MEMOIR: WILLIE KUPERUS

Life might be a journey, but that journey has to end somewhere. In this moving tribute to his beloved wife Rina, Willie Kuperus describes their retirement years in Ramsgate on the KZN South Coast, and the road to his final home in Pretoria.

“There was animal life in our street, too, like the tree dassie that would sit motionless on a branch, apparently deep in thought, only to perk up suddenly as if struck by a genius idea.”

The movers would arrive on Monday to pack up. They’d load the truck on Tuesday and depart on Wednesday. The curtains had been taken down and the windows stared at me like the milky eyes of the blind. The ornaments were wrapped up and the furniture was ready to go. Rina had worked so hard to make our house a home. Now it felt as if someone had defaced her beautiful artwork with wide strokes of black paint. Her artwork had been destroyed in a single morning, and it would never be restored.

I cried. I didn’t sob, but my eyes brimmed with tears that spilled and rolled down my cheeks. I took my kierie and walked out the front door, for the last time.

The neighbours

The only other Afrikaans-speaking people in Hythe Street, Ramsgate, were our neighbours. We didn’t have much to do with them except to wave when we passed each other in the street. But when the man noticed the moving truck in front of my gate, he came over to say goodbye. When we moved here in 2003, a Belgian man lived in the next house along. Rina and I usually went for a late-afternoon walk to the corner of our street and back. We met the Belgian on one such walk – Rina, who was always friendly, introduced us and made small talk.

The Belgian man passed away suddenly and new people moved into that house: a big man, a big woman, a BMW and four dogs that barked incessantly when we walked past. Maybe the man and his wife worked in radiology because they could both look right through you and not say hello.

The next house down the street was a holiday home, and the one after that belonged to Wendy. She was a jovial person – probably close to 80 years old – and she’d visit her Ramsgate house every now and then to escape life in Johannesburg. She usually visited alone,

but sometimes her son and his family joined her during the holidays. I never met her husband.

Anneke lived next to Wendy. She was a music teacher. I’m sure she could hear things others couldn’t. Once or twice a year, on a Sunday afternoon, she’d invite her friends to a concert at her house. There was no entrance fee – you just had to bring your own chair and snacks. There was always a piano and a violin, but sometimes there would also be a cello, clarinet or trumpet. There was often a recorder and once even a harp. They played light classical music – it was beautiful.

Next to Anneke there was another holiday home. I’m not sure whether the owners were from the Free State or whether they exclusively rented the place to people from the Free State, but the vehicles parked out front always had FS number plates.

Then followed the house of the German physician, whom we nicknamed Herr Doktor. He and his wife also moved here when they retired. A few years after she passed away, Herr Doktor married their housekeeper – a real German hausfrau and an excellent cook. No wonder our Belgian neighbour often went over there for dinner.

There was animal life in our street, too, like the tree dassie that would sit motionless on a branch, apparently deep in thought, only to perk up suddenly as if struck by a genius idea. It would scamper off and then sit motionless again in another spot.

Vervet monkeys also periodically appeared. They were fun to watch, especially when they had babies. Only a day or two old, the babies clung to their mothers as they leapt from branch to branch.

To say goodbye

Hythe Street is not a very long street. My son Wynand drove it slowly and my eyes swam with memories. At the top of the street, he turned right, then right again onto the Old South Coast Road, past The Waffle House. The children and I had said goodbye to The Waffle House yesterday. The Waffle House was one of our family traditions. Rina and I first visited in the late 1960s while on holiday in Margate, and we’d gone back regularly ever since. It was called Teahouse of

The Blue Lagoon back then: You had a choice of five different kinds of syrup on your waffle and we tried them all. When we moved to Ramsgate, we went to The Waffle House at least once a month. We’d sit inside if the weather was poor, but we usually sat outside on the sheltered veranda where weaver birds showed off their newly built nests like excited estate agents.

