Springtime Tankwa, the Zebra Man and Big Ben Dekker

Tankwa in the spring

You’ve never seen the R355 through the Tankwa Desertlands quite like this. The annual flower bombs have fallen, and it’s daisies all about. Skies are bluer than Billy Ho.

The distant mountains look noble, the roadside horses eat our apples, beetles scurry from bush to bush, swathes of sage-green vegetation surround us, there is the constant threat of a punctured tyre, and an agreeable silence reigns in the vehicle until one of our companions opines: “You know, it’s not really wise to drink goats’ milk in the Tankwa at this time of year. They eat the yellow stinkkop flowers.”

In the distance, the Cederberg ranges beckon like sawtooth battlements of an ancient kingdom. Millions of daisies bend their grateful heads and allow their seeds to blow away with the wind. They are free to fly and move until they fetch up in a hollow against a shady bossie, a fence post or a rock. There, they wait until the moment is right.

This is a land that is knitting itself back together, seed by seed, stitch by stitch. There is no more important season than right now.

But conditions are harsh, that’s why there are so many fail-safe devices. Not all seeds germinate. Some lie fallow for another year. There is an intelligence here, an awareness, an angel whispering over every seed.

Graveyard tourism

One would think cemeteries were sad places that present an off-chance of zombie encounters. Well, maybe that’s the case somewhere like one of the Cities of the Dead in New Orleans. But in the Karoo, a graveyard is nothing more sinister than a serene and spellbinding House of Stories.

Some colourful lives have indeed been played out under these wide skies.

Take the graveyard near the Western Cape village of Matjiesfontein, for instance. Here lies buried a group of notables that include owner Jimmy Logan, cricketer Edward Lohmann and General Andrew Wauchope, who lost his life in the Battle of Magersfontein outside Kimberley.

Nxuba’s (previously Cradock) “Valley of the Stiffs” is packed with a war general, a Polar explorer, rugby fanatics, a famous astronomer, rows of deceased nuns, a substantial Jewish presence and a lucky chap who was laid to rest by the local Sober Society. No Jameson was served at his wake, one presumes.

There’s even an international mystery on the prowl here, in the form of the grave of one Harry Potter. However, author JK Rowling has yet to make contact with the little Karoo river dorp.

In the village of Nieu-Bethesda, the graveyard is just as interesting. Here lies the plaque of one George Joseph Low, whose inscription reads: “I loved the son, sky and mountains. You know how little while we have to stay, and once departed may return no more.”

The Zebra Man

The first time we met a Nxuba civil engineer called Stephen Mullineux, he was dressed like a zebra and limping like a wounded war veteran.

Someone told us Stephen had composed an opera about the town called Picnic at Egg Rock, so it seemed a fine idea to drive him to said Egg Rock on the outskirts of town and take a photograph. Accordingly, the arrangements were made. Stephen met us outside the Victoria Manor Hotel dressed in a zebra-striped fabric suit, with a broken leg and an arm in pain, his flute in a bag.

His musical instrument collection included bazoukis, balalaikas, Spanish guitars and mandolins. He rode big motorcycles and climbed mountains, always wearing a bow tie.

The very knowledgeable Stephen could also take one on great tours of graveyards, water systems and other local attractions. But we were curious about his injuries and just had to ask.

“I broke my foot playing golf. I shifted my weight as I swung the club and suddenly all my tendons seemed to unravel and lots of bones broke.”

And your neck?

“I then tripped over a rock and pulled a tendon in my neck, which made my arm sore.”

Do you still play music?

“Good grief, no! If I can get that kind of injury from golf, can you imagine what damage I can do to myself with a violin?”

Big Ben Dekker

The legendary Ben Dekker, Robinson Crusoe of Port St Johns, occasionally strides across the Great Karoo looking like a gypsy giant in Crocs.

These days few people hitch-hike around South Africa. For Ben it’s the way to travel. Tonight he’ll lay his head down somewhere near Leeu-Gamka under a culvert. And tomorrow is tomorrow.

Dekker has been just about everything but a fireman and a cowboy in his life: politician, actor, lumberman, master’s student, castaway and local character. He was once involved in a romp in the shallows of the sea, which landed him and a lovely young lady in court on charges of public indecency. His defence?

“I was trying to save her from drowning.”

Ben lives in a shack at Second Beach, Port St Johns, with the best views in the world. He works on his journal and transforms driftwood into the creatures of local myth and superstition: the snake, the one-legged lightning bird, the baboon (witchdoctor’s familiar) that is ridden backwards and the strange three-legged tree hyrax.

Ask him for his cellphone number and he will tell you: “I had one once, but I threw it into the sea – and told the crayfish to phone when they were ready for me.”

And why does he like to live by the sea?

“The accessibility of a huge bath. The rhythm of it. And all that seafood.” DM

For more stories on life in the South African Heartland, get the Karoo Quartet set of books (Karoo Roads I-IV with black and white photographs) for only R960, including taxes and courier costs in South Africa. For more details, contact Julie at julie@karoospace.co.za