.

We stopped there. A pair of giraffe browsed on the leaves of a nearby tree, a troop of baboons strode across the bare earth with their gaunt gate and slow, purposeful strides. The younger ones cavorted in the dust. A fork-tailed Drongo suddenly erupted from a nearby bush, in hot pursuit of another, larger bird. It proved to be a Greater-spotted Cuckoo, a bird that likes to lay its eggs in other birds ‘nests– thus escaping the burden of chick-rearing. This parasitic Cuckoo is not uncommon, but, for some reason, I have seen very few, so I was excited to have such a good sighting.

It was getting late when we got to the viewpoint. We were the only ones there. Below us, the mighty landscape spread away in a haze of sand, grass, mopane trees, meandering rivers and sun rays. There was no evidence of habitation, nor any sign of man, only away in the far distance and out of sight because of the thick cloud of acrid smoke from bush fires, the Lebombo Mountains in the east, and the Northern Drakensberg to the west. And the animals, of course, great herds of moving, unhurried, mostly unseen animals, totally at home in this elemental landscape. Their footpaths trellised the countryside.

It is the sort of scene, especially in this late afternoon half-light, I don’t think I could ever tire of, even if I lived to be a hundred. It is what keeps bringing me back to these parts, again and again.

The next day, we decided to try our luck on the scenic Klopperfontein Loop, a meandering road which takes you past scattered granite kopjes and an assortment of vegetation types. The Ivory hunter Dick Klopper used to make camp here, near the dam, which is named after him.

At the dam, a small group of elephant were standing in the parking area, As a precaution, we stopped some way back on the road – elephants are notoriously unpredictable – and waited for them to finish drinking (a precaution, which didn’t stop one over-confident fool in a minivan, packed with children, from overtaking us and parking right next to them. One elephant got very twitchy, but luckily didn’t upend the vehicle.)

Having quenched their thirst, the elephant ambled off, fording a deep gully before vanishing into the trees. We proceeded down to the water’s edge. It was a classic Out of Africa scene.

*Elephants drinking upstream from the dam*.

A Terrapin sunbathed on the back of a snoozing, half-submerged hippo. An enormous, grey-green, slit-eyed, crocodile lay stretched out on the cement wall, grinning evilly, as if relishing the prospect of making a meal of us, evoking an instant, primaeval fear in me. Far less sinister, a solitary Knob-billed Duck paddled past (along with the earnest, endearing White-faced Whistling Duck, they are my favourite wild duck). Upstream, ears alert, a herd of zebra waited their turn to drink. A buffalo snuffled, snorted and swished its tail, as if looking for something to vent its frustration on.

I searched with hopeful eyes for a lion. On a previous visit, we encountered two magnificent males and a female. This time, they eluded us.

Glancing out of my side window, I noticed a Blacksmith Plover had made its nest on a bare, stony patch of ground, where it was now patiently sitting on its eggs under a blazing sun. It seemed a very exposed and idiotic place to lay your eggs, directly on the path the elephants take to the water. The plover appeared unfazed about the possibility she might get squashed flat, regularly turning her eggs over and fussing over the best way to sit on them. Maybe she had confidence that the elephants, who can tread with surprisingly delicate steps for such huge creatures, would see her and do a polite detour.

I still thought she was gambling with her life…

We headed back to Punda Maria. Near the skeleton of an old, rusting windmill, Ken suddenly brought the car to a juddering halt. Two Roan Antelope were standing there. Ken stared at them in real surprise (so did I). There are reputedly only 90 of these shy animals left in Kruger, so this was a rare sighting. Excited, Ken immediately jotted it down on a scruffy sheet of paper to write it up in his extensive note-taking that night.

Saving the best for last, we rose early on Sunday and took the tar road north to Pafuri, which we had passed on our way down. Two major rivers meet here, the Luvuvhu (which almost always has water) and the larger Limpopo (which, in the dry season, often doesn’t). The banks of the Luvuvhu, along which we drove, are dominated by a thin strip of massive Nyala, Jackal berry, Apple Leaf and Ana trees. They crowd together, pressing out over the water to catch the direct and reflected sunlight. Sadly, the intermediate zone of tall acacia woodland and fever trees between them and the mopane veld has been mostly destroyed by flooding and the tree-killing habits of the elephants, which, in many places, has completely altered the character of the bush.