Maybe the kids will visit The Waffle House again, but I definitely won’t. Yesterday, we said a teary goodbye to a place where we’d made so many wonderful memories, then we returned to the car without a word.

Wynand drove on and we turned to the holiday apartment where I’d be staying for two nights before the drive to Pretoria. My daughters, Riki and Nelia, soon arrived to join Wynand and me. We ate dinner and I went to bed – it was my second last night on the South Coast. Thoughts and memories whirled around my head, but eventually I fell asleep.

Nelia and I stayed at the apartment the next day while Wynand and Riki went to the house to oversee the last part of the move. Late in the afternoon, Wynand bought us fish and chips from the Portuguese place near The Waffle House, but I couldn’t eat. My stomach was full. It must be all the tears, I thought. We set off for Gauteng the next morning. My children were hesitant to let me drive at first, but agreed after I explained that it would probably be the last time I’d ever drive a long-distance route. I promised to tell them if I got tired. I turned onto the Old South Coast Road again, crossed the bridge and

There was animal life in our street, like the tree dassie that would sit motionless on a branch, apparently deep in thought, only to perk up suddenly as if struck by a genius idea.

turned into Alfred Street to get to the toll road.

At the turn-off to the toll road, I remembered that this was usually the place I had to speed up to get to church on time.

For some reason, Rina always ran a little late on Sunday mornings. Not by a lot, but enough that I had to hurry to be on time. In the passenger seat she’d take out a nail file to fix her nails, and I would pass her a peppermint. She always looked at me with so much gratitude and love – the kind of love a young man can only hope to receive when he gives his girlfriend a big box of chocolates. And this happened every Sunday! Each time it was as if I was giving her a peppermint for the very first time.

The dogs

Up ahead was the Margate exit – the SPCA was nearby. When we moved from the Rand to the South Coast after my retirement in 1997, we first lived in Margate. Our two dogs Arri and

Fiela were beset by fleas and someone recommended that we have them dipped at the SPCA. I had trouble getting Arri in the car because he hated being driven around. At the SPCA, I paid for the use of their dip tank, or whatever it’s called. I also asked if one of their workers could assist me.

When Arri smelled the dip, he refused to move. I pulled on his collar and the SPCA man pushed him from behind. We got him to the edge of the tank, but then things took a turn. The SPCA man and I ended up with most of the dip on our clothes, while Arri remained dry and flea-riddled.

I bundled the dog back into the car where he settled on the back seat. It looked like he was smiling! With so much dip all over me, I had no problems with fleas for the next six months…

The years went by and we decided to keep one of Arri and Fiela’s pups. We called him Pote and he was a born politician. He loved the sound of his own voice and barked for hours on end.

A big apartment block called Santana was across the road from us. When Pote barked, the echo bounced back and the politician imagined he had an audience that agreed with his every bark.

Arri had become old and grey. One day while I was pottering around, he lay down near me. I was busy with something and it took a while before I looked over at him. He had stopped breathing. Quietly he’d slipped away at my feet. We called the SPCA again – they offered to come to collect him. I stroked his soft ears and told him what a wonderful dog he was until the bakkie came to take him away.

We moved to Ramsgate a year or two later. The vervet monkeys caused the dogs lots of excitement. Fiela and Pote kicked up a racket as they told the monkeys exactly what they thought of them, and they became frenzied when the monkeys teased them from a safe spot just out of reach.

Then Fiela’s left eye started tearing up. It got worse by the day. The vet said she had a cancerous tumour behind her eye that was also affecting her jaw. I remember it was a Friday. We nursed her over the weekend, but by Sunday night it was clear that she was having trouble eating. It was a hard decision, but it was a decision that had to be made. On Monday morning, we took her to the vet and returned home in silence. Usually, when I took Fiela to the vet for her shots, Pote would dance around the car on our return, looking for his mom through the windows and greeting her when she got out. This time, he walked around the car once and then turned towards the house, as if he knew. To an outside observer, Pote seemed to enjoy his Only Dog status, but I think he was grieving on the inside. He died suddenly one morning a few months later. In our presence, just like Arri had done. I called the SPCA again to come and fetch him.

