Hiking Beyond Cape Town by Nina du Plessis and Willie Olivier

I will start by saying that I pretty much grew up in and around Cape Town's mountain hiking trails. My parents were both avid hikers, and from a young age I was dragged up all manner of places – some of them rather daunting, like the infamous hike around the Hout Bay Sentinel (not for the faint of heart). So as someone who still enjoys the occasional excursion, a book like Hiking Beyond Cape Town by Nina du Plessis and Willie Olivier is pretty much a keeper.

This slim volume offers a range of options that will broaden horizons, and is both informative, with beautiful photos, plus also an overview of what to expect in terms of fauna and flora of the Cape region (so I'm guessing this will also make a nifty gift to enthusiastic out-of-town friends who'd like several reasons for return visits).

The book is divided by region, with popular hikes in the Northern Suburbs, the Helderberg, Overberg, the Winelands, and also further afield to locations such as Waenhuiskrans, Cogmanskloof Trail, and others. The authors give practical advice on what to pack and how to plan for your excursions, which is useful to those who're not au fait with hiking in the Cape mountains.

Each hike is accompanied by an informative information panel for location, parking availability, highlights, elevation, grade, distance/duration, the best times for a visit, important information, and availability of maps, permits, and entry times, as well as facilities/amenities, and any other activities that are on offer. The authors then give their own experiences in getting there and what they know of the area, so that by the time you're on the hike, you have a pretty good idea of what to expect, with a little background information to boot. What I especially like is that they give information for which trails are dog-friendly. Of course etiquette dictates that you keep Fido on a lead whenever you are in a wild area, as you don't want to have him bounding off chasing any wildlife.

For me this is a particularly valuable book because of late, I've felt that my old haunts are now so overcrowded with trail runners and cyclists, that it's nigh on impossible to enjoy the mountains like I used to when I was a wee sprite. And while this book is not exhaustive, it's a good starting point for those who perhaps are not an experienced hiker, while also giving insights to other areas that are off the beaten track for those of us who're accustomed to the familiar. 

This book may be small, but it's also chock full of wonderful photos to whet the appetite, and is a gateway to encouraging folks to get out and appreciate all the wonder and beauty of the Cape Floral Kingdom.

Travel: Klein Karoo breakaway

I'm mixing up the usual bookish stuff with one of my first loves: travel writing. I think with the whole pandemic many of us have been suffering severe cabin fever. All through 2019, one of my greatest wishes was to see the Karoo again, where my dad was born and grew up. I can't help but feel a bit misty-eyed when I listen to my mom's stories about when they lived in De Aar, and also remember my dad's stories about what it was like to grow up in sleepy little dorpies like Hanover and Aberdeen. Damn, I miss the old guy.

Me? Well, I grew up on the Atlantic seaboard in a sleepy little seaside village called Hout Bay. My grandfather was a fisherman and a farmer, and my mom eventually met my father in the Overberg town of Caledon, where they were both teaching during the late 1950s. 

So for me to revisit these places it's often with a strong dose of bittersweet nostalgia – I was what we affectionately call a laatlammetjie (late lamb) – more an afterthought when my parents were already in their 40s. So they'd lived a whole life before me. As much as I have the Atlantic Ocean in my blood, I have an equal yearning for the big sky country of the Karoo, for this ancient sea bed now raised high above sea level, where during the past the therapsids roamed (our ancestors who were the bridge between dinosaur and mammal).

I'm in my happy place

In particular, I've had an itch to revisit the old volstruispaleis (ostrich palace) Wolverfontein (wolf fountain?), situated just next to the abandoned railway siding Plathuis (flat house). Currently under the ownership of Andre Hagan and Ashley Brownlee, there's accommodation available in the converted Waenhuis (wagon house) and Zara Cottage (where the old headmaster used to live). The former is perfect for couples, while the latter sleeps six and is ideal for families or close-knit friends who want to have a long weekend of kuier (visiting/chilling). 

Since we live in the far south peninsula, our route takes us along the coastal R310, past Strandfontein and Khayelitsha, then onto the N2 via Somerset West and over the breathtaking Sir Louwry's pass, which gives you the last glimpse of the sleeping giant of Table Mountain across the Cape Flats.

Then you enter apple country, of Elgin/Grabouw, and it's as if you've slipped into the Shire, where it wouldn't be inconceivable to encounter hobbits living in their holes. (Nice holes, mind you.) We sometimes stop at The Orchard farm stall (they have excellent pies) but this time we shot through to Swellendam in one fell swoop as we needed to collect my mum. 