The elephant problem – here, as elsewhere in southern Africa – remains unresolved. Many differing solutions have been proposed, but it seems that reaching a consensus opinion is challenging, even among experts.

As a result of the elephant’s impact on the riverine forest, the prolific birdlife, for which Pafuri is justly famous, is no longer as abundant as it was when I first started visiting the area. The striking but secretive Gorgeous Bush Shrike, for example, whose distinctive “kong-kon-kooit” was such a familiar sound of the dense undergrowth, is now seldom seen or heard.

If you look, though, there is still good stuff to find. The elusive African Finfoot occurs here, as well as the Tropical Boubou and Eastern Nicator. White-crowned Plovers are common. Both Bohms and Mottled Spinetails roost in the numerous baobab trees (for many tribes in Africa, the baobab, being infested with all sorts of nocturnal creatures, such as owls and bats, is a house of spirits. Sadly, the baobabs, too, have been hammered by the elephants).

The beautiful picnic site, on the banks of the Luvuvhu, is an excellent spot for picking up White-browed Robin-Chat, White-throated Robin-Chat, Black-throated Wattled Eye, Retz’s Helmetshrike and various other riverine ‘specials’. While we were cooking brunch in the skottle, we happened to glance up and discovered another, slightly more sinister, denizen of these dense trees – a massive, deadly, Black Mamba, slithering through the lower branches above our heads.

Having its beady eyes fixed on me made it difficult to enjoy my coffee…

On my last visit to Pafuri, I had picked up the solitary Collared Palm Thrush, a rare vagrant from the North, that had taken up temporary residence at Crooks Corner. It was still rumoured to be there, but we couldn’t find it. I have also recorded Green-capped Eremomela in the tall Ana trees growing here.

Crooks Corner, where the two rivers join forces and the borders of three countries (South Africa, Zimbabwe, Mozambique) meet, is always a good spot to get out and examine the river for signs of birdlife. On this visit, the sharp-eyed, ever-alert Ken (except for the early mornings when he takes some time to fix his bearings) noticed a small flock of Pratincoles resting on a distant sandbank. Judging by the darkness of their wings, when they flew off, we thought they might be the extremely rare Black-winged Pratincole, which would have yielded me the first lifer of the trip. After further research, we later changed our minds and settled for Collared Pratincole. It is still a good bird to get.

Besides producing arguably the best birding in Kruger, Pafuri houses, next to Mapungubwe, one of South Africa’s most important archaeological sites – Thulamela. Despite its close proximity to the tar road, these ruins were only rediscovered by a trails ranger in the 1980s. As with Mapungubwe, the royal palace was situated on a hill, high above and secluded from the common folk who lived in their thatched dwellings below. Like Mapungubwe, too, it was situated close to the Limpopo, which then served as an important trading route, linking the hinterland to the Indian Ocean coastline. The Nyala Drive actually ends up at the foot of the hill, but you can only climb it with a guide.

Baobab on Nyala Drive. Oil on Canvas by the author.

On my last visit, I had met Dr Tim Forssman, an archaeologist currently re-excavating the site, who, on discovering my interest in the subject, offered to take me up Thulamela Hill. Unfortunately, it clashed with our travel schedule, so I had to decline. I still hope to visit it one day, preferably with him because of his expert knowledge and convivial company.

The next day, we headed south towards our penultimate camp, Shingwedzi. We stopped for a cooked breakfast and to stretch our legs at the Babalala Picnic Site. It is the perfect spot for a leisurely meal, situated under a monumental fig tree which attracts all sorts of fruit-eating birds, including parrots. Ken, a sociable chap, immediately made a friend – a Red-billed Hornbill. I suspected it had ulterior motives. Ken’s fried eggs, mushrooms and bacon.

On the large, grassy vlei that runs past the site, you are more or less guaranteed to see an elephant. This time it harboured yet another surprise – a lone male Roan Antelope, making our total three in three days. Another 87 to go… and two and a half days to find them in. I didn’t fancy the odds enough to bet on it.

There was something distinctly odd about this Roan. At first, I thought it had some sort of weird skin condition because its sides and neck were covered in dark brown blotches. Examining it more closely, through my binoculars, I realised it was a fling (I believe that is the collective noun?) of Oxpeckers. I have never seen so many on a single beast.

