Rhodesia - the consequence of political correctness

I moved to Rhodesia in 1967 and, for 13 years, lived, worked, married and started a family there. It is difficult for me to write about the beauty of that country and its people due to the great injustice that was committed, in 1980, when the government was handed over to Robert Mugabe’s thugs by people who knew the risks but were willing to sacrifice the population for political expediency.

Last November a letter was published in the American Spectator which is truthful and factual – and worth repeating here. Thank you H.W.  Crocker III. I am hoping that many will read this and get an idea why I find the situation in present-day Zimbabwe so tragic.  For most readers, Rhodesia is just a footnote in history.  For me it was a very personal and powerful influence in my life and the lives of my children.

The American Spectator on Rhodesia - finally the truth written by an American without all the PC garbage.

Ian Smith lived to see all his worst predictions come true.

On 11 November 1965, Ian Smith, prime minister of the British colony of Rhodesia, signed his country's unilateral declaration of independence, giving birth to a new nation that would, rather heroically, seek to maintain its way of life for the next fifteen years. That way of life was not -- as critics will be quick to allege -- based on racism, but on freedom, the freedom that was vouchsafed Rhodesia by the British Empire. It was the freedom that was lost by Rhodesia's transformation into Robert Mugabe's Zimbabwe. It's a transformation from which even we, as American, have something to learn.

The Rhodesians, in fact, based their declaration of independence on our own, though they charmingly reaffirmed their allegiance to the queen. Thinking themselves "more British than the British," they announced their independence on Remembrance Day, marking the end of World War I (what we mark as Veterans' Day), to remind Britain that when she fought at great cost to defend freedom, the rule of law, and the rights of small nations, Rhodesia had been at her side. In the Second World War, indeed, Ian Smith himself had flown Hawker Hurricanes and Spitfires for the RAF. A flight accident had smashed up his face (which required extensive plastic surgery) and left him with numerous serious injuries that took months to heal. He returned to duty, was shot down over Italy, and eventually made his escape back to Allied lines.

More than that, though, the Rhodesians had done what is the measure of a man -- they had gone into the wilderness and been able to re-create their civilization. While they had a reputation as outdoorsy, beer-swilling hearties, the great Rhodesian writer (and liberal) Peter Godwin and Ian Hancock estimated in their classic study of Rhodesia, 'Rhodesians Never Die,' "that probably no other transplanted English-speakers had done more -- with similar resources -- to reproduce and practice the parent culture."

It is a question worth asking ourselves: how many of us could hack our way into the jungle and re-create the United States? The more culturally pessimistic, or multiculturally inclined, might even wonder whether that would be a good thing anyway.

The Rhodesians had no doubts -- or few. They were so confident in their civilization that they were willing to endure international ostracism. They were so certain they were on the right side of history, and certain of their martial valor, that they volunteered to send troops to Vietnam (an offer that the embarrassed Lyndon Johnson administration declined to accept). They were so certain that they stood athwart tyranny, that they sacrificed their sons and fortified their farms in an African bush war that thrilled the armchair adventurers among the readers of Soldier of Fortune magazine, which sold "Be A Man Among Men, Rhodesian Army" t-shirts, based on a Rhodesian recruiting poster.

Smith believed that one-man, one-vote in Africa meant free elections once.

He was loath to submit his country to the chaos, socialism, violence, and dictatorship that he was certain would follow elections based on a universal franchise (which, as he pointed out, had difficulties that Western critics were not likely to consider: for instance, how to accurately register voters when most rural-born black Africans had no birth certificates). Smith was careful to gain the support of the country's tribal chiefs, he stated that his goal was evolution not revolution on the way to expanding the franchise (which was tied to income and property qualifications), and he affirmed that he would not risk Rhodesia's multi-party elections, free press, independent judiciary, and free economy with a mass electorate that might be inclined to do away with them.

In the end, of course, the British brokered a deal. Lord Carrington and almost all the other delegates to the so-called Lancaster House Agreement of 1979 were convinced that Robert Mugabe, regarded as the most radical of the Communist-backed insurgents, would be defeated in the elections arranged for 1980. Ian Smith thought otherwise. He was certain Mugabe would win because he belonged to the Shona tribe, which represented eighty percent of Rhodesia's population, and because Mugabe would be the most effective at voter intimidation. Smith was proved right, as he usually was -- though he got no credit for it.

Smith lived to see all his worst predictions come true; had he been able to read his obituaries he would have seen that liberal opinion blamed him for it. Smith's solace in his declining years was the popularity he had among black Zimbabweans who saw him as a symbol of unbreakable resistance to Mugabe. If you want to see the Rhodesia Smith defended, you can watch a video or two on YouTube and see black soldiers (most of the Rhodesian army was black) marching on parade past mostly white civilians, including an official dressed like an 18th-century town crier; you can see the sons of productive farmers and businessmen, who made Rhodesia an economic success, shouldering rifles to defend their homes and their liberties.