Then, to one of my favourite mountain passes – we could take the road to Ashton and thence on to Montagu, but we prefer to take the picturesque Tradouwpas (Women's Pass in the old Khoisan language) that winds its way over the Langeberge and spits you right out by Barrydale. The contrast between Barrydale and Swellendam couldn't be more stark. Swellendam receives a remarkable amount of orographic rain thanks to its mountain range with its deep, folded kloofs where patches of Afromontane forest persist between the endemic fynbos. But by Barrydale, the fynbos of the mountain peaks gives over to Karoo scrub and succulents, where Aloe mitroformis create occasional flame-like inflorescences. A canny plant spotter can spend hours identifying all manner of succulents, including mesembryanthemums, asclepiads, euphorbia, and crassulacea. I've forgotten so much of what used to roll off the tip of my tongue.

This is a land of mesas, and folded sandstone heights. Keep your eye open and you might see graceful springbok pronking alongside the road. Steppe buzzards, pale chanting and gabar goshawk, white-necked ravens, and other corvids, and not to forget the countless LBJs (little brown jobs) flitting away. I did have a glimpse of a Karoo robin and many mossies (sparrows). Occasionally I even spotted majestic Verreaux's eagles soaring on the thermals. There is so much life here, if you know where to look.

The rivers here in the Klein Karoo rarely run, and stock farming has largely been replaced with game farms and private game reserves – which is good. It gives the veld a chance to recover from the unnatural disaster inflicted by domestic livestock.

Me and mum

After lunch at the deliciously eclectic Diesel and Crème on the R62 in Barrydale (where at every occasion my husband tries to induce a diabetic coma with their insanely decadent milkshakes) we hit the last stretch, blew past the infamous Ronnie's Sex Shop / Pompstasie (hurr-hurr), and took the Plathuis turnoff to the left just across the Touwrivier bridge. It's easy to miss, so don't be in too much of a rush. Here the tarmac gives way to a well-graded gravel road, and you drive for about 10 or so minutes until you pass Touwberg Private Game Reserve on your right and almost immediately after on your left you'll see the sign for Wolverfontein. The first thing you'll see is the signature orange gables of the old farm house, and you enter by typical aluminium plaashekke (farm gates) which you must asseblief close behind you.

The property is tucked behind a koppie, just beneath the remains of the largely abandoned Plathuis community (there are a few residents, but most of the properties are clearly holiday homes, if that).

Wolverfontein offers a typical Karoo view across the alluvial plain of the Touw River, and nature's colour palette here is a combination of rust, blond grass, blue skies and olive greenery. During the height of summer, it's almost a wasteland, and yet the stark beauty has a way of crawling into your soul. This time, the area had seen a bit of rain, and the difference in appearance couldn't be more different. So green – for the Karoo, that is.

The accommodation is wonderfully kitsch and colourful, with a Tretchikoff in almost every room, with vintage clocks, furnishings and a to-die-for braai area out back with a raised fire pit. Perfect for klippies en coke (or in our case, homemade ginger beer and Jim Beam for those who still drink booze). I must add a disclaimer, that the only time my poor husband ever braais is when we're on holiday. He's not half bad at it. 

The first night we slept like the dead. Literally. Because we only woke at nine-thirty the next morning. Which is understandable considering how stressed out of our brackets we are currently with work. But we got our slow start, had a slow breakie, then headed out to Ladismith for the day so we could go have lunch. I suspect most of this weekend was spent eating. But that's what breakaways are about, aren't they?

There is no cellphone reception in the dip where we stayed, but our hosts, helpfully provided their WiFi passwords which we could then access the web if we wander up to the volstruispaleis – an activity we embarked upon several times a day so we could post pictures and check up on our housesitter (dogs were fine, thank goodness). 

Mom and I did the typical thing to see who was buried in the small cemetery, and predictably there was at least one or two there who might be distant relations (small gene pool of our ancestors spread out in this area). What was particularly heartbreaking was seeing all the children's graves, and even one where the woman (age 30) clearly died in childbirth, with her unnamed 'en baba' (and baby) buried with her. There's a sorrowful tale there. The small headstones with the tiny piles of rocks, unmarked, and now decades later unremembered. Cue my usual existential angst, but hey, that's what I thrive on. I don't want to be buried. I'd rather have my ashes scattered to the wind somewhere in the Karoo.

Before our trip, I went and downloaded the Sasol eBirds 5th edition app and probably drove everyone crazy playing bird calls. It's a rad app, especially considering that I didn't feel like lugging my old Robert's Bird Book from the late 1980s along. It's horribly out of date and not half as user friendly as the app. I positively identified a resident pair of (almost as noisy as Egyptian geese) shelduck.

A word on the water – the water from the taps is so brak (salty) that it's like brushing your teeth with seawater. It's fine for doing the dishes and showering, but our hosts provide a big covered container for our drinking water, which is sweeter than rain.

The kitchen has everything you need and a super sized fridge. Just bring your food – they even have a coffee plunger. Beds are super comfortable, and though there was a nip in the air already, with it being May, we weren't absolutely freezing. (I'm sure that's still coming with winter.) Wood is provided, though we eschewed the firelighters to rather use fynhoutjies (fine wood) collected in the veld. A bit more of a challenge to start a fire, but it feels more authentic.