Babalala also marks the start (or end) of one of the best drives in the whole of Kruger – the S56 Mphongolo Route. It is, however, one of those drives where you can either see an awful lot of game or nothing at all. On my last trip down it, I had been lucky. It had been a veritable Garden of Eden. Now, our timing was off. The long dry season meant that there was virtually no surface water available to drink, so the animals were few and far between. Likewise, the birds.

By way of compensation, we did have an excellent, close-up sighting of a magisterial Martial Eagle, but the light wasn’t good, so my photos of it were a bit sub-standard.

I took it philosophically. Regular visitors to Kruger soon learn to take the rough with the smooth, the good days with the bad. I was content just to sit back and admire the scenery.

Many dusty hours later, Shingwedzi hove into view.

(to be continued)

GALLERY:

PAINTINGS

Here are a few baobab paintings I did after a previous Pafuri Trip. Sadly, the first one appears to have died in the interim (elephants?):

The Place of the Jackal

November 22, 2025November 27, 2025 / stidyatkusane / 7 Comments

Like a migrating bird, responding to some deep-rooted and primal instinct, every now and again I get the urge to take off North (contrariwise, I sometimes go South). And so, it came to pass on a cloudy Tuesday morning. I found myself barrelling up the N1 freeway from Jo’burg. Destination – Mapungubwe National Park. The further we travelled from the concrete jungle, the happier I got. I began to get that old familiar sense of freedom and anticipation…

At Polokwane, we left the Great North Road and headed, in a North-Westerly direction, up the R521. The traffic grew lighter. Then, the thin blue outline of Soutpansberg came into view, silhouetted against the horizon. Once you have skirted its western edge, the country becomes flat, straight, wide, and so monotonous, driving becomes a form of meditation. Your eyes become glazed, fixed on the horizon. If it wasn’t for the potholes, you could almost switch to autopilot.

Occasionally, a large truck came rumbling through the heat-haze, towards us, on its way back from Botswana, on the other side of the Pontdrift border post. Ranchers roared past in their large bakkies, packed with goods or with their workers bouncing about in the back. More and more baobabs appeared. We were heading deep into Lowveld country, under an unyielding, intense blue sky.

At Alldays, the road forks. We turned right. As the miles slipped by, it began to finally feel like we were getting somewhere. A range of red hills came into view, followed by more hills, rock islands in a sea of stunted mopane trees. Snaking its way through it all ran the thin band of dark green, marking the course of the legendary Limpopo River.

Bushmen once lived in these hills and sandstone buttes, leaving behind a wonderful legacy in rock paintings. Sadly, they would be hunted down or driven into even more inhospitable country. Later, the Limpopo would become a major trading route, dealing in gold and ivory, linking the hinterland to the Indian Ocean coastline. Mapungubwe is also the most important Iron Age site in Southern Africa, and was the first powerful kingdom in southern Africa. Its royalty lived on Mapungubwe Hill. Those of a more common ilk lived and worked in the valleys below. Such is the nature of power.

The kingdom held sway from about AD 900-1300. It is thought, climate change and crop failure brought about its demise. Thereafter, the centre of power shifted north-east to Zimbabwe.

The area has a more troubled recent history. The Limpopo once marked the thin, dividing line between the White-ruled South and the Black-ruled North. Evidence of the suspicion and hostility with which they two viewed each other can still be seen in the remnants of the old, electrified, barbed-wire security fence, which was supposed to discourage any armed incursions, and the odd military bunker, heavily fortified with sandbags.

*Old SADF bunker, Eastern Section, Mapungubwe*.

In the dusty afternoon light, however, the landscape, before me, exuded its own singular magic. Sculpted and weathered by rain, sun and wind, it stands as an incredible monument to nature’s powerful artistry. Here, you still get the feeling that the old Africa is not dead, just slumbering.

*Heading towards Pontdrift. The dark green line marking the course of the Limpopo can be seen in the mid-distance*.

Mapungubwe has become a special place for me, a place of the heart. Coming to this remote site is a form of pilgrimage, my way of paying homage to the three countries – South Africa, Zimbabwe and Botswana – where I have spent most of my life and that have helped shape who I am. Their borders meet here, at the confluence of the Shashe and Limpopo rivers. Although dried up at this time of the year, the Shashe has an immense width, making it look the bigger river.

