Tydelik Verlig

Laat ek hierdie frustrasie van my sommer vroeg in ons gesels agter die rug kry. Ek is redelik bo aan die lys van lojale Suid Afrikaners. Ek is egter verward omtrent een vervelige, tog belangrike kwessie.  Ek verstaan nie swart Afrika politiek nie.  Ek glo ek is 'n Afrikaan. Sal nooit vrywillig hierdie vasteland verlaat nie. 18 000km deur Afrika met ons motorfiets, ek en die vroutjie, het my nog meer onseker gelaat. Wat 'n rustige, vredeliewende ervaring  het ons nie gehad nie.  As daar nie swart politiekuste in Afrika was nie, sou dit sekerlik 'n beter plek kon wees?

Hoe staan 'n Afrika land saam wanneer hul nasionale span die wereldbeker huis toe bring? Soos een man! Totdat die politiekuste ingryp en die afrigter afdank omdat sy velkleur nie so goed by Afrika pas nie. Watter ander rede kan dit nou wees? Hier wil ek nooit weg, nooit!  Altans, nie willekeurig nie.

Ek bly dom, ek verstaan nie Afrika politiek. Wie kan my help? Die voorbeelde van jul flaters is duidelik te sien by ons en ons bure. Nou toi toi julle vir presies wat julle weet nooit sal werk nie, nooit! Of het dit? Al ooit gehoor van 'n 100 000 000 doller geld noot?  Nog nie erg genoeg nie? Daar word toe nog 'n 100 000 000 doller noot gedruk, die keer met 'n vervaldatum.  Net langs ons! Gaan kyk self. Eidlik moet ek sê:  "Van 1 US tot 1 Rodesian doller na 1US tot 1biljoen Zim doller in 'n kort Swart Afrika (daar is 'n ander woord daarvoor) tydjie. 

 Ek wil jou die K-woord noem maar sal nie so laag daal nie. Ek haat jou nie, ek mag nie. Ek verstaan jou net nie. Kyk! Sien! Is julle gelukkig met die resultate van jul dade? Hoekom sien ek anders? Kom drink 'n kom bier saam met my en verduidelik asseblief. As ek nie "reg" gehelp word nie sal jy dom onnosel in my boeke bly. Jy wil my doodmaak? Jy toi-toi in die strate omdat jy nie verstraan hoekom jy nie mag skreeu "Kill the boer kill the farmer" nie. Watter gedeelte van jou eie kreut verstaan jy nie? Die "struggle" is oor. Vok jou! Ek is 'n boer, ek voorsien jou van jou daaglikse brood. Ek is so bly jy is "gefire" Julias. Ek is so bang jou opvolger is vlakker as jy.  Ek is tydelik verlig. Ek bly kwaad, ek verstaan nie!

"Our system is wekking very well"

To all my gentlemen black friends, sorry!

Waar is jy oom Nelson? Praat! Sê iets vir oulaas!

We love you tata Mandela. Klein Anna sal nog baie hoor van my (en ander) se respek vir jou. Viva! Viva Tata. Hamba Kahle:  Baas Jack

Clean Laundry

There is something absurdly gratifying about freshly washed clothes. I'm not referring to laundry that comes out of a tumble dryer, smelling of scorched fabric. I'm talking about washing that has been flapping in the African sunshine, crisp and slightly crinkled, with the clean, faded scent of laundry detergent.

I find the gaiety of a laundry line equally appealing. Old man's pyjamas hanging alongside baby's vests, and ladies lingerie next to men's boxer shorts. A picture of domestic harmony. Naturally, the sight of laundry hanging over a wire fence on a Karoo farm, is far prettier than the Laundry hanging over the balcony of a council flat in London.

There is a vast difference, I feel, between poverty and squalor. Our Karoo volk don't have large bank balances; nor do they have mortgages. Their homes, though a little shabby, are cleanly white washed and picturesque. They work hard for their daily bread, but it's work done in an unpolluted, pleasant, country environment. They also enjoy the added benefit of Karoo lamb, with their daily bread on the side. Their Luxuries are few; Boxer tobacco, home brewed beer, and the time off to  consume both liberally.

It has often occurred to me that, we should implement the Israeli Kibbutz system here at Langbaken. Surely people would jump at the idea of a working holiday on a Karoo farm? We are exceedingly blessed to live in a relaxing, peaceful environment, and I'm happy to say that in spite of the fact that we do work hard it's never tedious, and airing ones laundry is nothing but satisfying. Madam Brattex

Carrot seeds

The Karoo garden is a real challenge! I can't say I'm an avid gardener, but the miracle of planting a seed, nurturing it, and watching it grow has always appealed to me.