We weren't visiting long enough to borrow the spare mountain bikes, but for MTB enthusiasts, there are numerous amazeballs trails in the neighbouring Touwsberg reserve. You may even luck out and see the eight resident giraffe, or gemsbok and kudu, if you're lucky. We just saw lots of LBJs, and although the dirt roads were well graded, my husband was still a bit wary about driving our Ford Fiesta so far into the wilderness without us having access to cellphone signal in case of emergency. We saw not a soul. Absolute splendid isolation. 

What I like about Wolverfontein is that it's far enough away from Cape Town to make you feel like you're in the veld. We didn't have the stamina to do the picturesque Seweweekspoort drive, but that is well worth the adventure. Ladismith is a good place to buy your groceries and scratch that itch if you want to go out for lunch, and you can use Wolverfontein as a base of operations for the many activities and routes available in the area. 

A word on our hosts – Ashley and Andre are wonderful, attentive, and make sure you have everything you need. And they also give you your space, which is fantastic. This is seriously one of those places where you can determine what you want to do and when, with minimal fuss – so reminiscent of the kinds of holidays I had as a child when we regularly visited the Cederberg. Although I daresay the Plathuis area is a bit more isolated now than what the Cederberg used to be. You'll also get to meet the resident Ridgeback dogs who come to visit and find out if you've left any treats lying around (don't feed them). 

This has been our second visit, and it won't be our last. I'm determined to experience part of a Karoo winter here later this year. The rates are so super reasonable I'm tempted to say it's a steal, but for the best rates, book through Wolverfontein's website and ask for a discount. You'll want to stay a minimum of two nights, but if you can take an entire week off, I promise you, you will not regret it.

100 Bushveld Trees by Megan Emmett Parker

My identification of trees remains sketchy at best, so 100 Bushveld Trees by Megan Emmett Parker (photographs by Shem Compion) is a perfect volume for me to dip in a little more. Even though I'm based in the Western Cape, many of the trees mentioned in this book do occur here in gardens and parks, so this is was not a complete loss for me.

While this little book is by no means an exhaustive volume, it's perfect for those of us who do have an interest in the flora of southern Africa and need a departure point to enrich their knowledge. Beautifully laid out, this book gives readers a 101 on the terminology used for the structure of trees, from their overall shape down to their leaves, bark, fruit, flowers and other identifying features. 

Thereafter, the sections are divided according to giant trees, spiky trees, simple leaves, compound leaves and more to help pinpoint basic characteristics – which is helpful if you need to narrow down. Each species covered is then introduced in terms of its uses, as well as accompanying characteristics, from bark and leaf to flowers and fruit. Each is also clarified with relevant photos to assist in identification – very useful.

What struck me after reading through this was how incredibly useful many of our species are – not only for the wood, but also in many cases traditional medicines and edible fruit. I certainly came away from this reading with a much greater appreciation for the complexities of our indigenous tree species and the important roles they play within our ecosystems – not only providing shelter but food as well. 

Dub Steps by Andrew Miller

Let me start by saying that Dub Steps by Andrew Miller was not quite the novel I expected when I started reading it. The premise hooked me, for sure. But what the ride was entirely unexpected in all the best ways. If you're expecting a TWD setting sans zombies, this is not your book. What you will get is a strangely reflective meandering on the meaning of life interspersed with people trying to figure out what they want while coping with a new reality where more than 99.99% of humankind simply winked out of existence in the blink of an eye. (You'll find out why, near the end, never fear, and it won't quite be what you expected.)

How the remnants cope, varies, and in the telling of their uncovering of their new world and the absurdity of the human condition, we get to know a variable cast of personalities. What I appreciated the most about Miller's writing is the way he humanised even the most unfortunate in his cast. Roy, our incredibly unreliable narrator, sets out on a journey that ends up being both inward and outward. Crippled by his sense of never fitting in, he nonetheless takes on a role within his tiny community of survivors in a South Africa transformed by its people's absence.

Miller manages to pack so much into this book. It is both poignant and pithy, and delivers so much social commentary, even if Roy's constant awkwardness and contrary nature got to me. He's exactly the kind of dude I'd love to hate, yet I couldn't help but feel fond of him. He's a sort of broken-wing, mediocre everyman, and a somewhat tragic figure who stumbles through his world. And yet Roy also displays uncommon wisdom at times, which redeems him as he compulsively attempts to chronicle the world that was – as if that will somehow help him understand what went wrong not only in his life but also preserve the story of the world that was.

While Dub Steps can be considered a work of dystopian science fiction, it's so much more than that. And much in the same way that our lives are messy, often unfinished and all over the place, this is a story that celebrates not only the ephemeral fragility of our existence, but shares the uncommon moments of unbridled joy. This is not an easy read, but it's one that I'll recommend, even if it left me feeling sad and somewhat scratchy behind the eyes by the time I was done.