We got the Labrador siblings Lila and Buks the very next week. You should get a new dog as soon as possible to keep the old one’s memory alive.

I thought about them now; about the last time I had stroked them. I didn’t say it out loud, but this is what was going through my mind: “Honne, you can’t come with me to Sesmylspruit, but I got you a new mom and dad. They are good people and they will look after you better than I did. You’ll soon forget all about me, but I will miss you.”

Izotsha

The next exit would be the one at Izotsha. We’d just moved to Margate when we decided to take the turn-off and see what was there. We crested a hill and there was a beautiful old church where the local German community holds a market once or twice a year.

One day I read in the newspaper that someone was planning to open a private cemetery in Izotsha. Rina and I went to have a look at the old farmstead, shaded by wild fig trees. To the side – in what might have once been an orchard – stood the graves. We looked at them like most people look at a cemetery: Taking notice without real interest.

We didn’t know then that Rina’s time was running out. She had complained of being tired for a while and we’d finally made an appointment with the doctor. He examined her and couldn’t find anything wrong, so their conversation turned to art as it inevitably did. He was also a painter and had told her in the past to paint more often.

She spent the next day painting a sea scene, going back over and over because she wasn’t satisfied with her work. The day after that she cleaned and organised the house, and we went to bed at our usual time.

During the night I woke up to go to the bathroom and I noticed that her side of the bed was empty. She was in the guest room, where we liked to read at night so as not to disturb each other. As I walked past, I asked her when she was coming to join me. “I’ll be there soon,” she said.

When I woke in the morning, she

was cuddled up behind me. I got up carefully, showered, ate breakfast and read my book. Our agreement was that I would let her lie in if she wanted to, but by 10.30 am it was starting to get a little late. If she lay in for too long, she wouldn’t be able to sleep during the night.

As I walked down the hall to our room, I called out softly: “Ounooi, Ounooi, dis opstaantyd.” When I opened the door, I immediately saw that something was wrong. Rina was lying with her head on her hand and she was pale. I touched her forehead. It was cold. Not cold like in winter, which comes from outside. This coldness came from inside. I didn’t know what to do. I had to get help.

Marika! She lived close by and was a nurse. She would know what to do. I ran to my study to call her, picked up the phone and put it down again. I was being silly. This was a dream.

I returned to the bedroom, but it was unchanged. It wasn’t a dream. But this couldn’t be real either. Rina had spoken to me earlier that morning. I walked back to the study and called Marika.

I sat down next to Rina and caressed her face until the doorbell rang. Marika walked to the bedroom, went over and touched Rina’s neck to feel for a pulse. She shook her head. Rina was gone. Marika asked if she should call the dominee – he was at the airport helping the congregation bake pancakes for the air show.

“Don’t bother him,” I said. I remembered my own time as a dominee: Tomorrow was Sunday and he had to prepare two sermons…

But dominee Danie did arrive a short while later. Our friends Ed and Anette, too. Danie read from the Bible and prayed. Someone suggested we call a doctor so Marika contacted Dr Mostert. He arrived five minutes later and pressed his stethoscope to Rina’s neck and chest. “Condolences,” he said. “You can collect the death certificate from my rooms on Monday.” His voice was too loud and abrupt, even though he was usually a sympathetic person.

“Do you have a funeral policy?” I think it was Ed who asked. Yes, two, both paid up long ago. I fetched them. That’s when it hit me: Rina was to be buried. I could never allow that. To put her in a coffin and bury her under the ground. Outrageous! Barbaric! The others looked at me strangely. The hearse showed up and I wondered what the neighbours would say. I’d have to tell them that I had a nightmare. I accompanied Rina to the hearse. Before they closed the back door, I pulled the sheet from her face and touched her forehead one last time. Slowly I covered her face again.

