Jock Of the Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 12 )( Page 4 ) Jim Mokakel

When sober Jim spoke Zulu; when drunk, he broke into the strangest and most laughable medley of kitchen-Kaffir, bad Dutch, and worse English-- the idea being, in part to consider our meaner intelligences and in part to show what an accomplished linguist he was.  There was no difficulty in knowing when Jim would go wrong: he broke out whenever he got a chance, whether at a kraal, where he could always quicken the reluctant hospitality of any native, at a wayside canteen, or in a town.  Money was fatal--he drank it all out; but want of money was no security, for he was known to every one and seemed to have friends everywhere; and if he had not, he made them on the spot--annexed and overwhelmed them. From time to time you do meet people like that.  The world's their oyster, and the gift of a masterful and infinite confidence opens it every time: they walk through life taking of the best as a right, and the world unquestioningly submits. I had many troubles with Jim, but never on account of white men: drunk or sober, there was never trouble there.  It may have been Rorke's Drift and Ulundi that did it; but whatever it was, the question of black and white was settled in his mind for ever.  He was respectful, yet stood upright with the rough dignity of an unvanquished spirit; but on the one great issue he never raised his hand or voice again.  His troubles all came from drink, and the exasperation was at times almost unbearable—so great, indeed, that on many occasions I heartily repented ever having taken him on.  Warnings were useless, and punishment--well, the shiny new skin that made patterns in lines and stars and crosses on his back for the rest of his life made answer for always upon that point. The trials and worries were often great indeed.  The trouble began as soon as we reached a town, and he had a hundred excuses for going in, and a hundred more for not coming out: he had some one to see, boots to be mended, clothes to buy, or medicine to get--the only illness I ever knew him have was `a pain inside,' and the only medicine wanted--grog!-- some one owed him money--a stock excuse, and the idea of Jim, always penniless and always in debt, posing as a creditor never failed to raise a laugh, and he would shake his head with a half-fierce half-sad disgust at the general scepticism and his failure to convince me.  Then he had relations in every town!  Jim, the sole survivor of his fighting kraal, produced `blulus,' `babas,' `sisteles,' and even `mamas,' in profusion, and they died just before we reached the place, as regularly as the office-boy's aunt dies before Derby Day, and with the same consequence-- he had to go to the funeral. The first precaution was to keep him at the waggons and put the towns and canteens `out of bounds'; and the last defence, to banish him entirely until he came back sober, and meanwhile set other boys to do his work, paying them his wages in cash in his presence when he returned fit for duty. "Is it as I told you?  Is it just?"  I would ask when this was done. "It is just, Inkos," he would answer with a calm dispassionate simplicity which appealed for forgiveness and confidence with far greater force than any repentance; and it did so because it was genuine; it was natural and unstudied.  There was never a trace of feeling to be detected when these affairs were squared off, but I knew how he hated the treatment, and it helped a little from time to time to keep him right. The banishing of him from the waggons in order that he might go away and have it over was not a device to save myself trouble, and I did it only when it was clear that he could stand the strain no longer.  It was simply a choice of evils, and it seemed to me better to let him go, clearly understanding the conditions, than drive him into breaking away with the bad results to him and the bad effects on the others of disobeying orders.  It was, as a rule, far indeed from saving me trouble, for after the first bout of drinking he almost invariably found his way back to the waggons: the drink always produced a ravenous craving for meat, and when his money was gone and he had fought his fill and cleared out all opposition, he would come back to the waggons at any hour of the night, perhaps even two or three times between dark and dawn, to beg for meat.  Warnings and orders had no effect whatever; he was unconscious of everything except the overmastering craving for meat. He would come to my waggon and begin that deadly monotonous recitation, "Funa 'nyama, Inkos!  Wanta meat, Baas!"  There was a kind of hopeless determination in the tone conveying complete indifference to all consequences: meat he must have.  He was perfectly respectful; every order to be quiet or go away or go to bed was received with the formal raising of the hand aloft, the most respectful of salutations, and the assenting, "Inkos!" but in the very next breath would come the old monotonous request, "Funa 'nyama, Inkos," just as if he was saying it for the first time.  