And if you want to see the tribute that vice pays to virtue -- or that Zimbabwe pays to Rhodesia and the British Empire -- just note how Zimbabwe's judges still wear white wigs, how Mugabe's henchmen make a show of owning farms (taken from white farmers who once produced plenty, and whose fields now lie barren while Zimbabweans starve), and how Mugabe still goes through the formality of having elections (as long as his goons ensure that he wins). Zimbabweans think of British institutions as having legitimacy, even if they are deployed as part of Robert Mugabe's charades.

So what can America learn from gallant Rhodesia? For one thing, we can learn to judge nations by the values they uphold, not the electoral processes they observe. We can see why Western "colonialism" was oftentimes better than the alternative. And most of all, perhaps, we might learn not to take our own liberties for granted. In every generation, they are only a demagogue away from being taken from us.

Letter to the Editor from H.W. Crocker III, a best selling author. His most recent book is The Politically Incorrect Guide to the British Empire.

My wife, Joan, with our two young sons at Victoria Falls - August 1975

 

 

In 1971 we built a small house, where we would live for ten years.

Animal Encounters - The Eland

The Kudu  -smaller than an elk.

I begin my narrative by making a few comparisons of size. The Wapiti or Elk, commonly hunted or seen by tourists in North American protective areas is the second largest deer species – the Moose being the largest. The males of both species display prominent antlers that are shed each year. An average bull elk can weigh 700lbs (320kg) or more while the bull moose can weigh over 1,500lbs (730kg).  Females weigh considerably less than males with elk cows weighing around 500lbs and moose cows about 800lbs.

The Wapiti or Elk

The Moose, the largest of the deer species.

There are many species of antelope in Africa and most are characterized by both males and females having distinctive “horns.”  Horns, unlike antlers, are permanent bone growths and are not shed in winter as are antlers. In size, the elk is fairly close to the African Kudu.  A kudu bull with his great set of spiral horns can weigh over 600lbs (270kg).  The biggest of them all is the African Eland, which is even heavier than the moose.  An eland bull will often weigh in over 2,000lbs while the female, or cow, will average over 1,000lbs – heavier than the longer-legged moose female.  The Eland’s horns are not particularly impressive, growing to be up to 2ft long in the male, but their large bodies and regal demeanor make them stand out.

The Eland - males like this one may weigh over 2,000lbs

Visitors to Africa don’t often see a lot of Eland.  They are typically not seen in herds as large as those of impala and wildebeest, and they are more wary than many of their antelope cousins.  In my travels in Africa I have not seen eland very often and on those several occasions they have been at a distance and in small numbers.

In October 1966 I was on an assignment to the north of Hwange Game Reserve in Zimbabwe.  I was driving a Land Rover along on a rough track in an area known as the Matetsi Game Corridor. The vegetation was thick and the terrain was very hilly with many rock outcrops. I was following a game fence that led in a north-south direction.  It was a standard seven foot high game fence made up of sturdy mopani posts, each 10-12 inches thick, at 15 meter intervals, and six strands of wire, stretched taut between them.  Although the fence ran straight through the hilly country, the road would parallel the fence for a short distance before curving away to go around a hill or rocky feature, then returning to follow the fence line.

As I drove slowly along the west side of the fence I was stopping periodically to verify compass bearings and mark the fence alignment on a 1:50000 scale map before continuing my slow progress. Quite unexpectedly when the road took me back to the fence at one point there was an eland calf running ahead of me on the track. He was on my side of the fence and trying to get through it by running into the wire.  The reason became obvious when his mother, a huge eland cow suddenly appeared on the other side of the fence.  Somehow the calf had managed to get through the strands of the fence and was now separated from its mother.

Now, as I drove slowly behind them, probably at about 10-15 mph, they continued to run away from me and the mother was testing the fence by pressing up against it, clearly trying to reach her calf. We came onto a flat area where the road was visible for quite a distance ahead.  Suddenly the mother turned away from the fence, took a few long strides to gain speed and turned sharply to her left, lifted her massive body, and without breaking stride rose up and jumped over the fence as though it wasn’t even there.  As her hindquarters crossed the top strand of wire, she touched it lightly with one of her hooves as though measuring herself, before landing easily on the far side and within seconds, she and her calf were galloping away into the thick acacia shrub.

It happened so quickly, but seeing that huge antelope, probably weighing around 1,000lbs, clear that 7ft. fence so effortlessly remains in my memory as one of the most remarkable things I have ever witnessed.  I should mention that when seen so close up, an eland seems huge; a grown female stands over 5ft tall (1.54M) at the shoulder.  My camera lay forgotten on the passenger seat to my left.  My journey that day took me on to the Kazungula Road and the village at Victoria Falls.  After a meal and a cold beer I walked down the hill and visited the Victoria Falls for the first of many times.

Friendships and camping

Victoria Falls - from the air, photo taken August 2004

    We have booked our reservations for the July 2012 trip - at least the Zimbabwe part of the trip.  Deposits for the safari camps will have to be paid by September and we will confirm our plane tickets at the same time.  The plan for our South African travel hasn't been worked out yet but it looks like we will fly from Victoria Falls to Johannesburg on July 25, and spend the next ten days along the southern coast from Port Elizabeth to Cape Town.

Friends and camping.