Beachcombing in South Africa by Rudy van der Elst

One of my earliest memories involves going for walks on the beach with my family. We often found such magical items such as mermaid's purses, cuttlefish shells and sometimes, if we were lucky (or early) even paper nautilus shells. We once even found a boomerang! So it was with a fair amount of nostalgia that I picked up Beachcombing in South Africa by Rudy van der Elst.

This light, easy-to-read guide gives a very basic overview of what one can expect to find while on the beach, be it items that are from the sea, such as shells, jellyfish or fish, to items that have floated on the tide such as seeds from trees or manmade flotsam and jetsam. In case you were interested, yes, there is a difference between flotsam and jetsam, and you'll find out what that is.

Due to the scope of the book, there isn't space for Van der Elst to go into any great detail about any of the topics, but he does provide a good jumping off point for those wishing to dig deeper (the references and further reading section right at the end will provide loads of content to seek out).

Each section is amply illustrated with informative photos and info panels, that offers a taste of information that will at least lend seekers with some authority when explaining what they've found – especially useful I reckon to parents embarking on a seaside holiday with kiddos. There is some indication of the legalities and protocol to keep in mind when finding certain objects, and what to do when encountering sea mammals and birds in distress. The useful contacts and numbers right at the end is also a nice touch.

All in all, this is a useful book, and if you're one of the lucky sods who has a beach house, get yourself a copy to leave there for those seaside holidays.

Wild Karoo by Mitch Reardon

My friends know I'm one of those peculiar individuals who seeks solitude in South Africa's Karoo regions, so when the opportunity presented itself to review Mitch Reardon's Wild Karoo, I put up my hand immediately for a copy. This book is every serious lover of the Karoo's wildest dream come true, in which Reardon takes readers on an adventure that starts at the Bontebok National Park just outside of Swellendam in the Western Cape, and travels through the many (and varied) Karoo regions, including the magical Little, Great, Tankwa, Hantam, Namaqualand, Cederberg, Camdeboo and more.

My only complaint is that the book itself could have been elevated to the rarified status of coffee table book, because the current size simply doesn't do Reardon's stunning photography justice. Not only is the photography wonderful, but so is Reardon's writing, as he exquisitely and effortlessly evokes the landscape and its wildlife, as well as the people who live in these regions – farmers, game rangers, researchers. So while the immediacy of some of the interviews may lead to the content of the book dating somewhat over the years, I do believe that it exists as an important snapshot for the status of the Karoo regions at the time of publishing while also highlighting the delicate balance of the assorted regions.

Reardon weaves in snippets of history, from our past explorers and indigenous people in a way that is sensitive but also aware of the great impact that our species has had on the land. And believe me, there are some stories here that will make any ardent nature-lover weep and gnash their teeth – for instance the extinction of species such as the quagga and the blue antelope, as well as the great injustice suffered by the San. While there is currently much doom and gloom in terms of the environment worldwide, Reardon also paints a picture of hope – that here in South Africa we have people who are working hard to find solutions that will preserve our wild places for future generations. He argues most eloquently for the importance that these last refuges for wilderness hold for us, and that a dynamic way forward by building sustainable communities and use around the land is what we need. The truth is that our species has thrown nature's delicate balance out of kilter, and it is up to us to take up the challenge of stewardship.

Wild Karoo finds a permanent spot in my collection, not only as a source book for research, but also thanks to its inspirational nature. And now I'm already planning where my next Karoo adventure will take place. If you love South Africa's wild places and want to be inspired with a story that gives you hope that not all is lost, then this is it.

Cuddle Me, Kill Me by Richard Peirce

I remember my first encounter with lions like it was yesterday. I was about eight or nine, and my parents took me on a trip upcountry so we could visit family in Pretoria. One of the attractions we saw along the way was a lion park near Joburg. But perhaps the biggest appeal to the experience was that I got to feed the lion cubs afterwards, and had my photo taken with them. We were told that the cubs were orphaned, and that they were being bred for “conservation purposes”. Little did I know back then that in all likelihood, these cubs were never intended to be released in the wild but were almost certainly destined for the canned lion hunting industry. We were being fed one of the most common lies spewed by unethical operators.

Cuddle Me, Kill Me by Richard Peirce picks up where films like Blood Lions did much to blow the lid off of one of South Africa’s greatest shames – the large-scale breeding of predators for commercial purposes.

This is not an easy book to read, because it brings me face to face with the ethics of captive breeding of lions and other large predators. I ask myself, is this any different than our factory farming of livestock for consumption? What makes it right for us to enjoy bacon when we disparage lion farming? It makes me examine the human relationship with other sentients on this planet, and I don’t like what I see.

