African Swansong - Chapter 1

 

African Swan Song - Chapter 1

Wednesday, March 13^th and Thursday, 14^th, 2024

Schipol Airport, Amsterdam at the giant teacup
restaurant,where one can pay $6-$7 
for a half size coffee!  

Cher and I left South Africa 33 years ago for the Great White North (Canada) in search of a new life. We were saying goodbye to the lands of our birth, South Africa (Rob), and Zambia (Cher), where we had enjoyed an idyllic life in the early days. In latter years we had witnessed the death throes of the great British Empire, on which the sun would never set, in Southern Africa.  Who would have imagined back then that Great Britain, which controlled 25% of the land surface of the earth at its zenith would go from greatest empire ever, to being a little blob off the west coast of Europe, within the space of one lifetime?

We had left our homeland with great sadness but felt that God was calling us to Canada. Our regret at leaving friends and family was offset by anticipation at the adventure that lay ahead. Well God is good and despite initially being poor missionaries we had somehow managed to return “home” every 2-3 years, and more recently every year, over the course of our 33 years.

Our ties to family in South Africa have remained strong, but as each decade has gone by various ones have passed on or moved on. Some have left SA for other parts of the world where opportunities have seemed more promising.  Last year Cher’s Mom died, leaving just her sister Lynne remaining of our parents and siblings. Lynne, who was her mom’s primary caregiver, looked around and realized that all of her kids have flown the coop and she was facing old age without any immediate family around. She has made the momentous decision to move to Wales where her son, Ian and wife Linda are pastoring.

This leaves Cher and I facing the realization that our key reason for visiting SA all these years, namely, family, is winding down. The trip we are currently embarking on has potential to be our last. It’s a sad thought, but if that’s the case we had better do some of the things we have always intended to, but never got to. It’s time to check off some Southern Africa bucket list items. Yiaa!

So, we are carping the diem and about to embark on what could easily be our Southern African swan song. Seven weeks of family, friends and furiously hitting the “been there, done that” button off or our bucket list.

Join us for the ride. It promises to be fun.

A five star breakfast at the City Lodge
set us up for the day of travel to Zimbabwe

It’s midnight on Thursday of the 14^th, our second day of travel. We have arrived safely at Oliver Tambo International Airport in Johannesburg and are checked into our City Lodge hotel at the airport. We’re exhausted but our bodies are telling us it’s really only 6pm, so we are lying in bed waiting for sleep to come and pay us a visit. What a luxury, to settle down into clean sheets, soft pillows and a bed one can stretch out on. I can feel sleep knocking at the door….sigh!

Friday March 15^th 

It’s 1pm and we are in the waiting area for our connection to Zimbabwe. It’s already been a good day. Eight hours of sleep and we are bright eyed and bushy tailed, ready for our third day of travel to our first destination, namely Falcon College, near Bulawayo in Zimbabwe.

A colorful beadwork Zebra at OR
Tambo Airport in Johannesburg 
makes us feel right at home. 

Angels along the way - We were walking down the looong connecting passage from the hotel to the airport and we had three great encounters in the space of 15 minutes. A young lady dressed in a local airline uniform, walking fast, gave me a big smile. It is a large airport, so I took the opportunity to get clear directions to where we were heading. That saved us a bit of confusion when we reached the terminal and I was thankful for her ready helpfulness. We had been lugging our fairly heavy luggage with us as there were no trolleys at the hotel. Out of the blue an orange clad porter appeared with a trolley in hand. Tight fisted as ever, we were determined to continue lugging our own with our failing energies. He was just as determined that we would not. He said, “Don’t worry Sir, if you don’t have anything to give me for helping you, God will look after me”. Well who could resist a line like that? With that settled, I was happily watching him sprint off with our luggage, when I reached for my wallet in my fanny pack to find a tip for him. Horror of horrors, my wallet wasn’t there. I knew I had put it there, before leaving the hotel a few minutes earlier. No sooner had that awful realization begun to sink in that I was walletless, than I heard a shout from behind. A man in a yellow outfit came running up, brandishing my OHIP Health Card and ….my wallet. “Is this yours?”, he says. I nearly kissed him. He had found it some way back down the passageway and had come looking for its’ owner.

