Waterberg Wisdom

Introduction to the Waterberg

2009-05-30T16:52:00.013+02:00

April 2009. Here's a little introduction to the Waterberg: Geography; History; Growth and Change; Education; Government; Environment, Ecology, and Conservation.

For a better look at the map, double-click on it.

Geography. The Waterberg Mountains run about 150 kilometers (90 miles) from east to west, and cover 14,500 square kilometers (5,800 square miles), roughly the size of the Okavango Delta in northern Botswana, less than half the size of the Netherlands, or slightly larger than the US state of Connecticut. The Waterberg (mountains of water, Thaba Meetse in the local Northern Sotho language) refers to the abundance of water, still true in good rainy seasons and questionable in bad rainy seasons.

History. Scientific debates continue about the age of the first primates and hominids, but the evidence is clear that they lived from two to three million years ago in the “Cradle of Mankind” at the Sterkfontein Caves, about 130 kilometers (80 miles) “as the African snake eagle flies” from the southwestern part of the Waterberg. In the last few thousand years, Europe’s Iron Age population moved through the Middle East, and ultimately to Southern Africa about 200 AD, joining the indigenous San people.
The ruins of several Iron Age settlements are located in the Waterberg. Some may have been inhabited as early as the mid-1500s and as recently as the 1800s. Archeologists suggest that the stone-walled settlements at high points were probably built for defensive reasons. They believe that the stone walls were constructed with upright slabs, somewhat like monoliths, forming complex arrangements of lanes, arcs and oval enclosures. These sites were probably built by Nguni speakers, the ancestors of the present Ndebele living in the Mokopane/Polokwane area (formerly Potgietersrus/Pietersburg). Or maybe, in similar settlements, by Setswana.

Since the mid-1800s, whites (mainly Afrikaners) settled in the Waterberg. Grave cairns on burial sites show the arrival of Christianity about this time. Early settlers found virtually no mineral wealth, and instead grew and bred what they were able to sell and use for their own survival, most notably maize and cattle. Tobacco was introduced much later in the 20th century and citrus within the last twenty years.

The Waterberg’s remoteness, dangerous wild animals, and the threat of malaria reputedly prompted Paul Kruger, the President of the South African Republic from 1883 to 1900, to deal with troublesome politicians with the order “Give him a farm in the Waterberg”, providing the impetus for the settlement at Vaalwater, still the only significant town in the heart of the Waterberg.

The original Vaalwater was totally rural, with the earliest shops and schools established as the population grew. The first school was established in a home; by the 1920s, it was moved to a building on Hartebeestpoort Farm. Vaalwater had a few shops, a hotel, a post office, and a cooperative that served the surrounding farming community. The railway line opened in the mid-1920s, served passengers until the 1990s and carried freight into the early 2000s.

Growth and Change. Tobacco was extremely profitable until recent years and cattle farming still does very well. Since the early 1980s, tourism and conservation enterprises have grown – game farms and hunting, second-home (time-share) developments and luxury lodges on “Big Five” reserves, private reserves and special species research areas, horse safaris and bush camps in wilderness areas. The traditional employment base of agriculture is gradually being replaced by employment in tourism and conservation.

Education. For most of its history, the Waterberg's poor have suffered from an indifferent education system. Worse, children of farm workers who lived on the farm (the great majority) had no schools at all. Farm schools – those established by the government and farmer expressly for the workers' children and neighbouring farm children – were developed. The quality of education was poor, the facilities and equipment quite minimal, but it was something.

Dr. Peter Farrant established the Meetsetshehla Secondary School on his farm (adjacent to the town of Vaalwater) in 1986, serving the children who received their primary education at various farm schools in the Waterberg. Meetsetshehla is now a state-aided, independent school with a dedicated staff and teachers providing a high standard of education to a very disadvantaged community. Matric results have improved dramatically in recent years and there is active support from the Waterberg community.

The Waterberg Academy, a private school established in 2003, provides a significant alternative to traditional education for young children of families determined to remain in the Waterberg. There are also primary and secondary government schools in Leseding and a government primary school in Vaalwater.

Government. Vaalwater is in Limpopo Province, one of South Africa’s nine provinces. All of the town of Vaalwater, and most but not all of the Waterberg, is in the Modimolle Municipality. Modimolle is the “new” name of Nylstroom. Vaalwater itself has been renamed as well, to Mabatlane. The renaming process however, was not done properly so the name has reverted to Vaalwater until further notice.

The Waterberg District of the Modimolle Municipality has an office in Vaalwater.

Environment, Ecology and Conservation. The Waterberg comprises a varied and wild landscape, including high mountain lookouts with incredible panoramic views, bushveld, sweeping grasslands, wetlands and dams, and hidden mountain streams. At about 1,830 metres (6,000 feet), Geelhoutkop is probably the highest point in the Waterberg. A very accessible high point in Marakele National Park is about 1,800 meters (5,900 feet).

In the May to September months of virtually no rainfall, dam levels are low and many watercourses dry completely. Nearly all of the area’s annual rainfall of 500-700 mm. (20-28 inches) occurs from October to April. During that period, dams fill and streams run hard and fast. Wildlife seeks and easily finds the water and vegetation turns many shades of green.

Some rain is soft and gentle, but much of the heavy rainfall comes in the form of majestic, severe storms. Lightning often ignites fires and rain, often but not always, puts them out. Cycles of fire and flood and drought have shaped the land for thousands of years and the balance of nature ensures that vegetation regenerates itself annually.

The Waterberg Nature Conservancy was established in 1989. It seeks to promote, conserve and protect the fauna, flora and wilderness areas, historical sites, river systems and natural heritage sites within the Waterberg Mountains; to promote the awareness of environmental issues by way of education, research, sustainable utilisation and tourism; to promote the upliftment, education and needs of the people employed within the Conservancy and surrounding rural communities; to promote, support or oppose legislation or other measures affecting the Conservancy and its members; and to represent its members in dealing with government departments, other authorities and the public generally.

In 2001, the Waterberg Biosphere Reserve was formally designated by UNESCO (the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization).
A Biosphere Reserve ultimately establishes a cooperative and responsible approach to land management – an ethic of caring for the earth. The Waterberg Biosphere incorporates over 414,000 hectares (1,035,000 acres). It is one of 529 Biospheres around the world, of which five are in South Africa.

The Waterberg is a Brand Name Worth Protecting

2009-05-20T13:27:00.004+02:00

Edited from the original published in The Sunday Independent, 15 February 2009.

The Waterberg Mountains benefit from many features, including the name itself. To those who live here, and to many others, the very words conjure up all that is positive about the region – its bio-diversity, craggy heights, and vistas, its game, watercourses, and even its remoteness from urban centres. Throw the words Waterberg Biosphere Reserve into the mix, and more value is added. Those who operate tourist establishments profit from the natural branding; the rest of us are simply delighted to be here.

So it is with some alarm that we watch as the Waterberg name is abused by some and misused by others. The abuse is intentionally deceitful; the misuse is accidentally detrimental.

For those in the tourism industry who are not located in the Waterberg Mountains, but rather nearby, identifying themselves with the Waterberg Mountains or Waterberg Biosphere Reserve is intended to reap good will by association, even if inaccurate. Thus, a golf estate near Bela-Bela calls itself simply Waterberg, though it’s not in the Waterberg Mountains. Its marketing material says that the Waterberg Biosphere Reserve is one of four UNESCO identified reserves in South Africa, true enough, but the estate is not located within it; rather, it’s more than 60 kilometres from the outer reaches of the Biosphere’s buffer zone, and that’s as the African snake eagle flies.

A private nature reserve near Mookgophong claims that it’s located in the Waterberg Biosphere Reserve; at 50 kilometres distance, it simply isn’t.

Meanwhile, what is to become of the Waterberg’s positive image if the media and even the likes of national and provincial departments and monopoly electricity producer/distributor Eskom identify coal-fired power stations as located in the Waterberg area of Limpopo. One thing is for sure – by such misnaming, the Department of Environmental Affairs and Tourism, for one, will be denigrating the very tourist potential of the region it purports to promote.

Eskom’s existing Matimba Power Station is about 15 kilometres west of Lephalale, far from the Waterberg. And Eskom’s new Medupi Power Station is even farther, nearly 30 kilometres north of Lephalale. They shouldn’t be labeled Waterberg Power Plants.

In the 1940s, there was a small mine in the Waterberg, about 16 kilometres north-northeast of Vaalwater, but they had the good sense to call it the Nooitgedacht Lead Mine. Now, a very large mine 25 kilometres north of Lephalale is properly named the Grootegeluk coal mine. Accurate naming is possible.

