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Welcome to the Your Stories section – where you can express yourself and share your stories of strife and triumph, fun and adventure. Anything. As long as it’s true. Everyone has a story. Tell us yours. (Got writer’s block? Check out some story ideas.)

You can find stories to read by using the right hand column OR simply scroll down to read the most recently added pieces.

Please note: Stories in this section are submitted by SA-People users  – who come from a variety of backgrounds – and do not in any way reflect opinions of the site owners. We encourage freedom of expression – whether those are expressions we agree with or not!



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The Bad Old Days in South Africa

November 19th, 2009

Submitted by Astrolab

When I was in the plane to reach South Africa, I was wondering what type of life I would find, what type of people and what type of future was there waiting for me and my girl friend. She was living there, she born there; I was born in Italy, Rome and we decide to move where she was said, life was much better…

I had my residence status granted by a common friend in RSA and money to afford the beginning of living in RSA. Was the 1980, and I find so exciting to be in RSA due to all was new, for me, and all was so easy – jobs, houses, cars, living… I start my business thank also to the RSA Government with the policy for immigrant of doubling their money imported to the Country – the Financial Rand, to be honest, was a real deal – my money was becoming all the time I was bringing it in to RSA, the double, and gave me the opportunity to buy a house, shops, cars, so it was a real bargain be in South Africa.

My daughter was born in the 1988, and all was looking fine, but we had to get more safety and security due to the ANC bombs and rumours of when all this was going to change… the world was complaining about apartheid and no one of my foreign friends was aware of the real life in RSA – all were saying, “but you have slaves there? you have freeways there? you have transport there?” Due to my culture and education, and origin, I never be a racist, and I never think to became one of those…I always treat my employers like any other European person and my respect for workers was the same as for all the others, but something happened, one day, the 1989, I remember so well – I kill for the first time a person…

In the dark of my property, four armed people were taking off part of the roof to come inside the house, where my wife was sleeping with my baby daugther. I had no dogs at that time and no very high wall around, so it was easy to jump inside the property and until that day, nobody had tried to come in the house for stealing or whatever. I was forced to alert the thief, by shooting in the air twice. They jumped on me and I shoot, I shoot until 4 of them die. I call the police and they come; they report the incident and they take the bodies away. I was in my right to defend myself and my goods…

After this story, I built a big wall, strong gate, alarm, and so on. Other friends were killed by people who take their cars on the roads, hijackings. It started all over – robbery, attacks and a new war between the black communities started, they burnt hostels, schools, houses, so this just few months before Mandela was getting out from prision…the violence between blacks spread all over the country, and also against white people…like me and many friends. I lost many friends – the last was my closest friend – he had a Travel Agency in Joburg and one son only – an Engineer, who just got his Degree, from Pretoria University. The boy was killed in Louis Botha Avenue for his car; they kill him like an animal with no reason, in cold blood, he never had any weapon. His father, my friend, after this, he lost his mind and he killed himself for the loss of this son. His wife now is alone…it’s a sad story similar to hundreds or thousands; it happened in a few years in RSA.

I was thinking to leave the country, but my wife was asking to try be there and maybe to find a safe place to stay, but there was no safe place to stay. I had a few Restaurants and I was busy running these businesses in the Johannesburg Sandton Area, when one night a gang of robbers come in one restaurant and held all the customers, taking all their money and goods; also they rob the restaurant cash when I arrived there and they were near the door to get out. Again I opened the fire, and a friend with me also, so we killed and wounded these criminals. I was also wounded in my arm, so, police came and “thanks” they said to me..the Officer and other people lost their life for living there. A day later, another criminal tried to hijack my car, in Rivonia – I shoot him and I kill him; I save my life and my car but I start to be worried of why this violence and why every day there are crimes all over?

Mandela was free, the country didn’t change in the better – it went down, every day, no safety and security anymore, I was sleeping with my weapons… carried my weapon for shopping, to see movies, for walking. Every corner was a worry….and not only for me..I remember what an old black taxi driver told me when I was going to the Airport for a business trip – he said, “man, I remember under the apartheid, was very hard for us, but I was feeling more protected and safe than now,” that time he said was much better than now… So in few years, all my dreams gone due was impossible for to live there, and to understand why be in a place where we don’t know what can happen tomorrow…and where life became more cheap than a packet of chips.

