The small-town roller-coaster

Imagine sitting in a roller-coaster named Wild Wild West – for eight months. Up and down you go, left and right, with a few loops thrown in for good measure. That’s me there in the front seat, the one where you have the best and the worst view of all the ups and downs and the bends that are coming. What a ride! The highlights were really high, and the lows had me in tears.

But, wait, let’s start right at the beginning.

Picture a blonde woman from Cape Town. But not a “poppie”. No fancy nails or any of that, but quite capable and definitely more city than platteland. A year-and-a-half ago I drove out of the city, extremely cross with several people, and walked into a random house in the platteland. I heard myself say with a smile that I’d make an offer for the full asking price. Basically the most expensive Disney ticket anyone has ever bought.

Eight months ago, the big day arrived. I packed my things onto an enormous overloaded trailer, and I, my two children and two cats became plattelanders. We arrived in the evening, and there was nothing here: no food, no restaurants, no Mr Delivery, no Doom for all the bugs and, most importantly, no alcohol to help me feel better. I thought as my children and cats all slept in one semi-clean bedroom: What have I done? The first of the dips on the Wild Wild West.

A week later, though, I was out of the dip. In the evenings I could hear chickens, sheep and crickets, and I saw the most beautiful stars. The heavens felt so close that it seemed as though I – and the crickets in the roller-coaster train behind me – could touch the stars.

But, as we all know, what goes up must come down.

The joy of “Why don’t I move to the platteland and renovate my house on my own and quickly drive to Brights (which, by the way, was three blocks from my old home in the city) and get people to help…” Forget about it.

Everything is further away, everything takes longer, everything is more difficult. It’s as if you’re sitting there listening to the clickclack of the roller-coaster car as it strains uphill. But, eventually, we get to the top, thanks to the team of guys I got to know in the town.

The platteland… I thought it would be all pretty and fun, like in the photos you see in the magazines. What nobody tells you is that you can’t see or feel or hear the goggas in those pictures. But I have to confess that the locals warned me repeatedly, and well before I moved in: Here you’ll find the seven plagues of the Bible. I just laughed, convinced this was just platteland humour. Jeepers, was I wrong! It is as though the designers of the rollercoaster thought, oh, let’s throw in a few special effects, almost like SterKinekor’s 4D movies with the water and the wind and the moving seats.

I can hear the deep voice in the theatre: “New attraction coming soon, to make the ride even more of an experience, with features like…” Damn miggies that bite you all over, but especially love your ears and eyes. Flies that seem to think your head is made of something delicious, because they’re always on you (these days I lovingly call them Prestik flies). Next, the chinch bugs that arrive when the wheat is being harvested. They are literally everywhere, even in your wine glass, but in time you consider them your portion of protein for the day.

And then there’re the scorpions (chickens devour them, by the way) and snakes that visit my home… And the heat that makes you feel as though you’re crawling on your hands and knees in the desert in search of wine… sorry, water.

But I adore this roller-coaster ride! I adore my chickens – my children and I have given them each grown-up names like Barbara, Roberto and Gretha. I love that I feel more alive than I have felt in a very long time.

I love that my house is starting to feel like it’s my own.

I love that I have met the most unbelievable people and I am still meeting more every day. The team of men who are helping me to beautify my home. The women who hug me when I cry, who bring me the most delicious rusks, who make me laugh and dance in front of the fire after a few glasses of wine. These strangers that I don’t know from Adam but who show up when I ask for help.

I love that my children look forward to spending time here, and that my autistic son is calmer here.

And I love that, after many years of coping with life’s pressures, I feel as though I have found myself again. In this tiny hamlet between Moorreesburg and Piketberg.