Red-heads conversing

Red-headed weaver
Photo by Matilda

We spent the weekend with old and new friends at a game breeder's lodge between Brits and Thabazimbi. It is in the North West Province of South Africa and slap bang in what we call the bushveld. As children of Africa it takes quite a lot to amaze us. Impala, buffalo, gnu (wildebeest) and sables are nothing new to us, even though we might not have seen them more than once or twice in our lives. Even a lion's roar at night might irritate more than awe us when we wake up to it deep in the night.

But an Egoli Gnu and a Midnight Impala, now that is something to cause a stir among us. These are line crossings and much sought after because they are so rare: a caramel coloured gnu with a golden mane and an impala that seems to be in the shade even though it is running in the full glare of the early morning sun, those are subjects to talk about, blog about, and to try and capture on film.

My attempts at that failed miserably. I do not have the necessary equipment to film wildlife of that calibre out in the wild, stampeding away from the jeep.

So I was most grateful for this little red-headed weaver who allowed me close enough to reach out and touch it if I so wished. I wordlessly kept telling it that my lens do not shoot anything harmful and that I wanted to get as close as possible in order to hear what he had to convey to me. He was working away unperturbed at weaving a new apartment adjacent to two others, fixed securely to the overhang of the thatched roof of the communal kitchen.

I think what he was saying is that he has come to trust humans. It seems to be his third season just outside the back door where people come and go regularly. He sat looking at me, chirping happily before weaving in yet another dry strand into the frame of his new home.

I think he was also saying that he is doing what needs to be done in the only way he knows how to do it. I wondered why he didn't just use the previous season's nest, but apparently the little fellow's sweetheart doesn't approve of this.

I enjoyed our photo shoot immensely. I relaxed into the warmth of a weekend in the bushveld, divinely woven into a delightful, custom made tangle of comfortable lodgings, good food, great weather, sincere friendship and frequent laughter.

Was the little red-head showing me how to weave? Or rather how to be woven?

Matilda

Whistle while you work

Drawing by Ron Leishman When last did you whistle while working? When last did you hear someone else whistle while working? Somehow it bothers me that whistling has become an almost absent element in our work. The sound of a person whistling a tune while busy somewhere in the house or out in the workshop conveys something of an underlying happiness, satisfaction and contentment. An enjoyment of the work itself. The tune need not be flawless. Applying more air than sound won’t lead to disqualification, as long as the intention is there. Whistling can even be replaced by singing in all that I’ve said up to now. The same principles apply. The absence of any of these two activities bothers me because it says something about us doing the work and the type of work that we do. Can it be that our type of labour in this 21 st century is not conducive to either whistling or singing? What type of work is that then – draining, stressful, pressured? Or are our conclusions ...

A likely Hero: Jara Cimrman

As Matilda has already indicated, one of the most difficult things to do after you’ve visited a country is to return and convey something of what you’ve experienced. How do you show a city’s many faces, introduce its inhabitants? How do you tell of the effects a history has on people and of a stance towards life that can actually not be translated into words? In the case of Prague, it is very helpful to have someone like Jara Cimrman. ~ ~ v ~ ~ Petrin Hill, on the left bank of the river Vltava running through Prague, is in many ways a site worth visiting. Climbing the 299 steps of the Petrin Tower, inspired by the Eiffel Tower, gives you one of the most beautiful views of the city. But by going down into its basement, you enter into the psyche of the Czech people. Here, quite unobtrusively, is the museum for the “ Genius, who has not become famous ”. Matilda and I almost stumbled onto it by chance and as we went through the exhibition, our amazement over this brilliant ...

You never can tell

This morning I was out in the vegetable garden looking for signs of sprouting cabbage and spinach that we had sown a week ago. Among the weeds, I did find the tiny seedlings pushing through bravely, but I had a surprise coming. The young Zulu gardener drew my attention to an abundance of ready food growing in the ruins of the tiny stone cottage only meters away: Umbido, a type of wild spinach, and a staple food in the rural areas. I grew up with much the same in the northern parts of the country, but called Marogo in the Sotho language. Enter my new helper and friend, Winnie Nkosi. She lives on the edge of the Zaaihoekdam in a traditional mud house with no electricity. Twice a week she walks the four odd kilometres to help me with all things domestic. She has also taken it upon herself to teach me the Zulu language and culture with optimistic determination. The planned lunch menu was immediately ditched in favour of a lesson in local cooking and Winnie showed me the differenc...

The Restory Retreat Centre

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