There is another sentimental reason for my journey. It was near here (possibly Rhodes’s Drift on the edge of the park?) that my ancestors, as members of the 1892 Moodie Trek, having followed a route similar to the one I had just been on, crossed over the Limpopo, in their ox-wagons, on their way to Gazaland in what is now Eastern Zimbabwe. My Grandmother, Josie, who was on the trek, was only three years old at the time. Sadly, she would die relatively young, giving birth. Her grandmother, Marjorie Coleman, would grow into a venerable old lady. She opened the first boarding house in Salisbury (now Harare), at a time when the bustling modern capital city was nothing more than a scruffy collection of dusty shacks and tents with the Union Jack fluttering in the middle of it.

Finally, I am here for the birds. Studying birds is the closest thing I have to a religion. Nature is my temple, and birdwatching is my form of worship. Like my other passion, painting, I enjoy it because it forces me to notice things. You start off looking for a bird and end up noticing not only it but the ecosystem that supports it. You examine its habitat. You learn to anticipate where some birds might be, although there are always surprises, which is what makes it such a rewarding activity. Tuned to the environment, the birdwatcher can develop great acuity of sight and hearing. And then there is the sheer beauty and variety of our local birds, from the tiny Penduline Tit to the lugubrious Southern Ground Hornbill or the Kori Bustard, the largest flying bird in the world.

In twilight, we reached the campsite, not far from the river, made famous in Kipling’s poem. Its strength had now been sapped by months without rain. The site is dominated by several huge Natal Mahoganies and a cluster of tall thorn trees, which provide welcome shade in the intense heat, as well as a roost for the family of very noisy Natal Spurfowl that has taken up residence here.

One of the reasons I like travelling with my birding partner, Ken, is that we share a similar camping philosophy. We like to get off the beaten track and prefer to keep it simple. Mapungubwe campsite meets these needs. Besides its beautiful and isolated location, it has a minimal number of sites, so you don’t get the overwhelming amount of people you get in some of Kruger’s more popular camps.

*“I did not order this for breakfast!”. This Crested Barbet was a regular visitor to our campsite*.

That evening, a tiny Skops Owl started making its soft, frog-like “prrrup…prrrup” call from the nearby trees and was answered by another, further in the distance. With their huge eyes and striking physical appearance, owls are one of the most charismatic, yet mysterious, of birds. The fact that they operate in darkness and fly so quietly only adds to their air of mystique. I can understand why they feature so prominently in folk cultures and traditions across the world.

After supper, I fell asleep to its soft, reassuring call.

I was awoken early by a multitude of bird sounds. To get the full effect of the dawn chorus and not the muffled sound you hear in bed in your house, you really need to be outside. It is another reason I like camping. Lying in bed, listening through the thin sheeting of my tent, I could identify some of the sounds but not others. It had been a while since I’d been in the Bushveld, so I was a little rusty.

Rising above the great press of unseen birds came the manic chatter of the comical Red-billed Hornbills, one of the most characteristic sounds of the bushveld (the migrating Woodland Kingfisher is another). Over time, the birds have become very tame, and many hang around the campsite, scrounging for scraps. As far as I am concerned, their raucous call defies description, but my battered old 1970 edition of Roberts renders it thus: “tshu-tweetshwee”(three times), “tshutshutshu”(three times), “kukwee”(two times). Have fun trying to imitate that…

After a cup of tea and a rusk, we set off. By Limpopo summer standards, the weather was relatively cool. Away from the river, the trees diminish in size until they become stunted replicas. The surrounding planes are sparse and bare, with hardly a blade of grass visible. What there was tended to grow in clumps. The area, nevertheless, provide suitable habitat for several dry-land “specials”, including the Pied Babbler (which we would see here on this trip) and the highly unusual Three-banded Coarser who, in South Africa, only occur in a narrow stretch along this stretch of the Limpopo (which we didn’t see on this trip but which I have seen here several times before, once with chicks)). Both the Red-chested and Grey-chested Sparrow-Lark also like it here.

Entering the Eastern Section of the park (Mapungubwe is divided into two separate sections), we started off on a high note when we spotted three Lanner Falcons perched on top of a nearby tree, followed a bit later by a rare Ayre’s Hawk Eagle, which I had only seen once before.