The persistency was awful--it was maddening; and there was no remedy, for it was not the result of voluntary or even conscious effort on his part; it was a sort of automatic process, a result of his physical condition.  Had he known it would cost him his life, he could no more have resisted it than have resisted breathing. When the meat was there I gave it, and he would sit by the fire for hours eating incredible quantities--cutting it off in slabs and devouring it when not much more than warmed.  But it was not always possible to satisfy him in that way; meat was expensive in the towns and often we had none at all at the waggons.  Then the night became one long torment: the spells of rest might extend from a quarter of an hour to an hour; then from the dead sleep of downright weariness I would be roused by the deep far-reaching voice; "Funa 'nyama, Inkos" wove itself into my dreams, and waking I would find Jim standing beside me remorselessly urging the same request in Zulu, in broken English, and in Dutch--"My wanta meat, Baas," "Wil fleisch krij, Baas," and the old, old, hatefully familiar explanation of the difference between "man's food" and "piccanins' food," interspersed with grandiose declarations that he was "Makokela--Jim Makokel'," who "catchum lion 'live."  Sometimes he would expand this into comparisons between himself and the other boys, much to their disadvantage; and on these occasions he invariably worked round to his private grievances, and expressed his candid opinions of Sam. Sam was the boy whom I usually set to do Jim's neglected work.  He was a `mission boy,' that is a Christian kaffir--very proper in his behaviour, but a weakling and not much good at work.  Jim would enumerate all Sam's shortcomings; how he got his oxen mixed up on dark nights and could not pick them out of the herd--a quite unpardonable offence; how he stuck in the drifts and had to be `double-spanned' and pulled out by Jim; how he once lost his way in the bush; and how he upset the waggon coming down the Devil's Shoot. Jim had once brought down the Berg from Spitzkop a loaded waggon on which there was a cottage piano packed standing upright.  The road was an awful one, it is true, and few drivers could have handled so top-heavy a load without capsizing--he had received a bansela for his skill--but to him the feat was one without parallel in the history of waggon driving; and when drunk he usually coupled it with his other great achievement of catching a lion alive.  His contempt for Sam's misadventure on the Devil's Shoot was therefore great, and to it was added resentment against Sam's respectability and superior education, which the latter was able to rub in in safety by ostentatiously reading his Bible aloud at nights as they sat round the fire.  Jim was a heathen, and openly affirmed his conviction that a Christian kaffir was an impostor, a bastard, and a hypocrite--a thing not to be trusted under any circumstances whatever.  The end of his morose outburst was always the same.  When his detailed indictment of Sam was completed he would wind up with, "My catchum lion 'live.  My bling panyanna fon Diskop (I bring piano from Spitzkop).  My naam Makokela: Jim Makokel'.  Sam no good; Sam leada Bible (Sam reads the Bible).  Sam no good!"  The intensity of conviction and the gloomy disgust put into the last reference to Sam are not to be expressed in words. Where warning and punishment availed nothing threats would have been worse than foolish.  Once, when he had broken bounds and left the waggons, I threatened that if he did it again I would tie him up, since he was like a dog that could not be trusted; and I did it.  He had no excuse but the old ones; some one, he said, had brought him liquor to the waggons and he had not known what he was doing.  The truth was that the craving grew so with the nearer prospect of drink that by hook or by crook he would find some one, a passerby or a boy from other waggons, to fetch some for him; and after that nothing could hold him. If Jim ever wavered in his loyalty to me, it must have been the day I tied him up: he must have been very near hating me then.  I had caught him as he was leaving the waggons and still sober; brought him back and told him to sit under his own waggon where I would tie him up like a dog.  I took a piece of sail twine, tied it to one wrist, and, fastening the other end to the waggon-wheel, left him. A kaffir's face becomes, when he wishes it, quite inscrutable—as expressionless as a blank wall.  But there are exceptions to every rule; and Jim's stoicism was not equal to this occasion.  The look of unspeakable disgust and humiliation on his face was more than I could bear with comfort; and after half an hour or so in the pillory I released him.  He did not say a word, but, heedless of the hot sun, rolled himself in his blankets and, sleeping or not, never moved for the rest of the day.