The hearse reversed into the street and turned around to drive away. I raised my hand to wave, then lowered it again. What was the point? She could no longer see me, and she could no longer wave back. We always waved if the other left the house, even if was only for five minutes. It would never happen again.

I went back inside. The Labradors milled around my feet – they wanted to play. They didn’t understand death. I didn’t either.

In the bedroom, Anette and Marika were putting clean linen on the bed. Marika asked if there was anything else she could do before she went home. Ed and Anette asked the same. I told them all to go – I would be alright. Dominee

The hearse reversed into the street and turned around to drive away. I raised my hand to wave, then lowered it again. What was the point? She could no longer see me, and she could no longer wave back.

Danie offered to stay with me, but I declined. I needed to be alone.

Then everyone left. I talked to the dogs but they weren’t interested. I went over to the phone to notify family and friends.

I’m not sure whether I ate lunch. Finally, the kids arrived. Tears and questions. They couldn’t believe that their mom was no longer there. Then we all went to bed because the church service would start at 9 am.

We sat in our usual places in the pews – me between my daughters. They announced Rina’s passing at the end of the service and the congregation rose as a sign of sympathy. I was always the one who stood up for other people. Now they were standing for me. It felt wrong. After lunch and a short nap, we drank coffee and talked. Sometimes we laughed about the funny things Rina had said or done. We comforted each other by being together.

The next day, my daughters started to pack up their mother’s cupboard.

I was surprised by how much of her clothing they wanted to keep. They always admired her style and her ability to put an outfit together.

On Tuesday, some of my children had to go home to take care of work and their own children. Everyone would return on the weekend, and the grandchildren would come too.

The funeral was on Monday. Groups of people were gathered at the Izotsha cemetery. I greeted them and we walked to the hearse, where the pallbearers were waiting. They took the coffin and marched to the grave. I stumbled after them, supported by my daughters-in-law Debbie and Lize. Someone put a chair next to the grave and I sank into it. We sang Psalm 146:1 and the funeral director removed the straps from under the coffin and rolled them up. Spades were brought to the grave. I will never forget the sound of the first clumps of dirt hitting the wood. Everyone helped, including our grandchildren. Then we walked back to our cars. Grave 359 was no longer empty.

After the service and tea, everyone went their own way. Some still had to return to Johannesburg for work the next day.

Now I was truly alone. Really alone, for the first time. I often imagined I could hear Rina walking down the hall. But that happened less and less and eventually it stopped. Days became weeks and weeks became months.

The kids made an effort to visit for a few days every now and then, but when they left, I felt even more alone than before. My health didn’t improve and it became clear that I couldn’t live alone much longer. A decision was made: I had to sell the house in Ramsgate and move to Pretoria.

To Sesmylspruit

I wiped tears from my eyes – you shouldn’t drive when you can’t see clearly. Nelia stared at the floor as we passed Izotsha and she didn’t see me crying.

She asked me once: “Dad, do you never cry?”

“I do, my kind, but I cry inside,”

I replied.

“And when I’m alone in my room at night,” I should have added.

With every turn of the wheels, the distance stretched between me and Rina’s grave. We drove through the toll gate, passed the old airport and drove around the back of Durban onto the N3 to Pietermaritzburg.

The highways and detours around towns made our journey much shorter, but also took away some of the romance of a good road trip. I especially missed pulling over to have a picnic next to the road.

Two days before a long journey,

Rina always went to the butchery to buy a chicken, which she roasted to perfection. On the afternoon before we set off, she’d boil a dozen or so eggs and we’d slice a loaf of bread and make butter sandwiches. We’d dust off the picnic baskets and thermos flasks and pack sugar, salt and pepper and a few jammerlappies.

The kids were put to bed early and warned that we’d be leaving before sunrise. I’d lie awake most of the night, not trusting the alarm clock to wake me up at the right time.

Finally, I would have everything in the car but the kids. And then a miracle would happen: They would all be fast asleep. You could have set off fireworks next to their beds and they wouldn’t have stirred. I’d roll them up in their blankets and carry them to the car, but as soon as I put them on the back seat, they would all be wide awake.

