Book Reviews

October 24, 2026 / stidyatkusane / Leave a comment

. Published by Jonathan Ball Publishers.

We are currently in the grip of an information crisis. Politicians are unconstrained by facts. Publishers churn out highly partisan content. Influencers do their best to sway people’s minds. Technology has made the problem worse, with social media proving a highly effective medium for spreading propaganda and misinformation. Through a subtle – and not-so-subtle – manipulation of the facts, we are made to believe stories which are patently false.

The situation is not helped by the fact that the traditional media is struggling to survive. Underpaid and overworked journalists are forced to produce stories without having time to conduct in-depth research or to properly check the facts.

The situation is no different in South Africa. In an account that combines narrative panache with a scrupulous attention to fact, well-known broadcaster and analyst Dan Corder names and exposes many of the national stories which have become accepted as true although they often paint an incomplete picture or, worse still, have been deliberately distorted.

He begins his book with a single, notorious example – South Africa’s deadliest fire in recent years, which saw 77 people killed when a building burnt down in central Johannesburg. On social media platforms, the first outlet to break the story invariably receives the bulk of the traffic. This case proved no exception. Before any real investigation had been conducted by either the police, the fire department or the recognised news outlets, social media had been flooded with claims that it had been deliberately started by undocumented migrants.

It was but another example of a growing anti-migrant sentiment that is being deliberately stoked by certain forces in South Africa, where all the nation’s ills are dumped at the door of foreigners.

Another recent fake news piece which has been effectively designed to convince people of specific untruths is the myth of South Africa’s White Genocide. Propagated by various white supremacist groups, both here and in the US, it was quickly picked up by Donald Trump’s White House and used as a crude bargaining tool to try and hammer the South African Government into submission. The real purpose behind BEE has been similarly misconstrued to serve Trump’s self-serving, cruel, and racist agenda.

As Corder goes on to show, we have been fed an equally skewed version of our past. In a chapter examining South Africa’s history of discrimination, he shows how a succession of racist laws and other repressive legislation, dating back to British rule, entrenched white domination over black people, ensuring that they financially prospered at the expense of the rest. Cocooned from reality by a highly comprehensive system of censorship and state propaganda, most whites had little understanding or concept of the conditions the country’s majority were forced to live under.

Faced with the unprecedented challenge of overhauling this profoundly unjust system, the ANC, initially at least, made some headway, but increasing levels of incompetence, corruption and criminality (as the Zondo and Madlanga Commissions have laid bare) put the country on a downward trajectory which culminated in the party losing its parliamentary majority

The re-emergence of former president Jacob Zuma, whose term in office had caused South Africa huge harm, as a political force has left the country facing an even more unsettled, uncertain future. With the decline of the ANC, the trend has been towards voting for parties that support the specific interests of particular groups rather than all South Africans (many Zulus, for example, have deserted the ANC for the MKP).

As a resident of Johannesburg, Forder also focuses on that crisis-ridden metropolis with its collapsing infrastructure, corrupt and venal politicians and myriad problems. It is a crisis that is echoed all over the country and leads back to a single common denominator – a lack of effective and accountable leadership

With the November 2026 Provincial Elections looming, Corder’s book provides a timely and compelling account on how South Africa’s democracy is functioning, as well as a convincing reason why it is important to vote. It also serves as a warning as to why we should be wary of what the addictive algorithms are telling us and of an Internet economy driven by clicks. In doing so, it provides some useful suggestions as to how we can improve our media and internet literacy skills, so that we can learn to recognise bullshit no matter how well it is disguised…

Published by Hutchinson-Heinemann

Robert Harris is a populariser of history, whose many acclaimed speculative historical novels display a wide knowledge and thorough insight into the lives of their subjects. In his latest book, he returns to familiar territory – the world of ancient Rome. He sketches out the rise and career of Marcus Vipsarius Agrippa, a pivotal figure in the early Roman Empire, as well as the loyal companion and trusted friend of Octavius, later Augustus, Julius Caesar’s self-appointed heir.

The book begins near the end of Agrippa’s life. Cuckolded by his young wife, Julia, ailing and alone, he decides the time has come to write his memoirs. Looking back on his career, as he lies dying of an old battle wound, he tells an all-too-familiar story of power, ambition, exploitation, disappointment, narcissism and ultimately self-disgust.

As a teenager, Agrippa had befriended a frail Octavius. That friendship would grow into a formidable partnership as the two began consolidating power. Augustus proved a shrewd, cunning tactician. He was adept at performing the delicate political dance to manage the perilous balancing act with the elite, while exploiting the Roman political system to his own advantage. He used marriage as a bargaining chip, making Agrippa, for example, divorce his first wife and marry another one with better family connections to help cement his grip on power.

For his part, while he did not aspire to become an emperor himself, Agrippa was one of those men who helped make the imperial system possible. A capable commander, displaying a remarkable grasp of strategy and logistics, he was largely responsible for defeating Mark Anthony’s fleet at the famous Battle of Actium, a victory which ensured that Augustus would become the sole ruler of the Empire. His great organisational talents extended to other areas. He supervised the construction of many of the famous monuments, including the famous Pantheon (which burned down about a century after it was constructed), that were built to honour Augustus’s achievements and glorify his name.

Over time, the two men’s dependency on each other built a certain amount of resentment but Agrippa remained loyal to the emperor to the end, despite his personal misgivings about some of the methods employed by his friend and the scale of his ambition.

It all makes for a compelling, drama-filled story. Harris’s well-paced narrative not only provides a vivid picture of the ruthless milieu in which Augustus and Agrippa rose to the top, but also reveals the dangerous waters of politics and diplomacy in which they sailed. It describes a world that bears many striking similarities to the one we currently live in…

Book Review

October 3, 2026 / stidyatkusane / Leave a comment

Published by Basic Books

At the end of the Second World War, America and its allies set out to create a new liberal international order designed to peacefully resolve conflicts, regulate global finance, and ultimately ensure rules-based international exchange. The collapse of the Soviet Union in 1989 sparked optimism, with many believing the objective had finally been achieved. Democracy had triumphed over autocracy, and globalisation had made the concept of Great Powers a thing of the past.