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick ( Chapter 12 )( Page 3) Jim Mokakel

At the second thin whistling stroke some one said, "That's a sjambok he's using, not a nek-strop!"  Sjambok, that will cut a bullock's hide! At about the eighth there was a wrench that made the waggon rattle, and the deep voice was raised in protest, "Ow, Inkos!" It made me choke: it was the first I knew of such things, and the horror of it was unbearable; but the man who had spoken before--a good man too, straight and strong, and trusted by black and white--said, "Sonny, you must not interfere between a man and his boys here; it's hard sometimes, but we'd not live a day if they didn't know who was baas." I think we counted eighteen; and then everything seemed going to burst. The white man looked about at the faces close to him--and stopped.  He began slowly to untie the outstretched arms, and blustered out some threats.  But no one said a word! The noises died down as the night wore on, until the stillness was broken only by the desultory barking of a kaffir dog or the crowing of some awakened rooster who had mistaken the bright moonlight for the dawn and thought that all the world had overslept itself.  But for me there was one other sound for which I listened into the cool of morning with the quivering sensitiveness of a bruised nerve.  Sometimes it was a long catchy sigh, and sometimes it broke into a groan just audible, like the faintest rumble of most distant surf.  Twice in the long night there came the same request to one of the boys near him, uttered in a deep clear unshaken voice and in a tone that was civil but firm, and strangely moving from its quiet indifference. "Landela manzi, Umganaam!"  ("Bring water, friend!") was all he said; and each time the request was so quickly answered that I had the guilty feeling of being one in a great conspiracy of silence.  The hush was unreal; the stillness alive with racing thoughts; the darkness full of watching eyes. There is, we believe, in the heart of every being a little germ of justice which men call conscience!  If that be so, there must have been in the heart of the white man that night some uneasy movement--the first life-throb of the thought which one who had not yet written has since set down:   "Though I've belted you and flayed you,   By the living God that made you,   You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!" The following afternoon I received an ultimatum.  We had just returned from the town when from a group of boys squatting round the fire there stood up one big fellow--a stranger--who raised his hand high above his head in Zulu fashion and gave their salute in the deep bell-like voice that there was no mistaking, "Inkos!  Bayete!" He stepped forward, looking me all over, and announced with calm and settled conviction, "I have come to work for you!"  I said nothing. Then he rapped a chest like a big drum, and nodding his head with a sort of defiant confidence added in quaint English, "My naam Makokela!  Jim Makokel'!  Yes!  My catchum lion 'live!  Makokela, me!" He had heard that I wanted a driver, had waited for my return, and annexed me as his future `baas' without a moment's doubt or hesitation. I looked him over.  Big, broad-shouldered, loose-limbed, and as straight as an assegai!  A neck and head like a bull's; a face like a weather-beaten rock, storm-scarred and furrowed, rugged and ugly, but steadfast, massive and strong!  So it looked then, and so it turned out: for good and for evil Jim was strong. I nodded and said, "You can come." Once more he raised his head aloft, and, simply and without a trace of urprise or gratification, said: "Yes, you are my chief, I will work for you."  In his own mind it had been settled already: it had never been in doubt. Jim--when sober--was a splendid worker and the most willing of servants, and, drunk or sober, he was always respectful in an independent, upstanding, hearty kind of way.  His manner was as rough and rugged as his face and character; in his most peaceful moments it was--to one who did not understand him--almost fierce and aggressive; but this was only skin deep; for the childlike simplicity of the African native was in him to the full, and rude bursts of Titanic laughter came readily—laughter as strong and unrestrained as his bursts of passion. To the other boys he was what his nature and training had made him—not really a bully, but masterful and over-riding.  He gave his orders with the curtness of a drill sergeant and the rude assurance of a savage chief.  Walking, he walked his course, giving way for none of them.  At the outspan or on the road or footpath he shouldered them aside as one walks through standing corn, not aggressively but with the superb indifference of right and habit unquestioned.  If one, loitering before him, blocked his way unseeing, there was no pause or step aside—just "Suka!"  ("Get out") and a push that looked effortless enough but sent the offender staggering; or, if he had his sticks, more likely a smart whack on the stern that was still more surprising; and not even the compliment of a glance back from Jim as he stalked on.  He was like the old bull in a herd--he walked his course; none molested and none disputed; the way opened before him.

Kruger Park Safari with Dr and Mrs Dube, Ted and Jan and Celine Coco and Friends Day 3 and 4

Guests left at 17h00 on there night drive aboard a vehicle from the National Parks together with there guide. While out on the drive they got to see rhino, elephant and buffalo as well as lots of owls etc. Guests arrived back a little before 20h00 as it had started to rain and had become very cold.