    In 1957, soon after entering Std. VI (8^th grade), my brother and I were approached by David Hayes and asked if we would like to go camping on his grandparents' farm. David and I would soon begin a friendship that has lasted 54 years. David's grandparents owned a farm about 20 miles west of Uitenhage, along the Elands River. It was, at the time, and certainly remains today, one of the most beautiful and picturesque places I have ever known. Without intending to go into a long and complicated story at this point, I still need to provide some back ground to the events that would follow in subsequent years after becoming friends with David and his older brother Charles. 
 
    My dad was an avid hunter. He learned to hunt from his father and from an early age my dad and my grandfather would hunt to put food on the table. The backwoods of Alabama would provide rabbit, turkeys and deer to supplement their often meager provisions. My twin brother and I had learned to shoot and to safely handle firearms at an early age. For our 10^th birthday we were given single-shot, bolt action, .22 caliber rifles and taught basic shooting skills. 

    One of the managers at the Uitenhage Goodyear plant was George Whitehead, who learned of my dad's interest in hunting. It wasn't long before my dad was invited to a weekend hunt at Mountain View Farm, the home of George's parents. It was a successful hunt for my dad who became friends with the Whitehead family. In the next few years he established himself as a competent hunter and an excellent marksman; ultimately providing him with an ever-widening circle of farmers and hunting enthusiasts in the region who would give him opportunities to hunt. His knowledge of and interest in the amazing variety of wildlife in the area grew over the years; as did his circle of friends.
    
    David and Charles Hayes were George Whitehead's nephews. They were the two sons of his sister Hilda Hayes who, along with their older brother Stan, were born and raised on the farm Mountain View. The family had generously suggested to my dad that my brother and I might like to spend a few days on the farm camping and this led to the first of many adventures for the four of us. David was a year younger than we were, and Charles was a year older. David and I became partners in many excursions into the beautiful valley at Mountain View and Charles and John teamed up to try our patience at times, but to always ensure there were no dull moments.

Mountain View Farm - photographed in January 1964.

    It is difficult to adequately describe the farm. It was, in those days, a nine mile (15km) drive on a paved road southwest out of Uitenhage across the Swartkops River to a right turn at Rocklands. A few rural houses and a chicken farm were the most notable features. In the 1950s, Rocklands also featured a wildlife sanctuary of sorts, called Wide Horizons. It displayed a variety of animals in relatively confined fenced areas and cages. By today’s standards Wide Horizons would not have been permitted to operate. Fortunately for its inhabitants, it closed down in the 1960s. Most interesting to me, on the one or two occasions that I stopped there, were the variety of birds we could see, such as peacocks, turkeys and many species of colorful South African birds such as Knysna Louries. 
 
    Much of the gravel road from Rocklands heading in a northwesterly direction is paved now but back then it was a dusty, often badly corrugated, road. About 12 miles (20km) from Rocklands, a short distance after passing the Sand River Dam on the left, we would take an unmarked turn right onto the farm road in the middle of a stand of Eucalyptus (or Blue gum) trees. Through several gates and over cattle grids (guards) the narrow three mile (5km) dirt road from there passed by rounded hills covered with wild proteas (suikerbos) and thick shoulder high shrub vegetation. On the right was ploughed, dry-land cropland, planted with winter wheat, lucerne, maize (corn) and other grains depending on the season. The last mile of the road descended down a steep mountain side with several switchbacks into the Elands River valley. In the distance, about a mile away you could see the small, old traditional Cape Dutch style farmhouse, built here fifty years earlier by George Whitehead. Behind the house, the mountains rise steeply to what is now designated the Groendal Wilderness. It is a wild and remote mountainous area, frequented now mostly by backpackers. There are no roads and only limited 4-wheel drive access.

    After the steep descent into the valley you came to the Elands River and a rocky crossing. When the river was high, as occurred generally once or twice a year, crossing was only done by horseback or by a tractor pulled trailer. The wide valley floor in front of the farmhouse and further south along the valley was dotted with citrus orchards and some deciduous fruits such as apricots. Grandpa Whitehead, we were told, could sample a tangerine or orange from one of his orchards and tell you almost exactly where it was picked. I vividly remember his stories of the troops of baboons that would come into the valley each year and eat his oranges.
    He told us that baboons could count to three but no higher than that. He would build a hide in the orchard and four armed men would go into the hide. One by one three hunters would come out, making their movements obvious to the distant baboon troop. The fourth man would remain in the hide and the baboons would, in due course, venture into the orchard and begin to eat the fruit. They were very destructive because they would pluck one fruit from the tree, take one bite and throw the remainder on the ground. A family of baboons could cause a great deal of damage in a very short period of time. When the apes came within range the fourth armed man could open fire and kill a few of the unsuspecting marauders. This plan would not work if only three men went into the hide and two came out. The monkeys always knew there was one human remaining and they would stay away until he left.

    The presence of baboons was a sure indicator that there were leopards in the area. Over the years, the Whiteheads had shot a number of leopards that would become too attracted to their livestock, but for the most part, leopards sightings in the valley were rare. I can only recall seeing leopard tracks once in the years that we would camp at Mountain View.