The crux of the matter, as put forward by Peirce, is that captive breeding of lions has absolutely no conservation value whatsoever. Lion farms do not create more jobs or boost the economy significantly, no matter what the Department of Environmental Affairs says; breeding farm workers are more often than not foreigners who pay to volunteer raising cubs that are in most instances removed from their mothers within days of being born. They think they're helping, but in actual fact, they're being exploited, just like the gullible public who want that cute picture posing with a sweet, adorable lion cub (ever wonder what happens to Simba when he's not so cute and cuddly anymore?). And it gets ugly when you think about how these beautiful creatures are inbred, raised in unsuitable, unsanitary cages only to be released in enclosures for hunters to come make a kill where the lion stands absolutely no chance to escape. Where some rich, clueless foreigner pays thousands of dollars just so he can get his kicks shooting an animal that never stood a fighting chance.

Peirce highlights (and here I agree with him totally) that this need to collect trophies is an outdated, outmoded concept that dates back to colonial attitudes, that does not take into consideration a more holistic African environmentalist approach where we aim to live in harmony with nature instead of treating it as a commodity solely for our commercial benefit. He shows us that our government is quite clearly out of touch with a global movement towards environmentalism, and that it panders to Asian markets in allowing the trade in lion parts now that tigers have been all but decimated.

Okay, this was a thoroughly depressing book, but it was so, so necessary for me to read it. It hurt like all hell, if I’m honest. I understand that the only way we will change the situation for the thousands of noble beasts that are being treated no better than battery chickens is if we, as citizens, do our bit to halt the demand for lion tourism activities such as “walking with lions” and cub petting, for starters. Equally, the demand for animal products in Asia should be addressed – though that is beyond the scope of this review to address.

Hats off to Peirce for the important work that he’s done with this book that has been years in the making. It’s difficult to remain objective when it comes to such a hot-button topic, but he does a good job to try give all players the benefit of the doubt, though in all good conscience, I fall on the side of those who are firmly against trophy hunting of large predators. And I sure as hell cannot condone lion farming. Not after what I’ve learnt.

What can you do? Peirce supplies a handy appendix at the end of this book of organisations and initiatives that are working *for* lions in an ethical way. I reckon I need to look into supporting the ones closest to me. As for the rest, I’ll remain vocal about my opinions about those who who turn lions into a commodity. I can probably go on for a bit, but I’ll stop here by saying is that if you care about the fate of the king of beasts, then go read this book. Talk it up. Support the people and organisations who are working towards actual conservation.

Living Shores by George Branch and Margo Branch

Living Shores by George and Margo Branch is a one-of-a-kind book that deserves a spot in any reference library worth its salt. I’ve always been a bit of a conservationist nut, and for me this beautiful hardcover book was an absolute treat.

The authors start from the bottom up, showing how the many complex systems active in our oceans interact – from the tides and the landmasses, all the way up to the winds, currents and plankton, as well as the life that depends on it. It’s not just the sea out there, but an incredibly complex web of life. While there is a lot of technical and scientific explanations in this book, the overall friendly tone of Living Shores makes it accessible even for those of us who are not actual marine biologists!

While this hefty tome took me a bit longer to read than expected (it’s well and truly packed with information), I came away from the experience feeling as if I’d learnt an incredible amount about southern Africa’s oceans and the life on its shores (at least to make me feel better about the fact that I never did end up pursuing a career in conservation). I have a newfound respect for the people whose lives revolve around research; they most certainly are the often unsung heroes for the environment.

Something else that I realised while reading this book was that we, as a species, are inextricably linked to the wellbeing of the ocean. We have a massive impact on the environment, and therefore it is absolutely vital that we, collectively, take steps to look after the ocean. And yes, the effects of plastic and pollution are almost too awful to consider.

Life in the ocean and along its shores is linked in a delicate balance often thrown way out of kilter by our impact on the environment. Yet nature is resilient and forgiving, so long as we learn from our mistakes. That is the one positive message I ended up with. It is possible for us to use and enjoy the ocean’s resources sustainably. (So it’s not all doom and gloom – there have been some remarkable success stories in terms of conservation.)

Living Shores is a remarkable resource, and one that will have a permanent spot in my collection. This book has highlighted how special our southern oceans are and why it is important for us as a species to understand how we can work with nature instead of against it.

Hap by Lesley Beake

I'm going to start by saying that Hap by Lesley Beake absolutely deserves gold for the 2017 Sanlam Youth literature Prize. In this tale, we discover the world according to Lucy, 16, who's been packed off by her mum in NYC to go spend a few weeks with her father, Peter, in South Africa.

Peter is busy on a dig on the West Coast, somewhere near Lambert's Bay (that's about all I can find out about the location of Barclay Bay). It's quite a change from the air-conditioned apartment in the city, but Lucy needs her space. She's recently had something awful happen to her, and needs time and space to remember and deal with the event.