Next morning, it was up early again and after packing all the luggage and enjoying tea and coffee, it was out on the road again for the final game drive. The morning was bitterly cold with lots of rain, so few animals were seen. However good sightings of elephant, hyena and side stripped jackal were found. Guests returned to the camp at 09h00 to enjoy breakfast.

After breakfast, it was time to leave the park, and after a transfer aboard the open vehicle to Nelspruit, we changed over into our warm transfer vehicle and made our way back to Johannesburg.

Feedback from the guests was that they had a wonderful time, and would like to return for a longer safari. Some of the guests will be returning next year with there whole family, in order for them to experience a safari such as they have just done.

Kruger Park Safari with Dr and Mrs Dube, Ted and Jan and Celine Coco and Friends Day 2 and 3

We left camp yesterday at 15h30 for an afternoon game drive, we turned onto the "Napi Road" and made our way down to the "Napi Boulders Road", were was enjoyed, we went looking for some good rhino. it was not long before we found a male and female white rhino close to the road. After a good sighting we made our way on also getting some good sightings of giraffe. We made our wayback to the Napi Road were we turned in the direction of the camp, only to find two more rhino's. After a good long sighting with these guys, we continued on our way, coming up on another four rhino's next to the these road. After all these rhino sightings, we made our way down to Shithave dam and spent some time there. After a good rest next to the dam, we made our way onto the  Albesini Road, making a turn at Mentsel Dam  to see the hippos. We continued our drive onto the Shabeni Kopies, as we wanted to do it as late as possible to see if we could see the lions that had been seen earlier in the day. We managed to find the lions at about 17h45, which was fifteen minutes before the camps gates closed. We made it back with one minute to spare. Guests enjoyed a good dinner at the camp restaurant, before retireing for a good nights rest.

It was up enjoying early again this morning, and after enjoying tea and coffee, it was back on the road to see what we  could find. We made our way back to Shabeni Kopies looking for the lions from last night. But unfortunetly they could not be found. We made our way down the Shabeni link and turned onto the Albesini Road, at 3,8 km's down, we came upon a male cheetah lying next to the road marker. After a while, he got up and walked to an Apple Leaf tree, where he proceeded to mark territory. We drove on getting good sightings of buffalo, zebra and more rhino. As we got to the Watergat junction, we received a call of lions on the "paul Kruger Gate" road, so we hurried in that direction. We managed to get a good sighting of two young males walking in the road. We managed to spend some good time on the sighting with thelions sometimes walking as close as one meter from our open safari vehicle. After this good sighting, we decided tomake our way to breakfast at the "Skukuza Golf Club", on route getting more sightings of rhino and elephant. After a nice breakfast was enjoyed, we made our way down to the river to see what we could find. A great sighting of hippos, crocodiles and another lion, this time a female with her two cubs walking accross the road.

We made our way back to Skukuza, were the group had a break, and then it was back Pretoriuskop camp for an afternoons rest, bfore going out on there night drive.

Final days update with photos to follow in the next post...... 

Kruger Park Safari with Dr and Mrs Dube, Ted and Jan and Celine Coco and Friends Day 1 and 2

We picked up Dr and mrs Dube at the "Plum Pudding Guest House", Ted and Jan were picked up from the airport and Celine and friends from a guest house in Bonearo Park. We made our way through to the city of Nelspruit, were we changed from our closed vehicle into one of our open safari vehicles for the last portion of the trip to the Kruger National Park. We entered through the "numbi gate, and made our way to the camp of Pretoriuskop. After check in proceedures, guests were given a chance to enjoy lunch, before leaving the camp on there first game drive. After a safety briefing, it was out onto the road to see wcould what we could find. It was not long before we encountered some buffalo feeding next to the road, and then we got to see some good rhino that had just crossed over the Napi Road. We drove on and after a bit of a drive came accross "Stompie" the elephant feeding close to Transport Dam. We managed to get some good photos, before having to turn around and make for the camp due to it getting late and having to be in the camp before six o clock. After a good meal in the restuarant, it was off to bed to get a good nights rest before gettng up early in the morning to get back on the road.

We all came together at 05h45, and after enjoying tea and coffee, it was out on the road to see what we could find. Great sightings of buffalo, rhino, elephant and hyena were seen. We made our way down to the picnic spot of Nkhulu for breakfast. After enjoying a good breakfast, it was time tocarry on looking for animals as we made our way back in the direction of "Numbi Gate" in order for Dr and Mrs Dube to get there transfer back to Johannesburg. After dropping off the guests, we made our way back to the camp in order for everybody to have a rest before leaving on another game drive.