   John and I and David and Charles would camp in this valley many times over the next four or five years. Whenever we would ask my father if we could go camping he would insist that we could only go if personally invited by the elder Whiteheads. It wasn't okay that David or Charles would ask us. So we soon developed a “protocol” to conform to my dad's requirement. The four of us boys would decide on dates to go camping and begin making plans; then David would ask his mother to ask his grandparents if it was alright. Within a day or two my dad would get a call from one of the Whiteheads asking if we could come out for a long weekend.

    The Elands River valley is a perfect place for four young boys to camp, and fish and hunt. It is, when not too high from seasonal rain, a crystal clear river with many rocky pools (read swimming holes), ideal for fishing for large-mouth bass. We would often look into the deep pools in the early morning and see bass lurking in the shadows. Consequently a rod and reel was always part of our essential equipment, as was a roll of aluminium (aluminum) foil. We would return to camp with two or three, one to two pound bass, cut the heads and tails off, and fillet them. The two sides, still with scales on them, were put together and the whole was wrapped in foil with a few dabs of butter. The sealed foiled package would be buried in the coals of the camp fire and allowed to bake for 10 to 15 minutes. When done, we would remove it and open the foil package. The flesh would fall away from the skin and the tender meat was easy to pare away from the bone. I can still taste this delicacy as I think about it.

    We usually carried a shotgun with us and from time to time would bag a few pheasant or quail to cook. David or his brother would sometimes borrow a .22 caliber rifle from their grandfather in case we would see a bushbuck or duiker on our wanderings. Both are small African antelope that make good eating. We even had a few exciting night hunts for rabbits and springhares, those rabbit-sized hopping rodents that look like midget kangaroos in the distance in the glare of a powerful flashlight (or “torch”). Springhare hunts would have to attempted on moonless nights. I remember one night when we came across a porcupine and followed it for a while, its sharp white-tipped quills bristling with annoyance at our intrusion.

    Our camping spots along the river were always chosen with care. Although we always took a tent or large canvas or plastic fly-sheet with us for shelter, we rarely used it. On winter (July) nights it was too cold to sleep in a tent. Our sleeping bags, in those days, weren't particularly warm, so we would lay on the ground as close to the fire as we could and sleep there. The first person to get cold enough would reach over and put more logs on the fire to keep the heat “turned on.” On those nights the temperatures would sometimes get down to just above freezing and heavy frosts would cover the grass and fields. 

The only photo I have of Granny Whitehead, (1973) holding my son Graham.

 
    After a cold night on the ground we would often put on our heavy coats and walk to the house where Granny Whitehead would have hot coffee or tea prepared on the wood-fueled cast iron stove in the kitchen. She was the most wonderful, generous and hospitable person you could imagine. I don't believe I ever saw her sitting still. She always seemed to be cooking or sewing, knitting or arranging something. Grandpa George would always greet us with his loud booming voice and you could never meet him in the morning without a shake of his powerful hand. He was in his seventies when we first knew him. He was broad-shouldered and powerfully built and would often saddle up a horse and ride along the river to check on his orchards or his cattle. Together they had settled in this valley, built this farmhouse and raised three children. For most of their years here there had been no electricity. Water was collected from a small mountain stream about half a mile away and was piped by gravity into tanks adjacent to the house. A small staff of dedicated, friendly employees, many of whom had been born here, helped them run the farm. Most were descended from bushmen and had the small stature and fair complexions of that race.

    We would have many adventures on this farm. The Whiteheads were substitutes for the grandparents that my brother and I had left behind in Alabama. I know that my dad, despite his insistence that we always go there by “invitation only” must have been delighted that we had the opportunity to experience the adventures that we had, especially as my mother's alcoholism would continue to grow more difficult to deal with. He would always listen to our stories and laugh when we described some of the things we would get up to.

___________________________
    I will tell a few more stories from the farm in my next blog including our run-in with a skunk, and the night we had to leave our camp in a torrential rain as the river began to rise.

Mountain View Farm in 1999. Groendal Wilderness is in the background.

Through puberty and beyond

 

Baobab tree near Victoria Falls

Little progress has been made in planning our 2012 trip to southern Africa.  We learned that we need to book our camps and activities in the Victoria Falls area by this coming May.  Following the big annual "Indaba" (travel industry conference) in South Africa, it is quite possible that new rates will come into effect, so we can lock in current rates by confirming our reservations with a 20% deposit.  Airline bookings can't be confirmed until 300 days in advance of our departure, so that means we must make hard decisions and pay for airfares in cold hard cash by September this year. South African Airways are currently promoting return airfares from the U.S. east coast to Johannesburg of US$1,030.  These are similar to fares we paid in 1996!

Typical highway road sign in Zimbabwe

Jan and I will find it hard to wait.  We have been to the Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe, region a number of times over the last 14 years and we feel a powerful compulsion to return. Adding the proposed visit to Makololo Camp in Hwange National Park just makes the anticipation greater.  We've just received our new issue of Travel Africa magazine.  That will whet our appetites even more. http://www.travelafricamag.com/

Through puberty and beyond.

