BRAAIS GONE BY
Joe Mynhardt finds an instant friend on a lonely road
Ifound these memories in a shoe box, in a corner of a cupboard, filed away 13 years ago when I last moved home — old letters, certificates, birthday cards, and newspaper clippings from way back, before the digital age. Among them was a photo from a trip I took in the mid-’90s, travelling from Joburg to Cape Town via Springbok, just because I could. About 20km outside Pofadder, on some of the flattest land in South Africa, I spotted a small sign indicating a B&B down a gravel road and took a sho’t left. Chilly the fox terrier woke to sit up on the seat, stirred by this new adventure.
Five minutes down the track, having passed hundreds of springbok hopping across the parched veld, I was greeted by two dogs, a small farmhouse, a big shed, a water tank, a tractor, a Hi-Lux bakkie and a moerse groot braai contraption next to the stoep.
I was still inspecting the pulley and wheels attached to the grill when Gawie came out with a big smile. We shook hands and introduced ourselves. Chilly and the two hounds greeted each other. All good.
Gawie had a spare room where guests could sleep. A Khoi lady walked past and greeted us both. Gawie winked at me and said, “Maria makes the best homemade bread in the country.”
He was headed to town for supplies, he said. Later, we would braai. I gave him money for some “snakeskin oil”, the heavy kind.
THE DEAFENING SILENCE
Chilly and I went for a walk through dry river beds, over dead trunks and rugged rocks to the highest kopje we could find.
The knoll had one lonely thorn-tree standing guard over the expanse and we sat beside it, looking north. This is what they meant when they talked of “deafening silence”. Now and then I could hear my breath, my heart beat, my dragging on a smoke, Chilly panting, maybe a fly buzzing by … but for most of the 20 minutes we sat up there, it was dead silent. Bliss.
As for the braai ... it was a long night. At some point, Gawie said he had to go and kill locusts the next morning and would be leaving before dawn. Big armies destroy whatever fodder there is so quickly that if not checked, the buck will starve. We called it a night at around 1am.
The next morning, Maria gave me a greasy breakfast and a lunch box for later down the road. Gawie was spraying locust armies about 40km south — big farm.
LOUNGE FOR A LADY
Years later, I went past the B&B again, this time with a girl, Jenni.
There was Gawie, doing some bricklaying. It looked like he was building a church — except, where the pulpit would have been, there was a fireplace you could walk around in it was so big. He said he was building a lounge for his wife.
“Wife? Where is she?”
“I haven’t met her yet!” he laughed. “Okay, let’s braai ...”
We slaughtered a sheep. Jenni made a salad. Gawie asked, “What is this thing called salad?” And history repeated itself.
I don’t know if Gawie is still there, but if you ever spot that sign, go and have a braai.
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“The Notebook” is about chance meetings and unforgettable encounters people have had on their travels. Send us your story — no more than 400 words — and, if published, you’ll receive R500. Mail travelmag@sundaytimes.co.za with the word Notebook in the subject line.