The white stuff
Cape Town’s luckiest squirrel
Aflash of snow-white fur darted in front of us. “Is it a bird? Is it a crane?” I rabbited on: “Is it . . .” “It is . . .” interrupted my son Khwezi, who was six at the time, “a white squirrel.” Impossible, I replied. It looked like it had a squirrel’s tail but in the years I’d walked on this path in Cape Town’s southern suburbs I’d seen 50 shades of grey squirrels and never encountered a white one. We argued about it until Khwezi changed the subject swiftly from white squirrels (as if!) to ice lollies (“Puhleaz, Dad,” he begged). It was a hot day and an ice lolly would have been welcome but I hadn’t brought my wallet. I shook my head sadly and we carried on. A few steps later I put my hand into my pocket and felt something papery. I pulled out a R20 note. What luck! One of life’s greatest joys is finding forgotten money tucked away in a pocket.
The memory of the snow-white flash of fur was long gone when, months later, I turned a corner and came eyeball to eyeball with a white squirrel. The squirrel gave me the once-over and then scurried up a tree. I rubbed my eyes, but there was no mistaking what I had just seen.
When I arrived home I found Telkom technicians at the door. After a gazillion faults logged, Telkom had finally rocked up to fix the defective internet line, which allowed me to hop onto Google and discover that belka , the Russian word for squirrel, means “protein”. I also found out that only one out of every 100 000 grey squirrels is an albino — it’s a genetic lottery. Some wild guesswork hadme calculate that there are 500 000 grey squirrels in South Africa, which means there are only five white grey squirrels.
I named the albino squirrel Albie and decided he was my lucky charm. I mean, was it a coincidence that each time after I caught a rare glimpse of him I’d be blessed with a dose of good fortune? And not just something random but something truly useful: R20 for ice lollies on a scorching day, Telkom technicians during an internet drought (truly powerful magic), and my missing car key turning up before I called the locksmith.
I kept my eyes peeled for the squirrel when I started to commute into town with a group of cyclists, known as the Legends of Plum Pudding (LOPP). Plum Pudding is a steep hill on the slopes of Table Mountain, but if we were honest we’d have called ourselves the Legends of Pudding. Scanning the path for Albie was part of our daily ritual. An Albie-spotter would breeze up hills, sail over rock gardens and ride safely knowing our mascot had their back. LOPPers who glimpsed Albie would arrive at work bright-eyed and bushytailed.
However, months went by without any Albie sightings. I feared the worst. I turned to the internet to see if I could find out what had happened to our celebrity squirrel. I came across a 2009 story about another white squirrel, named Albi, who lived in the English town of Dorking and had been run over.
The distraught dorks of Dorking set up a Princess Di-like shrine for Albi, whose death was covered by — wait for it — Fox News. Tributes poured in from all corners of the world, including a poem mourning Albi’s “untimely murder at the hands of an evil driver”.
I hoped our Albie hadn’t suffered a similar fate. Some months later, cycling in The Company’s Garden, I saw a familiar flash of snow-white fur. I gave chase down the oak-lined avenue. I was hot on Albie’s tail. He stopped and looked at me.
“Albie,” I shrieked as he scampered up a tree.
“That’s not Albie,” remarked a passer-by. “That’s Frosty.” And that’s how I learnt there was another albino squirrel. I hatched my retirement plan: spot Albie and Frosty on the same day and buy a Lotto ticket — as far as I know a double sighting has never been achieved, especially since Albie remains Missing in Action.
Which brings me to the mystery of AWOL Albie. Grey squirrels don’t hibernate, so what’s happened to Albie? Did Vladimir Putin turn him into a protein shake and schlurp him up with a straw? Was he captured by the CIA and placed on toupee duty on Donald Trump’s head?
Perhaps he’s been adopted and renamed “Shut Up” by President Squirrel Ramaphosa, who is not shy to spend big bucks on rare animals. Or has Nutricia de Lille bagged him as her talisman for good luck as she fights for political survival?
However, when I learnt that grey squirrels were introduced into South Africa by Cecil John Rhodes, making Albie a pure white colonialist, I realised what had happened to him. His oak tree is at risk of being expropriated without compensation so AfriForum has placed him in its Squirrel Protection Programme to preserve his white privilege. There’s no furry-tail ending for Albie.