As the river swings into view, the road drops over a rocky ledge, dissected by dongas, ravines, large boulders, jagged outcrops and dry, sandy stream beds. It is dotted with bulbous baobabs, their branches clawing at the sky. There are also numerous Large-leafed Rock Figs, their long, tentacle-like, ghostly-white roots forcing their way down through the narrow wedges and cracks in the rocks (hence their other name – Rock-splitter Figs). Rounding a corner, a little later, our hearts sank. Ahead lay a herd of cattle, standing, chewing the cud, in the middle of the road. They had obviously crossed over the river from Zimbabwe.

We had previously complained about their presence, but despite the manager’s promises, it seemed that nothing had been done, as there were even more of them than before. Our objection to their presence is not so much that it spoils the wildlife experience and the general aesthetic of the park, but because the cattle tend to hog the more nutritious grazing along the river banks. This forces the wildlife, especially the more timid buck species, to move inland, to the barren fringes of the park. In a larger, less dry park, maybe this combination of domestic and wild animals might work. I am not convinced it does in Mapungubwe.

So, we complained again when we got back to the Reception, this time in front of a party of startled German tourists who were checking in, and got fobbed off with the same old excuses as before.

We were in for another disappointment. The raised canopy walkway, which provided a good view of the river, as well as an excellent birding spot, had been washed away. The road to it was now closed. It is usually a good place to find the Broad-billed Roller and Meyer’s Parrot, further “specials” of this western section of the Limpopo (in Kruger, the latter is replaced by the Brown-headed Parrot). Luckily, we picked up both later.

We pressed on to the nearby viewpoint at the confluence of the Shashe and Limpopo. You can see why the old SADF chose this prominent feature as a base camp because it provides a commanding view over what was then regarded as hostile territory.

*View east from the lookout point. Zimbabwe is on the other side of the Limpopo*.

On reaching the saddle between it and another rock-strewn ridge, Ken ordered a halt. It was time to get out the skottle and make brunch and coffee (the latter – my difficult assignment).

After our meal, we headed east into the broken, hilly, 4 X4 section, alongside the river. Here we encountered yet more cattle, their bells tinkling merrily, making it hard to argue, as we had been told, that they are difficult to find. There was no sign of any Kudu, Nyala or the other buck species I used to associate with this route – just a few baboons sitting on their haunches while scratching their crotches with an air of complete indifference. They are shameless creatures…

Next stop: Poachers’ Corner. We had been told by the ranger, back at camp, that the rare, much sought-after, Pel’s Fishing Owl had recently been seen in the massive Nyala Berry trees around here. We scanned the ground under them for the telltale fish scales, as well as the branches above, but we were out of luck.

We soon found something else to occupy our attention. Not far from another old SANDF bunker, erected here, we came across two male and one female Klipspringer, who stood outlined against the hills. Not far from them, an elephant rubbed itself against a palm tree. Three more elephants siphoned up vast volumes of water from a nearby pool. They alone did not appear perturbed by the cattle (understandable, given their massive bulk and fearsome tusks). Another elephant had blocked our planned exit route. It showed no inclination to move, so we decided to take another road, which led into more hills inset with outcrops of ochre-coloured boulders and weather-stained cliffs..

Driving along it, I was saddened to see that the two distinctive baobabs I had once done a painting of had collapsed and disintegrated into piles of rotting fibre (the handiwork of the elephants?). My artwork had now become part of the park’s recorded history, an artefact from another time. I wondered if it would make it more valuable? I doubted it….

*My painting of the Baobabs that Died*. *Now in the permanent collection of Prof Ric Bernard*.

The road continued winding through the hills before making a huge loop at its easternmost end. Thereafter, it turned inland through vast acres of mopane scrub. Near the exit gate to the Eastern Section, there is a tiny dam with virtually no cover along its banks. Oddly enough, it has often yielded surprises, and this time proved no exception. Wading in its waters, right out in the open, was a beautiful male Greater-painted Snipe. It seemed an unlikely place to find this uncommon bird, which normally prefers to skulk around reed beds and is difficult to locate. Having only recorded it a few times previously, I excitedly jotted it down in my notebook. My Bird List was growing.

Then we drove back to camp.

The next morning, we decided to do the River Forest Drive, in the Western Section, which took us along the banks of the Limpopo. This is a good place to find the Senegal Coucal, common to the North but rare in South Africa. We didn’t find it, but did locate a Tropical Boubou, which shares a similar limited distribution in this country.