OR Tambo Airport is a mix of modern,  but with
a distinctly colourful African look. 

Fully walleted again. I was able to thank my orange and yellow angels with a good size tip each, and thank the Lord, for what was promising to be a good day.

Zimbabwe – it’s in our DNA

My Dad used to have a saying – “Old soldiers never die, they just fade away”.  Our experience so far in meeting folks living in Zimbabwe, is that life is tough, but people seem to make a plan and life keeps going. Meet some of our companions along the way.

On the bus on the way to catch our plane we were left sitting on the tarmac for a few minutes. I  struck up a conversation with the lady alongside me, named Nicky.  She and her husband have lived in the Bulawayo area all of their lives. I asked her how  they managed with all of Zimbabwe’s economic woes. She and her husband sell commercial and residential real estate and he runs a couple of cattle ranches on the side, “But the  taxes have just been upped on most enterprises which will put most of us out of business”. She sighed, “but somehow, we always manage”.

The road to Falcon College wasn't really  wide
enough for two vehicles side by side. 

We left  Bulawayo in our shiny, new looking, rented, Toyota Corolla.  I had been a bit puzzled as to why the young guy delivering the car to us had gone to such great lengths to show me where the spare tire and jack were. It became obvious later. The mileometer read 92000 kilometres, but it felt like it was probably more like 392000. The 40km drive to Falcon College gave us a clue as to why. At one point the car in front of us was meandering across on the wrong side of the road and zig zagging hopelessly from side to side. We were puzzled, until we finally figured he was dodging potholes. 10 km from the school we turned off the main road and directly into the bush onto the paved road. The road was really only one car width wide, with a significant drop onto the gravel shoulder on either side. We drove down the middle of the road until an oncoming vehicle forced each of us to drop one set of tires down the lip onto the shoulder. Coming back up into the middle one just held one’s breath and hoped the tires wouldn’t rip with the jump back onto the tarmac. They say rental cars handle these kind of conditions so much better than one’s own vehicles so we were fine.

Entering this gate 60 years ago had always left
me with a sick feeling at the beginning of 
a new term. 

We were heading to my old boarding school, Falcon College, where I started at the tender age of 11, 60 years ago. They are celebrating their 70^th anniversary this year. We had notified them early enough that we were coming, that we got allocated to stay at the Headmaster’s house. We arrived in time to catch the tail end of a Board Meeting and got to meet a bunch of the Board members. They are an interesting bunch.

One them, Andy, was also a Falcon Old Boy, who left the school a year ahead of me. We chatted a bit. He is an amazing guy. He has run a security firm, which is big business over here, for many years, and at one point was employing over 1000 people, but he is now retired. He is into helping local Zimbabweans, who are struggling. His current project is that he has recently bought 1000 mango trees and his aim is to bless 1000 families with a mango tree alongside their house, so that they can enjoy some fresh fruit. He bemoaned the fact that he iDas old now and running out of time. His next project is to do with creating a self perpetuating bio digestor which breaks down compostable material, feeds fish, generatesfresh water and all kinds of other good things.

Dave van Wyk, the Headmaster on the left
and his ex Chair of the Board, Andrew. 

Dave van Wyk is  the Headmaster of the school. With close on 200 staff and 550 students he is the equivalent of a small town mayor. Dave’s mother, Thelma,  was visiting for the weekend. Her connection to Falcon is strong. Her grandfather had originally donated the farm that Falcon is now on, to be used for developing the school. Her father who I knew as Twick, had been a teacher during my time, and then Thelma, Twick’s daughter, had herself taught there for 13 years. Following her, is her son Dave, who is now the current Headmaster. Dave and his wife, Brenda, are leaving Falcon in three weeks’ time to take over the headship of a large private school in Germany. So this weekend is actually, the closing of an era for this family. They will all be bidding farewell to this school which their family has been involved in for four generations.