After many other friends die by criminals, after I’d been attacked so many times, and thanks to my military background I save my family and my life.. we decided to move, so I rented out and sold a few business and we took a plane. Now we live in between Italy and Spain where we have houses …I missed RSA, but not this day. I miss a paradise where life was special like the South African people, the best people I’ve ever met. South Africa is gone, and will be exacly the same as all the other African countries – poverty, violence, unemployement and crimes, thanks also to the people who running the country, without any form of knowledge…

One day may be, one day…



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World Cup Dream

November 19th, 2009

Submitted by norajean1933

Hi Everyone. My name is Alan Rivers and back in 1968 I was ask to join Rangers F C in Johannesburg. Their home ground was known as the Rand Stadium and I found it an excellent place to play football. In the early months of my time with Rangers I was invited to the Chairman’s office (Mr Sydney Chaitowitz)  who asked if I was settled in Joburg and enjoying my football. To say I had a fantastic time with Rangers is an understatement. I will always remember him having the foresight – saying to me that one day South Africa would host the World Cup Football Finals. I left his office that day wondering if  that man’s dream would ever come true.

Well South Africa – ENJOY THE WORLD CUP – because I know of one man who would…

Best Wishes

Alan Rivers, Rangers FC



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Love Has No Colour Boundary

November 7th, 2009

Love Story of Andre and Vanessa

Submitted by Bluechip

It all started a few years back. I can still remember it was a Sunday afternoon when I was not able to sleep so I picked up my TV-plus to read. While paging through it I came to the “pen pal” section. At that time of my life I was sick of being lonely, so I thought why not try this. After reading all the profiles I decided to write to Andre Pieterse from Krugersdorp.

Vanessa and Andre

Vanessa and Andre

I am from a small town called Riversdale here in the Western Cape. One of the main reasons why I decided to write to him was because his name sounded like he could be colored and we had a lot of things in common. In my letter I stated that I do not care what he looks like so it was not necessary for him to include a photo of himself in his returning letter.

That Sunday night I prayed about my letter and I asked God to bless it. A week passed and still I haven’t heard from him. After the second week I thought he’s probably not going to answer my letter. Early in the beginning of the third week I was very excited to receive a letter from him. Months passed and we keep on writing to each other. After exchanging phone numbers I discovered that Andre was actually white.

I was shocked at first because I was under the impression that he was a colored just like me. Nevertheless we kept on writing and phoning each other despite the fact that we did not know what the other looks like. When phoning me one day Andre asked me if it was possible for us to exchange pictures. So I said yes, but I will only send him a picture after I see what he looks like. So he send me a lot of pictures of himself, but never on one picture did he smile. I thought it was strange, but I thought maybe he just don’t like smiling. I phoned him the night that I received his picture to tell him what I think about his looks.

After he had received my picture he told me that he likes me a lot and he thinks that we should meet. At first I said no because I do not like to meet strangers. He respected my wish. After that I did not reply to his letters and his phone calls because I was afraid he would ask me again to meet, but he kept on writing to me.

The following year I decided to go to the KKNK in Oudtshoorn. I can remember I was sitting alone in Milky Lane enjoying an ice-cream all by myself when a tall blond guy approaches me. In my mind his face looks familiar but I just could not remember where I saw him. He asked me whether my name was Vanessa and if I am from Riversdale so I said yes. So he said he is Andre my pen pal from Krugersdorp. I became hot in my face and I did not know what to say. I just smiled and he smiled back at me. I did not like what I saw because he did not have very good teeth, but that did not bother me at all.

He sat down at my table and we talked until night fall so he asked me to have a braai with him that night. So around the fire that night we enjoyed each others company. That whole week we spent together. It was the best week in my whole life. When I got home all I could think about was him and the great time we had.

That same year I invited him to my cousin’s wedding because I wanted my parents to meet him. It was finally time of the wedding. The day before the wedding my parents and I went to pick him up in Mossel Bay. My parents received him well. I introduced him to all of my family members the following day at the wedding. The fact that he was the only white person at the wedding did not bother him at all. Everybody had a great laugh when he took the dance floor. I can remember the song “doobee-doobee” by freshly ground was playing when he danced in his “sokkie-sokkie ” style. It was really funny because white people dance different than we do.