Such high hopes proved to be short-lived. They faced their first real test when Vladimir Putin initially annexed Crimea and then invaded Ukraine. Thereafter, democracy found itself very much on the defensive against a rising tide of authoritarianism. Worse was to follow when, under President Donald Trump, the United States, the original architect, effectively opted out of the post-WWII order with its emphasis on international law and economic cooperation.

What we began to witness, instead, was a return to the politics of raw power.

In this scholarly, well-paced and critical overview, author Brendan Simms, a professor in the history of international relations and fellow at Peterhouse, Cambridge, shows how this brief period of internationalism came to an end and was replaced by the return of the rivalries of the great powers.

He also details how the other major role players, but not quite Great Powers (Japan, France, Germany, India and the European Union), have struggled to adapt to the return of Trump, the rise of China and the Russian attack on Ukraine. For many years the main challenge facing the EU, for example, was having to deal with its internal fissures. That situation has now dramatically changed. Trapped between an ascendant, authoritarian China, a belligerent, paranoid Russia and an increasingly hostile, unpredictable USA, Europe’s strategic predicament is now its main preoccupation.

In the next portion of the book, Simms shows how the four great powers of our era (the United States, China, Russia and the United Kingdom) rose to their positions of prominence.

The unprecedented ascent of China after the trauma of Western and Japanese imperialism and subjugation has, indeed, been one of the most striking developments of recent history. It is now the second-largest economy in the world next to the United States, whilst it manufacturing sector surpasses it.

With the ending of the Cold War, during the Reagan/Gorbachev era, it briefly seemed that there might be some sort of rapprochement between the United States and Russia. That hope was soon extinguished when a little known securocrat named Vladimir Putin came to power. Determined to restore his country to its former great-power status, his subsequent invasion of Ukraine marked a clear rejection of multi-national cooperation as envisaged by the West, even if he completely misjudged Ukraine’s capacity to fight back.

Despite the loss of its Empire and its withdrawal from Europe, Simms still regards the UK as a major player. He bases this assessment in large part on the country’s continuing economic and military power, even though this is less than what it was in days gone by. The other Great Power is obviously the United States. Despite the geopolitical chaos unleashed by its impulsive, erratic president, he believes it will also continue to remain an economic and military powerhouse.

Looking to the future, Simms’s view is that, at this stage, a revived liberal international system is unlikely and that the world will continue to be dominated by Great Power competition. This rivalry will, in turn, have the unfortunate consequence of preventing any really decisive international cooperation to deal with the major existential threats facing humanity. His brief mention of South Africa is not exactly comforting either. Although historically a leading force, he believes it is now too wracked by corruption and internal struggles to be considered a major contender on the world stage.

Supple, fluent and sure-footed, The Return of the Great Powers provides a masterful overview of the struggles, tensions and conflicts that have created the modern world, as well as giving us some indication of where we might be headed. As Simms concludes, much will depend on whether the Western elites are able to reach some sort of accommodation with the Eurasian autocracies. At this stage, the omens are not exactly auspicious…

A Small Victory at Ingelsby

September 12, 2026 / stidyatkusane / 16 Comments

NOTE: I wrote this story for The Witness to promote Ian Tyrer’s Open Gardens Day.

A sense of adventure is rooted deep in Ian Tyrer’s blood. The lure of the frontier and the deep joy with which he responds to the African landscape has taken him all over the continent. He has cycled through Mozambique, paddled canoes across Lake Malawi, rubbed shoulders with gorillas in Rwanda., chatted with chimpanzees in Uganda, felt the spray of the Murchison Falls from a boat, gazed in awe at the largest mammal migration in the world of Straw-coloured Fruit Bats in Zambia, and shared the sweeping views from a mountain top in the Ethiopian Highlands with a troop of Gelada Baboon, a charismatic primate found only in this region…

When Ian travels, he is quite happy to dispense with all the modern comforts and conveniences that most tourists insist on. He relishes the challenge of living rough. He cadges lifts in local vehicles, gets taxied on the back of motorcycles and crams himself onto crowded buses, trucks, trains and ferries. He is equally happy to sleep wherever he finds himself, be it in a tent, hut, dive or – as sometimes happens – a hotel or lodge.

In many of his journeys Ian has been joined by his wife, the equally adventurous and resourceful Mandy, who, in her other life, runs the much respected Maritzburg Tutor Centre. Together they make a formidable team.

A man of buttonholing vigour, a somewhat different adventure has, however, brought Ian back to his own backyard. As a young man, he travelled the seas in the navy. Three years after his discharge, Ian bought Ingelsby Farm, in the Richmond area, from his father. After later selling off a portion of it, he kept a few dairy cows and cultivated a patch of vegetables.

Then, inspired by his love of nature, he developed a new vision for the farm. He decided he wanted to rewild it, to husband it in an old-fashioned, chemical-free way back to its former self. He wanted to see if he could entice back the animals, birds, reptiles and insects that once lived there. To bring back the flowers, wild grasses, shrubs and trees.

What Ian wanted to create was, in short, a farm with a commitment to conservation.

In many ways it was the perfect piece of land to carry out such an experiment. Ingelsby sits in a beautiful, secluded valley. A winding stream cut through the middle of it. On the one side of the stream is a steep hillside. On the other side, some wide, open landscape where you often see large flocks of Grey- crowned cranes.

Initially, Ian concentrated on the gorge section where there was already a semblance of a forest. He tried to get everything to grow that he could. He planted White Stinkwood, three types of Yellowwood, Natal Fig, Natal Mahogany, Natal Plum, White Ironwood, Umzimbeet, Cape Chestnut, Cape Ash, Weeping Boerbean and many more.

His rewilding programme began to pay dividends in all the best ways. The wildlife that had elsewhere been dispossessed by agriculture and the clearing of lands began to return, their old rhythms restored. Bushbuck became regular night visitors to his garden. Otters returned to his stream.