More than 50 years ago, the coalfields around Lephalale were identified as the Waterberg Coalfields, an area stretching 40 kilometres from north to south and 88 kilometres from east to west. We may be stuck with the name forever, confirmed as it is by the geology and mining industry for so many years, but other Waterberg names need not be so casually accepted.

Using the name Waterberg is nothing more than a convenient, but lazy way to avoid an exact location. Mining and energy project locations should be identified accurately and clearly, and to say it’s in the Waterberg is no help at all.

And if any of the tourist establishments and energy activities are simply in the Waterberg District Municipality, you say? Sorry, not good enough. The Municipality is a very large area, nearly five million hectares (that’s 50,000 square kilometres), extending well northeast of Lephalale, well south of Bela-Bela and well east of Modimolle. At about one and one-half million hectares (15,000 square kilometres), the Waterberg Biosphere Reserve comprises only about a third of the Municipality.

We should make a concerted effort to correct the name when we see it wrongly used, and further, we should actively urge the use of some other suitable names. The mining and Eskom activities and the tourism establishments are located in, for instance, the Limpopo Western Bushveld, the Western Limpopo Bushveld or simply in Western Limpopo. If it’s a mine near Lephalale or Thabazimbi, say so. If it’s a tourist destination near Bela-Bela or Mookgophong, say so.

The misuse of the Waterberg name has chipped away at its positive image and value. Without any change in usage, in 20 years time when people hear the word Waterberg, they’ll sadly but likely think of industry and mining rather than nature.

Waterberg School Sets An Example: Meetsetshehla Secondary School defies the norm in its efforts to maintain excellence

2009-05-19T12:17:00.002+02:00

Originally published in The Sunday Independent, 10 August 2008

Though only three hours from Johannesburg, the Waterberg range in Limpopo is remote, sparsely populated and quite beautiful with its rugged mountains, watercourses and wildlife. It is also very poor.

In the heart of the Waterberg lies the town of Vaalwater/Mabatlane, an unsightly collection of buildings with a four-way stop sign at its centre. With the population of the town and surrounding area estimated at nearly 50 000, mostly in the sprawling community of Leseding, common wisdom suggests that such impoverished, rural, farming communities don't provide students with much of an education. Vaalwater's Meetsetshehla Secondary School proudly defies that notion.

It is easy to view South Africa's education system with alarm. The problems include poor facilities, inadequate supplies, too few classrooms, incompetent teachers, poorly prepared and motivated students, and inappropriate curriculum. In addition, politics and the ubiquitous national pastime of blaming so many ills on race contribute to education failure.

English-medium Meetsetshehla Secondary School was established in 1986 by a local farmer/doctor to serve the children of his employees.

Since then, it has grown from the original few students and ill-equipped classrooms to a current enrolment of nearly 700 students on a lively six-hectare campus of several fully equipped buildings and sports fields.

The school has also grown from a prolonged, uneasy relationship with the national and provincial education authorities to a state-aided, independent establishment with 23 dedicated teachers providing a high standard of education to a very disadvantaged student body.

Yes, its student body is predominantly black, but it continues to be a multiracial school, as it always has been.

When critics suggest schools don't provide an atmosphere for learning, they haven't been to Meetsetshehla. Take a walk around the campus and be happily surprised - first by its orderliness and cleanliness, and then by the smartly uniformed and polite students. Well-maintained buildings and lawns, neat signboards, no litter. Attentive and lively classes led by inspired teachers. At a school like Meetsetshehla, one can become hopeful about the future of South Africa.

When critics look at the sad national matric pass rate in 2007 of 61,5 percent, and the sadder Limpopo matric pass rate of 58 percent, they haven't looked at Meetsetshehla. Its matric pass rates have reached a remarkably high level. In 2007, its pass rate was 98,6 percent, and it has not been below 97 percent since 1998, reaching 100 percent on four occasions.

The introduction of vocationally directed education together with an academic field of study makes Meetsetshehla's curriculum relevant to employment possibilities in the Waterberg, and indeed in the country. Course offerings reflect a choice of academic and commercial fields of study (life sciences, mathematics, physical science, accounting) or a career-based field of study (hospitality studies, computer applied technology, travel and tourism, business studies, mechanical technology).

Junior students take courses in computer literacy as well as formal learning areas such as human and social sciences, economics and management sciences and technology.

Northern Sotho, Afrikaans and English are taught as first or second languages.

Since its establishment in 1997, the Northern Education Trust has raised more than R5 million in donations for Meetsetshehla - land and funds from local lodges, corporates, local and international foundations, and individuals. The funds have been used to finance the construction of new buildings, the upgrading of existing buildings, equipment for a variety of speciality classes and bursaries for matric students entering tertiary education institutions or universities.

Barend Pretorius, Meetsetshehla's principal, recognises that the school is not immune from the country's education woes. Although proud of the students' accomplishments, he knows the still enormous challenges in several spheres.

Pretorius is troubled by the minimal attention that parents pay to their children's education. "We must find ways to encourage the participation of parents and guardians in the school's life. So many of them have little time to be involved, and even if they are inclined to join us, transportation from home to school is difficult."

Unwed student pregnancy is another problem. Eleven pregnant girls dropped out of school last year.

The Waterberg's primary schools inadequately prepare incoming students for secondary school work. This is Meetsetshehla's "bridging" problem. Pretorius notes that "many of the children are unable to proceed with the education offered because of a poor standard of English, Afrikaans and mathematics."

He regards this as his most important challenge, as "these learners do not make up the backlog in the first three or four years of schooling at the secondary school and they carry this handicap with them through their school career and probably will do so throughout life."

This year, Meetsetshehla has started special after-hours classes in English and mathematics for incoming students.

When Naledi Pandor, the education minister, believes that the race of a teacher is more important than the quality of the teaching, she has not been to Meetsetshehla.

Meetsetshehla is a disciplined school, with a seriousness of purpose reflected in its teachers. Pandor wonders what it means "… if I don't see someone who looks like me at the school I attend?" It means she's shockingly unaware of what education is, and sadly out of touch with schools such as Meetsetshehla. Meetsetshehla's faculty of 12 blacks and 12 whites are professional educators - not racial stereotypes.

Many graduates cannot find jobs in the area; many cannot afford to go to tertiary institutions or universities. But, many have and are held up as exemplary role models, often returning to the school to speak to classes. Meetsetshehla has produced at least two practising medical doctors, at least two lawyers and several engineers. Many recent Meetsetshehla graduates are now studying electrical engineering, accounting, law, medicine and information technology at the University of Limpopo, Tshwane University of Technology, Vaal University of Technology and Attridgeville Technical College, among others. And there are more grade 12 students studying right now, finding role models among their teachers.

Border Towns and Border Crossings

2009-05-18T11:33:00.007+02:00

South Africa's newspaper The Weekender published this article in its 4-5 July 2009 edition, under the headline "Crossover Curiosities." The subheadline said 'John Miller finds border towns emphasise what unites people, not what separates them.' They included a couple of relevant photos, but not this one of the cable car crossing from South Africa to Botswana.

You'll have to read the whole story to see what I'm talking about.

Border towns are intriguing places. Their distinct identity defies our stereotypical view of the countries in which they lie. In such places, residents identify themselves less with their country and more with their neighbours across the border.

The mix of cultures and language that should be awkward, is rarely noticed. In fact, some border towns are so unusual they are not a transit point, but the destination itself.

Rio de Onor in the northeastern corner of Portugal, and Rio honor de Castilla in northwest Spain, comprise a single town in a remote agricultural area. A large stream (barely a river) separates the countries, but nothing separates the people.

There was a gate when I visited many years ago — a heavy, aged boom cut from a chestnut tree, permanently in upright position. There was no border guard on duty then and with the advent of the Schengen rules of the European Union, I’m sure the boom gate has been removed.

Whether on the Portuguese or Spanish side of the stream, residents displayed their produce for sale on small tables lining the single, main dirt road, chatting in their native Leonese or Rionorês. At day’s end, they strolled to their homes built high off the ground, warmed by the cattle sheltered directly below.

The character of other borders is defined by a region rather than the crossing itself. A remote Malawian border post shares Likoma Island beachfront with market stalls and clothes washers on Lake Malawi. Its Mozambican counterpart is a shack on a little hill in the village of Cóbué on the eastern shore of the same lake, now Lago Niassa.

The many villages on the lake comprise a single, vast community that pays little attention to the political boundaries of nations and the formalities that take place at those border posts.