The Sunday he left for Krugersdorp again. After the wedding he came visiting more often. After a while he ask me to meet his parents so I did. It was at first weird for me because I learned how they dance and the way they prepare food. It was different to our culture.His family received me well. I also learned a few new Afrikaans words. It was very nice. When we walked in the streets people looked at us funny because of a white man dating a colored woman.

Nevertheless another two years passed. It was now 2007. He surprised me with a visit on my birthday. The Saturday 16th of March he congratulated me early in the morning and gave me a bush of red roses and chocolates. Later that day he gave me a little gift, it was my favorite perfume Elizabeth Arden’s red door. I can remember we was at the beach with my family. So round about three that day he gave me another gift; it was a charmed watch with a chain and earrings.

At sunset we took a walk along the beach. As we was sitting on a rock and watching the sunset he got up and draws a large heart in the sand and writes something in there. I could not see what he wrote. So he took me by the hand and led me to the heart and as I read aloud “Vanessa will you marry me” he went down on his knee and took out a ring from his pocket. I was so overwhelmed I started crying and softly said “yes Andre I will marry you”.

He put the ring on my finger and kissed me as the sun was setting in the background. When we got back my whole family stand ready with champagne to celebrate. My parents knew that he was going to propose to me. It was the best birthday ever. The Sunday he went home again because he needed to worked the Monday again. At that time he worked at their local post office as an ordinary postman. I went back to university again in Cape Town. I study BSc (Chemistry).

Back at varsity I told all my friends that I was engaged. Some of them was glad, but others was skeptic. They believed that long distance and interracial relationships never works out. Andre and I decided that we will get married on the 27th of September 2008. This is traditional in my family to get married on the 27th of September.

We decided on a very small intimate wedding with just close family and friends because our budget will not allow us to have a big celebrity wedding like I always dreamed of since we both came from poor families also. But…the wedding of Andre and Vanessa did not took place in 2008 and that is why I am sending this wish in for them, my greatest wish is to see Andre and Vanessa getting married.

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A Year in Sweden

October 24th, 2009

By Leigh Thorsen

I’ve lived almost half my life outside of South Africa, and I’ve just changed country for the third time.

Ten years in the UK, ten in the US, and now, with the California economy tanking on a scale not seen since the ’40s, it seems time to try…one more country.

Leigh with all the stuffed animals

Leigh with all the stuffed animals

My husband John is a Swedish citizen, as are our two children, and I have Permanent Residency status. John and I met in London, married and moved to the US soon after; and started a computer graphics business in Santa Rosa, about an hour’s drive north of San Francisco.

We’ve had a reasonably good run of things in California, but like so many small businesses we’ve taken a beating since the onset of the global recession in 2007. So, after much agonising and by mutual consent, it’s decided that I will move to Sweden with the kids, and leave John behind to shore up our beleagured home and business.

John’s working on a project that should keep him busy till the end of the year. We hope that in the intervening months the phones will start ringing again, or that he can get a job to tide us over the worst of the slump. If not, we’ll rent out our house, pack up our stuff, and he’ll join us in Sweden in early 2010. He might even bring the cats. (Claudia has already made a transatlantic move, most succesfully.)

However, if the US economy picks up, and life in California starts to look viable again, we’ll have to decide, once and for all, exactly where it is we’d like to live: Europe or the US. Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t just go back to South Africa. Trouble is, the more you move, the more complicated it gets, as each new country comes with its own unique set of pros and cons…

In short, there are many reasons for this major family upheaval, but there’s no denying that right now Sweden seems particularly attractive: free health care for the kids, the possibility at least of employment for myself, and what appears to be an admirable social system that will support us till I get working again.

My American friends encourage me to go for it. Why not? After two years of entrenched recession I’m hearing a lot less about how the US is the ‘best in the world’ at, well, just about everything. I’m now deeply disenchanted with the US, despite the advent of our new President, who looks like he’s got way too much on his plate right now to make anything better in a hurry. Time for a change.