In all of my six years at Falcon, the Headmaster's
house was a place shroiuded in mystery. Now I 
was privy to its inner workings. 

Our accommodation whilst at Falcon is in the cottage at the Headmaster’s house. We have our own ensuite bathroom and even tea and coffee on demand. We are breathing African air and the sights and sounds of Africa are all around. We feel like royalty. God is good.

Saturday March 16^th

This was to be a big day at Falcon, called Founders Day.  This is the annual interhouse athletics day. Each house, which accommodates 70-80 teens, will have bragging rights for the next year, a keenly sought honor. A new tradition which has sprung up since my time has been that each house will vie to put on the best lunch feast that money and effort can provide. My house is George Grey and our color is yellow. We popped in to see what they were planning. We were warmly received and invited to join them for their pork and/or beef off the spit lunch. The front lawn was gaily decked out in a large marquee tent complete with bright yellow plastic chairs.

Our morning was spent taking in the atmosphere of tents, flags and being waited on hand and foot with tea, coffee and drinks of our choice. It was quite something. The athletics was going on in the background and I did my best to ignore the fact that George Grey was muddling along, a distant third in the rankings. Sadly, they never recovered from that spot.

The George Grey House - the front lawn all 
decked out in its festive colours. 

When lunch arrived, we made our way to the George Grey tent, and found we were late arrivals. There’s obviously a bit of local knowledge involved in getting a good seat. We were treated with something approaching awe. It seems that for anyone to have lived long enough to have attended the school sixty years ago, we must be special. We got a special mention in the inevitable speeches and lo and behold at the end we were presented with a bunch of George Grey loot, which I will treasure as long as these old bones keep moving.

An interesting fact is that many of the athletes were participating in their events barefoot. I managed to persuade four of the girls at the George Grey tent, to pose for a photo.

Shoeless George Grey girls - competing 
with the best. 

In the afternoon, we bumped into a group of guys from the Class of 68, meaning they left in 1968. They were my brother Alan’s contemporaries. Even though I was from the Class of 69, and normally Class of 68ers would not deign to speak to such a lowling, we did in fact chat quite amiably.

After the sports were over, the Falconians (Old Boys and Girls) were invited to a historical lecture about the local history in the area. It was indeed fascinating, and I, who love history, learnt a great deal that I had previously no knowledge of.

Class of 68 chit chatting chatting amiably 
with myself, a lowly Class of 69er. - that's me. 

When the Class of 68  and 69 attended Falcon we were a boys only school. We were stuck out in the bush for six years with our only options being to study and play sport. We were spared the trauma of having to figure out the ways of women. That was fine and dandy, but it did mean, that for most of us, when we left school at 17 or 18 we really had no clue what makes women tick. The Class of 68 and I agreed, that most of us are still trying to figure it out.

 Clearly this was a gap in what had otherwise been considered quite a good education. Since our time, some enlightened souls have decided it might be helpful if the Falcon boys could actually observe these strange creatures from a safe distance, and so for the last 20 years or so girls have been attending the school in ever increasing numbers. Definitely a good idea in my opinion.

Rob with the full Class of 68

In recognition of our honored Old Boy status we were given a guided tour of the girls dormitories. We were advised that if the sight of lines of hand washed panties hanging up on washlines would upset us, we should just avert our eyes.  It was good to see that old sense of Falconian gallantry was not yet dead. 

I guess it make sense that the most recently built house for students would be the best, but the girls definitely have very nice quarters. Hopefully the boys, who are banned from the girl’s house, never find out about it, otherwise there would be a riot. 

We ended our evening with a lovely outdoor meal on the deck of the new to us, Aquatic Center, under a brilliant African sky. Oh my goodness, how special can things get?

Sunday March 17^th

All the excitement is over. The visitors have gone home and we are having a quiet day with Dave and Brenda van Wyk and Thelma, Dave’s mom.