Regardless of what is on either side of a border, the crossing itself can be quite an experience. Long ago, a friend and I travelled by foot from rural northern Argentina to rural southern Bolivia. We had walked a kilometre from our humble lodging in La Quiaca, Argentina, where a bus had dropped us the night before, to the frontier into Villacón, Bolivia.

Exiting Argentina was easy: the border post opened on time at 6am; the distinguished official stamped our passports; and the gatekeeper raised the boom. Not 10m later, the Bolivian gatekeeper was on duty though unable to welcome us to his side without the approval of his boss, the absent border official. The gatekeeper called over a young chap, let’s call him Juan, to escort us to the official’s home.

With Juan at the helm of his wheelbarrow and laden with our backpacks, we entered Bolivia with caution. We walked the dusty tracks as illegal aliens, enjoying smiles of wide-eyed children, taciturn faces under bowler hats, babies and produce on backs, a market town coming to life in the early morning.

We soon rounded a corner to a wide and prosperous street of sturdily constructed, two-storey houses with fenced lawns. We dutifully followed Juan through the garden gate of a respectable home. When no one answered his knock at the door, Juan opened it himself, invited us in, and encouraged us to go with him up the stairs. His knock on the bedroom door there elicited a one-word reply — “Entre”.

We were face to face with the Técnico Aduanero de la Aduana Nacional de la República de Bolivia. In striped pyjamas, propping himself up on his pillow, he retrieved the accoutrements of his office from his bedside table — a rubber seal and ink pad.
With a stamp in our passports, the weighty functions of his office were fulfilled.

We were legally in Bolivia.

Not long after, I crossed from the US to Mexico at a border similarly obscure, remote and odd.

The signs from the south Texas highway to the town of Los Ebanos were clear. Once in the town of unpaved streets with occupied homes alongside empty ones, I relied on my sense of direction to find the hand-drawn ferry that made the 25m crossing of the Rio Grande.

I drove farther from the highway on a slight descent and asked directions of anyone in the shade.

There was no queue. My car and one other rolled down the bank onto an unsteady steel raft that had room for a third car. There was a loosely hanging rope at raft’s end, ostensibly to prevent vehicles from rolling into the muddy river.

We were quickly under way, and before I had a chance to offer the four operators my help muscling the ropes through the pulleys fixed to the ebony trees on both sides, we had arrived.

It was time to start the motor and drive up the bank into Mexico. Only another 7km to reach downtown Ciudad Gustavo Díaz Ordaz.

Years later, my partner and I crossed the Limpopo River from the farmlands of SA to the Tuli Block of Botswana. The summer rains had been good so the river at Pont Drift was much too high for our smart 4x4. There are no border towns here, only an unusual border crossing.

We left our bakkie for several days in the shade and safety of SA and walked the few hundred metres to a large shed high on the banks of the river. It stored goods destined for Botswana — lumber, zinc, foodstuffs; as well as goods recently arrived from Botswana — small suitcases and plastic bags of personal possessions. The shed also housed one end of the cable car over the river.

The two of us stepped onto the slightly swaying car. The operator closed the gate and gave a hand signal to his counterpart 200m away in Botswana. With the push of a button, the two-minute journey began, time enough to appreciate the unique mode of travel, but barely time to look up the river, down the river, back where we came from, and forward to our arrival. The car halted at a covered hut overlooking the river at the edge of a parking lot that hosted scurrying chickens. As soon as we paid R35 each for the voyage to the Limpopo Valley Access (Pty) Ltd operator, he returned to his game of Morabaraba with his friends and we walked into the office, our passports in hands.

Borders that keep regions apart and separate towns in two also focus our imagination on the whole of those parts, and the short journey between them.

Almost Clueless in the Bush

2009-05-17T22:00:00.005+02:00

This story about my jaunt to Mozambique was published in the 31 October/1 November 2009 issue of The Weekender.

We had left the beaches of Chidenguele in the morning, heading to Hyliota Camp, a rustic birding camp on one of Mozambique’s freshwater inland lakes in Inhambane Province. Before we confirmed our booking, we had prevailed upon the manager in SA that we didn’t need him or anyone else to guide us there. And we had no need for GPS co-ordinates as we didn’t have a GPS.

His written directions provided a few laughs, but not much clarity. Still, how could we go wrong — a Portuguese-speaker and a highly qualified South African field guide, enhanced by the vital talents of a retired CIA economist and a high-powered corporate coach from Washington, DC. We sought a path less travelled to a destination often ignored.

Already we had made our way on unmarked roads and dirt tracks for about 130km to villages that seemed to be Manjacaze and Macuca. About 25km further, we hoped this was Marão/Mawaela, the last place to find anyone who might have some helpful information, and hence the last opportunity for our Portuguese-speaker to be of any value.

We then followed the written directions for the last 35km: “Turn into a two track road left at the pole fence as you come into the village the road make a 90 degree turn to the right at the fence.” Uncertainty brewed dissension.

If we were indeed on the right track, the open savannah in the instructions would get thicker and we’d be into miombo woodlands. Soon we’d be passing through a big, open clearing in an ironwood forest, looking for a “road fork there take the one to the right not well used a marula tree on left of the road with arrow on trunk pointing right the track go in between to dead trees 10m from main track ”.

Verbal advice had offered more — we’d stumble upon an old axle at this point.
The windy track of deep sand took us from savannah to woodland, yes, but where was the big open clearing with the all-important marula tree? At each of the several open clearings that looked “big”, we pondered (often quite vehemently): there’s a marula tree without an arrow, wait, this is not really a clearing, stop, is this woodland or forest, whoa, shouldn’t we turn back now while we have a chance?

No vehicle had passed this way for many weeks. If we punctured a tyre, we could change it, but if we punctured a second one or had any other vehicle trouble, who among us was going to walk more than 50km to look for help that was unlikely to be available?

Certainly not our field guide who had counselled retreat long before this point. Foolhardy we were, onward we moved, discordantly we spoke.

When we weren’t sparring with each other, we could appreciate the changing habitat of open plains, a few dry river crossings, and mixed woodlands. And when you’re in a low 4x4 for nearly an hour, it is easy to look closely at every marula tree, even as we were unsure we were in the right place.

Finally, we spotted the tree with the arrow. We stepped out for a closer look and before long spied the rusted iron axle on the ground. With great earnestness, we spread out on foot in the arrow’s direction, seeking the two dead trees that would take us to the “not well used” track.

Among so many dead trees, we never found the true ones. Regardless, our CIA representative advised that “in these circumstances anything that looks remotely like a track is hardly lesser used than any other”.

Uncertainty was now palpable, discord on the rise.

An hour later, a shimmering lake came into view. Was it Lago Shankoz, the lake named in our written directions? Perhaps it was Lago Nhangulaze, the locally used name for this lake, but which we found later on Google Earth to be nearly 25km away as the Pygmy goose flies.

No matter, our corporate coach led our laughter of relief as we found the camp.

Ricardo, the caretaker, appeared as promised. He was, however, unprepared for guests; two months advance booking was apparently not enough to get word to him. He quickly put a pump in the lake to provide water for the so-called ablution facilities.

He introduced us to the two dark and disordered, reed-walled, thatched huts. To protect us from mosquitoes, we were to sleep inside a zipped pup tent pitched in and dominating the small, windowless bedroom. On low-slung, drooping cots. And oh, the linen on the sagging , ratty mattresses!

In fairness, the adjacent lapa kitchen and braai area were adequate for our culinary requirements. It had basic utensils and a prep area, though the freezer lacked any power source.

The appeal of the lake itself, about 800m across at this point (and about 4km long), was its isolation. Our exploratory walk revealed the spoor and dung of elephant, purportedly on the move from the Kruger.

Somewhere in the vicinity was a population of the rare Olive- headed Weaver and even rarer Hyliota bird , but they didn’t make themselves available for us.

Our route the next day from the camp to a tar road had no landmarks to look for nor turns to make, and thus no ambiguity to confront. By evening, we were in Inhambane on the Indian Ocean, 180km away.

South Africans are rediscovering Mozambique as a very different Africa close to home. We were searching for an adventure that Mozambique’s name alone conjures up. We looked for a low-risk experience, a journey that would provide us with at least one tale to tell. We found it.

Book Review: The Lazarus Funeral Parlour

2009-05-17T09:27:00.002+02:00

A slightly edited version of this review was published in The Weekender, 29-30 August, 2009. The newspaper's headline was "Religion creates a storm in small town."