That said, I’m an old hand at this moving countries game. It’s not that easy, and we’ve got two kids to think of. It’s all a far cry from my initial move from Jo’burg for the traditional ‘year in London’. That turned out to be ten years in London, with an onward flight to California and no going home. Now I’ve got a husband, a business, a mortgage, children and two cats to consider: No more ‘up and offing’ at a moment’s notice.

So John and I strike a deal: I’ll try life in Sweden for a year. He’ll stay behind, and hopefully, make enough to keep our house, keep our business. If the US economy picks up, and Obama can push through a halfway decent public health plan, I’ll put away my skis and head for home (did I just call California ‘home’? I confuse myself at times).

To be honest, I don’t have skis. Don’t like snow at all in fact.

I grew up in Durban, and incline to surf, sand and long, tall palm trees.

It seems, though, there’s a way we can compromise: I could stay in Trelleborg, a port city in the very south of Sweden, complete with palm trees.  They even have an annual Palm Fest, right at the end of August. Let’s call it the Durban of the North.

Besides, my mother-in-law lives there. She’s 89, lives alone, and her health’s not great. She needs someone to keep an eye on her. It seems to make sense somehow: the children and I will move in with their grandma (we’ll call her granny in Swedish style, which is FarMor), I’ll learn Swedish and look for a job, and the children will get to know their Swedish roots.

Natasha in Sweden

Natasha in Sweden

Natasha and Ross are sceptical about this plan. Not surprisingly, they don’t want to leave home. Sweden is OK for a visit, and they like nothing better than a romp with their cousins in Stockholm, but they have no intention of actually living there or anywhere else.

I have to face facts: At heart these two are true blue Californians. I can harp on about their Swedish-South African roots as much as I like, feed them ProNutro for breakfast (chocolate flavor!), and Swedish meatballs for dinner, but I am aware that I am uprooting them from their real home – for a while at least – in the most painful way.

Still, my kids like an adventure, and in the end they agree. We can keep in touch with everyone in California by email, Skype, Facebook – whatever. We’ll talk to Daddy on the phone every day, and order chocolate-flavored ProNutro from England. The wonders of computer technology allow me to strike some powerful deals.

What about a puppy? asks Natasha, who’s always inclined to push the envelope.

Obama may have fallen for this, but not me.

No puppies, is my firm reply. I can’t think of anything less suitable right now.

Unless…unless we decide to stay in Sweden? she persists.

Well, maybe.

In the end they agree to give it a whirl, and so the tickets are booked for the end of July. We depart from San Francisco with six bulging suitcases, and an awful lot of stuffed animals.

Ross in Trell

Ross in Trelleborg

Transferring this lot from Stockholm Central Station for our fast rail connection to Malmö, en route to Trelleborg, is almost enough to make me rethink the whole adventure. We cross miles of platforms, struggle with the complexities of the Swedish Krone (why can’t you just do the Euro, Sweden?), and collapse, cross and exhausted, into a taxi some six hours later.

Our taxi driver is Iranian, and tells us he emigrated to Sweden when he was eight. He’s an enthusiastic advocate for his new homeland, but wonders why we would leave California for…he pauses… well, for Trelleborg.

California is kaput – for the moment, I explain airly. There’s a terrible governor in charge, you know, Schwartzenegger, the actor in those Terminator movies. The taxi driver agrees that this is indeed a strange choice of leader for the world’s eighth biggest economy. He’s sorry we had to move on – such a good climate we’ve left behind! – but he’s sure we’ll be very happy in Sweden.

He thinks the school system is great, and he’s still in touch with his very first Swedish teacher. Our children will integrate very fast, no problem, he assures me.

Natasha and Ross at The Legs Fountain

Natasha and Ross at The Legs Fountain

Finally, finally, we draw into Trelleborg. It is about six pm and the city is shrouded in shades of gray. But what hits us hard is the stench from the Baltic, a sulphorous odour that I’ve never noticed on earlier visits.

Our driver notes our expressions. It’s just algae from the sea, he explains cheerfully. You’ll get used to it!

That was two months ago.

Our driver was right about one thing: the school system is wonderful. We love it.

But we still haven’t gotten used to the smell.

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The Tour de Kruger: a wild ride

October 23rd, 2009

By Fiona McIntosh

“You’re going to cycle for five days through wild game reserves?” exclaimed my friends when I told them of the bush adventure that I’d just discovered. “Are you crazy? What about the elephants? And the lions? You’ve clearly got a death wish.”