*Having made sure the Limpopo River is where the mapmakers put it, the Great Explorer, Ken, sets off on the next leg of his Expedition to uncover the Mysteries of the Interior…*

After brunch back at camp, we set off down the Den Staat road, which links the two sections of the park. The low rays of the afternoon sun had caused the sandstone cliffs, to which we were headed, to glow like fire embers, giving the whole landscape an ancient, otherworldly, mystical feel. As we got closer to the hills, we encountered a large herd of elephants feeding peacefully amongst the mopane trees.

Maybe it’s the layers of history that lie buried here, perhaps it’s the quality of light or the rugged contours of the land, but Mapungubwe is one of those places that provoke an instinctive response in me, a sense of connection, an inexplicable link, even though I grew up in a completely different environment. Its scenery holds me breathless.

Heading back to camp, we decided to do a detour and find a spot for a farewell sundowner. Sadly, the Maloutswa Hide, where I have spent many happy and productive birding hours, had also been partly destroyed in the floods and was closed. There was little sign that anything was being done to repair it.

To make up for it, we drove along the stream that feeds the pan. It proved well worth it. Mapungubwe means “the Place of Jackals”, and, sure enough, in the orange evening glow, we were greeted with one of the most delightful scenes of our short stay in the park. Five young Black-backed Jackal cubs, no doubt recently ejected from their den and sent off to fend for themselves, were scampering around in the open, playing games with each other. They seem unperturbed by our proximity. Many farmers would probably feel the opposite, but I love jackals. Their call, which I hear regularly at home too, does for the animal world what the Fish Eagle does for the birds. It captures the spirit of the place, the soul of unspoilt Africa.

These youngsters were too busy with their games, but later that night, lying in my sleeping bag, I heard the adults calling, not far away.

Next day, we headed on, down another pot-holed road, for Kruger, where I hoped to experience the same thrill…

Unable to See the Wood or the Tree: Cartoons for September and October 2025

November 1, 2025 / stidyatkusane / Leave a comment

Consumers received another shock when electricity tariffs for the next two years were hiked after the National Regulator of SA (Nersa) said it found errors in its price determination announced in January.

Writing in his weekly newsletter, From the Desk of a President, President Cyril Ramaphosa called on South Africans to work together to build a society where corruption is unable to take root.

The Madlanga Commission of Inquiry into criminality, political interference and corruption in the criminal justice system got underway.

In a wandering speech to the United Nations, which contained no shortage of false claims and contradictions, US President Donald Trump dismissed climate change as “the greatest con job ever perpetrated on the world” and blasted wind farms and other renewable energy projects.

EFF leader, Julius Malema, was found guilty of the unlawful possession of a firearm and ammunition, discharging a firearm in a public space, failure to take reasonable precautions to avoid dangers to persons and reckless endangerment. Calling the decision “racist”, he has vowed to fight the sentence.

The KwaZulu-Natal government of provincial unity (GPU) was on shaky ground amid growing calls from within the ANC for the party’s withdrawal from the coalition government. Compromising the IFP, DA and ANC, the KZN GPU has faced turbulence since its formation in June 2024.

The factional fights amongst the police top brass were again brought into sharp relief at the Madlanga Commission of Inquiry, further eroding public confidence in SAPS’ ability to deal with the rising crime levels.

The Gauteng Division of the High Court of Pretoria gave former president Jacob Zuma 60 days to pay back nearly R29-million, plus interest, in state money that was unlawfully used to pay his legal fees and related expenses.

Book Review

October 18, 2025 / stidyatkusane / Leave a comment

published by Tafelberg

Ever since he first entered politics, Julius Malema has – like Donald Trump in America – been a divisive and controversial figure, a fact he has been only too happy to exploit to his advantage. Loathed by one section of the public, worshipped by another, over the years, a great deal of speculation has whirled around who he is and what drives his ambition. Many questions have also arisen as to how he has been able to underpin his lavish lifestyle. In this compelling, convincing and meticulously researched book, investigative reporters Micah Reddy and Pauli Van Wyk tear away the veil to reveal the unsettling truth.

Although not intended as a biography (Malema, unsurprisingly, refused to have anything to do with the authors), the book does give a brief resume of his career. Brought up in poverty, Malema became politicised at an early age. At school, he did not do well academically, although he would later explain this away by saying it was because he was too busy with politics. His less-than-stellar academic performance in no way dampened his unwavering thirst for power. He quickly made his presence felt. His personal charisma and larger-than-life personality went hand in hand with an instinctive feel for the masses which saw him rapidly rise through the political ranks until he eventually became president of the ANC Youth League.