The Waterberg gained an enduring reputation for the offbeat when Paul Kruger banished his political enemies to the remote, dangerous, and malarial corner of the Northern Transvaal – “Give him a farm in the Waterberg!” Since then, the Waterberg has inspired painters and photographers, naturalists and scientists, but no one has mined its ornery characters and traditional ways for a good old-fashioned tale of good versus evil. Or sceptic versus scammer. Until now.

Pamela Oberem, a veterinarian, has written several books on animal health. Straying far from that genre with this debut novel, she has concocted a yarn that is at once both playful and pointed.

Dominee Donges presides over a conventional church in the small bushveld town of Nylsdorp. He ministers to a motley assortment of parishioners, including three busybody “koeksisters”. His spiritual influence has waned somewhat in these modern times. His concern about the impoverished but theologically-inclined residents of Padimeng is not well respected by the white population. In addition, he must compete for attention with more popular culture – Idols, schoolboy rugby, videos, even pornography. He is distressed by this reality, often retreating to his own personal pleasures, most particularly his antiquarian collection of books that includes his favourite author Eugene Marais.

Into this placid life comes change, signalled by a crack in the church tower. This doesn’t auger well for the precarious state of faith in Nylsdorp. The Mobile Church of the Holistic Christ pitches its tent, providing an alluring alternate religion as well as appealing entertainment for the townspeople. Its leader is the Reverend Jesse Grant, a drop-dead gorgeous hunk of charisma. The earnest Dominee Donges watches closely.

With the sales of T-shirts, coffee mugs, Jesus cookbooks, the Bible (as annotated by Reverend Grant), and other religious baubles, the good Reverend leads a campaign of moral revitalization, healing the ailing, and converting the prominent Waterberg Commando building into a funeral parlour. Resurrections are guaranteed to the faithful.

One by one, the funerals of Nylsdorp’s recently departed are handled by Reverend Grant, and, surprise surprise, each body – on the path to resurrection – remains just short of a joyous return home alive and well. The case of a schoolboy who dies of his rugby injury catapults the events to the dominant news in town. The local newspaper, leaving its innocuous days behind, is now rather happily tabloid-like, headlining the miracles and selling papers. The citizens take a certain pride in Nylsdorp’s fame.

Dominee Donges is more convinced than ever that the Lazarus Funeral Parlour is one big con, Reverend Grant’s cynical manipulation of the trusting and gullible. As the dominee makes his case against such spiritual deceit to whomever will listen, we are treated to discussions of evolution and creationism, the dilemma of women’s rights in the modern world, and of course the ambiguities of faith, all with a bit of serious music, greasy food, and homemade drink as background.

With increasing despair, Donges finally writes a letter for publication in the local newspaper. In no uncertain terms, he denounces everything Reverend Grant has been doing.

Events and conversations provide a clear sense of place – abrupt thunder and lightning storms here, a bit of Boer War history there, veldfires and signboard excess, retrenchments and name changes. This is a Waterberg town of today.

The characters are vivid, and recognizable. The mundane is relevant. The pace is unhurried. The place is integral to the tale. The Lazarus Funeral Parlour is a straight-forward, true reflection of small town life and conflict.

One need not be attuned to theology nor the Bible itself to enjoy this warm-hearted novel. Indeed, the reader is advised to join in Oberem’s irreverent look at whites, blacks, Afrikaners, Indians, coloured, Christians, Muslims, Jews, gays, not to mention men and women. Be careful, this may be the start of a series of insightful Dominee Donges escapades.

Vaalwater Information

2009-05-16T10:43:00.001+02:00

April 2009. In recent years, I've met a few volunteers in the Waterberg who've come from places far away. I've sensed a bit of culture shock in some of them, and so wrote this to help orient others who are considering spending some time here.

It's still called the "undiscovered" Waterberg of South Africa. It is remote (though less than three hours from Johannesburg), sparsely populated, and quite beautiful with its rugged mountains, water courses, and wildlife. It is also very poor.

North American, European, and Australian doctors, medical students, and teachers work for various periods in and around Vaalwater, the main town in the Waterberg. It is a rewarding experience for the foreigner, who will be making an important and appreciated contribution to the health, welfare and education of the impoverished residents of the Waterberg. The information provided here is intended to introduce you to the expectations and realities of your life in the Waterberg.

Accommodation. You may be accommodated in a fine cottage on a farm about five minutes outside of Vaalwater. The furnished cottage has a shower, kitchen, washing machine (if enough water is available). Alternative accommodation might be provided in local homes or in a backpackers’ hostel. There is electricity though there are frequent outages, sometimes planned and scheduled by Eskom, sometimes as a result of summer storms. It’s easy to enjoy dinner by candlelight and lantern.

Food and meals. You’ll probably find yourself preparing your own meals. There is one perfectly adequate grocery store in Vaalwater, and several small shops to buy foodstuff. Depending on how you count, there are at least six cafés and restaurants in town.

Banking. There are two small mini-branches in Vaalwater, representing two large national banks. All banking services are available at both and both have ATM machines. Foreign exchange transactions at both are not immediate; that is, you may leave your foreign currency at the bank and not get South African Rands back for a couple or more days. You may also encounter occasional problems with your foreign credit cards and ATM cards.

Vaalwater shopping and services. Most services you’d find in an urban area are available in Vaalwater, and if not, Modimolle is about 45 minutes away. Vaalwater has an Emergency Medical Service and doctors in private practice, as well as a dentist. Besides a post office, cafés and restaurants, and internet cafés, you’ll find a dry cleaning and laundry service, hair salons, “hardware” stores, cell phone shops, a sports bar, several gift shops, real estate offices, motor vehicle and other repair shops, butcher shops, liquor stores, a couple of places to rent DVDs, and tennis courts.
There is no book store, but you’ll find used books for sale in a couple of places. There is a small municipal library. There is a newly revived hotel and several B&Bs. Daily Pretoria and Johannesburg newspapers and current South African magazines are available at a couple of places in town. You will probably not need the several places that serve the farming community, but they’re in town as well.

Social life. You’ll find a very casual atmosphere in the Waterberg, with very outgoing and friendly residents. That doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll be frequently invited to homes for dinner or other social occasions. You may find yourself with a lot of free time on your hands, best filled by your own personal interests and avocations, time with your work colleagues, and otherwise finding ways to enjoy the outdoor experience of the African bush, which is all around you. You’ll find that time has a different value than you might be used to.

Town Life. Vaalwater is more complex than the typical small town character you might expect. Yes, you’ll soon see many familiar faces, colleagues and service providers and more. You’ll know all your options for shopping very quickly. As a foreigner, and as a stranger, you’ll stand out. The entire Waterberg’s population may be about 80,000, but Vaalwater – with a population estimated between 1,000 and 1,500 – is certainly a small town.

But other dynamics play the dominant role in the area. Throughout South Africa, race is an unavoidable fact of life, and Vaalwater is no different. The great majority of the town and surrounding area residents are black South Africans, as many as 20,000, maybe more, living in Leseding (the community just outside of the town centre, a former township, still known as “the township”, or “the location”) and many more living in other Waterberg townships or on farms. They are generally poor, unskilled, unemployed or underemployed, and poorly educated. Their first language is Northern Sotho, Sepedi or Setswana. Many are likely to speak Afrikaans quite well, and many speak English with some facility.

Reliable data is hard to come by, but Afrikaners make up the next largest group in the Waterberg. They are generally small and medium sized farmers and owners of countless small and medium sized services in and around Vaalwater. Their first language is of course Afrikaans.

English-speaking South Africans (yes, another category of whites), are a stable but small population, perhaps 30 percent of the total white population. Those of an “older” generation and those younger ones who have grown up in the Waterberg speak Afrikaans quite comfortably.

There are many foreign nationalities represented in the Waterberg – British, American, Dutch, German, and more. They come to their Waterberg bush homes a few times a year, or are permanent residents in retirement, or they own or are working at a variety of tourist destinations in the Waterberg.

The black/white divide is enormous. The races meet at the symbiotic level of employer/employee and customer/service level, not much more. There is minimal social interaction and a tacit recognition of the wide cultural, educational and language differences. Yes, the students and teachers at the schools and health and welfare facilities may be somewhat mixed, and it’s easy to enjoy light banter across the races, but the fact of separateness is evident wherever you go.

Language, Names, and Words. The dominant language is Northern Sotho, followed by Afrikaans, then English. But English works virtually everywhere. Many places have been renamed in South Africa in the last few years. Thus Northern Province has become Limpopo Province. While Vaalwater has not been officially renamed Mabatlane, other nearby towns have changed their names: Nylstroom to Modimolle, Warm Baths to Bela Bela; Ellisras to Lephalale, Pietersburg to Polokwane, Naboomspruit to Mookgophong, Potgietersrus to Mokopane. You’ll quickly learn local new words and idioms. You’ll be saying “lekker” when you mean “nice” or even “cool”. You’ll be saying “that side” when you mean “over there”. And you’ll learn the difference between “just now” and “now now”.