But I could think of nothing more exciting than getting up close and personal with the big herds of elephant, buck and other game of the southern African bush. As for seeing lion … we’d be lucky.

The Tour de Kruger takes bikers on a 70-kilometre ride every day for five days, through pristine African bushveld.

The Tour de Kruger takes bikers on a 70-kilometre ride every day for five days, through pristine African bushveld.

I’d signed up for the annual mountain-bike tour that supports the Children in the Wilderness programme. Our route would take us from northern Tuli Game Reserve in Botswana, through the World Heritage Site of Mapungubwe, finishing up in the Pafuri concession of the Kruger National Park.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity – where else in the world can you ride for five days through wilderness, knowing that at any moment you might encounter one of the big five? This was to be a real immersion in Africa yet, outside South Africa, the tour seemed to be a well-kept secret. I suspected a conspiracy – the locals didn’t want foreigners snapping up the limited places!

Previous tours had been held in the Great Limpopo Transfrontier Park, through western Mozambique and the Pafuri concession of northern Kruger, but this route from the Tuli block approached Pafuri from the west, so was entirely new ground even for tour veterans.

Most riders took advantage of the transfers laid on from Johannesburg, hopping on their bikes at the reserve gate to stretch their legs on the final few kilometres to camp. We spent our first night under canvas next to the airstrip and were treated to the impressive sight of a classic aircraft, a shiny DC-3, swooping in to collect some of the reserve’s guests. Our kit bags, numbers and detailed race manifest were waiting on arrival and, once we’d labelled and parked our bikes, we were guided to our tents, all neatly numbered into respective groups.

Then it was time for the pre-race briefing. We were out to have fun, but there were ground rules designed to ensure our safety. I’ll admit to being a bit nervous as we rode to camp, but now my fears about riding through elephant country the next day were allayed.

Each group of 15 or so riders would stick together as a tight unit behind an experienced, rifle-toting front guide. The back guide was also trained in the ways of the bush and was in constant radio contact with the front guide, the other groups and HQ. They carried satellite phones just in case there was no radio contact. I slept well that night. This was one well-organised operation.

Close encounters

The importance of the tight drill was soon evident. After a long, 70-kilometre day in the saddle we were less than five kilometres from the South African border and our camp. The thought of a cold beer was putting new life into my weary legs. Suddenly our lead guide stopped in his tracks.

A close encounter with elephants. (Image: Children in the Wilderness)

A close encounter with elephants. (Image: Children in the Wilderness)

“Over there,” he whispered. Just about to cross the track we were following was a big breeding herd of elephant – females with tiny calves that looked as if they were going to be stomped upon any minute. It was not a happy group. They’d clearly sensed our presence, and were becoming increasingly anxious.

“There’s another group in the trees to our right,” whispered the guide. “We’ll back off.” Suddenly loud trumpeting and the crashing of branches broke the silence of the bush and we mounted our bikes and fled back to the nearest group of big trees. So close, and yet so far: the herd was between us and camp, so we retraced our route until we found a safe place to cross the sandy riverbed.

Some of the guides from an earlier group were sitting out in a hide on the South African bank as we took off our shoes and carried our bikes across the narrow channel of the Limpopo.

“Was that you the elephant were revving?” they laughed. “We heard all the commotion then saw a load of riders retreating at speed.” I’d been praying for some intimate bush encounters, but that was a trifle too exciting for my liking.

Mountain-bike country

That was our third encounter with elephant that day. We’d also been treated to sightings of giraffe, impala, scuttling warthog and a ridiculously raucous display of snorting and histrionics from the clowns of the bush, a big herd of galloping wildebeest, as we followed the game trails through the mopane forest.

It’s classic mountain-bike country, with wide open spaces and a seemingly endless network of single track – the work of elephant matriarchs carving out paths for their young to follow down to the water sources.

The paths weaved through dense sections of bush, forcing us to bunny-hop over fallen branches and dodge thorn trees. There were a few technical sections – the odd rocky downhill, stretch of sand or loose gravel climb, but on the whole it was easy flowing riding past towering baobabs and over dry, stony riverbeds.