As a member of the new elite, Malema openly displayed the self-regard and sense of entitlement that has become the trademarks of far too many of post-colonial Africa’s leaders. Like many others, too, he would use his new position to benefit from government tenders; in his case, mostly in Limpopo.

Malema was initially a fervent supporter of Jacob Zuma, vociferously defending the then Deputy President when he was charged with rape and playing an important role in his campaign to unseat Thabo Mbeki as president of the ANC. His outspokenness soon got him into trouble with the ANC hierarchy, however, and, despite his avowals of permanent support, he would later turn on Zuma after he expelled the young firebrand from the ANC for fomenting divisions and bringing the party into disrepute (ironically, Zuma would later suffer a similar fate).

Determined not to be silenced, Malema responded by forming the Economic Freedom Front (EFF), which advocated the radical redistribution of land and the nationalisation of mines. He was joined by his sidekick and former deputy president of the ANCYL, Floyd Shivambu, who would also become implicated in his share of shady financial and business activities (Shivambu would later deal a big blow to the EFF when, in a headline-grabbing move, he defected to Zuma’s newly formed MK Party. He did not last long there). As the undisputed leader and dominant member of the party, Malema was now able to unleash his demagogic talent freely.

Despite his pro-poor stance and professed aversion to Western capitalism, Malema has displayed few, if any, principles when it comes to accumulating wealth. Like many a populist leader, he has not been afraid to mix his political interests with his business ones or to use his political connections to bankroll both his party and himself. The proceeds from the latter went into luxury items, fleets of cars and a multitude of mansions, farms and properties.

Malema did his best to cover his tracks, but the press soon got wind of his activities and various investigations followed. Despite all the evidence that has been uncovered showing how he has benefited from his back-room deals, Malema has proved singularly adept at exploiting South Africa’s weak justice system and avoiding accountability.

In this deeply researched piece of investigative reporting, the authors provide a lengthy and detailed charge sheet of these. Looming large among the many cases is the scandal surrounding the Venda-based VBS Mutual Bank. A community-based bank, focusing on serving people with modest incomes, it collapsed in 2018 after being looted by corrupt municipal officials, middlemen, politicians, auditors, and even members of the Venda royalty, who had defrauded it of around R2 billion. As a result, many poor and elderly rural folk lost their life savings. Needless to say, both Malema and Shivambu were implicated in the unfolding scandal.

So far, the two politicians have managed to elude being brought to book for these and other corruption allegations, although investigations continue.

Engrossing and revelatory, Malema: Money. Power. Patronage provides a mountain of information on how Malema and other self-styled revolutionaries in the EFF have managed to enrich themselves, all in the name of the people. In doing so, the book also lifts the lid on the amoral careerism and licensed larceny that have become a defining characteristic of South African politics. Sadly, far too many members of the former liberation movements seem to have abandoned the fundamental values that first nourished them and learnt to tolerate the intolerable…

Published by UJ Press

In this well-researched, scholarly overview, the author provides detailed insights into the factors that led to the 2017 overthrow of the long-time Zimbabwean president, Robert Mugabe. One of the major focus points of the book is the often-overlooked role gender played in this and other military coups.

Tendi argues that Grace Mugabe – often sneeringly referred to as Gucci Grace because of her expensive tastes and extravagant lifestyle – was deliberately cast, by the coup plotters, as a scheming femme fatale, who had taken advantage of her husband’s frail health and declining mental state to position herself to take over the reins of power. This scapegoating of the First Lady was used as a cover for the general’s real motivations for the coup – to ensure that their preferred candidate, the recently sacked deputy president, Emmerson Mnangagwa (who they believed would protect their interests and positions. Mugabe was, reputedly, planning to get rid of some of them, and his rebuff of the generals when they sought a meeting with him to discuss their grievances was, undoubtedly, one of the main catalysts for the coup), would become president and not Mugabe’s own choice for successor – Dr Sydney Sekeramayi.

To bolster the case, as well as making it more appealing to the rank and file, the coup leaders portrayed Mnangagwa as a strong, bold, decisive, masculine figure as opposed to the more reserved, unassuming and, by implication, less manly, Sekeremayi. Mugabe was, likewise, feminised as “an old man” who had lost much of his former charisma and power and was, therefore, no longer up to ruling.

