Scooters and planes and other things strange
It’s a long weekend, like that makes a difference to life out here in Qolora village Transkei, but it’s a good enough excuse to treat ourselves to a braai. Theo marinated a couple of warthog chops to slap on the fire and we sat in the sun drinking a few long Black Labels. The wind didn’t blow as it so often does out here so we had a lazy afternoon just sitting, watching the birds and we enjoyed our view of the surrounding hills and grasslands.
I watched a little plane circle overhead and I smiled to myself, happy that we’d gone mushrooming on the airstrip the previous morning. We often see small planes going by as some of the wealthy people travel by air to hotels or lodges rather than have to negotiate these gravel roads. The grass airstrip over the hill is used by the owner of Trennerys hotel and probably the odd guest as well. The grass is short so it’s a great spot for hunting mushrooms, and the shaggy parasols which Theo fried up for breakfast with his bran and onion bread were delicious. The airstrip is not so good for landing a plane if the cows are chewing the cud on the strip cos then the pilot has to circle overhead a few times while someone from the hotel pops down to chase them away. I guess it’s easier dodging a patty than a cow or goat. Vehicles are not allowed on the airstrip but its fun making a dash for it on our bike. Not the kind of thing a responsible grandmother should be doing I suppose but what the heck, I don’t think many grandmothers live in a hut teaching English in a rural village either.
Theo had a hairy experience on the bike the other day. He gave Zolani, a high school teacher a lift home. A storm was brewing as they left and Zolani hung on for dear life. It was his first experience on a motorbike and he was recovering from a hip operation so his one leg stuck out at a bit of an angle and he wedged his walking stick in between them. He waved a bit nervously as they left and I heard him shouting to me asking where he should hold onto but Theo raced off before I could answer. He was in a big hurry to beat the dark rainclouds gathering overhead. He is kak bang of lightening and prefers to be safely indoors, nowhere near water and the laptop unplugged and packed away when nature decides to slice open the sky with powerful bolts of electrical energy. Out here when lightening strikes across the open grasslands it’s quite a spectacular show as the earth lights up in surreal flashes while thunder cracks deafeningly all around you. It even beats front row seats at a Metalica concert since you don’t walk around with a zinging buzz in your head for the next 12 hours. Mind you it doesn’t leave you feeling as frisky as watching four muscular guys flexing their godlike torso’s with guitars draped across their bare chests, their sweaty biceps bulging as they pluck their instruments and hypnotise you with their gaze. (We didn’t have front row seats and I didn’t wear my glasses but it was something close to that).
I stood at the door watching mother nature’s show and waiting for the bike to appear. Theo was not admiring the beauty around him on this particular day though. He rode as fast as he dared on the slippery gravel roads, rain pelting down and running into his eyes. It’s fun not having to bother with ever wearing a helmet around here but I guess it does have its uses other than preventing your skull from cracking open. Eventually I spotted him through the rain, crouching as low as possible under the handle bars. He arrived home sopping wet and shouted above the roaring thunder that by lying flat on the seat he’d made himself lower than the goats and cows which he passed and prayed that any stray lightening bolts would rather fry them before finding his low profile. It worked because he seemed to escape the wrath of God who did not strike him down for not picking up his dirty socks off the floor.
I’m really looking forward to the free summer thunderstorm shows but the mud, well thank goodness for wellies.
It’s a long weekend, like that makes a difference to life out here in Qolora village Transkei, but it’s a good enough excuse to treat ourselves to a braai. Theo marinated a couple of warthog chops to slap on the fire and we sat in the sun drinking a few long Black Labels. The wind didn’t blow as it so often does out here so we had a lazy afternoon just sitting, watching the birds and we enjoyed our view of the surrounding hills and grasslands.
I watched a little plane circle overhead and I smiled to myself, happy that we’d gone mushrooming on the airstrip the previous morning. We often see small planes going by as some of the wealthy people travel by air to hotels or lodges rather than have to negotiate these gravel roads. The grass airstrip over the hill is used by the owner of Trennerys hotel and probably the odd guest as well. The grass is short so it’s a great spot for hunting mushrooms, and the shaggy parasols which Theo fried up for breakfast with his bran and onion bread were delicious. The airstrip is not so good for landing a plane if the cows are chewing the cud on the strip cos then the pilot has to circle overhead a few times while someone from the hotel pops down to chase them away. I guess it’s easier dodging a patty than a cow or goat. Vehicles are not allowed on the airstrip but its fun making a dash for it on our bike. Not the kind of thing a responsible grandmother should be doing I suppose but what the heck, I don’t think many grandmothers live in a hut teaching English in a rural village either.
Theo had a hairy experience on the bike the other day. He gave Zolani, a high school teacher a lift home. A storm was brewing as they left and Zolani hung on for dear life. It was his first experience on a motorbike and he was recovering from a hip operation so his one leg stuck out at a bit of an angle and he wedged his walking stick in between them. He waved a bit nervously as they left and I heard him shouting to me asking where he should hold onto but Theo raced off before I could answer. He was in a big hurry to beat the dark rainclouds gathering overhead. He is kak bang of lightening and prefers to be safely indoors, nowhere near water and the laptop unplugged and packed away when nature decides to slice open the sky with powerful bolts of electrical energy. Out here when lightening strikes across the open grasslands it’s quite a spectacular show as the earth lights up in surreal flashes while thunder cracks deafeningly all around you. It even beats front row seats at a Metalica concert since you don’t walk around with a zinging buzz in your head for the next 12 hours. Mind you it doesn’t leave you feeling as frisky as watching four muscular guys flexing their godlike torso’s with guitars draped across their bare chests, their sweaty biceps bulging as they pluck their instruments and hypnotise you with their gaze. (We didn’t have front row seats and I didn’t wear my glasses but it was something close to that).
I stood at the door watching mother nature’s show and waiting for the bike to appear. Theo was not admiring the beauty around him on this particular day though. He rode as fast as he dared on the slippery gravel roads, rain pelting down and running into his eyes. It’s fun not having to bother with ever wearing a helmet around here but I guess it does have its uses other than preventing your skull from cracking open. Eventually I spotted him through the rain, crouching as low as possible under the handle bars. He arrived home sopping wet and shouted above the roaring thunder that by lying flat on the seat he’d made himself lower than the goats and cows which he passed and prayed that any stray lightening bolts would rather fry them before finding his low profile. It worked because he seemed to escape the wrath of God who did not strike him down for not picking up his dirty socks off the floor.
I’m really looking forward to the free summer thunderstorm shows but the mud, well thank goodness for wellies.
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