From our first day at Muir College my brother and I were asked if we were going to play rugby.  My glib answer was “sure,” even though I had no idea how it was played.  All students were required to participate in extra-curricular activities and there was a generous selection from which to choose.  The big winter sport was rugby and over 90% of students played.  In our American Elementary School environment, sporting activities were not organized for youth in the 1950s.  At Muir College, as in most South African schools, sports and athletic games began at the age of eight years. These included rugby, cricket (summer), tennis, swimming, field hockey, and athletics (track and field). 

Competition was at the core of both academics and sports and the emphasis was always on the “team.”  There were basically four “teams” in our school. Every student at Muir was assigned membership in a “house.” A modern day analogy could be drawn by comparing Harry Potter’s induction at Hogwarts into the house of Gryffindor, instead of Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw or Slytherin.  Muir College is not a school of magic and wizardry but it is developed from old British academic traditions, in many ways similar to those fictionalized by J.K Rowling.  Our four houses were, Sutherland, Dugmore, MacDonald,    and Innes. 

I was assigned to Sutherland House, although the ritual did not include a talking hat.  Membership in this house bound me and my brother to all Sutherland House members throughout the entire school, no matter what grade or age they would be.  Points were awarded over the course of the academic year for both academic achievement and sporting achievements.  Points accumulated by Sutherland and other houses were tallied and counted toward winning the highest points at the end of the year. This system gave every single student the ability to contribute points in helping their house compete.  For example, at our annual track meet, relay teams were “house teams.” If the team I was on came second or third in a relay event, points were added to Sutherland House scores.  Even though I didn’t come first or win an individual event myself, there was a strong incentive for me to participate and contribute to my overall team.

The day always began with assembly.  Students lined up in single file according to their grade level and walked into the main hall or, during summer (weather permitting) assembly might be held outside in the “quadrangle.”  The principal and all teachers would stand in front of us and after leading us in a brief prayer Skilly would make announcements of important schedule changes, events of note, or students’ awards or achievements.  We could always tell when there was going to be bad news or some disciplinary issue to be brought up as Skilly’s eyebrows would seem to bristle more than usual.  Assembly only took a few minutes, after which we would be dismissed and walk to our first class in single file. As the quad was surrounded on three sides by classrooms, we usually only had a short way to go.

Students who required discipline for which a verbal scolding or extra homework was inadequate might be sent to the principal’s office for “cuts.” Skilly would administer several hard strikes across the buttocks with a cane as the guilty students would bend at right angles with hands gripping the edge of the headmaster’s desk. The most severe punishment was six cuts.  We found out pretty quickly what “getting six” meant. I was basically an obedient and well-conforming boy and over the course of my five and a half years at Muir I never  qualified for “six” although “four” was administered a couple of times.

As I had arrived at Muir in late July, the rugby season was almost at an end.  I would take part in practices only in the following February.  As I would turn 13 in early February I would be eligible to play for the Under 13 age group. With only about 400 students, Muir was not a big school and there would be three Under 13 teams, U13A, U13B, & C.  With 15 players on a team, that meant that about 45 to 50 boys would represent the school against other schools in the Eastern Province area.  We would compete against 11 other schools.  Many were similar in size but there were a few very big schools, such as Grey College in Port Elizabeth, who would field eight or ten teams in any one age group.  So when we would play against Grey College our U13A team might play against the Grey U13B or C teams and our U13B’s might go up against their U13E or F teams.  These competitions had been evolved over the years, so generally high school and primary schools teams would be fairly challenged at competitive levels.

Under 14 Rugby team  I am 3rd from left, back row.

I was a skinny 13 year old, about 5 ft. 9 inches tall and weighing in at about 120 pounds, with little or no sports experience, when I began to take part in the sport of rugby.  All of the other boys had been playing the game since from primary school at about eight years old.  It took me a month or so to learn the tactics of the game but I settled into the full contact part very quickly.  The most difficult adjustment for me was my complete lack of stamina and shortness of breath.  The game was played at a non-stop pace for a 30 minute half with a five minute rest period, followed by  another 30 minutes of continuous play.  The other boys willingly guided me and I caught on fairly quickly.  After the first few inter-school matches I found myself a permanent member of the U13B team.  Over the next few years at the high School level and on into the University level, I grew to love rugby and had many enjoyable experiences playing it.  I was never an outstanding athlete, but I wasn’t bad either.  As a 17 year old “senior” in my last year of High School I was a solid player on the High School 2^nd team, or “2^nd XV” and I loved every minute of it.

Academically I was never outstanding, but I wasn’t bad either.  Our teachers were good; some were very good. Fifty years later it is hard to single out one or two teachers but I know they would all have been more than satisfied with my performance if I had applied myself a little more.  In any event I was able to go on to University and eventually earned a bachelor’s degree.  So I say – good for my Muir College teaching staff – you did it! I was one of 35 students who graduated from the school in December 1961.  Most went into military service; some went to work in apprenticeships in local industry. A minority went on to further their educations in some of the fine universities in South Africa.

Now, writing this some fifty years after my high school graduation, I know that the disciplined, collegial and very structured environment of Muir College was important in my life for another reason which I did not realize for many, many years.  At home my mother’s alcoholism began to reveal itself when I was 13 years old. Home was often a very stressful and difficult place to be.  My many friends and their families, and varied interests in school activities provided a solid refuge for some troubling teenage years. 

