My 6’1’’, Bearded, Pathfinder Pops

My Grandparents, met in the Kenya Regiment during the Mau Mau Uprising in the 1950’s. They had my father in Eloret, Kenya and commenced a series of attempts to make a life for themselves at various sites through Northern and Southern Rhodesia and eventually back to South Africa where they raised their family of 5 children. They were not a wealthy family, to say the least, so the family worked side by side with the African farm labourers and became fluent in local languages. Living in the wrath of his rigid Afrikaans father my dad said that he loved boarding school because it was the only time he could rest and he dreaded school holidays. At 18, he was conscripted to the Equestrian Division of the military and god knows what shit was endured there. I only receive short cryptic versions and there are few fading black & white photos I have to refer to.

 In the eighties, my dad went to work at the South African Tourist Board Office in soft, sterile, politically correct Toronto. This is when he met the younger version of my gorgeous, free-spirited mother and so they lived between the US, Canada and South Africa for the next 9 years, dragging their shaggy New York City mutt over oceans and continents with them.  After which he returned to SA to live and has been operating tourism companies introducing wild Africa, its colourful cultures, languages and absurd circumstances that only the African continent can concoct to visitors from around the world ever since.

When I visit my dad we spend the majority of our time driving in a 1980’s Land Rover (although now days he has upgraded to a 1990 something) over great distances, perilous rock formations and sorry excuses for bridges in the shadows of Laurens Van der Post. We would last for days without refuelling the double gas tank or replenishing our water reserves below the body of the vehicle. My dad says that animals see tents as solid formations and as long as I zip it up tightly a lion would never drag me out, so I peacefully dozed to the symphony of hippos, lions, hyenas and zebras.

I celebrated one New Year’s Eve in Swaziland with my brother and my dad, squatting in the grass with a tin cup of white wine listening to the grinding teeth of a grazing bull elephant 10 feet from my toes. When the wind shifted behind us, the elephant smelt our presence it began to charge, I saw my brother’s true colours as we bolted and he pushed me aside to get a head start. The visit continued to be coloured by vibrant animal personalities including Elma the Lonely Ostrich who stalked us for 3 days making us fall for her (actually a he) persistent pursuit despite her hideous ‘Muppet from hell’ exterior, and Swazi the kitten we found and ended up smuggling over the border, who turned out to be half African Wild Cat and still lives with my little sister.

 Anyway, if you would like a similar, yet unpredictably distinct experience you should check out his website.


http://www.dundiditafrica.co.za/