It turns out that Dave, amongst his other accomplishments is quite the cook. What you are seeing here is a typical "braai" aka "BBQ set up, with a grill which rotates over the fire, along with Dave cooking on a "skottle" 

L-R, Thelma, Cheryl, Brenda, Dave - eating a 
freshly cooked brunch in the African Bush

Another amazing development at Falcon, since my time, has been the conversion of much of the original old donated farm, into a private game reserve called Quiet Waters, It is kept solely for the benefit of students, staff, parents and Falconians, like me. The place has giraffe, zebra, wildebeest, hyena, impala and even a leopard  family. On weekends students can go and camp in groups of three or more. What school has that kind of fringe benefit? Go Falcon. 

Dave and Brenda decided to take us to Quiet Waters for an outdoor brunch. It was wonderful to get out into the bush, smell the smoke of an African woodfire and take it all in.

Cheryl anThelma chilling under the thatched shelter

We are now taking a siesta. Jet lag is still tugging at us, so a nap feels like the right thing for a few hours off.

Our afternoon was interrupted by Dave announcing that he had been summoned to one of the retired teachers’ homes to “remove a snake” which was terrorizing their cat. I considered offering to help, but not for long. I have a phobia about snakes. In my opinion the only good snake is a dead one. Dave returned some time later to announce that he had captured it, identified it as harmless and released it in his garden. I began to sweat. How many poisonous snakes had he previously released in his garden and were there any inhabiting our room? Ugh. I shuddered at the thought.

When I attended Falcon 60 years ago, it was a bit of a spiritual wasteland. We had lots of religion, but finding a relationship with God in amongst the tradition and ritual was a nonstarter, certainly as far as I was concerned. I had heard that, since my departure, a brave teacher, who I worked with later in life at Scripture Union, had started a Scripture Union group which was quite well attended. Sadly it had now fallen into decay.

Cheryl sitting in our family pew, purchased
by my brother Alan. 

Now that I was visiting Falcon in person, I thought it would be wonderful if I could address the students in one of their chapel services. I asked the Headmaster, what might be possible. It turns out that these days, they only have one voluntary chapel service on a Sunday evening, normally attended by about a quarter of the school. I was fine with that. They have recently done an addition to the chapel and Alan and I had both donated pews as part of the fundraising for the extension. Even if the students didn’t listen, I could initiate the new pews personally, with a good soaking of biblical perspective.

One of Alan's many accomplishments was to 
President of the Falconian Society
(Old Boys and Girls). 

The teacher in charge of chapel services agreed for me to speak quite happily. As it turned out, for some reason, about half of the school decided to attend that evening. Dave van Wyk said, he thought it might have something to do with the fact that at chapel the boys and girls are allowed to sit next to each other. Ah well….c’est la vie. A means to and end. I was happy to have a larger than normal audience.

The students were in charge of the service. At the beginning, the leadership team and Cher and I gathered around with arms around each other, and I was asked to pray. We then sang some very old choruses and it was over to me to speak. I was allocated 12 minutes for my slot, but “got caught up in the Spirit” and spoke for about 20  minutes. I shared my testimony briefly and then encouraged them from Proverbs 3.5-6, Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make straight your paths”. 

Rob, addressing Falcon College students, 60 
years after his first Chapel Service. Been
there, done that, check. 

It was hard to gauge the response from the students. Mostly they just sat there, politely listening. They didn’t obviously seem to catch on to the jokes I cracked or the wise words I had to share. At the end the Head Girl of the school and one student came and thanked me. Dave van Wyk, the principal told me that I was “spot on” and had spoken the perfect length of time.  He probably tells all the visiting speakers that. The Housemaster for George Grey had come especially to hear me speak and he was encouraging. 

Well that was that. Been there, done that Check. I was very thankful for the opportunity to speak in that place and also to find signs of spiritual life amongst the students which had been sorely lacking in my day.  

Even the bus with all the luggage on top didn't 
phase us. I dd have to drive on the "wrong" side
of the road for a while to get the right angle. 

