In January 1926, the young Herman Charles Bosman was sent as a novice teacher to a tiny school in the Marico District of the former Western Transvaal. He stayed less than six months, but the impression the region and its people made on him was seminal. Almost all his short stories are set in the Marico, many of them narrated by his famous storyteller, Oom Schalk Lourens, who has become one of South Africa’s historic literary characters.
During his time as a teacher, Bosman was inspired by the local bosvelders, and by the particular quality of the Marico landscape. His stories sketch a picture of the hardships of farmers and the cycles of life. It’s a world where drought, cattle raiders and rinderpest threaten; where shooting wild game, brewing coffee from the roots of the witgat and distilling mampoer are common practice. Bosman sought to capture what he called ‘the soul of the veld’.
For modern travellers, it is these evocations that we hold dear, for they colour and enhance our appreciation of this region. Thanks to conservation efforts, Madikwe Game Reserve looks much like it did in Bosman’s day: a wild place of big skies, vast plains and rocky inselbergs in a region where Bushveld and Kalahari meet. Comprising 750km2, this malaria-free reserve is famous for its African wild dogs, but it’s also great for Big Five viewing, and the wide range of habitats make for excellent birding, with more than 350 species recorded.
Our group of friends arrived hot and dusty from Joburg and entered Madikwe at Abjaterskop Gate. I remembered that Bosman’s schoolhouse was a two-roomed, thatched structure with a dung floor in the shadow of Abjaterskop. Close by was Zwingli trading store where Bosman bought his provisions.
It’s still there today, just south of Abjaterskop Gate on the R49.Many of the farms described by Bosman no longer exist, but quite a number have been incorporated into Madikwe. Wildlife that was so plentiful in Oom Schalk Lourens’s day had mostly been shot by the late 20th century, but is now back in wonderful abundance.
RockFig Lodge is a fenced-off oasis set on a koppie with gorgeous views of unspoilt bushveld dotted with inselbergs. The lodge is small and intimate, comprising just three self-contained villas and Inkwe Private Family House (which sleeps six). They are set far enough apart to ensure seclusion but within easy walking distance of the restaurant, bar and pool deck. Best of all is an underground hide beside a waterhole for close-up game viewing.
Tshukudu Villa where I stayed was modern and well appointed with a fully equipped kitchen, comfortable living room, large stoep, boma for braaiing, outdoor shower and private plunge pool.
After unpacking and settling in, we headed out on a game drive with experienced ranger Honest Sangweni. Khaki landscape, green magic-gwarri bushes, cobalt sky. The sightings came at regular intervals: waterbuck, zebra, giraffe, buffalo. We arrived at a dam where playful elephants sprayed themselves with mud. A rhino appeared and they turned their attention to the solo figure which backed off smartly.
Later, we came to Vleisfontein, once a Catholic mission, now the park’s headquarters. Oom Schalk recounts how the local predikant riled against the papists and their proselytising activities among the Bapedi. The remains of the mission – graveyard, chapel, fine accommodation buildings, surrounding fields once tended by Jesuits, and dams stocked with fish for Friday meals – are well worth a visit.
As the sun sank, Honest found us a spot for sundowners. Standing in the veld, with G&T in hand, I remembered that Oom Schalk’s fictional farm was near here, just north of the Dwarsberge and east of Abjaterskop, shaped like a camel’s hump on the horizon. Oom Schalk tells us that ghosts used to live on that koppie, and that it was the home of witches. Even though he didn’t really believe such nonsense, he used to spur his steed to a gallop through the poort, because ‘a horse is sensitive about things like ghosts and witches, and it was my duty to see my horse was not frightened unnecessarily’.
The ensuing days found a natural bushveld rhythm, with morning and evening game drives, and much lounging around our plunge pools during the heat of the day when the Kalahari vented its steamy breath. Our drives produced spectacular sightings: a cheetah mom and three cubs; lions galore, mostly recumbent and looking regal; giraffes lowering their necks to drink like toppling skyscrapers; and light-footed wild dogs on the hunt.
Our last day culminated in a lavish braai, lit by a bonfire and lanterns, with camp chairs drawn close and the stars shining uncannily bright. When others made for bed, I retired to the hide with my binoculars. The air was filled with a chorus of crickets and night jars. The waterhole lay just a few metres away, softly lit, almost at eye level. Antelope came and went like ghostly phantoms, hyena whoops rent the night.
Sitting there, Bosman’s words echoed in my head: ‘There is no other place I know that is so heavy with atmosphere, so strangely and darkly impregnated with that stuff of life that bears the authentic stamp of South Africa.’ Just so.
Justine Fox