Assisted by his son Ryan (“Dumbie”), a professional bird guide with Rockjumper Tours, his bird list began to swell – Wood Owl, Yellow-throated Woodland Warbler, Blue-mantled Crested Flycatcher, and White-eared Barbet, among others, got added to it. Each new sighting brought its own sense of triumph. Ian’s vision was being realised.

There was something almost miraculous about it.

In an attempt to seduce even more birds into his garden, Ian erected a bird table directly outside his bedroom window, so he and Mandy could lie in bed and watch all the activity. The square metre of board became a sort of Piccadilly Circus for birds. Dozens and dozens of bright yellow Village Weavers, from a nearby colony, fussed, twittered, argued and chirped on it. Thick-billed Weavers. Red Bishop Birds, Mannikins, Sparrows and Waxbills joined the scrum..

There were setbacks, of course. Poachers got wind that there were buck about and set snares in the forest. Over a hundred Yellowwoods got cut down by a contractor who thought they were wattle. But Ian, with his unconventional streak, is not a man easily deterred. He appealed, through The Witness, for anyone who wanted to donate trees to replace them. The public responded generously. I donated a Henkel’s Yellowwood I had grown from a seed I had picked up on one of my birdwatching trips. It is now a tall tree.

And so it continues. More trees get planted. More wildlife reappears.

One beautiful morning, I drove out to Ingelsby. The route took me through the kilometres of settlement and urban sprawl that surround Pietermaritzburg. Beyond that, the mixed woodland and thornveld that once dominated the hills and valleys around here is rapidly diminishing and being replaced by hectares of sugar cane, a dull monotone scene that is effectively dead to wildlife.

A couple of kilometres after I had branched off the main Pietermaritzburg to Richmond road, I turned into Ian’s driveway and stopped, momentarily transfixed. The entrance was lined on both sides by a long corridor of indigenous trees. The ground below them was lit by the orange-red glow of a thick mass of clivias. Swathes of creepers, succulents, gorgeous tree orchids and other vegetation filled in the gaps, creating a harmony of colour, light and shade.

*Orchids. Pic courtesy of Ian and Mandy Tyrer*.

I parked my car under a massive old fig tree whose bulbous roots spread out like tentacles across the ground’s surface and in whose branches the weavers had built nests and the Hadedahs, with their raucous calls, liked to sit.

Ian had made the Bird and Bush, a tree house he had built on the edge of the forest, available for the night. That evening my companion and I sat outside on its balcony under a star-smattered sky and listened to the night sounds. We listened to rustles, creaks and whisperings of the branches above, to the stream bursting with riotous laughter as it bubbled over rocks and roots directly below, and to a chorus of frogs, bats, crickets, insects and other ancient flying things. Somewhere in the background, a Fiery-necked Nightjar began its beautiful requiem to the African night.

The next morning brought forth a slightly different, but equally melodious, chorus of sounds – Robins, Orange Bush Shrike, Paradise Flycatchers, Cape Batis, Black-headed Orioles, Cape Turtle Doves, Olive Thrush, various cuckoos and Knysna Loeries

Rising early, I grabbed my binoculars and headed off to explore, following the path that led along the stream, peering closer at everything. Making use of a massive tree trunk that had conveniently fallen across it, I crossed and headed into the forest. Twigs snapped and whispered under my feet. Rotting trunks lay covered in moss, and everywhere the slow decay of leaves and the fungi added a pungent tang to the cool, sun-dappled air. I was in my element.

I spent several rewarding hours wandering through the forest. I made my way up towards the cave, at the base of a steep cliff, where, local legend has it, King Shaka drove a local clan into. No one seems to know exactly what transpired thereafter, but in the half-gloom of the forest, the place did indeed feel full of secrets, not all of them good ones. Adding to the air of mystery are the rocks by the cave which are reputedly not from the area. Feeling a little uneasy, I threaded my way down and crossed back over the sparkling stream onto the old pasture land, which Ian is now also giving over to trees. I skirted past the beehives to the main house verandah, with its multitude of bonsai, for breakfast.

*View from verandah. Pic courtesy Ian and Mandy Tyrer*.

As I sipped my coffee, I reflected on what had taken place around me. It marked a small but important victory. Over a period of many years, Ian has gone a long way to restoring biodiversity and increasing ecosystem health. In doing so, has also made his little contribution to countering the effects of climate change.

It ignited a spark of happiness in me. As more and more of our wooded areas and pristine grassland disappear under the bulldozer and the developers continue their relentless march, destroying habitats that have existed for centuries, it is nice to know there is one little sanctuary that, for the moment, remains beyond their reach

A Failure to Deliver: Cartoons for July and August 2026

August 29, 2026 / stidyatkusane / Leave a comment

Opposition parties and civic organisations erupted in protest as the Msunduzi Municipality pushed through the 2026/7 budget, which saw residents hammered by steep increases in water, electricity and sanitation hikes.

The Madlanga Commission of Inquiry investigating corruption within the criminal justice system confirmed it was in discussions with the presidency to have its end-of-the-month deadline to submit its report extended. President Cyril Ramaphosa had already extended it once because of the volume of evidence.

In the face of widespread municipal collapse, including eight metros, the National Treasury decided to withhold the July equitable share transfer on 66 municipalities.

The sewerage crisis engulfing Albert Falls Dam should have been an opportunity for the KwaZulu-Natal Department of Economic Development, Tourism and Environmental Affairs to take the lead. Instead, its response – like those of the other stakeholders – has been largely to point elsewhere.

Former president and leader of the MK Party, Jacob Zuma, disbanded the party’s presidential task team(PTT) within an organisation that has become known for frequent changes to its leadership structure.

The DA called for the disbandment of the Investigating Directorate Against Corruption (IDAC), following the dramatic resignation of its head, Advocate Anthea Johnson, and explosive revelations at the Madlanga Commission of Inquiry.

South Africa’s official unemployment rate rose to 33.6% in the second quarter of 2026, up from 32.7% in the first quarter, according to Statistics South Africa. It has now remained above the 30% threshold for over five years.