Crime. No place is immune from crime, of course, but there is very little the foreign visitor should worry about in and around Vaalwater. Very rarely is there any crime in the area that confronts the individual – attacks, muggings, carjackings, etc. You will feel quite comfortable walking around Vaalwater. Rather, there are the occasional night time and weekend break-ins in Vaalwater shops; there are occasional “inside jobs” on farms and at tourist establishments, stealing for instance solar panels or telephone equipment; and there is alcohol-induced violence in Leseding.

Communications. You may want to get a telephone line installed wherever you are living, but it is not an easy, quick process. Instead, you will likely rely on a cell phone, easily purchased, even in Vaalwater. Using your overseas cell phone once you are in South Africa will be expensive for you as well as for those who want to call you. Sometimes it is easier for those overseas to call you.

There is cell phone reception in and around Vaalwater, but not in all parts of the Waterberg.

Internet access on a private computer is possible through a cell phone connection. Everything can be bought and set up in Vaalwater. Alternatively, there are two internet cafés in Vaalwater. You’ll find that internet connections are not at the high speeds and general reliability that you are probably used to, including at the internet cafés in the area.

The Post Office in Vaalwater works well, despite what you may hear. You should be eligible to get yourself a PO Box.

Transportation. If you are not provided with a vehicle, you should consider renting a car during your stay. Otherwise, you may be dependent on others for rides, and find your mobility restricted. There are uncomfortable and some would say unsafe busses and taxis available to get you to Modimolle and further to Pretoria and Johannesburg. A bicycle can be arranged for or bought. It is good for transport within Vaalwater but not beyond.

Climate. Summer months are from October through March, and days are generally sunny and hot, but without stifling humidity. Summer evenings are pleasant. Average summer temperatures range from 15 degrees Celsius at night to 30 degrees Celsius during the day (59-86 degrees Fahrenheit). Exciting thunderstorms strike during the summer. Daily rainfall is a regular and important topic of conversation in the Waterberg.

Winter months, April through September, are moderate with temperatures averaging 5-20 degrees Celsius (41-68 degrees Fahrenheit). Days are sunny and pleasant with virtually no rain. Mornings and nights are cold, reaching freezing on only a few nights during June and July. Without the kind of heating you may be used to in homes and buildings, you’ll be well aware of the cold.

Yes, fall and spring exist, but not in the obvious ways you may be used to. Rather, you’ll find a gradual transition from winter to summer and back.

Clothing. To maintain a professional look, it is best to wear clothing without branding, logos or pictures. The suggestion is professional but casual attire. Here are some other ideas of clothes to bring: comfortable walking shoes and sandals; long sleeved cotton shirts or T-shirts. For winter, sweaters, jerseys, fleece and jackets for warm, dry days and cool to cold nights; a wool hat, scarf and gloves might be useful in winter as well. For summer, light, cool clothing and waterproof raincoat and hat for hot days and warm nights, with short thunderstorms; jeans or casual trousers; swimming costume (bathing suit) and swimming towel.

Other items to bring. You might want to bring a torch (flashlight); head torch; camera and film; binoculars; reading matter; pastimes, such as for art; reference books, pen and paper; multi-purpose knife; your own medical necessities; sun block; small, travel-sized first aid kit (with aspirin, band aids, a disinfectant wash, etc.). Think of the adapters for your electrical devices. Electrical devices like hair dryers from the US must have the option to switch voltage (from 110 to 220).

Insurance. It is essential to have your own comprehensive medical and travel insurance coverage.

Health. The Waterberg is called “malaria-free”. While that cannot be one-hundred percent assured, the region is generally devoid of the Anopheles mosquito which transmits malaria. Malaria precautions need not be taken if you are only visiting this region of South Africa. If you plan to travel to other parts of South Africa or further, consult your local travel advisory clinic regarding malaria risks.

In general, tap water is perfectly safe to drink in the Waterberg (as it is in most of South Africa). However, water provided by the municipality of Vaalwater may not always be potable; know the source. Plan to drink lots of water. Because of the danger of dehydration, it is important for new arrivals to drink a lot of water until they are acclimatised.

Costs. You’ll find the cost of living in the Waterberg much less than in the US or Europe, partly because it is and partly because there will be so little to spend your money on. That said, the cost of petrol and diesel is much higher than the US and Europe and you’ll find some normal grocery store items more expensive. Fresh fruits and vegetables are generally less costly.

A Note on Expectations. You’ll be living and working in circumstances very different than what you might be used to. “Manage” your expectations. Self-sufficiency is a great virtue. You’ll occasionally be working alone, and often have evenings and other time to yourself. You’ll not be on holiday, but you will get a chance to enjoy yourself. Bring books to read or a pastime to pursue (e.g., hiking, writing, reading, art, astronomy).

Working in the Waterberg is for you if you
• want to make a genuine contribution to the health, welfare or education of impoverished people who are normally without adequate health care and education;
• want to experience a dramatic change in your working and living conditions;
• are interested in learning about medical conditions and diseases you may not be familiar with;
• enjoy life in a small town, rural area;
• enjoy meeting new and different people;
• love having time to read;
• prefer to climb a mountain and enjoy a spectacular view rather than watch a DVD or shop.
First written and distributed in 2007

Pondering Development

2009-05-15T16:59:00.001+02:00

May 2009. After a career working in developing countries, I thought I'd ponder a bit about what it all means.

Poverty in the Waterberg is not much different than poverty elsewhere in small town and rural South Africa. Statistics are hard to come by, but the population in and around Vaalwater is estimated at 50,000. If you are White, you’d be surprised by such a large number until you make your way behind the government housing (pictured below) that is visible from the tar road to Melkrivier, back to the countless tin shacks erected on the seemingly endless land near the town dump. This is not a land invasion, nor a squatter settlement. Rather, plots are delineated and have been formally allocated to individuals.

Whether you call it a settlement, which it is, or a township, which it isn’t, or “the location”, a term straight from the late nineteenth century to apartheid days to the present, it is a community with a name, Lesideng, and its residents are Black. Identifying it as Black is no surprise in South Africa; it is one of four groups still regarded by race and it reflects both the legacy of apartheid as well as the unmet expectations of service delivery and life improvement of the current government.

Like any community, Lesideng has its easily visible problems – dirt streets in rough condition with poor or no lighting, unsanitary litter, minimal water and electricity distribution, no public transportation, and few amenities. Less visible are public health issues such as HIV/AIDS and alcoholism, poor education, and unemployment.

It is the kind of impoverished community that is the intended ultimate beneficiary of government policies and programmes as well as development assistance by countless donor agencies and local and international non-government organizations. Indeed, Lesideng has benefited from the local municipality and provincial departments. In the last few years, a main street has been paved, street lights have been installed on many blocks, and a water distribution system is in place. But the growth of new houses being erected from one day to the next far outpaces the government’s capacity to keep up.

And so it remains as a typical impoverished community that must rely on itself and its neighbours for any day to day attention and improvement. The most visible, helpful organization in Lesideng is the Waterberg Welfare Society. From a small complex of renovated and new buildings on the edge of the community, and with difficult but effective fund-raising locally and abroad, it is able to provide the community with HIV/AIDS counselling and care, a hospice, a youth centre, and general advocacy.

Based on my experience, I’d say Lesideng is better off without formal, international donor assistance. Yes, the community could benefit from a single person, say a dedicated Peace Corps Volunteer or similar volunteer program, but generally, assistance from afar doesn’t reach the neediest very easily, if at all. If South Africa’s housing policies and programs, supported by international donors, result in a family getting a free piece of land with a small, but free house on it, it doesn’t bode well for the next generation of families; it only bodes well for a permanent and unsustainable welfare system.

I spent nearly 40 years working in development – the development of poor countries and cities. Armed with a graduate degree in city and regional planning, my work in one way or another was always related to the improvement in the lives of poor people. In my early days, I worked directly with those poor people. As my career moved on, I was more and more removed from them, occasionally meeting them at project sites but increasingly talking and reading about them from insular bureaucratic offices.

Some times I was on my own, evaluating someone else’s project or policy. More often I was on a team or leading a team analyzing problems and recommending new projects or policies. Short-term assignments varied from one week to a year, with at least one if not several trips to a country. Three times I resided in the neighbourhood, city, or country where the work was.