But more about those things in my next chapter, wherein I will discuss friendships, camping, and some interesting travels.

Muir College Crest

Learning to spell - and other distractions

Visiting Wankie Game Reserve in 1975

My first visit to Hwange Game Reserve was in 1967. I was an entomologist in the Tsetse Control division of the Department of Tsetse and Trypanosomiasis Control, which was part of the Department of Veterinary Services of the Rhodesian (now Zimbabwean) Government. Formerly called "Wankie," this game reserve was established in1928 under the supervision of a 22 year old conservation-minded young man named Ted Davison.  It was to become one of the finest Game Reserves in Africa. Davison's classic book "Wankie:The Story of a Great Game Reserve" was, for many decades, the definitive read for anyone interested in development of Africa's wildlife resources. 


The 14,600 sq.km. (5,637 sq. mile) park is the largest reserve in Zimbabwe.  It has been, perhaps, most noted for it's large population of elephant; drawn here by a series of watering holes established by Davison in the 1930s and 1940s. The western edge of the park is the border of Botswana and the vegetation transitions into the Kalahari desert there. 

Main Camp, Hwange Game Reserve, 1985

The prospect of returning to this unique wildlife preserve is causing me some excitement and that will build over the next 18 months.

Hwange elephant - August 1996

After spending three nights at Imbabala Camp, the African Bush Camps trip outline reads as follows:

 After an early morning activity and brunch, you will depart at 1100hrs to Victoria Falls Airport.
You will be driven east back to Victoria Falls airport, where you will meet your Sefofane Air pilot for your flight to Little Makalolo Camp, Hwange. The flight takes 1 hour, and you land at Makalolo Airstrip situated deep within the park on a private concession.



Little Makalolo, situated in a remote and private concession within the vast Hwange National Park, is one of the few camps built within the Park. Hwange is legendary for its wonderful array of wildlife, particularly the massive herds of elephant and buffalo, and summer sees the large antelope herds migrate onto the plains, closely followed by large predators.

The camp is built on the ground, providing panoramic unique views over the Little Somavundlha Pan with its excellent concentrations of wildlife. Accommodation consists of 6, comfortable tented rooms with en-suite facilities as well as an outdoor shower for those who enjoy showering under the stars. The lighting in the rooms is battery-powered so there is peace and quiet in camp, allowing one to listen to the sounds of the bushveld instead.

The main area has a lounge, pub, plunge pool and dining area where delicious meals are served. While the emphasis is on game drives, night drives and guided walks, well-situated hides or raised viewing platforms provide the ideal manner to while away the lazy midday hours, watching wildlife come down to the waterholes to drink.

There are a number of shallow pans spread throughout the Park, around which wildlife congregates, making for excellent and reliable game viewing. During summer plains game migrate onto the plains, closely followed by their predators. Elephant, Cape buffalo, sable, roan, southern giraffe, blue wildebeest, impala and sometimes even gemsbok (oryx) can be seen here.


This Park is one of the best for predators - lion, leopard, wild dog and cheetah are regularly sighted, along with the smaller African wildcat, serval, honey badger, civet and spotted hyena.

Bird life in the area is prolific, with more than 400 species found, and varied as species frequent teak woodlands as well as those more typical of the drier Kalahari being present.

3 nights at Little Makalolo Camp in a twin bedded tent, with en suite facilities, on an all inclusive basis.

 

Learning to spell - and other distractions

Muir College School Crest

 

My brother John and I had completed 6^th grade at C.A. Donehoo Elementary school in Gadsden, Alabama before traveling to South Africa.  Now, suitably outfitted in our new school uniforms we were to enter Standard 5 at Muir College Boys High School.  In South Africa schooling begins as Kindergarten I (KG 1), followed by KG II, then Standard 1, Std. 2 and so on.  So the seventh year of one’s schooling is Standard V (5). Eventually, in theory, we would finish High School by successfully completing the academic requirements of Standard X (10).  We would then have “matriculated” and moved on to higher education at a University.  In effect, because the U.S. school year ends in June each year and the South African school system ends in December, we would skip half a year, going from Grade 6 to a half year into Grade 7. 

Academic standards between the two school systems were not all that different.  I mostly remember having to catch up with a new history curriculum.  The settlement of the Cape Colony by the Dutch in the 1600s had not been a part of our history lessons in the 6^th grade in Alabama. The names Bartholomew Diaz, Simon Van Der Stel and Jan Van Riebeeck were unfamiliar to us.  A higher standard was demanded in English a stronger emphasis on written essays and reports.  Correct grammar, spelling and punctuation were required, without compromise.  Many words were spelled differently.  Neighbor, labor and just about all words ending in “or” were now to be spelled the old English way; Neighbour, labour, favour, vigour, etc. The transition in Math was not difficult.  In Social Studies we lost a little in the geography of Africa and the United Kingdom but had the upper hand on North American topics.  Generally speaking we were able to fall into the new system pretty easily and it didn’t take long to begin to catch up.