Pietermaritzburg businesses and residents braced for widespread disruption to electricity, water, refuse collection and frontline services as Samwu workers prepared to strike at Msunduzi Municipality. The strike comes less than two months after industrial action crippled service across the city for three weeks.

Turning around failing municipalities, restoring basic service delivery and holding elected leaders accountable were at the centre of the ANC’s local government election manifesto, as the governing party sought to convince voters it could still fix the country’s increasingly troubled municipalities.

Book Review

July 25, 2026 / stidyatkusane / Leave a comment

published by Tafelberg

In recent decades, the South African mining industry, long the backbone of the country’s economy, has, for a variety of reasons, undergone notable structural decline. With more and more mines shutting down and facing a shrinking core workforce, there has been a corresponding surge in illegal mining or zama zama activities in abandoned shafts and some operating mines, putting further strain on the fabric of mining communities

There has been a tendency, in the past, to portray these zama zamas as luckless individuals desperately trying to earn a living but, as author Graham Coetzer clearly shows in this revealing exposé, the truth is a lot more complex, multi-layered and, in many cases, sinister than that.

Writing directly from his personal experience as an investigative reporter working for the Carte Blanche team, Coetzer takes the reader on a brutal odyssey through the dark, menacing, violent underbelly of the mining industry where organised gangs, like the feared Basothos, run Mafia-style criminal operations. Riven by gang rivalries and inter-zama violence, the lucrative illicit gold trade has created a new breed of super-rich gangsters (the author refers to them as the new randlords) whose fortunes have usually been made on the back of poorly paid workers, labouring in often appalling conditions..

Besides the cost in human suffering, the unregulated, illegal mining activities have also negatively impacted the natural environment. The ecological wreckage is not confined to the former mine fields of the Rand. It now stretches into the picture-postcard scenery of Mpumalanga’s mountains and forests, where rivers have become polluted and the landscape scoured with diggings. The chemicals used for the extraction of gold – such as sulphuric acid, cyanide and mercury – in these illicit mining operations are poisoning the river systems.

As all too often seems to be the case in South Africa (think the recent xenophobic attacks), the authorities failed to tackle the problem in its early stages. As a result, it has escalated to the point where it has become virtually uncontrollable. Seriously underfunded, the police have their work cut out for them, dealing with the often heavily armed gangs (there is also the ongoing South African problem of crooked cops). Attempts to formalise the industry have made little headway.

In pursuit of his story, Coetzer went down into the tunnels, mixed with the kingpins, like the gold-studded Pineapple and accompanied security details on their operations against the zama zamas.. In doing so, he often put his life in danger.

His account of his experiences combines the narrative panache of a good thriller writer with the scrupulous attention to fact and detail that is the hallmark of an investigative journalist. In so doing, he provides an insight into human greed and suffering that a more politically engaged account could not offer.

A Trek up Sani Pass

July 3, 2026 / stidyatkusane / 8 Comments

On the shortest day of the year, I trekked up Sani Pass, the twisting, torturous, gravel road that snakes its way up the Drakensberg and links KwaZulu-Natal with the mountain kingdom of Lesotho. I was participating in the Sunflower Sky Hike, an annual event organised by that intrepid and tireless pair of adventurers, Ian and Mandy Tyrer, to raise funds for and help cancer sufferers. It was a cause close to my heart, having lost my father to a particularly virulent form of the disease.

Organisers of the Sunflower Sky Hike: Ian and Mandy Tyrer

All sorts of people participate in the hike: young, old, short, tall, fat, thin, the quiet, the ebullient, the fit and not so fit. It was amazing, though, how on the mountain old people became young again, as if they had left their cares and infirmities behind them in the boot of their car parked outside the border post. One couple even took their two dachshund, with them, on leashes, like they were out on a casual Sunday stroll. The two dogs made it all the way to the top and then got driven back in style, like conquering heroes.

We set off under a gunmetal grey sky which seemed unable to decide what form it wanted to take. As we walked, we hit patches of drizzle. It did not detract from the magnificence of the setting or my enjoyment of the hike. Striding along with their hiking sticks, the rest of our fellow mountaineers looked like some medieval army on the march or a procession of pilgrims seeking absolution for their sins. Many had lost family or friends to cancer, and for them (as for me), this was a way of honouring their memory.

My hiking companion, Mary Ann, was one of the lucky ones who had survived cancer. The annual hike was her way of celebrating her recovery. Struggling to keep up with her, I could only admire her courage and stamina. The more exacting the conditions got, the more she rose to the challenge. I am not sure if she felt the same about me, but, for my part, she was the ideal colleague to climb the mountain with.

By a small stream, which crossed the road, we stopped for a breather. Fed by the recent melt-water, its water was beautifully clear and limpid. As I sat, munching an apple, I watched the way light and water bubbled together as the current swept around and over tree roots and smooth brown rocks and then rushed and tumbled its way down the slopes. Lost in the wonder of the moment, I leaned back and listened to the sounds of the mountain. The wind rustled softly through the gorse. The clouds continued drifting overhead. From somewhere well concealed, deep inside the dense foliage that grew along the banks of the stream, a bird serenaded us with the most piercingly beautiful of songs. The weather obviously couldn’t dampen its joy either.

As an avid birdwatcher, I felt the hunterly instinct kick in. I wanted to find and identify our melodious songster. Maybe it was some rarity? Try as I might, I could not locate the bird. In the end, I decided that was how it was supposed to be. Some pleasures should be enjoyed for their own sake without feeling the need to make a record or tick it off on your checklist.

I was content to leave it as a mystery that was not meant to be solved.

Indeed, that is what climbing mountains does for you. It teaches you appreciation, patience, perseverance and a deep and abiding love for nature in all its forms. On the slopes is where I feel at my most free.

*The beauty of nature – flowers along the stream bank*.

Having got our breath back, we continued toiling our way up the slopes. Looking down into the ravines below us, I could understand the importance of being a good 4X4 driver on the loose, stony gravel of the Sani Pass because the valley floor contained the wreckage of several cars that had obviously taken the corners a little too fast and paid the consequences. Exhausting as it was, I decided there were advantages to being on foot.