In addition to this, Tendi successfully demolishes the argument, put out at the time, that Mugabe’s overthrow was somehow not really a coup, in the strict sense of its definition, or that it differed markedly from how others had played out elsewhere in Africa. Because of Mugabe’s widespread unpopularity, both within and outside the country, coupled with the general feeling he had long overstayed his welcome in office, the AU and most Western leaders were happy to go along with this fiction. As a result, there was minimal public condemnation. There were even suggestions that Britain, for one, may have had a hand in what transpired or at least given tacit support to the Mnangagwa faction. The book includes personal testimonies and much interesting anecdotage from diplomats and politicians, in this connection.

Sadly, any hopes that the coup would usher in a better Zimbabwe would soon be dashed. As the author observes, most coups by generals tend to have conservative outcomes, and Zimbabwe proved no exception. There has been little meaningful change to the political status quo. Women’s participation in politics has declined, and there has been further repression and ongoing human rights abuses.

As Associate Professor of African Politics at the University of Oxford, Tendi has done his research, and his book includes a great deal of revealing behind-the-scenes detail. The most vivid parts of the book are those describing the fractured civil-military relations, and Mugabe’s failure to address or immediately deal with the generals’ grievances, an uncharacteristic lapse in judgment which resulted in the ageing president’s downfall. The author’s academic background does, however, occasionally show through in the numerous references to other scholars’ work and some rather dry theorising, which tends to slow down the pace of the narrative.

That said, The Overthrow of Robert Mugabe: Gender, Coups and Diplomats remains an important and engaging account of a pivotal moment in Zimbabwe’s recent history.

BOOK REVIEW

September 12, 2025 / stidyatkusane / Leave a comment

published by Tafelberg

Author David Williams grew up in sight of a railway line, at a time when train travel was still considered romantic. From an early age, he became an avid train-spotter, making himself familiar with the complicated business of timetables, locomotive types, gauges and lines. He developed a particular love for steam engines – in his words, “great creatures that seemed to breathe”- and all the lore and mythology that went with them. It helped, of course, that members of his family, including his father, were employed on the railways, as were many of the colourful characters he met through them. The pride they took in their work rubbed off on the young Williams. Wanting to experience their lifestyle for himself, he eventually found work as a steward in the catering division.

As well as describing his own experiences as a rail enthusiast, Williams, without burdening the reader with too much data, provides a lively, tactile history of the railways in South Africa.

One of the driving forces behind its establishment was Cecil John Rhodes. As an enthusiastic supporter of the Empire, he viewed it as a means of bringing the entire continent under British domination. If his motives were, by current wisdom, questionable, Rhodes was right about the economic benefits that flowed from this form of transport.

More than any other factor, the railway system provided the key to expansion, opening up South Africa to rapid development. In a matter of years, it helped pave the way for the country’s transformation from a primarily rural society to an industrial one. Later on, the need for electrification provided the spur for the establishment of the Electricity Supply Commission and, in turn, ISCOR. The railways also became an important source of employment. For thousands of young men, it was the only job available to them,

Its achievements were impressive. At its peak in the 1970s, it was the tenth-largest railway in terms of route mileage, surpassing the combined mileage of all other African railways. There was, of course, a less edifying side to all of this, and the author does not shirk from describing it. Racial discrimination had existed in South Africa long before the arrival of the railways, but when the National Party came to power in 1948, it was translated into rigid and detailed laws. The ugly reality of this legislation became only too visible when one arrived at a train station and was confronted with its hurtful and demeaning white and non-white signs, separate carriages and platforms. Apartheid also meant that black workers were denied work opportunities on the railways that were specifically reserved for whites.

Sadly, over the last several decades, the South African railway system has fallen into a state of chronic and possibly fatal decay. In part, this has been due to a marked decline in demand for its services, as well as competition from road transport, but poor management and unprecedented levels of vandalism and theft have also contributed to the gloomy overall picture.

The allure of South African train travel, which the author beautifully conveys in this book, is now fast slipping into the pages of history.

An engaging writer and experienced journalist, Williams has an eye for illuminating details, and his enthusiasm for his subject is infectious..Overflowing with vivid, highly pictorial phrases, his prose captures the heyday of train travel, as well as conjuring up the sound and movement of the old trains as they rumbled across the landscape. Fusing history and memoir, his book provides a fascinating look back at another era.