To find out what is seen on the rest of the safari, keep watching the next post.......

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick ( Chapter 12 )( Page 2 ) Jim Makokel

His real name was Makokela, but in accordance with a common Zulu habit, it was usually abbreviated to Makokel'!  Among a certain number of the white men--of the sort who never can get any name right--he was oddly enough known as McCorkindale.  I called him Jim as a rule--Makokel', when relations were strained.  The waggon-boys found it safer to use his proper name.  When anything had upset him it was not considered wise to take the liberty of shouting "Jim": the answer sometimes came in the shape of a hammering. Many men had employed Jim before he came to me, and all had `sacked' him for fighting, drinking, and the unbearable worry he caused.  They told me this, and said that he gave more trouble than his work was worth.  It may have been true: he certainly was a living test of patience, purpose, and management; but, for something learnt in that way, I am glad now that Jim never `got the sack' from me.  Why he did not, is not easy to say; perhaps the circumstances under which he came to me and the hard knocks of an unkind fate pleaded for him.  But it was not that alone: there was something in Jim himself--something good and fine, something that shone out from time to time through his black skin and battered face as the soul of a real man. It was in the first season in the Bushveld that we were outspanned one night on the sand-hills overlooking Delagoa Bay among scores of other waggons dotted about in little camps--all loading or waiting for loads to transport to the Transvaal.  Delagoa was not a good place to stay in, in those days: liquor was cheap and bad; there was very little in the way of law and order; and every one took care of himself as well as he could.  The Kaffir kraals were close about the town, and the natives of the place were as rascally a lot of thieves and vagabonds as you could find anywhere.  The result was everlasting trouble with the waggon-boys and a chronic state of war between them and the natives and the banyans or Arab traders of the place.  The boys, with pockets full of wages, haggled and were cheated in the stores, and by the hawkers, and in the canteens; and they often ended up the night with beer-drinking at the kraals or reprisals on their enemies.  Every night there were fights and robberies: the natives or Indians would rob and half-kill a waggon-boy; then he in turn would rally his friends, and raid and clear out the kraal or the store.  Most of the waggon-boys were Zulus or of Zulu descent, and they were always ready for a fight and would tackle any odds when their blood was up. It was the third night of our stay, and the usual row was on.  Shouts and cries, the beating of tomtoms, and shrill ear-piercing whistles, came from all sides; and through it all the dull hum of hundreds of human voices, all gabbling together.  Near to us there was another camp of four waggons drawn up in close order, and as we sat talking and wondering at the strange babel in the beautiful calm moonlight night, one sound was ever recurring, coming away out of all the rest with something in it that fixed our attention.  It was the sound of two voices from the next waggons.  One voice was a kaffir's--a great, deep, bull-throated voice; it was not raised--it was monotonously steady and low; but it carried far, with the ring and the lingering vibration of a big gong. "Funa 'nyama, Inkos; funa 'nyama!"  ("I want meat, Chief; I want meat!") was what the kaffir's voice kept repeating at intervals of a minute or two with deadly monotony and persistency. The white man's voice grew more impatient, louder, and angrier, with each refusal; but the boy paid no heed.  A few minutes later the same request would be made, supplemented now and then with, "I am hungry, Baas, I can't sleep.  Meat!  Meat!  Meat!" or, "Porridge and bread are for women and piccaninnies.  I am a man: I want meat, Baas, meat."  From the white man it was, "Go to sleep, I tell you!" "Be quiet, will you?" "Shut up that row!" "Be still, you drunken brute, or I'll tie you up!" and "You'll get twenty-five in a minute!" It may have lasted half an hour when one of our party said, "That's Bob's old driver, the big Zulu.  There'll be a row to-night; he's with a foreigner chap from Natal now.  New chums are always roughest on the niggers." In a flash I remembered Bob Saunderson's story of the boy who had caught the lion alive, and Bob's own words, "a real fine nigger, but a terror to drink, and always in trouble.  He fairly wore me right out." A few minutes later there was a short scuffle, and the boy's voice could be heard protesting in the same deep low tone: they were tying him up to th e waggon-wheel for a flogging.  Others were helping the white man, but the boy was not resisting.