The entire novel seems to exist in a dream-like state – and there's not much that happens beyond Lucy reconciling with her (relatively) absent father, working through her own dark teatime (being rejected by your mother is a terrible thing) and then the events that happen on the dig. We have a large-ish cast of wonderfully eccentric secondary characters who add interest and some conflict to the narrative. There's a storm. The descriptions of the environment are absolutely gorgeous. And then there are the sort-of visions that Lucy has about the enigmatic Hap, her counterpart who lived here many thousands of years ago. I loved the fact that it's left open-ended as to whether Lucy merely had an active imagination or whether she in fact did tap into a distant past.

This is a story about life, and about the connections made between people, and how even though thousands of years separate us from our ancestors, we still have the same needs – to be loved and to endure. And it's also about connecting to that sense of belonging and being part of the land that has formed our bones.

I enjoyed seeing Lucy gradually unfold – and this very much is a novel about coming to terms with hurt and moving beyond it – a story containing subject matter that is often difficult to write about sensitively. (A hint: Beake nails this, BTW. Much better than many authors I've seen over the past while.)

Hap will stay with me for a long, long time. It might be because I already have a massive interest in archaeology – so having a novel immersed in the day-to-day (and rather unglamorous) doings of archaeologists most certainly worked for me. Lucy herself may be at times be self-absorbed (but it's understandable why), but her perceptions of the world around her and the people with whom she interacts make for a fully immersive story. Beake's writing is lyrical and evocative, and I cannot recommend this book enough – whether you are a teen or a teen-at-heart.

Louis Botha's War by Adam Cruise

The moment I saw Louis Botha's War by Adam Cruise, I knew it was a book I needed to read. I'm fascinated by South Africa's complex history, and I was looking for a book that would not only be accessible for someone like me who's not au fait with politics, while also filling in the blanks in terms of history.

Louis Botha is not a figure who's lauded much, yet I know of him because of the statue that is situated outside of the parliament buildings in Cape Town. In terms of South African history, it's still curious (to me) why we'd have a statue of an old Boer general up. Well, now I know.

When Louis Botha was prime minister of the South African union, the Anglo Boer War was still front of mind for many South Africans. Botha had the unenviable task of putting a unified army in the field when the UK requested that South Africa invade what was then German South West Africa. How I read the book, it's my opinion that the South West African campaign (1914-1915) was primarily a European war fought on African soil, the bastard offspring of colonial powers' weakening grip on the continent.

Cruise focuses on the military tactics Botha and his opponents employed. He discusses the incredible difficulties the armies faced; knowing Namibia, it's not exactly a landscape you go waltzing into. The extremes in temperature and lack of water make it daunting to travel by land across the country now even. Back then, when warfare in Africa was still largely fought by infantry, cavalry and artillery, with minimal support courtesy of motorised vehicles ... I garner fresh respect for what Botha achieved. Aircraft were only starting to be used in warfare, though the railway proved to be absolutely vital too.

Yet this is not just a dry book about military tactics. Cruise also looks into the socio-political reverberations caused by this war, such as the rebellion that occurred in the union, as well as the later effects that bloomed into full-scale Afrikaner nationalism. Our history is incredibly complex.

Namibia itself is a land that holds special fascination for me, and I admit this is partially due to the fact that I'm married to a Namibian, and we've visited the country a few times. I've fallen irrevocably in love with the wide-open spaces and the incredible diversity of the landscape that can be at times barren and desolate (and eerily beautiful) or the alien qualities of locations like the oasis Goanikontes. What Cruise does exceptionally well is combine a narrative of the conflict with little tastes of the history of the land, so that places I've visited (like the grassy plains just beyond Aus) come to life for me in terms of the past.

Louis Botha is revealed as a remarkable individual – not just a statesman (and the devil knows we have few enough of those these days) but also a shrewd warrior. It's doubtful that we have people like this as decision makers in these days of celebrity presidents and career politicians. Granted, Cruise doesn't shy away from the fact that Botha himself was less than perfect (his attitude towards non-Europeans are typical of his time) but he does come across as a reasonable man who was considerably less extreme in his views than Herzog, Verwoerd and his ilk.

Cruise gives Botha his due in this slim volume that is easy to read, both informative and fascinating, with well balanced content. I certainly feel as if I have a firmer grip on southern African history of a time period that I was fuzzy about, and in such a way that I engaged with the book from cover to cover.

Guide to Sieges of South Africa by Nicki von der Heyde

I've been interested in the forces that shaped South Africa's history for a long while now, particularly the Anglo-Boer war, so when I had the opportunity to read Guide to Sieges of South Africa (Struik Travel & Heritage, Penguin Random House South Africa 2017) by Nicki von der Heyde, I grabbed the book with both hands.