For several hours I trudged and panted, pausing to take occasional swigs from my bottle of water. There was a cold wind blowing and up by the peaks there were small patches of ice left, including a frozen waterfall that hung, suspended in air and time, waiting for the summer thaw. At the top of the pass it had begun to snow, although it was mostly small, flaky, lightweight stuff.

Inspired by Mary Ann’s quiet but focused resolution, I got two kilometres further than I had the previous year. We stopped, just over three-quarters of the way up, at the beginning of the switch-backs, where the road begins its zigzag route up the final, steepening slope. My legs felt strong and could easily have carried me to the summit, but my damaged lung was battling to cope with the high altitude. It was a terrific temptation to carry on as we had only several hundred feet to climb to reach our destination. Good sense prevailed. I turned back. But not before stopping to take in the view.

It was an enormous, dramatic landscape. On either side, the steep cliff faces surged away, the sweep of the horizon emphasised by the stark outlines of the mountain peaks that loomed above us, almost vertical in places. Below, the land stretched away as if it was limitless in its immensity. It was a fitting place for dramatic thunderstorms, blizzards and the full pyrotechnics of nature.

Bleached dry by the winter cold, the landscape was a mixture of light greys, subtle ochres, greens and occasional splashes of purple. Lashed by rain and whipped by centuries of winds, the soils were thin, sandy and studded with rocks and boulders, giving the landscape an almost lunar-like appearance.

Having soaked it all in, I turned around and trekked back down the mountain. The going was much easier this way. I strode through the gates of the South African Border Post full of vigour and high spirits, feeling that sense of gladness that comes from overcoming a difficult mental and physical challenge. Watching them straggle back, in an equally elated mood, I felt an immense sense of companionship with our fellow hikers.

It had been a good way to celebrate the winter solstice. I felt much better prepared to tackle the second half of the year…

*The day before: Olly contemplating the long and winding road ahead..*.

A Ticking Time-Bomb: Cartoons for May and June 2026

June 27, 2026 / stidyatkusane / Leave a comment

South Africa’s Acting High Commissioner to Nigeria, Bobby Moore, faced tough questions from the Nigerian government following a wave of protests and, in some cases, attacks on African country nationals living in South Africa. Earlier, Ghana had also rebuked South Africa over what it described as a slow and inadequate response to protests targeting undocumented migrants.

President Cyril Ramaphosa once again faced a political day of reckoning over the more than $500 000 hidden inside couches at his Phala Phala farm after the Constitutional Court (Concourt) reopened the door to possible impeachment.

Almost two decades after charges were brought against him for his role in the arms deal corruption case, former president Jacob Zuma continued to employ delaying tactics to avoid his day in court. Each setback is followed by another challenge, with each challenge pushing the trial further into the future.

President Cyril Ramaphosa launched a counter-attack against the controversial Phala Phala report, dismissing its findings as “hearsay” and accusing the independent panel of relying on untested and potentially unlawfully obtained evidence in implicating him in a possible constitutional violation.

In the same week that the petrol price went up by R1.43 per litre, the Msunduzi Municipality pushed through steep water, electricity and sanitation tariffs – despite protests from opposition parties and residents.

In a national address, President Cyril Ramaphosa issued a strong warning against vigilantism, declaring that only authorised government officials have the power to enforce immigration laws amid growing tensions over illegal immigration.

The new DA leader, Geordin Hill-Lewis, asked President Cyril Ramaphosa to demote the Minister of Agriculture (and his predecessor as DA leader), John Steenhuisen, to Deputy Minister of Trade and Industry. The move is seen as damage control by the DA for Steenhuisen’s mishandling of the Foot and Mouth Disease crisis.

Xenophobic fears ramped up ahead of 30^th June, the deadline anti-migrant groups set as the deadline for all undocumented migrants to leave the country. There had already been several violent incidents around the country, with a Malawian killed in Pietermaritzburg.

A Not So “Short War”: Cartoons for March & April 2026

May 9, 2026 / stidyatkusane / 2 Comments

Only nine months after he had declared that he had eliminated Iran’s nuclear threat, President Donald Trump launched a fresh attack on the country, citing an “imminent nuclear threat”. Although the president denied it, the feeling was that he had been persuaded to go to war again by his ally, President Benjamin Netanyahu of Israel.

Just as the South African economy was beginning to show a few green shoots, the escalating war in Iran caused fuel prices to rocket and the world stock market to plunge, dashing hopes of a recovery if the conflict didn’t end quickly.

The oil price continued to rocket as Iran ramped up its strikes. In South Africa, the Rand crashed through the R17/$ as the oil shock hit the country’s economic outlook.

The Madlanga Commission adjourned for the Easter break after hearing evidence from 49 witnesses, with proceedings set to resume on April 7^th. Since its inception, the commission has heard gripping testimonies with witnesses presenting evidence that has sent shock-waves across the country, and exposed a deep-rooted network of collusion between law enforcement, politicians and the private sector. The Nkabinde Commission and the Parliamentary Committee have heard similar testimonies.

As a result of the ongoing Iran war, which President Trump originally promised would be over in a few weeks, oil prices continued to soar. The price of fuel went up yet again in South Africa.

South Africa’s water crisis was no longer restricted to isolated municipalities but reflected a broader pattern. Meanwhile, the ANC shrugged off a survey which showed it was losing support in the Moses Mabhida region.

Veteran negotiator Roelf Meyer will replace expelled ambassador Ibrahim Rasool as South African ambassador to the US. The appointment was seen as a sign that Pretoria is seeking to improve relations with Washington following a turbulent year.

EFF leader Julius Malema was sentenced to five years after being found guilty of possession of an illegal firearm and discharging it in public. He was later granted permission to appeal the sentence but not the conviction.

The SACP (South African Communist Party) faced a major, possibly permanent, split from the ANC after deciding to independently contest the 2026 elections, breaking a decades-old alliance.