In 1956 South Africa there were two official languages taught in schools; English and Afrikaans.  In English schools Afrikaans was taught as a second language and vice versa in Afrikaans schools.  Afrikaans was derived from the old language spoken by the early Dutch settlers and farmers (“boers”).  A requirement for graduating (or Matriculation) was competence in two languages.  As our parents did not anticipate being in South Africa for more than my dad’s three year contract period we were advised to take Latin classes, knowing that Afrikaans wouldn’t transfer very well to any other country, if and when we were to move again.  So Latin was our second language and we would begin taking Latin in Standard VI.

Looking back, I found the transition to an all boys school system to be pretty easy.  We made friends easily.  Our southern accents were obviously a conversation starter but within about six months we had just about lost any outward evidence of our American origins.  (At home our diet still consisted of fried chicken, black eyed- peas and other traditional southern delicacies.)  The Muir uniforms in winter consisted of grey slacks, black leather shoes, white shirts with school tie and a blazer with dark blue vertical stripes with thin white and lighter blue stripes.  It was distinctive and a much better colour combination than many of the other school uniforms in the area.  In summer, we would wear cooler dark blue shorts with knee high socks that required elastic garters to hold them up.  There was also a “beany” cap required for younger students when walking to and from school or when wearing school attire in public.

Dr. Thomas Muir - 1914

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I mentioned the history of Muir College in an earlier blog.  There was a very strong feeling of history and tradition here, which was evident from the old buildings and many historic plaques on the walls of the main assembly hall.  The school had, after all, been established in Uitenhage 134 years before, in 1822, as the “English Free School.” 1822 to 1830 was a period of widespread chaos and destruction in the eastern and central parts of southern Africa, brought about by the expansion of the Zulu State under their powerful ruler, Shaka.  Putting this into even sharper historical context, it was only in1831 that Charles Darwin began his voyage on HMS Beagle to South America and the Galapagos Islands.  Slavery would be abolished in the British Empire in 1833.

My next blog will discuss school activities, competition and maintenance of one’s self-esteem in the decade of the 1950s.

 

Preparing for school in South Africa

The Zambezi River near Imbabala Safari Camp - 2001

Imbabala Safari Camp

On Thursday, July 19, after two days at Elephant Camp, the schedule that Chris Worden of African Bush Camps has proposed calls for a late morning transfer to Imbabala Safari Camp.  So, after a morning elephant ride (ho-hum) we would have breakfast and be picked up by Wild Horizons at 11:00 a.m. for the one hour drive westward on the road from Victoria Falls town to the Kasane Border Post (Botswana).

Jan and I have been to Imbabala twice before and each visit provided wonderful experiences. Some photographs of our previous trips are shown here.

The thatched roofed chalets at Imbabala - 2001

Chris Worden's itinerary describes Imbabala as follows: 

Situated where Zimbabwe, Botswana, Zambia and Namibia converge, 80km west of Victoria Falls, Imbabala Camp has its own concession bordering the Chobe National park in Botswana, in which game drives are conducted and is directly on the banks of the Zambezi River, also offering pontoon cruises on the river to view the game and extensive bird life.

(This is the only place in the world where 4 countries meet)

The lodge offers every comfort for your sojourn in the wild. There are just 8 thatched chalets accommodating a maximum of 18 Guests, so individual attention and service is guaranteed.

Each chalet has a view over the Zambezi. Each has en-suite facilities and mains electricity.

Meals are taken Al fresco or in the main dining room, and are of a very high culinary standard.

The swimming pool offers cool relaxation during the heat of the day.

Activities at Imbabala include 4x4 game viewing safaris in the Lodge's own concession, walking safaris and river cruises  on the Zambezi River on Imbabala's own pontoon boat - enabling close viewing of the wildlife that comes down to the River to drink as well as the amazing variety of birds that are attracted by the papyrus reeds that border the Zambezi.

Opposite the camp is Nampini Island, the home of the only population of Sitatunga antelope in Zimbabwe and you will try and photograph these shy animals by pontoon.

3 nights at Imbabala Camp, in a twin bedded room, with en suite facilities, on a fully inclusive basis.

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There are not too many places in Africa where such a profusion of wildlife, especially elephants, can be viewed up close from a boat.  Several times we were able to float alongside herds of elephant as they swam across the wide Zambezi.

Watching elephant cross the Zambezi from a pontoon boat. Imbabala Camp is in the background.

Elephants are, without any doubt whatsoever, our favorite animal to observe in the wild. The activities of their disciplined family units constantly amaze us. They are exceptionally intelligent creatures and the tenderness and affection that adults openly display toward their young is remarkable.

A typical family unit along the Zambezi River.

Is it obvious that we want to return to this magical place?

Preparing for school in South Africa

The two-day voyage around the Cape of Good Hope from Cape Town had been under overcast skies and, as I recall, too cool and windy to spend much time on deck aboard the SS Enterprise.  At last the city lay before us as we turned to port and entered the harbor in Algoa Bay.