Monday, March 18^th

Today is a travel day. We were up earlyish, had a brief breakfast, said our farewells and hit the road. Our drive back into Bulawayo was more relaxed than our drive to the school the previous Friday. Less traffic and apparently  even less potholes. Maybe I’m getting acclimatized back into Africa with its more laissez faire attitudes.

We had allowed a half hour to do some vital shopping in Bulawayo. Ten years ago, I had attended the Falcon College 60^th anniversary celebrations with my two brothers and brother in law. I had noticed that the students were wearing these cool navy blue floppy cricket hats sporting an impressive Falcon crest. There were none on sale anywhere. I asked one of the students how much I could buy his hat for. This Falcon boy, alert as to an entrepreneurial opportunity, looked me in the eye, summed me up as somewhere between keen and desperate, took a deep breath and said, “$50”. I wasn’t that desperate and turned down his offer.

Fast forward ten years and I was determined that this trip I was going to acquire one of those cool hats. Unfortunately, despite the array of Falcon related trinkets and paraphernalia on sale on the sports day, the cricket hats were still not available. I was advised I could buy them at the school uniform shop in Bulawayo. We dutifully navigated our way there en route to the airport. The helpful shop assistant promptly produced a smart looking navy blue Falcon floppy cricket hat. Perfect – my ten year quest was over. Until I tried it on. Too small. “Sorry”, says the helpful lady, “this is the only size we have”. My heart sank. I had thought my much anticipated quest was over, only to have my hopes dashed. Seeing my crestfallen look, she said, “but what about a white one?” Beggars can’t be choosers. I left the shop, an almost fully satisfied customer. The clincher was they were selling for $9. The ten year wait had proved worthwhile. Slow and steady wins the race.

We noticed an interesting security feature at the Bulawayo airport. We checked our baggage as normal and then proceeded through security into the departure lounge. After a while a couple of trolleys with our baggage on board was wheeled up to the door of the departure lounge. We then had to go outside and identify our baggage, which was then marked with a chalk cross and re-loaded onto the trolley for loading onto the plane. I was puzzled by this, but then realized that if I was a potential plane bomber and didn’t want to go down with the ship/plane, I could have checked my bags with bombs on them and then left the airport and skipped the flight.  By implementing this low tech approach, any unchalked baggage just wouldn’t fly. If one wants to be a plane bomber, one must be committed enough to go down with the plane. Quite clever.

On our flight from Bulawayo to Johannesburg, we got chatting to a well-dressed looking lady who had lived in Zimbabwe all her life. She said, life is hard, but most of her children still live there, so that’s what counts. It turns out she is 84 years old. She leaned over conspiratorially and confided. “I have a boyfriend who lives in Harare, the capital city, We don’t live together.  I don’t believe in that, but we do go away and have holidays together”. It was quite sweet.

L-R Heather, Rob, Rob, Cheryl on the verandah
of their upscale Retirement Village. 

We were met at the airport by our good friends Rob and Heather Lewis, who took us to their home in Pretoria. Rob and I attended university together and were very involved in the Christian work on our campus and we attended the same church. We go back a long way. We had a very pleasant evening refreshing our friendship over a lovely meal, sitting on their back verandah on a perfect African evening. The evening was ended with a massive lightning storm and some good rain.

Tuesday March 19^th

Rob and Heather live in a Retirement Village to die for. It is set around a lake which was originally an old quarry. It has cottages, apartments and frail care. It has gorgeous restaurants and a lovely deck overlooking the lake. We had breakfast there and continued with the effortless conversation which are a by product of a life long friendship. It was sad to think, this may be one of the last times we would get to do this together.

Today is a travel day. We are heading for Gquebera, formally Port Elizabeth. The new name is unpronounceable for many so its commonly known as PE. We are headed for Saint Francis Bay to visit my sister-in-law Maureen and two of her children, Janine and Doug. This will be our fifth flight in less than a week and so far nothing has gone wrong Hold thumbs.