By no means an exhaustive account, Guide to Sieges of South Africa nevertheless gives a good introduction to some of the conflict that occurred in South Africa, including the frontier wars between the British and the Xhosa, the Zulu, and of course the two Anglo-Boer wars. Nicki's style is engaging and conversational, and brings each siege to life. In addition to a run-down of the individual conflicts, she also sketches an overview of the events that took place that led up to the siege. Each section not only has a wealth of photographic images supporting it, but also information boxes with facts and anecdotes, maps and information for those wishing to use the book as a travel guide. So there's a lot going on here, and it's well put together for such a slim volume.

If anything (and as someone who didn't get the opportunity to study history while at school) I came away with a far better appreciation of my country's tumultuous past and the disastrous effects that European colonisation had on the indigenous people. War is an ugly thing, for sure, but I do believe it's important that we have an understanding of the past so that we don't repeat the same mistakes.

That being said, I found the smaller details, of the day-to-day endurance of defenders and attackers fascinating, how people overcame challenges despite all the horrors around them. All too often I've driven past some of these locations without an understanding of the history attached and the conflict that occurred, and Nicki has done an excellent job bringing this all to life. This is a lovely book that is very much useful to include in a reference library or to enrich your next road trip.

Into the leafy greenwood...

Thinking back now, I'm not quite sure how or when I first heard about Platbos forest, but when I took the time to read up about it, I knew it was one of those places I was dying to see. Even better, it's situated within driving distance of home – on the road between Stanford and Gansbaai. As much as I'd have loved to have gone to stay over in the location's accommodation, this was a feasible day trip for us as well.

Special note: Taking a drive through the Overberg during mid- to late-August is always a treat because the flowering canola fields are *spectacular*. This day's colour palette was a combination of shocking canary yellow splashes against vivid green and aquamarine sky filled with wispy clouds. Take the back roads between Caledon and Napier, and you'll miss the worst of the traffic (don't be tempted to take a short cut through Hermanus – it's going to take longer for all the twists and turns).

So, what makes this forest special? Well, apart from it being a secret world tucked away in the heart of the fynbos biome, it is its own unique ecosystem. Though none of the trees are comparable to some of the giants you'd find further east at Knysna, some of them are positively *ancient* like the milkwood at the heart of Platbos that is said to be more than 1000 years old. Yep. that's pretty darn old. 

Platbos is a bird-lover's paradise. I have a feeling if we'd come specifically to get some twitching done, we'd have seen a lot more, but I did spot southern boubou, sombre greenbul and Cape batis. Granted, I see these chaps nearly daily at my own home, but it's nice to point them out elsewhere.

The moment you step out of the car and tread upon the forest path, you are immersed in another world. Bird calls. But also a kind of watchful silence as your soles press down into a thick carpet of leaf litter. Low-hanging boughs are furred in moss and lichen, and twisted lianas festoon branches. Ferns flourish in nooks and hollows, and if you look carefully, you may find mushrooms. Occasionally there are picnic tables that invite you to sit down and enjoy refreshments, but there's also a scaffold that will allow you a view over the canopy. A secret labyrinth made from old alikreukel shells also beckons you to follow the twisting path.

This is the kind of lost world that beckons you to stay. If you hadn't been told that Platbos exists, you might drive past it every day without even knowing it's there, for it is not a large forest, nor are the trees tall. Because it is cupped between the rolling hills of the Overberg, it is easy to mistake it for merely brushwood that you pass on your way elsewhere. That is, until you take a closer look.

Apart from this being a lovely excursion for day visitors who're exploring the region, Platbos also offers a range of rustic accommodation. And by rustic, I mean, don't expect to be plugged into any of your devices. Pack them away. Perhaps bring art supplies, board games, physical books to read. Go for walks in the forest, relax in your private area. You have no idea how tempting this is for me – so I will be back – and this time I'll stay overnight.

So yeah, I've mentioned the birds, but there are other critters here too, ranging from baboons and bushbuck, all the way to genets and caracals (red lynx) ... and even the rather retiring Cape leopard. I am beyond excited about the latter, knowing that these big cats still roam the Overberg despite it being so agriculturally developed. Which reminds me I have seen one of these kitties many years ago, crossing the big road between Napier and Bredasdorp, but that is another story for another time.

NB: The cost per adult is R50, per child R20 – look out for the honesty box at the information cabin.

Flame in the Snow: The Love Letters of André Brink & Ingrid Jonker – a review

Flame in the Snow: The Love Letters of André Brink & Ingrid Jonker was on my must-read list the moment I heard about the book. But a bit of back-story. Ingrid Jonker was always a semi-mythic figure to me. I first heard about her when we studied her writing during high school. It was a short story of hers – "Die Bok" (The Goat) which haunted me even back then. Yet her poetry always struck me as vivid, somehow more vibrant than many of the other poets we studied. My mom and I always disagree about our love of Jonker's writing, but then again, my mom also takes a dim view of Jonker's affair with Brink, so it could be a personal issues that cloud her appreciation of her writing.