This part of southern Africa is not only famous for its elephant, but is rich in history and home to important paleontological remains such as the dinosaur footprints of Vhembe in South Africa and the dinosaur skeletons of Sentinel in Zimbabwe. Our second night was spent at Mapungubwe – a place as seeped in history as it is prolific in game.

The camp was in an incredible spot high up on an escarpment, and the dramatic rock formations of the park glowed in the late sun as we walked to the viewpoint where a bar had been set up.

We toasted surviving the first day and our unscheduled detour from the route. It was an atmospheric place. Below us was the confluence of the Limpopo and Shashe rivers and the point where Zimbabwe, Botswana and South Africa meet. Now that the day visitors had left we had the park to ourselves, and I began to appreciate the privilege of being part of the tour.

Bush cuisine

Although you ride hard by day, Tour de Kruger is a charity ride to raise funds for Children in the Wilderness, not a race. Groups are arranged according to rider ability and fitness with the speed freaks and the odd professional cyclist breaking the trail and social riders like myself bring up the rear. The emphasis is on enjoying the bush, game sightings and the bush cuisine – a legendary feature of the tour.

You can easily gain weight over the five days despite cycling around 75 kilometres a day in the hot sun. After the first 25 to 35 kilometres of each day there’s a morning tea stop where encouraging Wilderness Safaris staff hand out copious quantities of fruitcake, muffins, hot-cross buns, biltong and sweets, as well as wetwipes, sunscreen, lube and tender loving care.

Lunch is a proper cooked meal, and then there’s another tea stop before you reach camp, where, if you’re still hungry, another cooked lunch awaits. And the spoiling continues once you’ve finished for the day, with abundant quantities of energy drinks, massage and bike repair services, hot showers, a bar and a slap-up dinner.

Mapungubwe

Day two took us through the impressive koppies of Mapungubwe National Park. The archaeological site of Mapungubwe was discovered in 1932, unearthing a long history of human habitation in the region including the earliest recorded archaeological gold in southern Africa.

Among the human remains were golden ornaments, gold beads and wire jewellery. The most famous find was that of a single-horned golden rhinoceros. All southern African rhinos have two horns, so this find has intrigued archaeologists – some of whom suggest that it’s a representation of a rhino from Asia, where one-horned species exist. As you ride through the park you can’t help being somewhat overawed by this incredible place.

For the second half of the day we cruised the sandy tracks of a privately owned section of the park, the Venetia Limpopo Nature Reserve, a De Beers property which is well stocked with big game and an integral component of the World Heritage Site.

Our camp that night was on the Limpopo River, a truly glorious setting right on the sandy cliff. We sat listening to the soothing sound of running water as we sipped our sundowners then ate out under the stars. The handful of foreign riders couldn’t believe the beauty of the African bush – the tour had exceeded all their expectations.

The next day started with a rollercoaster ride along the river cliff – some of the most demanding riding of the event with steep down- and uphills. The rising sun created a dappled effect in the trees and we flew along, happy, if a trifle saddle-sore. That afternoon we rode into Kruger National Park, through a back gate and into an area that visitors to the park do not see.

We were now in serious big five country. The briefing had been fierce – stick together at all costs and keep moving. The final day through the Pafuri Concession was magnificent. We left our bikes at the tea-stop and climbed up to Lanner Gorge for a view out over the gorge cut in the Luvuvu River. The sight of the great chasm was worth every ounce of energy expended on the 6.4-kilometre sandy trail.

We rode through great forests of glowing fever trees, enjoyed the antics of baboons and saw kudu, impala, warthog as well as some great sightings of tuskers in Elephant Alley.

Our final detour was to Crooks Corner – the point where South Africa, Zimbabwe and Mozambique meet. We watched a breeding herd of elephant come down to the water to drink then, once they’d left, scrambled down onto the sand bank for a team photo keeping a wary eye open for crocs.

Early in the afternoon we arrived at Pafuri Camp where, in the usual slick manner to which we’d been accustomed, our bikes were taken off to be loaded onto the appropriate transfer vehicles – back to the start in Tuli, the Wilderness offices in Joburg or, for those with flights the following evening, onto the coaches that were taking us back the next day.

