What a Load of Bull

A few Saturdays ago, Bob and I were pottering around the house and garden (as one does), and he called out to me:  "Hunnee, they're back!"  I looked out of the window and saw nobody.  "Look in the road!"  he yelled.

And there they were.  This bull had obviously spread the word about our luscious grazing, and brought his whole family along (which takes Spur Family Meal to a whole new level).

Yes, a HERD of cows grazing in our road.  At least three are in hidden in the long grass. The dogs were not sure how to respond.

Each family member brought a feathered friend along

I haven't mentioned yet that our landlord subdivided his property before we moved in, and is building accommodation for travellers in what was his back yard.  Building started about a week ago, and I'm sure it will provide much blog material in the months to come.  But I digress...

The old buildings have been demolished and the site is being cleared for construction

As I returned home from renewing my drivers' licence today (more about that, later), the cows were back in our road, perhaps not realising that blackened grass  is neither tasty nor nutritious.  However, our garden is looking rather lush, and I had a Eureka moment which I thought was a win-win situation.

I asked some of the builders from next door to herd a cow or two into my garden.  They thought this was a
 delightful diversion and tackled the project with gusto, but not much success.




We managed to 'encourage' one cow into the garden, but without her mates around, she got stage fright, and lost her appetite.

Then she caught sight of the pool, and this was the final straw - she left.



There was much merriment among the builders as they worked out that if we got MORE cattle into the garden, they'd be more likely to graze.  But I decided to call it a day, as the thought of fishing a cow out of the pool was not too appealing.

So the builders went back to work, laughing and chatting - probably dying to tell their wives about this mad umlungu next door.  The last I heard before I went inside was, "Nee man, daai koei is useless.  Hy wil fokkol eet."*



* No man, that cow is useless, he wants to eat F-all

Twitching

It would be an exaggeration to call myself a twitcher, but I do appreciate birds, and admit to getting overly excited when I spot a lifer.  I also enjoy attracting birds to my garden, but have been disappointed in Mthatha, as the golf course over the road provides ample food for the local birds.  As this is a summer rainfall region, I've discovered that the best way to attract birds is to make sure that the birdbath is full.

Here is a selection of birds I've seen in and around the garden in the last three months:

The hadeda is everywhere.  The noise as they head home at sunset can only be described as raucous.  Not a pretty sound.

The mousebird is one of my favourites, with its clumsy landings and 'Hey, what's going on?' approach to life - not first in the queue for common sense.

The mousebirds often visit in large groups.  When I mentioned my fondness for this Village Idiot of birds to a local, he told me that he shoots about ten a day, as they destroy many crops, including the green tops of carrot plants (I've seen what they can do to a fern).  The problem with shooting them, he says, is that the next day, fifty of them turn up for the funeral.

Leaving the door open can attract curious visitors

...and their partners.  Good thing the dogs are deaf, or there could have been carnage

This Collared Barbet was a lifer for me. 

And because he's so pretty, you get another pic of him

The trouble with Cattle Egrets is that they tend to attract cattle.  Which can be a problem when they settle down outside your driveway, and you're a city girl who's not used to this sort of thing yet.

These tick birds looked like something out of a Disney movie, about to launch into a dance routine

An egret contemplating a dip in the pool.  Yes, it's still green (to match the steps, of course)

I think this chap is another reason why I am experiencing an avian stayaway.  The Butcher Bird is really a feisty fellow, and when he's in the mood for a bath, no-one else comes near. Since I took this photo, this tree was severely damaged by the fire.  Let's hope it survives.

At last!  I lowered the feeders, and that seems to have worked.  I am now working on getting the local birds addicted to sugar water and peanut butter.  Bulbuls, barbets, and white eyes have sampled my fare.  I have seen robins, thrushes, weavers, tinker barbets, and the usual assortment of pigeons and doves in the garden.

I was so excited when I let the dogs out for their morning ablutions last week and saw this 'owl' sitting on the tree stumps over the road.  Only when I got the camera with its zoom lens did I realise that I seriously need to upgrade my specs.

Okay, this isn't strictly a bird.  But I really enjoyed this description on the menu of one of the better restaurants in Mthatha. If the chicken had been marinated in white wine instead of green Thai curry, 'legless' could have taken on a whole new meaning.

Even the Cops Drive White Bakkies

Some of you have asked about my obsession with white bakkies.  If you look at this pic, you might understand. The only non-bakkie you can see is Bob's car. If I were ever to commit a crime in Mthatha, I know what vehicle I would use to make my getaway.

Signs of the Times

Most of us are familiar with most of the road signs. However, in the last few years, new signs have started appearing on our roads.  This one is quite new to Cape Town:

 There are also signs which we don't see too often in suburban Cape Town, like this one:

However, when driving from Port Elizabeth to Mthatha last month (a 5-hour drive), I realised that road signs actually tell a story...  

Often, this is the only indication that you are approaching an inhabited area

This sign is seen regularly between PE and East London. There are none after East London.  Is it because most of the land after EL has been given over to cattle grazing, or because the vegetation before EL provides better opportunities for concealment?

This is quite a common sign along the N2, so it may not always be a good idea to travel at 100kph as the sign in the background suggests.