Book Review

April 24, 2026 / stidyatkusane / 2 Comments

published by Chatto & Windus

Generally regarded as one of Canada’s finest living writers, Margaret Atwood is a poet, Booker-prize winning novelist, storyteller, essayist, environmental activist, cartoonist and illustrator. Known for her strong support of causes, her reputation has grown year by year to the point where she is now regarded as something of a cultural icon and modern sage. This remarkable and lively memoir shows how the foundations of her personality were laid.

Written with veteran assurance, it provides a vivid picture of both Atwood the person and Atwood the writer. In telling her story, she revisits old haunts, returning to places and themes she has used over the years. Her voice can be laconic, often very funny, but also remarkably penetrating and astute in its insights.

Employed as an entomologist in Canada’s Department of Agriculture, her father spent much of his life in the backwoods of Canada. His family went with him. Living in log cabins and experiencing nature at its most harsh and raw, left Atwood with a passionate and lasting love of the outdoors and a continuing fascination with the relationship between people and wilderness.

At an early age, she became acquainted with the 1852 book, Roughing It in the Bush by Susanna Moodie, which has since attained the status of an early Canadian classic. Over the subsequent years, Moodie’s book came back to haunt the author, culminating in a series of poems which became the book, The Journals of Susanna Moodie. (A subsequent Moodie book, Life in the Clearings, provided the inspiration for the critically acclaimed novel Alias Grace, which was later turned into a TV mini-series.) A genteel English immigrant, Moodie had tried to make a life in the backwoods of Canada with few resources and no experience, with her husband, John. It was a hard life which she found herself ill-equipped to deal with. Besides having experienced a similar frontier life, some of Moodie’s appeal to Atwood must surely lie in the fact that she was one of the first woman writers to produce anything resembling literature in Upper Canada.

It is a tradition Atwood has continued, in the process bringing Canadian literature to the attention of the world. Atwood has always been quick to acknowledge where she comes from, believing that refusing to do so is a form of amputation. “By discovering your place,” she wrote in Travels Back, an introduction to her occasional writings published in Curious Pursuits, “You discover yourself.”

Despite her rural roots, Atwood has led a nomadic life, travelling and living all over the world.

Her determination to write novels at a time when women writers were not always treated with the seriousness they deserved saw her living in cheap digs and taking arbitrary jobs to supplement her income.

In the course of the book, Atwood explains how she came to write her classic novel, The Handmaid’s Tale (later turned into a widely praised and popular TV series, which Atwood also approved of). The book’s dystopian themes of patriarchal domination, reproductive rights, surveillance and resilience may have seemed far-fetched when she first conceived it, but in our time of historical upheaval, especially with the rise of Trumpism, it is, like Orwell’s 1984, in danger of becoming only too real. As she wryly observes: “It did seem like a tall tale back in 1984… But now not so tall”.

Equally interesting, if worrying in this age of misinformation and domineering cults, are the circumstances leading up to the writing of its sequel, The Testaments.

In another chapter on the writing of the Blind Assassin, she describes, in some detail, her creative process and how the story kept rearranging itself in her mind as she rejected certain themes and brought in others. It offers a fascinating glimpse into how a novel evolves.

Because of the influence he had on her life, she also pays ample tribute to her lifelong partner, Graeme, a recognised writer in his own right. A passionate birdwatcher, the two were equally at home discussing literature or paddling canoes down some remote, freezing river or wading knee-deep in marshland looking for rare birds.

Indeed, one of the joys of reading a book like this is that it makes one feel entirely in the presence of the author. For anyone interested in what makes a person a writer, and how the life of a professional writer is lived, it is matchless.

Jonathan Ball Publishers

For several centuries, mining has been the backbone of the South African economy. Without it, the country would not have made the rapid economic strides it did nor developed to the levels it has. Although its importance has, for a variety of factors, diminished in recent years, it still makes a significant contribution to our GDP.

Despite the pivotal role mining has played in transforming South Africa into the greatest industrial power in Africa, its legacy will forever remain tainted by its history of black exploitation. In this updated version of her in-depth study of the history of mining in South Africa, Digging Deep, originally published in 2013, author Jade Davenport tackles some of these uncomfortable truths, as well as updating her information..

South Africa is a country blessed with abundant mineral resources. The first to be discovered in any significant quantity was copper. The fact that the deposits occurred in one of the most remote, arid and inhospitable parts of the country initially made it difficult to access and mine. Transporting the copper was another problem which had to be overcome. After a few boom years, the deposits became exhausted, and most of the mines closed.

The next major discovery, the one destined to put South Africa on the global mining map, was diamonds. The find would attract fortune-seekers from all over the world and mark the beginning of the country’s mining boom. Initially, the claims were worked by hordes of small workers who came to form a short-lived Diggers Democracy. As the surface deposits got worked out, the extraction methods became more difficult and costly, putting them beyond the reach of these ordinary miners (the same thing would later happen on the gold fields). The era of the rich and powerful mining magnates was about to begin.

Just as it happened in Kimberly, the discovery of gold in the Eastern Transvaal precipitated another rush. For a while, the Pilgrim’s Rest, De Kaap Valley and Barberton areas were the epicentre of the South African gold-mining industry. That all changed with the discovery of the world’s most extensive gold resource on the Witwatersrand. As word of this find spread, the magnates, many of whom had already made fortunes out of diamonds, swooped in. Looming large over all of them was the colossus-like figure of Cecil Rhodes with his imperialistic ambitions, Alfred Beit and Barney Barnato. In later years, the Oppenheimer family would emerge to prominence.

The rapidly burgeoning mining industry required a source of reliable and relatively cheap energy to sustain its growth. Fortune once again favoured South Africa. Not only did it have extensive coal reserves, but many of the deposits were situated close to the mines. The advent of the railways meant that coal could be transported more easily and in greater quantities. This, in turn, would have a ripple effect on other industries such as Iscor, Eskom and Sasol.

The South African economy would also receive another boost with the discovery of the world’s largest platinum reserves, as well as many other valuable minerals.

Before 1994, black people had been subjected to a variety of discriminatory mechanisms which effectively excluded them from owning and operating mining assets, their participation being largely restricted to unskilled and semi-skilled labour. That began to change with the advent of the ANC government. They embarked on a policy of racial economic transformation, particularly in shaping the nature and trajectory of black economic empowerment.