Taking leave

Clean and refreshed, we lounged around the camp watching buck graze next to the raised platforms of the tented rooms and elephant drinking in the river. The event ended with a slide show and presentation and we relived the thrills and spills.

It had been a magnificent ride that had brought together people from all walks of life, united in their wish to intimately experience the African bush, to rise to the challenge of the ride and to support Children in the Wilderness. It was hard to leave – after five days together the members of each cycling group and the support staff had become a close-knit family.

So was I mad to sign up? Well, it certainly wasn’t a walk in the park, but anyone who’s reasonably fit and with a bit of mountain-biking experience would enjoy the ride. The distances are manageable for recreational bikers, and the presence of guides and technicians means that you can seek assistance in the event of bike problems, or hop in a back-up vehicle if you’ve had enough for the day.

The organisers go out of their way to make your life as easy and as much fun as possible. But for all that it’s a challenging ride, largely along fairly straightforward single track or dirt road with a few more tricky sections to amuse the downhill addicts – most of which I walked, and felt no shame.

What makes the ride really special is the opportunity to journey through bits of the reserves that most visitors never see. You can help but feel privileged that these areas have been opened up for the tour to come through. Makes me want to get on my bike again.

Thanks for this article goes to: www.mediaclubsouthafrica.com.

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A bit of a hairy date!

October 11th, 2009

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Friday Madness

October 6th, 2009

Submitted by Amanda Tsinonis, mother of three girls and one dog, living in London…

Eating pain au chocolat on the way to school...on a good day!

Eating pain au chocolat on the way to school...on a good day!

At 9.30am today, I was back at my desk, ready for a days work. My calm, very “zen” colleague Harpreet walked in and we booted up our computers. I sighed- looking somewhat dishevled, “What a day!” to which she replied “Don’t sigh yet, its only just started”
Oh noooo, no no. Not for me it had not. I got up as usual at 6.45am (after a coffee in bed, thank goodness I married a “morning person”). The deal I have with the kids is that on Fridays – IF the kids are ready and out the door for our walk to school by 8am (that is the condition), I buy them a yummy pain au chocolate from the baker en route to school which starts at 8.30. Eating slows them down so we need to make time for it! (this pic is one such morning). After much cajoling (did I say much, much, much cajoling?) we get out the door at 8.10am. So we are already cutting it fine:
blackberry, keys, money – check
2 school bags on my back – check
1 heavy sports kit – check
1 show and tell item – check
2 break snacks
1 crazy dog pulling on leash – check
tennis ball to tire crazy dog – check
pooh bags – check
pooh bags – double check
sanity – urm, no!
My shoulders are already up around my ears and I am sweating profusely in sub-zero temperatures. Off we set down the road and for the THIRD time this week Isabella lobs the ball into a garden – dog can’t find it and fun turns into tears. So I spend 5 minutes trying to find the ball. Finally we give up and have to keep going at which point I announce, “Sorry, no time for pain au chocolates, 5 minutes before school starts”. Oh and the tears… and tears. Its 8.25am, I am struggling with dog, bags and wailing children over Richmond Bridge. Bella turns to me and says ” Thats just not fair, we had a deal and you broke it!” Tatiana chimes “yes, thats right!”
Bella continues”Next time you have a tea party in the calendar, I am going to take a pen and cross it out, see how you feel!”
Interesting she said that because I find myself having a petty thought, “What tea parties make you think I ever have tea parties, I wish I had more time for a tea party – Desperate Housewives and all that.” Obviously I keep that thought to myself.
I turn to both of them: “Did you keep your deal and be ready by 8am?” Silence
“Tati, your hair looks like a rats nest, did you brush it today?” …Silence
“Did you brush your teeth Tatiana ?” Silence.
“Isabella – you were playing with your cereal today, you lost the ball, and now we are late. Just stop crying”. She cranks up the volume to intolerable levels of “fake waah waah”. All of a sudden – I snap. I go into mother rage and I find myself shouting and pointing fingers on Richmond Bridge as the traffic crawls by. People stare. Oh God, the parenting books! What did they say again? Oh please please remember.
Ah yes “Behave in a completely opposite way to what they expect, change YOUR behavior” and “Let there be a consequence for their behavior.” What consequence can there be 3 minutes away from the school gates in the full, glaring view of the London rush hour? Think, think!