The focus of my attention included low-cost housing, urbanization, housing privatization, urban infrastructure, and local government finance. As I got older and presumably wiser, I found myself leading technical teams on subjects beyond my experience. I was the one who could pull together specialists into a coherent team and manage the production and delivery of thick reports on subjects such as agriculture policy, HIV/AIDS, and railway privatization. And I could do it in English, Portuguese, and Spanish.

Wherever the work, we wore coats and ties (and dresses) and held many meetings among ourselves and with national and local officials and with whichever office of the assistance agency that was paying for our work. We discussed our findings and conclusions, we drafted and re-drafted chapters, and finally delivered documents.

As a result, though I remain an optimist, I’m unconvinced about the utility of development assistance. Success stories that I was involved in are few, but here are a couple.

Years after being involved in the development of housing policy in Portugal, I was delighted to visit some of the project sites and see not only completed housing construction, but clean clothes drying on built-in clothes lines outside occupied units, a most telling picture of contented habitation.

Years after spending a lot of effort over many months to convince a wary high-level public works official in Brazil that the poor residents of a marginal neighbourhood trying to build a modest sewage line would benefit greatly by the provision of a few pipes and technical guidance, he told me that he “learned” from me, that one should “listen to the poor”.

If I stretch my memory, I might come up with a handful of other positive stories, but for the most part, I saw and participated in poorly conceived and badly executed programs and projects. Whether the culprit was the development agency itself and the foreign policy it was trying to promote, the country’s officials, the consultants who worked on the project, or even the innate intransigence of poverty – exacerbated by constantly increasing populations – results were too often the same. Little changed.

To cynical US foreign policy officials, for instance, the US Housing Guaranty program, noble as its intentions were, often represented easy “fast disbursing” assistance, suitable for the likes of not-so developing countries.

In 1975, when Portugal was preparing for national elections for the first time in post-war years, with its dreaded Communist party looking popular, the US suddenly determined the country was eligible for development assistance. And so, for Portugal’s suddenly increasing number of immigrants from Mozambique, Angola and other former Portuguese colonies that gained independence at the same time, housing was financed.

Similarly, as the Soviet Union was collapsing in the late 1980s, and hundreds of thousands of Jews were allowed to leave to Israel, the US guaranteed millions of dollars of loans for the construction of housing in Israel. The agreement obliged Israel to use the money within its “traditional” green-line borders. No matter. All that meant was that Israel could use its own money for housing in its occupied territories.

To dedicated careerists in USAID, there was continuous pressure to develop projects and disburse funds, particularly those that reflected whatever development theories were current. The notion of privatization swept the development world not long ago – government should relinquish state-owned enterprises to those who could operate it better. Housing built and managed by the government should be sold to private interests. Metropolitan water supply and delivery systems should be sold to private interests. Railways, airlines, on and on. There are too few successes along these long and many failures.

I reviewed a national railroad restructuring project in Mozambique, and found the all-too-familiar reasons why policy changes were not implemented.

• Donor procedural deadlines conflicted with the time required to initiate and pursue the kind of participatory process that can lead to host country ownership of policy change. Despite an attempt to introduce ownership of project design, at least a participatory process, there was no time. AID Mission deadlines and a weak railway did not permit it.

• The client must know it is the client, the client's needs must be clear to the team at the beginning and throughout the project. The railway chose only to understand the project as one that would bail it out of its financial excesses. The success of the project design, and ultimately of project implementation, depended on the participation of the railway itself, obviously the most important stakeholder.

• The policy agenda must be focused and manageable. The policy context was complicated by the railway's history and traditions, the Ministry of Transport's interests, a government distracted by a peace process and a concern for great numbers of its citizens seeking employment – returning refugees, demilitarized soldiers, and now a potentially large number of redundant workers.

• A donor project alone, or even coordinated with other donors, cannot make sustainable policy changes without host country commitment.

• Institutions need incentives to make changes. In an environment with enormous resistance to change generally, and where many personal benefits are at stake, it is difficult to find a policy champion willing to take on the task of reform.

• A donor driven project is destined for failure. An excess of donors focusing on one institution is destined for trouble.

By far the best efforts to improve the lives of poor should be devoted to education and skills training, both of which promote independence of the individual, and expectations of self-improvement rather than expectations of government assistance. Bursaries and scholarships at all school levels are vital; enrol a disadvantaged child in an advantaged education environment. Promote international high school exchange programmes.

For Mabatlane’s Lesideng, put your money in education – trained and sufficient teachers, appropriate books and curricula, safe and sound facilities conducive to learning, counselling.

Art of Sara L. Miller

2009-05-14T14:35:00.001+02:00

My mother, Sara L. Miller (1909-1990) was an accomplished artist. In 2006, my family published a book about her and her art. Here are a few samples of her work.

English Under Attack

2009-05-13T13:44:00.001+02:00

March 2009. If one test of being a first world country is language abuse, South Africa easily holds its own with England and America. Words matter. Phrases, sentences, paragraphs – if they purport to convey what we mean, and certainly what we think, they should be precise and accurate. On promotional materials, adverts, websites, television, radio, and yes, even in newspapers, I despair when I am so often confronted with jargon in place of thought as well as simply egregious mistakes in English. I’m picking on English because that’s the language I know, but I wonder if it would be just as easy to find examples in South Africa’s other ten official languages. Regardless, here are some examples, with comments from the South African bush, but I’m sure readers can apply them to South African urban life:

1. Sustainable. This one is most often abused by developers of residential projects, particularly in the bush. They claim that their water-consuming, vegetation-destroying, rubbish-producing, noise and light-polluting developments are sustainable. Such a claim of course requires no evidence whatsoever and appeals to the eco-sensitive market.

2. Eco, by itself and in all its hyphenated glory. I’ve been involved in eco-tourism, stayed at an eco-lodge, and even walked on an eco-trail. Yes, they are connected to ecology, but do they do less harm to the environment than similar activities? I’m afraid eco-anything is just a pat on the back that says I like the outdoors, I’m an eco-friendly chap.

3. End of the day. This is overused to suggest that something you say sounds wise and conclusive, but rather I think it makes you tedious and pedantic – “At the end of the day, tourists will respond well to our sustainable water system. It’s gravity-fed from a perennial spring to the tanks that then pump it the user.”

4. To be honest with you. Along with “frankly”, this phrase is most often followed by a deception of one kind or another. You’re talking to a property agent who wants to sell you your dream home in the bush. Before long, he says “can I be honest with you?” Yes, yes, you reply, joining his conspiracy for a moment. He is oblivious to your sarcasm as he confidently tells you that the current owner is in great need of a quick sale and cash, and therefore willing to reduce the price slightly.

5. Bespoke. Dictionaries say “custom-made” and “specially made for a particular person.” And maybe it was commonly used in the tailoring business. These days, however, we are asked to purchase a bespoke luxury eco-villa. Please!

6. The apostrophe. One of the smallest symbols we have in our language is abused with much greater frequency than it is properly used. I am disheartened to see adverts offering environmentally sustainable bushveld property’s. Or, suggesting I enjoy it’s eco-idyllic dam. Newspaper and television adverts with its that should be it’s and it’s that should be its are made even more disturbing by the public’s overwhelming indifference.

7. Workshop. This one bothers me for its conversion from noun to verb. Not long ago, we repaired a game drive vehicle in a workshop. Then we called a meeting to discuss the repair and maintenance of all the lodge’s vehicles. Those meetings became workshops where we discussed ideas, seeking other opinions, agreements and understandings – should we paint the vehicles eco-green? Is diesel more sustainable than petro? Somewhere along the way, we started workshopping an idea. I know what it means in this context, I do, I do. I just don’t like it – too pretentious, too cute.

8. Load Shedding. To be honest with you, I picture a high-level Eskom committee seeking a sustainable, eco-friendly phrase that, at the end of the day, would deliver a bespoke electricity schedule to each of us. They’d workshop the phrase until it work’s.

Fire Ignites, Community Responds

2009-05-12T07:43:00.001+02:00

September 2008. We know they’re coming when, in late August, the Waterberg sky turns from its fine winter blue to a dusty haze. We know they’re coming when the still air kicks up into light breezes and then winds. We know they’re coming because the rainless months have left the tall grass desiccated and yellow. We don’t need to hear the SA Weather Service advice that in many parts of the country conditions are “extremely favourable for runaway fires”. What we don’t know is whether they’ll hold off a while and let summer’s first lightning ignite them, or if man’s negligence will be the cause.

Fire season in the Waterberg is upon us.