Sadly, however, the Minerals and Petroleum Resources Development Act of 2004, which was supposed to redress past injustices and open up access to mineral resources, ended up having the opposite effect, impeding as opposed to encouraging economic growth. In the words of the author: “Rather than delivering promised prosperity, the MPRDA created a web of regulatory uncertainty, facilitated pervasive corruption and deterred much-needed investment”. As a result, the South African mining industry went into serious decline, a situation that was exacerbated still further during the chaotic Jacob Zuma state capture years, where ANC corruption, cronyism and elite-enrichment became the prevailing norm.

If the ANC’s administration has been crippled by a poor choice of political instruments – some of whom have proven almost comically incompetent – to bring about effective change, the newly elected President Cyril Ramaphosa’s appointment of the political ideologue, Gwede Mantashe, as Minister of Mines has done little to improve the situation, either. To this day, the mining industry continues to languish in the doldrums, plagued by uncertainty and with much of its rich mineral resources left locked beneath the earth. Meanwhile, its competitors surge ahead, unhindered by all the cumbersome and confusing legislation that bedevils South Africa.

As we struggle to work out who we are as a nation, we can only hope the situation will one day improve.

Highly readable, incisive and superbly balanced, Davenport has produced a far-reaching and useful synthesis of the development of one of the country’s key industries. It will be of great value to the academic community and the public alike, not just because of its encyclopaedic nature, but for the obvious quality of its scholarship and research.

A Marvel of Nature

April 4, 2026April 9, 2026 / stidyatkusane / 16 Comments

*Blue Cranes, ritual dancing display, Curry’s Post*

I am walking through mistbelt grassland, following an old track that leads down past the Two Pines and eventually reaches the river. The saddle, I am now crossing, provides a suitable habitat for three types of Cisticolas, all of which I regularly see here – LeVaillant’s, Wailing and Zitting. Yellow Bishop Birds, various Widowbirds, Yellow-throated Longclaw, Grassbirds, Buff-streaked Chat, Rufous-naped Larks, Red-winged Francolin, Common Button Quail and, on rare occasions, the elusive Broad-tailed Warbler also occur here. In the firebreak-burning season, the African Pipit and Black-winged Lapwing also put in an appearance.

At the edge of the saddle, I stop to watch the swifts, diving vigorously above me with their swept-back wings. It is amazing to think they may have flown to Europe and back without once touching land.

Birds are a marvel of nature. Evolution has given them a particular combination of speed, stamina and agility that suits their lifestyle, be it in the air, on land or in water. Their diversity allows them to hold their own in virtually any environment on earth. The more you understand about them, the more wonderful they get.

My interest in birds and avian behaviour began at an early age. At boarding school in the Matopos in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) and, later, Plumtree, on the Botswana border, I used to make regular weekend forays into the bush and surrounding kopjes with my elder brother Pete and a couple of his like-minded friends, looking for birds (and, I am now ashamed to admit, their eggs). At that stage, it was more my brother’s interest than mine. I mainly tagged along to escape the discipline and confines of the school. ‘Exeats’, as it was called, was an activity that both schools encouraged. They believed it would turn us into good, wholesome, patriotic Rhodesians. In my case, I am not sure it did.

Typical Matopos (now Matobo) scenery. It is good birding country.

Pete was more practical than I was, and his approach to birding was very systematic, thorough and scientific. He had specially designed and got printed a series of cards on which he recorded all the birds’ details and distinguishing features – their looks, their behaviour, the habitat they occurred in, the food they ate, the type of nest they built, the colour and pattern on their eggs, their calls, etc.

There was something a bit Victorian about this gathering of information, but I admired Pete to the point of hero-worship. I was never that conscientious, which probably also explains why he always did better at school than I did.

Being artistically inclined, I was attracted to birds more viscerally. I found them beautiful and took delight in their diversity and the rich pageant of brilliant colours they came in, as well as in their contrasting, often highly tuneful, birdsong. It is little wonder that birds have long been celebrated in poetry, prose, art and even music.

After I left school, my attentions became focused elsewhere. For about a decade, I did very little birding.

That all changed when I joined the Witness newspaper in Pietermaritzburg as its Political Cartoonist. There, I met Ken, the sports writer, one of the paper’s true characters and legendary journalists. Ken was passionate about birding (and sea shells – and a few more things besides). As I had never been to Kruger, he invited me to join him on one of his regular ‘bird trips’ there. For two weeks, we travelled the length and breadth of the park, from South to North, East to West. From sunrise to sunset, every day, we were on the road, scanning the bush for birds. Ken doesn’t believe in wasting valuable birding time sitting around in camp.

Ken’s enthusiasm was infectious, and he had a wonderful eye and ear for sightings. We saw hundreds of birds, many of them new species for me. It was a transcendent experience. By the time I returned to Pietermaritzburg, I had undergone a Damascus-style conversion. The spirit had re-entered me and taken possession of my soul. I had become a Born-Again Birder. In the next few years, my belief would border on fanaticism. I even started keeping notes.

(I have mellowed a bit since then, lost some of my single-minded focus, but not my love for birds.)

Thereafter, I joined Ken on many of his expeditions. Kruger, Mapungubwe and Ndumo became regular destinations. We began our one trip by driving down to Umhlanga Rocks on the East Coast of South Africa, dipping our feet in the Indian Ocean, and then heading cross-country, via Kimberly and the Augrabies Falls, to Alexander Bay on the West Coast, where we dipped our feet in the Atlantic. It was a lot colder.