It's easy, (and huge fun!) going to a garden centre and spending hundreds of rand on plants, but a cutting taken from a friend's garden is always a treasure. Most of the plants in my garden have been given to me by friends and family, and a stroll through my garden has the same effect on me as a social gathering.
"Oh look! There's Ouma Vrede's salmon-pink geranium, so pretty. The red one from Schuitsberg looks lovely too. Klokkies lavender had really grown, and Sybil's daisy's just flower non stop."
So it continues. Mum's miniature red petunia, Sylvia's Watsonias, and Sam's trailing plant with white flowers that I can never remember the name of. I greet my friends.


As with everything I do, Anna wants to join in the gardening experience. Our sun room also serves as a green house, and there are always seedlings growing in rows against the windows. Anna decides she is going to plant carrot seeds in a little pot. I try to convince her that the pot could be a tiny bit small. I should know better than to argue with a five year old. Naturally, I must be present, but I mustn't help. She'll do it herself. She is totally absorbed in the job at hand. Chubby little-girl hands clumsily sprinkle the seeds into the pot of her choice and she callously squashes them into the soil.  "It'll be a miracle if those grow," I think to myself.

I'm amazed at how seriously Anna takes on the responsibility. She understands that the seeds need her help to grow. They are alive, and without water they will die. Every day, without fail she takes her pint-sized, brass watering can and waters her seeds. Miraculously the carrots sprout. Oh!Joy! She is so excited she can practically taste them already. She's decided she's going to share them. Papa can make carrot juice, and I can put some in the salad. Maybe the guinea-pigs can have one or two. This is "Faith like potatoes" in action. She believes she's going to reap a ton! Who am I to dampen such faith? Aren't we intructed to become as little children? As always,  I feel humbled by the simple lesson.

I can't find my socks!!

Ons klein Anna "The little Brat" kan van die gelukkigste, liefdevolste bondel vreugde, verander na 'n klein heksie wanneer sy soek na iets wat sy nie kry nie. Altyd iets onbenullig!  Haar sokkies byvoorbeeld. Dis nooit weg of verlore, maar genoeg om haar oningewikkelde lewetjie totaal te verander. Soos sy dit stel " My whole life is ruined" So is dit met die Barbie se skoene, haar "lunchbox" vir skooldag en honderde ander items. Dit is oorlog wanneer so iets gebeur.  Vroutjie hardloop by die agterdeur uit en ek by die voordeur. Terwyl ek en Brattex daaronder lei, besef ek. As dit maar net al is wat haar so hoef te onstel in die lewe, laat dit so wees. Solank ons kan voorkom dat erger dinge oor haar pad kom, sal sy veilig wees. Ons kan egter niks waarborg nie. Ons paaidjie is mooi voorbery vir ons, maar die ertvark kan besluit om sy gaaitjie te grawe waar ons dit die minste verwag. Voorbereiding, of om voorbereid te wees, sal jou nog baie hartseer spaar Anna. Voorspoed en sterkte met al jou slaggate. Wees voorbereid!:  Baas Jack

A night in the Veldt

It's a glorious April evening. The worst of the cruel summer heat is over. Anna has been begging us to sleep in the veldt ever since Jack mentioned the possibility two months previously. It was a suggestion he'd made without thinking. As a result we've been coming up with an endless array of excuses. Too hot, too windy, too rainy,  too many mozzies, not tonight , Mama must make cheese in the morning.

"But Papa promised to teach me about the stars," she persists. We've exhausted all the excuses. We're tired of the whining. Let's get this over with.

Don't misunderstand me. There is nothing I enjoy more than an evening in the veldt; watching the crimson sunset, a frosty beer, and then as the evening turns cool, lighting a fire and braaing some wors as a snack. I love lying back dreamily and watching the stars. These are all things that can be done before heading home... to bed.

We throw some bedding on the back of the bakkie, pack a cooler box, the book on stars and a kettle for morning coffee. We drive up to "the beacon" which is the highest point on Langbaken. Jack clears a space amongst the rocks and bossies  and unceremoniously throws the bedding in a heap.

As I take in the view, (which is miles and miles of nothing) I'm reminded of how blessed we are. There is something very liberating about space. There's no other human dwelling in sight, no roads or lights twinkling on the horizon to suggest inhabitants. I feel as if I own the world.