We usually stopped for breakfast just after the sun came up. We’d pick a spot with some bushes for cover, in case someone needed to go, and trees for shade. We’d take out the basket, put it on the bonnet and say a prayer. While the kids stretched their legs, Rina would pour coffee and I would peel the boiled eggs. Everything tasted better in the open air. We waved at every vehicle passing by. Lunch was another highlight. We’d take out the cold chicken in all its golden-brown glory. Even though we all knew there were only two drumsticks, we’d all called dibs. By the time we were done, our faces and hands would be shiny with fat. We’d wash our hands, have another cup of coffee and hit the road again.

When we reached the Ultra City, I asked Nelia to take the wheel. My days of driving long distances were now over.

We summited Van Reenen’s Pass and crossed into the Free State. Harrismith went by, then Warden with its beautiful church right next to the highway, and the road to Villiers. The mielie fields were lush next to the road and I hoped the farmers would get a good harvest. We crossed the

Vaal and passed Heidelberg – houses stood where cattle had grazed just a few years ago. The closer we got to Alberton, the heavier the traffic became. We drove past Germiston and Edenvale, where I was a dominee at the Reformed Church until 1997.

Back then, the church was surrounded by veld. Now there was a garage and a shopping centre across the road.

Finally, we took the exit to the old Johannesburg/Pretoria road. A row of bluegum trees had always lined the tarmac and many of them were still standing. They were fully grown when I was 10 years old, probably planted in the days of the Zuid-Afrikaansche Republiek, maybe by Paul Kruger himself? Straight as an arrow, the road carried on to Sesmylspruit. Unfortunately, the sign had been taken down and replaced with one that read, “Hennops”. My dad told me that Sesmylspruit was so named because it was six miles from Pretoria, and the last outspan spot before the capital – a place for the oxen and horses to graze and drink before the final leg of the journey.

A short distance from Sesmylspruit, my daughter turned left into the suburb of Eldoraigne. They have a house there and it’s where she and her husband and children had created a new home for me.

I live in luxury in Eldoraigne, spoilt rotten. I couldn’t want for a better life. My other children and grandchildren also live nearby and visit often.

The suburb probably used to be part of the Sesmylspruit outspan, or that’s how I imagine it anyway. It’s where this old ox can spend and savour his last days. I can sit against the wall in the winter sun and enjoy all the delicious food my daughter makes. I can ruminate on the past and the long road I have journeyed from Ramsgate to here.

I don’t know how far you have progressed on your journey to your own personal Sesmylspruit, but I hope you’ll receive as much mercy along the way as I have.

This is an edited extract from the journal of Willie Kuperus, published with his family’s permission. Willie passed away in September 2009.

The suburb probably used to be part of the Sesmylspruit outspan, or that’s how I imagine it anyway. It’s where this old ox can spend and savour his last days.

WHAT’S THE THEME? The photo must celebrate “adventurous journeys”, so select your best images to stir our wanderlust. There are two ways to enter: Instagram users can post their photos directly to their profiles. Tag @gomagsa and @drakenwatches, and make sure to use the hashtag #GoMagDraken in the caption. (That’s how we’ll find your entry; if your profile is “Private”, set it to “Public” for the duration of the competition, otherwise we might not see your entry). You must also follow @drakenwatches on Instagram to qualify.

The second way to enter is via e-mail. Send your photos to toast@gomag.co.za with “GoMagDraken” in the subject line. Include the photographer’s name, surname and a short caption for each photograph.

You may enter as many photos as you like.

CLOSING DATE? The competition starts on 1 December 2020 and ends on 31 December 2020. The winner will be announced on Instagram (@gomagsa) on 10 January 2021.

Inspired by the rugged Drakensberg, the Draken Tugela is a 300 m water-resistant adventure watch with a scratch-proof sapphire crystal display. The shapes of the hour markers are inspired by Zulu beadwork, while the case is shaped like a protea flower – there’s no other watch like it!