  The first time I saw the 'Cattle Crossing sign, I was reminded of this call to a radio station in America:  

 

After a while, it seems as if the authorities got a bit fed up with putting a 'Cattle Crossing' sign every kilometre or so, and changed their strategy:

But even that, they decided at the Great Kei River, was too onerous to repeat every 10km, so they just put this one up, to get the warnings over and done with:

This one makes statements about several things:

1. There are quite a few schools in the rural areas
2. These kids have no means of transport to get to school
3. They walk along the N2 
4. They have long distances to walk to school and back each day

This was my absolute favourite.  It ranks up there with the 'Toads Crossing' signs in Noordhoek and the 'Tortoises Crossing' signs on the West Coast

But there's no sign like the sign that tell you you're home.  Ads like this are nailed to the trees all along the N2 as it comes into Mthatha.

Hunnee, I'm home!

Burn, Baby Burn

I couldn't believe my eyes when I returned from rehearsal at school today.  I'd been away from home for about two hours, and in that time, all the long grass that hadn't burned in Friday's fire had now gone up in flames.

Bit of a surprise when I return home to see this.  As you can see, the road is crowded with concerned neighbours and residents. Not.

For comparison - before the fire.  I took this pic on 28 May, intending to blog about Rubbish Day in Mthatha - no  wheelie bins, no bin pickers, no dogs.  Just leave your rubbish on the verge, and it'll get picked up.  Eventually.

I take a walk down the road towards the smoke and meet a rather agitated guest house owner (whose gardener is on standby with a hose pipe) and a Man in Black.  MiB is the greenskeeper of the golf course, and is responsible for today's fire, which was supposed to be a controlled burn.  Oops.  He grinned when I told him that I was the one who called the fire brigade for that silly little fire in June.  But he had the grace to  admit that he had called the fire brigade two hours earlier for this fire, and was still waiting.  He was a tad concerned that the houses at the end of the road may be at risk, because then the golf club would be in a spot of bother.

I didn't phone Bob this time.

Oh, and no prizes for guessing what MiB was driving.

View from the golf course

 

It can get pretty hot in there

The tick birds thought this was a great opportunity to snap up any fleeing goggas

...as did this junior Grey Heron

Looks like a fire-breathing dragon. If you scrunch up your eyes and tilt your head 45 degrees. Really.

The main disadvantage of this fire is that all the builders' rubble that has been dumped in the long grass is now exposed.  Apparently Mthatha has no bylaws.  None.  None about dumping, none about vagrancy, none about wandering livestock. 
Spot the dog...

Fire! Fire!

26 June:  So there I am, sitting around, at 10 in the morning, and happen to look out of the window.  This is what I see:

Coming from Cape Town, I'm a little bit sensitive about fires, as Table Mountain is particularly vulnerable.  I like to think I am a responsible citizen, so I phoned the golf course, and asked if they know about the fire.  No, they said, they don't have any controlled burns at the moment.

So I phone the Fire Department.

"Hello"
"Hi there, I live off Delville Road, and the golf course is on fire.  If the fire continues to spread at this rate, it will reach the houses in about 15 minutes"
"Where did you say you were calling from?"
"Just off Delville Road.  The golf course is on fire."
"You mean the grass is on fire."
"Yes, that's what I said"
"You phoned us for a grass fire?"
"Yes"
"OK"
*click*
 
I phoned Bob to tell him we might be homeless tonight, but reached his voicemail - he was in a meeting.  He phoned me back about an hour later, after having listened to my message and speaking to a colleague who is a golfer.  Apparently the golfers regularly set the long grass alight, as it's a real pain to look for your balls in that long grass.

(To the credit of the Fire Department,  they did send someone in a white bakkie to have a look)

But wait, there's more!

On Friday (1 August), I look out of the window (again), and see the homeless man in this picture has started a fire.  Outside the golf course.  Over the road from our house.  In the picture, he is moving his wêreldse goed away from the fire because it's getting a bit hot for him.

 Now, I'm becoming a regular Mthatian, and don't panic about such silly stuff any more.  So I phone Bob at work and tell him there's a fire, but there's nothing to worry about.  He says thank you, it's very sweet that I phone him.

I've heard that the sound of a grass fire is quite frightening.  Now I know why.  It's quite ominous in its regularity and intensity

While I'm watching this fire grow and spread, I see the man from next door (not this one, the other side), sending the homeless man on his way.

My isiXhosa is very basic, but my father taught me some very colourful phrases when I was 10 years old.  This is the first time I have heard them spoken out loud.  I had to smile and thank my dad for his foresight.

I asked the man next door if the fire was safe, and he said, yes, it's okay, he'll keep an eye on it (as I had to go to a rehearsal at the school).  I got home two hours later, and the fire had spread about 500m, into Delville Road, which is home to quite a few guest houses.  Yesterday, I spoke to an owner of one of the guest houses, and she told me that her staff were standing outside the property with fire extinguishers on Friday.  She was pretty cross about the fire - they happen quite regularly, and are not always as innocuous as they seem.

I have to admit this made me feel a bit better about phoning the fire brigade last time.

Miss Mthatha Teen 2014

Saturday morning 28/6/2014:  Auditions for Miss Mthatha Teen 2014 in the car park at The Mthatha Plaza.  The woman in the shiny black pants is showing the girls how to sashay. Check the height of those heels!

There is no artistic merit in this video, but if you turn the volume up high, you might feel a smidgen of sympathy for Bob, who was trying to give blood in the caravan at the back.

Oh look - there's a white bakkie in the car park.