Anna is in her element, an endless flow of chat, "Here's the coffee, did you bring my-milo? This is your pillow Mama. Let's put the chairs here, no Papa, here..." She's in charge. Always planning our lives for us. Her enthusiasm is contagious.  I'm choked with emotion. I'm glad she nagged us, so glad we're here. She'll keep us young.

The night air is cooler than expected. We've discussed every star in sight. There are billions. The three of us snuggle closely. Only Anna sleeps well.

In the morning Jack and I wake with the sun. As always I have my coffee in bed.  This time however, I'm huddled in a sleeping bag, watching the sunrise. Wow! The soft morning light soothes away the rough edges of the Karoo veldt. It looks truly beautiful, although not as beautiful as my sleeping child. She's curled up against me, her pouty lips slightly parted. Her dark lashes flutter and I brace myself for the inevitable.  " Mama. Where's my-milo?" My day has begun. Madam Brattex

Note from Madam Brattex

As I've mentioned several times on my blog, I really love God's creatures. I know many women who hunt (shoot the big five etc) for sport. I know of fanatical gardeners who walk around with a bucket of boiling water, and toss in live snails to get rid of the pests who eat their flowers. My mother- in-law sets rat traps, and my own mother apparently once clubbed several frogs to death. (They had taken up residence in the wood pile next to the fire place in the living room.) Please don't get me wrong. I judge not. It's just that apart from using fly and mozzie spray, I really have a problem with killing  things. I once boiled an egg for Anna, only to realize when I cracked it open that I'd boiled a baby chicken. OOPS! I almost fainted. I also ran over my beloved Daxi, and broke her leg. Accidents happen, but nothing has ever affected me quite the way the goldfish incidence did. It just seemed such a cruel way for something to die. I don't think it's a pretty story or even an interesting story, but I wanted to tell it anyway.
Madam Bratex

Shiney Goldie, part 2

It's cheese making day, and I'm a little distracted. Time for a quick cup of coffee before heading to the cheese room. I notice the kettle is taking ages to boil,(a watched kettle never boils!) and realise there is a great deal of lime- build-up around the element. There's a product called Calci-clean that's very effective at descaling kettles. It's pretty potent stuff. I think it contains hydrochloric acid. I add half a cupful to the Kettle and it begins to fizz. The phone rings. Abandoning the job at hand I take the call. Ten minutes later I realise I'll have to skip my coffee break, and dash to the cheese room to add the rennet to the vat of milk.

I complete the batch of cheese.  I'm now aching for that cup of coffee. When I get back the house, all is quiet. Bliss.. Jack and Anna must be in the veldt. En route to the kitchen I pause to feed Shiny Goldie, and notice that his water looking a little murky. It'll take me two ticks to clean the fish bowl. Then I'll enjoy my coffee.

The bowl is clean, and refilled with fresh water. It's winter and the tap water is icy cold. I decide to add a dash of hot water from the kettle. I don't want the poor fish to freeze...

I place the goldfish back on the sideboard.  Something is clearly wrong! There seems to be blood coming out of his gills! Shiny Goldie definitely does not look happy. Shucks. Did I make the water too hot? In a panic, I rush back to the kitchen to add more cold water.

Suddenly it hits me. l can't breathe. "F--k, F-ckity, F-ck!" The Calci-clean! I feel sick; Horrified. There's a terrible pain in my chest. Shiny Goldie is floating lifelessly on his side. I can't tell if he's dead or alive. Like a cat, I give him a couple of taps with my finger. He tries to swim, but it's no use. He floats to the surface again. I'm a murderer. Silently I sob. Tears streaming down my face. I vow never to eat fish again. I know I'm completely over reacting. It's just a goldfish for goodness sake. But he was our goldfish.

Anna! What will I tell her? She's back from the veldt. It takes every ounce of my courage to tell her the truth. I tell her that mummy made a terrible mistake. She's crying.  Absolutely heartbroken. I feel like a monster. I promise her I'll get her another fish. She says she doesn't want another fish ever again.

Jack wants to know why Anna is so sad. I tell him the story. "Thanks goodness it was the fish, and not you who drank the water," he mutters. Zero emotion. He's missed the point completely.  He shakes his head at my stupidity and walks out. Sometimes men just don't get it...

Okay, enough doom and gloom. There is a happy ending. When we arrive at our neighbours for dinner that night, they've heard the story. News travels fast in the Karoo. Anna is presented with two goldfish that they caught from their pond. Our friends are wonderful!  Anna is delighted. She decides to call her new pets Shiny and Goldie.(Goldie is the bigger one.) I'm delighted to report that they are still both looking very happy!
Madam Bratex