It was the middle of winter when we docked in Port Elizabeth (hereinafter referred to as “PE").  It was cloudy and overcast and a little windy as our floating home for the last two weeks was eased into the harbor and tied up at berth.  We were met and driven out of the harbor area past the 175 feet (53.5M) tall red brick Campanile (or clock tower) standing as a memorial to the arrival of 4,000 British settlers in the area in 1820.  PE actually became a city in 1820, 16 years after the town of Uitenhage, 15 miles to the north.  For many years I would always have a mental image of PE as a windy and dismal place, no doubt due to the weather conditions on the day I arrived.  But the place actually was then, as it certainly is today, a picturesque city overlooking a beautiful bay. It has always been called “The Windy City” however for good reason.  The city had been named for the late wife of the Governor of the Cape Province back in 1820, in case anyone might have thought it was named for Queen Elizabeth the 1^st.

The family would spend a week at the Marine Hotel, south of the city along Marine Drive.  As soon as we had settled in to the hotel my Dad would be taken to visit the tyre (South Africa spelling for “tire”) factory where he would work for the next three years.  The day after our arrival we were driven to Uitenhage, past the tyre plant and up the hill to our new neighborhood called Mosel.  The house we were to occupy was one of about ten homes that had been built since 1948 when the Goodyear plant was built.  It wasn’t ready to be occupied so we moved into a smaller house across the street, where we stayed for a few months.  These were not luxurious homes but they were certainly well built and comfortable. 

As it was still winter we were happy to find the days mild and sunny.  Houses here did not have air conditioning, either heat or cold.  Space heaters or, in many cases, fireplaces would be used to warm the rooms during those brief months when the weather would turn cold and drop down into the 40s.  The electrical supply was 220 volts, 15 amps, so the puny little two-pin American plugs wouldn’t work and the several dozen 110V light bulbs we had brought with us were useless as well.  It was in those first weeks of our stay in South Africa that I took pliers, screw driver and other tools in hand and fitted all of our lamps and smaller appliances with the large three-pin 15 amp plugs required and discovered that I really enjoyed fixing things. 

One of the changes we had to get used to was driving on the left side of the road.  Most cars had the steering wheel on the right but some of the Goodyear management people had American cars that had been imported without that modification.  Our green Nash Rambler would stand out for years to come because of its left side steering wheel and, of course, for its size.  It also had a six cylinder engine which made it a fairly potent machine.  Most local cars were smaller and there were an unusually high number of Volkwagen Beetles in the region.  The Volkwagen (hereinafter known as “VW”) and Goodyear plants were adjacent to one another in Uitenhage.  Much of the tyre production was passed on to the VW plant through a conveyor system.

The town of Uitenhage, known as “The Garden Town” with good reason, was built on a series of hills on the east side of the Swartkops River.  The fertile river valley itself had, since the 1820s, enabled local farmers to provide the growing sea traffic around the Cape with provisions – fresh vegetables and fruit, meat and dairy products.  It had also become a major center for the South African Railways with large maintenance and repair facilities after the first rail line from PE to Kimberly was built in 1878.  Following the discovery of the world’s richest diamond mine in Kimberly in 1871, the rail system took on strategic importance in the growth of the rich mining industries inland and gave both Port Elizabeth and Uitenhage notable roles to play in the history of this southernmost tip of the African continent.

The fact that we had settled, at least for the coming three years, in a small town, in an important industrial and agricultural hub would, I understand now with the benefit of hindsight, give my brothers and me an unusually richly textured environment to grow and develop in.  I guess it would be described today as a broad-based socio-economic environment; just as Littleton High School in Colorado, where my three children went to school, is described today.  The friends we were to make at school came from all walks of life.  My classmates and neighbors would be the sons and daughters of railway machinists, farmers, auto-workers, tyre builders and of course all of the other job categories that go along with an industrial and agricultural area; lawyers, bankers, doctors, merchants, and delicatessen owners.  Of course we would be attending an all-white school, but at the time that didn’t seem different to us, coming as we had from the American Deep South. 

The old Muir College Boys High School - photographed in 2001. The school has since moved to a new location with modern facilities. The building pictured here was built in 1875.

In the first few days of our move to Uitenhage we made a visit to see the Principal of Muir College Boys High School.  His name was Harold Skillicorn (hereinafter to be referred to as “Skilly.” What else?)  He wasn’t a tall man, probably about 5’8” in his polished black shoes.  He had very bushy eyebrows, a stern look in his eye and over his suit and tie he always wore a black academic gown, as did all of the teachers.  I remember his surprise when my brother and I replied to his questions with a “yes sir” or “no sir.”  Previous American students had not found those terms of respect easy to get used to.  But none of the previous American families who had transferred here were raised in the Deep South! 

I can still remember Skilly’s office.  The school building was old, with weathered wooden flooring and wood paneling half-way up the walls of offices and classrooms.  His office was just inside the double-door entrance to the main building, on the left.  On the right, across the hall, was the school assembly hall in which several hundred uniformly dressed boys would assemble each morning before class for a brief prayer and announcements.  The whole atmosphere of this building and this institution was one of a rich tradition and history.

Then we went to buy our school uniforms.  My twin brother and I were just at the age where we were growing weary of our mother’s desire to dress us alike.  Now we would be wearing uniforms that would be just like those being worn by hundreds of other boys. 

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