So, I slow down. From raving, sweating, finger pointing monster to eerily collected with a lopsided mental-asylum smile. “Okay girls. I seem to be the only one who cares that you get to school on time. Lets swap okay? I’ll go slow, you rush me”. I get sideways are-you-serious glances (we always make it, not been late for school in over a year). I peer over the bridge to check the tide, give Jazz a little cuddle, slow my steps down – start pretending to be enjoying my morning (just short of whistling). At the bottom of Richmond Hill I stop at all the antique and jewelry store windows and have a conversation (with myself) about antique earings. I show Jazz a painting of a puppy window of an art shop and ask him if he’d like a portrait too. I stop to talk to an old lady. Kids are getting panicky as the last of school kids vanish off the sidewalk. Jazz decides to have a crap and I tell him to take his time. Kids are now walking 10 steps ahead of me, they say “We’ll just go to school on our own” to which I reply “Sure, but I have your bags – so wait for me at the gates. Dad would love this wine bottle opener don’t you think? ” Tatiana starts hopping from frustration (like she needs a wee). Bella says cautiously “I love you Mom, but I don’t like the shouting” (aaah, so it does sink in!!) I chat to one or two puzzled mums greeting me on the way home – and I give them the sideways-tap of my nose, “Mum’s turn to take her time today…” Aaah, they get it and chorus “gooood ideaaa! ”
Finally we get to school and they are locked out. Shock horror they have to go via the headmistress’s office. Wobbly bottom lips and lots of snot. I tie the dog up slowly, hand over the bags to the girls who give me the don’t-make-me-walk-in-alone -look. And I give them the oh-yes look. I give them a gentle shove into the doorway and a bimbo “toodles” wave, turn around and walk home.(Of course I waited around the corner to see they got in, plus I secretly phoned Veronica in the school office to make sure they were okay). She said she saw thin smiles, but all seemed fine. Some how I doubt we’ll be late on Monday. .
Now,anyone would be forgiven for thinking my morning got better from there. Oh no no no. I know what I did was a bit cunning, but actually it was alot of acting on my part – and it took me a good 20 min walk along the river to unwind. Jazz chased all the geese into the water like the lunatic he is. By the time I turn back up my road, I felt calmer. A lady opens her front door to let her friend in and says “Oh hi honeeeeey” in a high-pitched voice. Jazz thinks its Christmas and the welcome is for him. He races down her driveway, knocks her off her feet, runs into her house (dripping wet, covered in mud)- into her conservatory – and gobbles the cats breakfast. The owner is flailing about. The cat emerges, Jazz goes bezzerk and chases the cat up the carpeted stairs (sound effects of nails on carpets). I am a fumbling idiot, wresting with my slippery dog on my hands and knees in this woman’s hallway. She and her friend stare with open mouths at this comedy unfolding in front of them (although not funny at the time!) . I finally get my dog under control (desperate to smack the living daylights out of him, but would not dare – this is England, where they love dogs more than old people!). I stand up, leash in hand, dust myself off and with my last shred of dignity, look the woman in the eye and apologize profusely. She’s about to tell me off for not having had him on a leash in the first place, I feel it coming… pause…. “My, you – you do have an energetic dog…!” How very British – he’s mad, the whole thing was mad – the mud on my face, hands, jeans, carpets, cat – prove it. But I thank her for being so sweet, mumble my apologies and reverse out. When nobody is looking, I bonk Jazz on the head. HARD!

All that Jazz...

All that Jazz...

When I get home, I see Nina outside the house with our part time nanny Klara. Nina is refusing to walk to school. This time, I secure Jazz in our back garden, lock the house up for a second time and walk back down the road again with Nina. I force my shoulders down and she babbles happily. I put a pound coin in her palm and tell her – “Its Friday, lets buy you a Pain au Chocolat”

So when I sit down to work at 9.30am – I feel I’ve earned the right to say “Phew what a day!”

(Picture: What possessed me to buy the most energetic breed of all kinds? I think its time for “the chop” although George is trying to find him at least one shag first but he had better hurry. Time is running out and dog testosterone mounting. Maybe the snip can cure farting too)

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