Ha ha ha holiday

Dear Reader(s?),

Whilst I would hate to make anyone feel even the slightest twinge of jealousy, I feel it only right to point out that whilst writing this I am sitting in a little oasis, with the branches of an enormously beautiful Baobab tree shielding me ever-so-slightly from the heat of tropical afternoon sun, as I sip something my daughter describes as a Mojito through a landslide of crushed ice. 

No, we haven't had a lotto win, nor have we any connection with the recent criminal activity (actually a recently published identikit of a bank robber did bear an uncanny resemblance to Mrs Ed, except for the fact that the perpetrator was clean-shaven). By way of explanation, let me go back a few days……

 “We're going on Holiday!” announced Mrs Ed, somewhat matter-of-factly. She does that- makes these great proclamations as if there is an unending supply of money. Normally it's some sort of Cruise the Coast of Iceland ad she's found in a magazine, waxing lyrically about the never-to-be-repeated-value of only R275 000 per person, not including bar drinks or visas or laundry or vegetables beginning with 'c'.

 My response has always been, of course, a cool, calm, “Yes dear, let's plan it for next year June, just after we register the gold mining rights for the back porch,” because I know the idea of a holiday will swiftly wane into insignificance once them Credit Card monsters call again to threaten us with legal action (I have tirelessly pointed out that when I was at school, 'Outstanding' meant 'Distinguished from others by high levels of achievement', but will they listen?).

But this time Mrs Ed had a somewhat serious glint in her good eye.  And as she explained the situation to me it seemed that this SHI (Sudden Holiday Idea) might actually become a reality!

Apparently her aunt had mentioned that a great aunt living somewhere near the northern border with Zimbabwe had just turned 91, and had expressed a desire to meet the Garden Route Branch of her extended family. This great Aunt's son had passed this request on to us in an email, kindly mentioning that he would gladly accommodate the entire tribe. 

Understandably, the immediate response from the huge rabble of relatives living down here was a sensible 'Nay! Alas, 'tis too far, the fuel too costly and who can afford time away from work?' 

Of course the son graciously replied that though it was a shame, they fully understood. And just as a matter of interest, in case we were wondering what they were up to in the Limpopo Province, he attached the brochure of his luxury game ranch which, had we been able to come, we would have stayed at, with an air conditioned thatch cottage for each family, full and exclusive use of the large lapa / pub / braai area, hot and cold running servants,  and of course a swimming pool, jaccuzzi, games room and a jumping castle for the kids.

 “It's such a pity you won't be able to make it,” he added “I would imagine one or two of the men might have liked to do a bit of hunting, and we have a surplus of wildebeest....”

It was quite a feat, getting 17 of us into two vehicles, but somehow we managed. Actually I think if there had been 170 of us it still would have been managed.  The offer of wildebeest was the clincher, as it resulted in the two 'hunters' in the family swiftly stepping in and arranging everything with crack-shot accuracy. In a matter of minutes the planning, packing and allocation of space per passenger were processed  - Indeed, the first time I had witnessed the efficiency brought on by what I now call 'The Call of the Hunt'.

Let me explain. You see I don't have  'The Call of the Hunt'  in me.  I think it's something you either have or don't.  I imagine that if the world as we know it suddenly reverted back to the 'hunter-gatherer’ age I would be the skinny dude playing cards with a kudu in the hope that I could get him to bet his left hind quarter on a pair of twos.

But let's not go into any 'should or should not hunt' debate here.  I am not qualified to do that as I am what you call an 'end user', in that I really do love game biltong.  Being also a fan of the idea of wildlife loping majestically across the plains and forests of Africa, up until now I have had to convince myself that this delicious delicacy simply grows on trees.

But I digress.  What I am trying to say here is that this Call of the hunt was VERY strong for some members of the family, hence the  military-style, synchronise-your- watches organisation of our trip. The journey, they surmised, would take 17 hours maximum.

It took us 27. I watched with interest as the best-made plans of our trip North went south. Indeed the hunters could not hold in their frustration.
“It's like this family is one big directionless amoeba!” my one seething brother in law spat at about the 47th stop.  The other brother-in-law could not add anything - he was too busy leaping up and down the back of the trailer like a wild thing, brandishing his hunting knife in the hopes that he could prevent anymore unwarranted unpacking by passengers. I truly thought that he was seconds away from loading his rifle.

The amoeba theory had some merit.  Sometimes only half an hour away from the previous stop a desperate plea for the toilet, or a cigarette, or a leg stretch would emanate from the depths of one of the vehicles.  The nearest petrol stop would be reached and, after strict instructions to 'Please. PLEASE make it quick' bodies would pour out every door and gather in one big central cell.  This cell would ooze towards the main building and bisect itself into the gents and ladies toilets. But on its return part of the cell would see something of interest in the shop and head in that direction… and, feeling this gentle pull to the side, the rest would simply ooze after it. 

And then the ‘cell division’ would start. Every aisle would be full of our passengers - as if no-one had ever been into a shop before.

Frantic dashes ensued.  Back to vehicles to ask for money. Back into the shop. Back again to ask a cousin if it was the grape Fanta or the traditional orange Fanta she wanted. Back in again, then out to the car to find moral support for the rather risqué sunglass purchase “Do they really suit me? Really?  You promise? Really? Hang on, let me get my t-shirt out the bag in the trailer to make sure they match..”


To put it simply, getting everyone back into the vehicles was like herding 16 oiled penguins into a small crate with unlocked sideflaps.  No one really wanted to get back in, and once in, noone ever stayed there if the car wasn't moving.

And so it continued.  For more than an entire calendar day's driving. ......

I must say, it was certainly nice that we eventually also got to see the gentler side of the hunters' characters.  I think the original plan was that we would arrive at the ranch at about 5pm, just in time for them to make a camouflage-coated, weapon-blazing dash into the veldt,and perhaps, er…. pick some biltong.  But in reality it was after midnight when we got there, and anyway by that time they were in no state to hunt, each curled up in the foetal position, sucking their thumbs and gently weeping real tears, as their wives sympathetically stroked their foreheads and promised them no, there weren't going to be ANY more stops…….

But alas, I need to leave you now, dear reader, as the pool beckons, my Mojito is depleted, and I feel the need to perhaps chew on another stick of fruit from the biltong tree.  I'd be mad if I didn't!