The heart of the Tugela is a Seiko NH35A automatic movement, which does not require a battery to run, and the face features C3 Super-LumiNova paint for excellent nighttime visibility.

For more information, go to drakenwatches.com or e-mail Michael Blythe mike@drakenwatches.com

IG: @sofia_goosen13 Canon EOS 200D

Canon 55 – 250 mm lens

SOFIA WRITES: I’m 13 years old and I photographed this Cape sugarbird in Harold Porter National Botanical Garden near Betty’s Bay, about an hour from my home in Cape Town. I waited patiently on a patch of grass next to this pincushion, keeping quiet as a mouse, until the perfect moment presented itself.

TOAST SAYS: Brilliant stalking, Sofia! Birds can be skittish – any sudden movement can undo half an hour of patient waiting. You did well to get your shot before the bird got suspicious. (Luckily Cape sugarbirds are quite bold and are not shy to sit in prominent places, unlike the similar-sized Cape grassbird, for example, which shares a habitat with the sugarbird yet is hardly ever seen.) Sofia’s photo ticks all the boxes for a classic bird shot. Firstly, she photographed the bird from the side, which means that the luxurious tail is included, plus the long, curvy beak. These two attributes are definitive features of a Cape sugarbird, and a good bird photo is often judged by how well it shows that particular species, as well as its habits and habitat.

The spark of light in the eye is another strong point – it always adds life to an animal portrait, whether you’re photographing a lizard or a lion. Here, it makes the bird almost jump off the page.

The fact that the bird is photographed on a pincushion shows it in its fynbos habitat, giving the scene a timeless, postcard feel. The green background is nicely blurred, which makes the brown bird show up well. Well done Sofia, you win the camera bag this month! # 173

IG: @capture_africa_ Canon EOS 7D Mark I Tamron 150 – 600 mm lens

KAYLA WRITES: I’m 17 now, but

I’ve been visiting the bush all my life and I developed a deep love for wildlife from a young age. After moving from Joburg to Hoedspruit in 2016, I joined a nature-based school called Southern Cross, which gave me incredible opportunities to learn about the environment. This made me decide to start photographing wildlife. I took this photo near Orpen Gate in the Kruger. Our morning game drive had started off with a bang when we spotted a pride of about 15 lions feeding on a buffalo kill. I was shocked when I noticed not one but two white lions! Having not seen white lions in many years, it was incredible to be able to spend time with them. I’m over the moon to have snapped a pic of one of the young white males with the other tawny lions in the background. My settings: shutter speed 1/80 second; aperture f8; ISO 400.

TOAST SAYS: Kayla lives in Hoedspruit – she’s right next to the Kruger and many of the Lowveld’s private game reserves. But even if you live next door, you still have to put in the hours to get decent photos, and you need to witness unusual sightings like this one.

It’s rare to see a “white” lion, and even rarer to get a good shot of one in the wild. The success of Kayla’s image lies in the clear contrast between the light colouration of the white lion and the darker hue of the “normal” ones.

Of course, the eyes also catch your attention. Even though the lions aren’t looking directly at Kayla, you feel a slight chill when you see those piercing eyes – and the blood around the mouth…

Kayla took a chance by shooting with a relatively slow shutter speed of 1/80 second and her photo could easily have been fuzzy, but she got away with a crisp shot. Good work!

IG: @t_marais_photography Canon PowerShot SX540 HS

THOMAS WRITES: I am 14 years old and I live in East London. I got into wildlife and bird photography when a crowned eagle decided to nest near our home. I loved watching the young eagles in the nest and I wanted to document the experience. My passion has grown from then.

I also remember following a local East London bird photographer (@jannes_birdlife) on Instagram. It was inspiring to see what someone from my home town could do!

