In Dust We Trust
Join our bushveld jol at Oppikoppi music festival
Once upon a time, underneath a camel thorn tree, deep in the bushes near a small town in Limpopo called Northam, there was a tent. In this tent was a twenty-something nameless girl.
She shall remain nameless not only because I never bothered asking her name, but because she might be embarrassed by what I’m about to tell you.
Nameless girl’s tent was securely planted under said tree, right across from our dining room that comprised four camping chairs parked next to a pan with some eggs and bacon in it. She announced her arrival by tugging her tent’s zipper so ferociously that the tent pulled away from its moorings.
( & À ' the dusty, unforgiving grounds of Mordor. And not the graceful, ladylike kind of fall. She hit the earth like a sack of potatoes, using her strikingly beautiful facial features as a braking mechanism. She remained face down for a few seconds, turned on her back and cried out at the heavens. “Waar’s my beursie? Waar’s my zol?”
As two of my friends ran towards this tragic scene, my best friend turned to me and summed the situation up in a word – “amateur”.
Regular visitors to Oppikoppi refer to the general camping grounds as Mordor, also known as the place where Frodo needs to deposit the one ring in JRR Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. And, as Boromir famously stated, ‘One does not simply walk in there’. You need to go prepared for the full-on assault your body and mind will have to endure for four days every year (this year the festival is three days).
It’s not something you can just go and do –
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I packed a one-man tent, a papsak and six buns for every day I’d be there. What else would a man need to sustain himself for four days?
As it turns out, a papsak doesn’t fare too well in the baking sun. It basically exploded, spilling every single drop straight onto the red dust. It eventually formed a layer of alcoholbased red paste at the entrance of my humble abode. So I spent four days eating dry bread and treading on my dop, instead of drinking it. At least the music was epic.
Ah, the music. It’s the main reason I go to Oppi, but so many younglings make the grave error of imbibing too much before the good stuff starts. That’s probably my number
Every year 20 000 music enthusiasts congregate around hundreds of camel thorn trees in Limpopo. Most know it as the Oppikoppi festival,