Local farmers are quite convinced that on Friday 29 August, rounds of practice rifle fire ignited the dry veld below the south-western escarpment of the Waterberg Mountains. If so, it was not a wise training activity for SAPS to be conducting at this time of year and, very likely started a fire on its 9,000 hectare farm not far from Rankins Pass. Neither the exact movement of the fire nor the sequence of the response is known for sure, but from that Friday through the weekend, at least two fire-fighting helicopters were called in and, when the winds came up, called off. By then, fire had spread to many farms in the Alma Valley.

From the cliffs above, we watched with dread that weekend as strong winds fanned the fire. We could see many kilometres away, as the Alma farming community began its back burning efforts. Our anxiety grew as we watched huge smoke plumes rise while the winds decided which direction to blow, and at what speed.

By early Monday morning, neighbours were on their own high alert. Along the south side of 20 kilometres of the dirt Bakkers Pass Road as it rises into the mountains from near the valley floor, six farms were directly threatened. On the north side of the road – six more farms paid close attention.

By late Monday morning, the fire was moving, and growing. Phone calls flew, radio batteries were re-charged, water bowsers were filled, farm bakkies were converted to fire fighting vehicles (complete with pumps, 500 litre water tanks, and 30 metre hoses), vehicles were fuelled, water backpacks were located, work leaves were cancelled, staff were collected, and planned activities were postponed.

Before too long, about ten vehicles carrying about 40 people and equipment made their way on farm roads to the flames and smoke.

The tow bar on one bakkie broke, tipping over its water tank, pump, and fire hose. Another bakkie lost its sump to the weight of its water tank. The motor of yet another pump simply didn’t start. And, since not all radios were on the same frequency, one farm’s telephone became the neighbours’ central communication hub.

The fire fighting team was a mix of South Africans (Afrikaners, English-speakers, and Northern Sotho) with other local residents from America, Holland, and Germany. There was little debate about what to do. One man’s youth belied his experience with veldfires; neighbours had seen him in action at previous fires. He quickly suggested the deployment of teams and equipment, and the time and place for back burning. We readily acquiesced to his leadership.

Acting without benefit of national, provincial, or local government assistance and without training and professional equipment, this rural community did what rural communities all over the country have known they must do for hundreds of years – rely on each other. Practical experience in emergencies has forged a community-reliant attitude.

In this community, and perhaps most others, fire fighting roles are defined by race. Whites manage the resources – vehicles and equipment; transport and water; food and drink – and make the decisions. Blacks do the difficult and dangerous physical work. The cultural and linguistic gap is very wide.

Twenty-six farm labourers, construction workers, and tourism guides became the front line of the fight. They filled backpacks with water. They broke branches to augment the ineffective rubber fire beaters. They set the back burn in motion. They spread out ten metres from each other along the fire’s moving wall, beating and hosing the fire’s attempt to cross it. From 50 metres behind that wall, the silhouetted profile of the fighters in the light of the flames was a compelling picture of man vs. nature.

The fire fighters had first arrived in the daytime, some in T-shirts and flip-flops, so that by the time darkness fell, bringing with it the night cold, they were not well prepared for the task at hand. In the first few hours, the wind was on the side of the fire fighters, sending the fire in the desired direction. In the darkness, however, the wind changed, picking up pace and heading up the mountain.

Thus it was that in the dark, cold night, with winds fanning flames in all directions, the fighters made their way through the natural obstacles of a mountain side, with water on their backs or branches in their hands. They walked and climbed up steep koppies, and clamoured down the other sides, avoiding the pitfalls of rocks and holes.

By the time we pronounced ourselves beaten by the fire – that is, it raged higher, stronger, faster – it was midnight. By radio, the guys in the mountains were ordered to come down as quickly as they could. During the ensuing hour, the winds whipped the fire to a fearful state, and we could only hope the fighters would find their way down safely. By two in the morning, with the light of the fire to guide the groups of fours and fives, the 26 guys ultimately made their way to the waiting vehicles at the farm road below, relieving our anxieties and worst fears.

It was an awesome display of physical prowess and courage. They were tired, hungry, and thirsty, but danger? – it hadn’t occurred to them. “They” had done the hard work and were at risk. “We” provided the leadership, vehicles, fuel, equipment and sustenance, remaining safe and warm. “Yes”, one worker agreed, “it had been excellent teamwork”.

Did they do it for the expected overtime pay? Did they do it for the anticipated wors and pap en sous? Did they do it because they were asked and told to? Yes, of course, all of that, but they did it primarily because they are part of the community. The symbiotic relationship between the races was never more evident – we needed each other, badly.

We were lucky – while many hectares of grazing land was blackened, there were no injuries and deaths, nor any damage to buildings. The initial fire in Alma Valley, however, tragically took one life and left another in hospital with severe burns. Many farms there lost most or all of their grazing land, their stores of lucerne and hay for the coming months, and some buildings and equipment.

It is a scene repeated throughout fire-prone parts of South Africa, year after year, and may yet again occur this year in the Waterberg. Indeed, many such fires occurred around the country in recent weeks, bringing their share of trouble and tragedy. We’re at the mercy of the weather and humans. Before the rains come, lightning may strike and humans may err. As always, the community will respond.

South Africa's Fascination with America's 2008 Election

2009-05-11T12:46:00.001+02:00

October 2008. It cannot be denied – South Africans are paying attention to the election of the next president of the United States. Politicians do so because they’re always interested in other politicians.

Newshounds do so because it’s news. But many other more normal South Africans are intrigued by the lengthy, lengthy campaign, and there are several explanations as to why.

South Africans are genuinely interested in the US presidency because they know that the US is a superpower, maybe the only global one. South Africa by no means follows America’s lead on many issues of international importance, but it just as certainly is enormously affected by America’s dominant economy and its foreign policies.

The natural affinity, admiration, and respect that South Africans have had for America have been eroded into oblivion by both the actions and the atmospherics of George W. Bush and his administration. Prior to 11 September 2001, President Bush was often regarded as an inarticulate buffoon, not a very interesting chap, and certainly never a serious statesman. After the terrorist attacks in the US, he started losing credibility on the international stage when he converted worldwide sympathy to worldwide hostility by ignoring the United Nations and lying about US rationale for invading Iraq. Before too long, it became evident that he is – to be kind – not smart. Bush relied on his deceitful Vice President Cheney and his bellicose Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld to be his public voice of unreason. The Bush administration cemented its reputation as both dangerous and hypocritical.

Beyond the peril Bush has put the world in, and no matter the inattention he has paid to Africa, he has – as an object of ridicule – proven of great entertainment value to South Africans. Despair at the unaccountability of South African government ministers if you will, but smirk when Bush says the torture at Abu Ghraib Prison was the work of low level personnel, as if they were unfamiliar with their superiors’ attitudes. Lose heart at the South African judicial system that so often doesn’t seem able to put bad people in jail, but grin when America’s human rights record is reduced to shame.

If so many Americans wonder how they could possibly elect Bush once, much less twice, South Africans interpret his election victories as evidence of America’s decay and Americans’ stupidity.

The percent of news from South Africa available to Americans is extremely low and most often relegated to the sensational. The percent of news from America available to South Africans is extremely high, and unfortunately often dominated by all manner of silly pop culture. Enter the US election season, and the opportunity for South Africans to see if their admiration for America can be restored, or lost for another administration.

South Africa’s news media can pick and chose from an enormous variety of serious and silly items from America. Complex and nuanced politics – not even readily understood by average Americans – are reduced to a single short story, that suggests, for instance, that Hillary Clinton would be unwelcome as a vice presidential running mate by Barack Obama, or that John McCain’s cancellation of the first day of his party’s convention because of a hurricane threat makes him a leader. The tone of such stories makes them simultaneously momentous and entertaining.

If you can stand the dominance CNN International gives to the US itself, you are certain to be entertained by the US presidential campaign. The US election is portrayed as sport. It’s not just winners and losers, victories and losses, but so many, many ways to keep score – opinion polls, voter registration, electoral college estimates, crowd counts, funds raised, and more. Now, on televised debates, we see an effort to make sense of it all by using computers to record instinctive, immediate reactions by so-called random voters to the live dialogue of candidates. Do independent female voters in the 35-50 age bracket react positively or negatively when Sarah Palin says “you betcha” or “doggone it”? Interactive scorecards will tell ya’.