I took this photo in Addo Elephant National Park. It’s a good place for wildlife photography as it has the Big Five and many other mammals, plus a huge range of birdlife. The park also offers a variety of biomes, which means you can get different backgrounds all the time. My settings: aperture f5,6, shutter speed 1/200 second, ISO 80.

TOAST SAYS: I love the energy in this shot! Thomas captured “a moment”, as people say in photography. An elephant kicking up dust is much more interesting to look at than an elephant just standing there.

As a wildlife photographer, you’ll soon begin to recognise such “moments”. Different animals have different classic poses. Take a lion, for example: You’d rather get a shot of a yawning lion, right? A giraffe? Yes, that shot where it spreads its front legs to drink at a waterhole. A springbok? Pronking, of course! Elephants are expressive animals thanks to their bulky bodies, big ears and that wonderful trunk that can spray water or dust, or wrap around a branch to strip it of leaves.

The light isn’t perfect in this shot (you’d typically want the face of the animal to catch more of the sunlight), but it hardly matters because the magic is all in the moment! # 173

Canon EOS 200D

Canon 75 – 300 mm lens

ROALD WRITES: I’m 17 years old, from Strand in Cape Town. I took this photo on a farm near Stellenbosch. It’s actually the same spotted eagle-owl that my brother Eon photographed – his photo (left) was published in go! #163.

This particular owl has a habit of showing off its prey to us on the stoep of the farmhouse. It sometimes sits and eats its meal right there in front of an audience. But such visits are always fleeting – I only had a couple of minutes to get this pic. On previous occasions, I had taken more obvious photos, with the owl lit from the front and so on, but this time I tried something different.

I asked Eon to move to the other side of the owl with a powerful torch. Once the light was shining towards the camera, I got myself in a position to create a silhouette.

TOAST SAYS: This spotted eagleowl is fast becoming the most published bird in the magazine’s history! (Except maybe for that pied kingfisher from Lake Panic in the Kruger…) But although it’s the same bird in the same location, Roald’s pic couldn’t be more different from his brother’s.

This is quite a technical photo and he clearly put a lot of thought into it. Roald had to visualise a specific result and he set up his camera accordingly. He used a shutter speed of 1/200 second, aperture f5 and ISO 1600. He wasn’t interested in foreground, background, or detail on the face or body of the owl. He was just looking for an outline that would make for a dramatic silhouette.

His brother Eon handled the lighting on the far side of the owl, and then Roald moved until the owl was exactly between himself and the light source.

In the end, it’s all about the mouse. It’s the mouse’s silhouette that shows us the presence of the owl, because we can’t really see the beak of the bird clearly. But with the mouse dangling there – each little paw, the mouth and tail clearly visible – the presence of the owl becomes clear.

Excellent job!

IG: @allied_mathebula_photography_ Canon EOS 50D

Tamron 150 – 600 mm lens

TOAST SAYS: Allied is 16 years old and lives in Hoedspruit. He took this shot of a dwarf mongoose near Tanda Tula Safari Camp in the Timbavati Game Reserve. Dwarf mongooses are cute, inquisitive little things, and this photo captures the animal’s personality perfectly.

By using a relatively fast shutter speed of 1/400 second, Allied ensured that he got a sharp image. It’s a mistake to think you only need a fast shutter speed when you’re photographing a fast-moving animal or subject. This mongoose is standing still, but because you’re zooming in so much, any movement from the photographer will lead to a shaky image. That’s why, when you’re shooting with a zoom lens, you should always use the fastest shutter speed possible – according to lighting conditions, of course.

I love the almost eye-level view of the mongoose. When you photograph a small animal that’s close to the ground, it’s advisable to get down on the ground yourself. (Don’t hop out of your car where there are dangerous animals around, or where it isn’t allowed.) By lying on your stomach, you can steady yourself and your heavy camera and lens. Your elbows resting on the ground will almost act like the legs of a tripod, providing stability.

Shooting a small animal from above tends to “squash” it. Stop and drop instead, and you’ll always end up with a more personal portrait like this one. Very clever shot, Allied!