*Dipping our feet in the Indian Ocean*. *Pic courtesy of Mark Wing.*

From there, we headed, in Ken’s tiny blue Ford Laser, packed solid with camping gear, to the mountain desert of the Richtersveld. We made it all the way to the top, via Hell’s Gate and past Mount Terror, on what was supposed to be a 4X4-only route. We were the only ones there. When a highly organised convoy of fully purpose-built 4 X 4s, equipped with winches, jerry cans of fuel and a multitude of spare tyres (our only one had a puncture), later arrived, they couldn’t believe their eyes. I think they thought we were some sort of mirage. How on earth had we made it all the way up here in that ridiculous little car?! They looked a bit crestfallen. It took some of the triumph out of their own achievement. From our positions, under a large boulder whose shadow protected us from the worst of the sun, we raised our beers and said, “Cheers! Welcome to Kokerboomkloof!”

We also camped beneath the Blouberg, famous for its large vulture colony. We pitched our small tents on the side of the Soutspanberg, in a howling gale, and almost ended up in the valley below. We got chased down a narrow mountain pass in Marakele (famous for its vulture colony, as well) by an enraged elephant. We got drenched in the forests of Magoeberskloof, slept – or rather tried to sleep – through a hurricane in Mzimkulu. We narrowly missed being struck by lightning in Ndumo. We were hounded by a hyena in Bonamanzi, and I almost got bitten by a Mozambique Spitting Cobra the next day. On two occasions in Punda Maria, Ken had his malaria tablets stolen by monkeys. I lost a box of rusks to a Night Ape.

Generally, Ken and I avoided the organised birding groups because there is often a vague air of elitism about them, a sense of one-upmanship. Nor did we want to be identified with the nerds in their anoraks and all their paraphernalia. There is far more pleasure to be derived in heading off the beaten track and discovering a rare bird on your own, rather than having a paid guide find it for you (for example, we found the Pel’s Fishing Owl on our own, at Ratho on the Botswana border).

On our various travels, it wasn’t always just Ken and me. We had our own little birding group of good friends, like-minded twitchers and wildlife enthusiasts who would join us every now and again – Mark, Gavin, Gwen, Ant and, later, Carl. We were always a happy band of fellow travellers.

Part of the excitement of birding is, of course, that you never know what you are going to find. It also gets you outdoors and into the wilds. As well as birds, there is often new, breathtaking scenery to discover, new sights to see.

You can bird almost anywhere. Your back garden is as good a place as any to start. I live in the country, which means my local patch is bigger than that of most urban dwellers. Tramping back and forth over it, month after month, can make you more sensitive to the constant changes taking place around you. You build up a comforting familiarity with the landscape. You get to know the regular birds and those that come and go depending on food availability or, in the case of the migrants, the seasons. Sometimes, you stumble on a bird you didn’t expect to find in your area at all. I was recently amazed to see a European Roller, which is not a bird I would associate with our mistbelt grassland. It hung around for several months.

A few of the many birds seen in my garden…

Over the years, my bird list began to grow. I became relentless in my pursuit of new species. It is difficult to explain just what the lure of the rare consists in, but, as a teenager, I remember poring over the old Norman C. K. Lighton illustrations in Roberts Birds of South Africa and finding myself intrigued by such oddities as the Narina Trogon, the African Broadbill, the Eastern Nicator, the African Pitta and the Pel’s Fishing Owl. Now that I was back into my birding, I wanted to find them.

*Narina Trogon, Bonamanzi, Pic courtesy of Gwen Stokes*.

I did, all except the Pitta. I have a feeling it will forever remain “The one that got away…” because it only occurs in a remote part of the Zambezi, in Mozambique, and I don’t have the resources to get there…

Birding obviously requires a certain amount of skill, which you build up over the years. Noticing differences – shape, size, colour – is all-important. Political cartoonists, like myself, rely a lot on jizz. We have to decide which features to select as markers and then stylise them so the character we are lampooning becomes readily identifiable. In birding, you also look for distinguishing features, although not so that you can make a joke out of them. That would be rude.

Sound can help. With difficult species like the Cisticolas I encountered on my walk, it is often the best way to distinguish one bird from another similar-looking one (the Levaillant’s and Rufous-winged Cisticolas, for example). Habitat preference and distribution can also help here, but it becomes difficult when species overlap. Hence, in some instances, the Cisticola’s call is the only way to separate them in the field.

Because of the bewildering variety of calls, it can be hard to remember which one belongs to which bird. It can be absurdly satisfying to be able to put a name to an unfamiliar one.

All birders have their favourite calls. In my case, it is not just the skill or musicality but the associations. It is by no means our best songster, but, for me, there is something incredibly comforting about the Cape Turtle Dove’s repeated refrain “How’s father, how’s father…?” (or, depending on whether you want to be admonished, “Work harder, work harder…”). It takes me back to my childhood days on our smallholding outside of Salisbury (now Harare), which my father named “Dovery” because of it. Their sound was a constant, reassuring feature of the Miombo woodland that surrounded us. They also put on a marvellous spectacle, with the blowing out and deflating of their chests, coupled with the throbbing throat. The doves almost seemed to take an aesthetic pleasure in their own performance. I certainly did.

*Taking a break from calling: Cape Turtle Dove*.

Many people will choose the Fish Eagle as the bird whose call most captures the spirit of Africa, and it is hard to argue with that. The Black-crowned Tchagra is another one of my favourite songsters, as it was for my brother, who died not long after his farm was taken over in Robert Mugabe’s land grab. Whenever I hear its haunting, evocative call echoing across the veld, I think of him. It has become his ‘spirit bird’. Similarly, as a child, I used to regularly wake at dawn to the melodious, rising crescendo of the beautiful White-browed Robin-Chat (formerly, Heuglin’s Robin, a name I still prefer) coming from the deep undergrowth at the bottom of our garden in Nyanga North. It also rates high in the nostalgia stakes.

Finally, no favourite bird call list would be complete without the Fiery-necked Nightjar, whose plaintive, subtle, piercingly beautiful “Good Lord deliver us….” is one of the characteristic sounds of the African night, and touches a nerve deep inside me which no other bird song does.

With their complex behaviour and the startling feats they are capable of, it is little wonder that so many myths and legends are attached to birds or why we remain so fascinated by them. The more time you spend with them, the more you realise what astonishingly refined creatures they are. As any trip into the outdoors will reveal, they have many more tricks up their sleeves (wings?) besides their ability to fly…