Once the media propelled him to rock star status, South Africans have been captured by Barack Obama’s life story, charisma, and eloquence. We are left wondering, however – where are such leaders in South Africa? Just who are our leaders? Why do South Africans know that Obama’s father was from Kenya and his mother from Kansas, but still don’t know if President Kgalema Motlanthe was born in Alexandria or near Bela Bela, the youngest of 13 children or the oldest of three. It matters far more than simple accuracy. His formative years in an urban township or a rural village would tell us something about what to expect. South Africa’s current crop of political leaders had lives before Robben Island and Zambia; they did not emerge whole from exile or activism during the struggle. Biographies are important to understand the person.

South Africans are justifiably proud of their unlikely journey to democracy, but it is still a work in progress. The history of the new South Africa is still short enough (unlike the 230 year old United States) that its very fundamentals are the focus of public discourse. Is the country governed by the rule of law? Just what is the rule of law?

The checks and balances among the three branches of government – executive, legislative, and judicial – are clear in both countries. The US Supreme Court and other US courts order the President to cease some action, to take some action, or to provide answers. Most recently, a federal court ordered Bush to release 19 people held prisoner at Guantanamo for six years. The rule of law that seems to be a reality in the US is most often an issue for discussion here, providing yet another feature of US government that makes its election so interesting to South Africans.

Are the South African Parliament, provincial government, and local governments really elected by the people? Again, South Africans can’t help but notice that Americans are voting not for political parties who in turn select leaders, but rather directly for their local Congressional Representatives and Senators as well as state governors.

A South African citizen, watching the US election, sees a two party system, with an important third “party” of self-identified Independents. The excessive emphasis on patriotism by all parties suggests an unpalatable arrogance and may well turn off South Africans. And, the attention to the unimportant and silly certainly cheapens the system. But the rest – serious discussion about serious issues – is something that causes envy among South Africans.

Archbishop Desmond Tutu is careful enough not to mention the US by name, but one can be sure he is following the US election when he says he would welcome a new party established by unhappy ANC members: “I would think you really need to have a viable opposition ... one that gives the impression that it could become an alternative government. We don’t have anything like that just now and that’s probably not such a good thing.” He went on “Democracy flourishes where there is vigorous debate and people are actually careful of what they do, knowing that the electorate can take their revenge, that they can be kicked out of office at the next election.”

In other words, I may not be the only one watching the US presidential debates at three o’clock in the morning.

Equus Waterberg Fund

2009-05-01T08:24:00.002+02:00

It's still called the "undiscovered" Waterberg region of South Africa. It is remote (though only three hours from Johannesburg), sparsely populated, and quite beautiful with its rugged mountains, water courses, and wildlife. It is also very poor.

The Waterberg's employment base is traditionally on farms – predominantly cattle and tobacco. Tourism is an increasing source of employment, at places such as horse safaris, luxury lodges on large "Big Five" reserves, bush camps in wilderness areas, game farms, and more.

For most of its history, the Waterberg's poor have suffered from an indifferent education system. Worse, children of farm workers who lived on the farm (the great majority) had no schools at all. Though farm schools were established by the farmer expressly for the workers' children, the quality of education was poor and the facilities and equipment were quite minimal.

Meetsetshehla Secondary School was one such farm school, established in 1986 adjacent to the town of Vaalwater, ultimately serving children who received their primary education at several other farm schools in the Waterberg. Meetsetshehla has gone through a lot of growing pains, not only from the original few students and classrooms to the current enrolment of 650 students on a lively campus, but also from an uneasy relationship with the national and provincial education authorities to a state-aided, independent school with a dedicated staff and teachers providing a high standard of education to a very disadvantaged community. School graduation rates have improved dramatically, in recent years at 99% or 100%, much, much higher than South Africa national and Limpopo Province averages. The school enjoys active support from the Waterberg community.

In 1997, the Northern Education Trust (NET) was established to receive donations exclusively for Meetsetshehla. The NET has contributed to the financing of the construction of new buildings, the upgrading of existing buildings, and the purchase of equipment for a variety of specialty classes, such as computers and catering, both of which reflect the nature of job opportunities in the Waterberg and indeed the country.

Too often, however, without additional skills, graduates face menial jobs, or more likely, no jobs at all. No matter how determined, ambitious, and academically able students may be, there are simply limited resources available to continue their education.

In 2004, Equus Horse Safaris created the Equus Waterberg Fund to raise money to assist needy and worthy Meetsetshehla students to continue their education at tertiary and university levels. In the first two years, the Fund solicited donations from guests at Equus Horse Safaris. Since 2006, the Fund has sought donations from friends and family in the US, and a few in South Africa.

Meetsetshehla has established a committee of four (including the Principal and John Miller from Equus) to review student applications for assistance. The criteria for selection include financial need, academic success, and determination and desire. The Fund covers as much of students’ expenses as possible, enough to encourage their enrolment in a university or technical school.

In the last few years we have provided support to students studying mechanical engineering, criminology, electrical engineering, information technology, accounting, medicine, food technology and water care.

If you would like to learn more, or to contribute, please contact me at jdmiller@telkomsa.net.

Big Tree

2008-07-07T14:42:00.002+02:00

2007. Next time you look at a map of Limpopo Province, you’ll notice a lot of empty space with few place names. There’s plenty of room to designate Big Tree without impinging on any other geographic place. And with a name as declarative as Big Tree, how could one resist a visit? And so, on a slow trip from Equus to Pafuri in the Northern Kruger, we headed that way.

Pass through Tshipise, your classic rural habitation that looks to the hasty traveller as nothing more than a garage. It is that. On dusty, dirt tracks, we passed the occasional family, goat, cow, and scruffy homestead. Before long, we came to a T-junction. Thank goodness, it was well-sign posted, though not to where we were heading, but rather where we coming from. Large, new green Roads Department signs. One said Tshipise, with its arrow pointing right. The other sign, not ten metres to the left, said Tshipise, with its arrow pointing left. We were laughing too hard to think of taking a photo but we were happy to abide by the old adage – we came to a fork in the road, and indeed we took it.

We turned right. More dust, small communities, children, cattle and goats. Alongside our dirt track were all the signs of major road construction – heavy equipment, wide swaths of cleared land, signs, markers, but no workers.

In about 30 minutes, Big Tree with its very own big signpost. It was easy to scope out the situation – there was the towering tree inside a large fenced area, not 100 metres from the entrance gate where we parked. The attendant came to the bakkie window and with a smile pointed to the ticket booth. Out of the vehicle I go, up to the small structure adjacent to the gate, with its own door in the back for the ticket seller to exit inside the fence, and with its own window in the front for tourists to queue up to purchase tickets outside the fence. Two, said I, to the lady behind the window, difficult to make out behind the dark glass. 14 rand 32 she said, including VAT. R14.32 said I, incredulous that the entrance charge would be such an odd amount, including VAT. I gave her R20 and as quick as you like she filled out the ticket/invoice, dutifully pressing the Big Tree Development Company stamp first on the ink pad, then on the ticket/invoice, and slid me the correct change of R 5.68.

Clearly their training in the tourism industry emphasized the importance of having plenty of exact change ready for the visitor, as well as a legitimate and legible ticket/invoice We remain mystified, however, by the odd amount of the entrance fee, including VAT.

As I hopped back in the bakkie and the attendant opened the gate, I asked how many visitors have been there recently. When he said we were the first of the day, I asked about the previous day. “Eh, no visitors yesterday.”

A young chap materialized inside the gate. He had been sitting quietly on the ground to the side, clean white shirt, worn pants and barefoot. Without much ado, he was hired as our guide, what a surprise. He directed us on the circuitous route of about 200 metres, leading us to the parking area outside the tree’s own personal fence.

The Baobab tree is a very striking feature which distinguishes Limpopo Province from the rest of South Africa. Large Baobabs in the province are some of the biggest in the world. Big Tree is the country’s largest – fully 39 metres wide (or maybe 43 metres) and 22 metres high (or is it 24 metres). It is an awesome sight, and provides much to ponder – time, age, and nature. Our guide had other things on his mind, however. With the aid of his practiced eye and our imagination, he pointed out how the gnarled and twisted bark and branches looked like an elephant here, a giraffe there, and on and on and on, probably 30 different pieces of natural art. In addition, he directed us to climb up and over some branches, into the tree’s very own trunk, a cave large enough, we were informed, to accommodate 30 standing people. Probably proven with some frequency and great fun by local children.

Big Tree is very, very old, perhaps even as old as 3000 years, as our guide told us. How did he know, we enquired? Expecting such a silly tourist question, he was ready with the answer. With all the gravity he could muster, he replied “Science tells us.”

What to make of Limpopo tourism efforts, employing three people full time at a remote location, starting construction of a proper tar road to bring the masses of tourists to Big Tree? Ambitious? Yes. Wise? No.

We didn’t make it to Sagole Spa not far down the road.