I later encountered Jonker's work again when I was studying a languages module through Unisa, which only made me realise even more what an important contribution Jonker made to South African literature. There is little doubt in my mind that she was a perceptive, highly sensitive individual with the talent of shaping words in such a way that she can encapsulate an entire scene in a few brush strokes. 

Brink himself is justifiably one of the great lights of South African literature who has contributed much over the years, and it is to my eternal regret that I never did get round to meeting him before his passing, so it was with great curiosity that I approached this collection of their letters.

Looking at how communication has changed, it's doubtful that we'll have such a legacy to fall back on in the future (unless someone is willing to trawl authors' social media posts and private emails to try reconstitute coherent communication). But even then, what we have collected offers us an almost voyeuristic glimpse into the private world of two highly creative, expressive individuals, who saw and felt their existences in exquisite, painful detail at times. 

Part of me became quite frustrated while I read. I wanted to yell at them that if their lives were so unbearable, why didn't they just take the plunge and move mountains to be with each other. But I guess hindsight is 20/20. I don't think either of them could have predicted the outcome, and I fear that when you have two passionate people as Jonker and Brink were, you're bound to get fire in its destructive aspect. Both were ... complicated ... and their relationship was wracked with intense highs and awful nadirs. 

It galled Brink that Jonker still maintained her previous relationship yet by equal measure, he was incapable of leaving his wife, despite his assurances to Jonker that he was no longer intimate with the mother of his child.

Yet what this collection of letters also does it it demystifies Jonker and Brink. We see them as humans, in their unguarded, often tender moments for each other, as they ponder their existence, as they share their hopes and dreams, and also their great fears. The last letter, from Brink, also pierces deeply – a cold, hard statement. I won't spoil it, but it dashed cold water in my face.

I can't help but imagine what Jonker's last hours were like, the moments that led up to her walk into the wintry Atlantic in Cape Town's Three Anchor Bay. It was a death foreshadowed in her poem "Ontvlugting":

My lyk lê uitgespoel in wier en gras
op al die plekke waar ons eenmaal was.

(My body is washed up in seaweed and grass

at all the places where we once were) – please excuse my rough, rough translation. 

To have read Jonker and Brink's intimacies has, to a degree, tumbled them off their pedestal for me. They were just people, with their faults. Their words in this book are a time capsule, that takes readers back to the past, to get a glimpse into what it was like for writers back then. I had to have a quiet smile to myself, because so much of the politics among South African writers that I've seen first hand was very much a thing back then too – some things don't change, apparently. This was a lovely read, and at some point I think I'd like to pick up the Afrikaans version of the book, as I wonder how much of the communication was lost in the translation. Either way, I still feel as if I've grown in my understanding of the two, which will most certainly inform my further reading of their work.

Modern South African Stories by Stephen Gray

Modern South African Stories by Stephen Gray was on the list of recommended reading as part of one of my English modules when I was still studying through Unisa, and though it's been a while since I've read it, I'd still like to share my thoughts (and thank goodness I left myself copious notes over on Goodreads while I progressed).

Okay, deep breath. In *general* I don't often pick up an SA fiction anthology because I expect a bunch of the stories to go heavy handed with socio-political commentary on the state of the country, and to be honest, I get enough of that on my social media feeds every day. Yes, it's a terrible thing to admit, but that's just me. Slap me with a pap snoek and be done with it.

On the flip side, if you're looking for little bites and commentaries on our past and present, then hey, sometimes fiction is a great place to unpack ideas, turn them over and see how they resonate with you. For that very reason, this is why I *will* dip into contemporary SA fiction because it's good for me to encounter writing that makes me uncomfortable. (Yes, Nerine, eat your vegetables.)

Anyhoo, I'm not going to go into exhaustive detail with every story in this anthology, but I'll highlight a few that jumped out at me.

"If you swallow, you're dead" by Yvonne Burgess was by far the story that gave me the biggest gut punch. I even wrote a paper about it. It's about a narrow-minded Afrikaans woman whose entire life is subsumed in her caring for others, how she's always taken second best, and how her reliance on tradition eventually kills her. And her life is meaningless. A perfect, existentialist dread through and through. This was a horrible story and ugly, and I rolled around in its awfulness. Yes, I'm twisted that way. Life is brutal and short, and then you die, and no one cares.

Bessie Head's story, "The Prisoner Who Wore Glasses" in which an old prisoner manipulates a prison warden, is, of course, cleverly told. Then again, I don't need to remind you that Bessie Head is the bomb, and there's a reason her writing is taught at secondary and tertiary levels.

I'm not quite sure what to make of "The Tongue" by Rustum Kozain. I suspect this may be a nod towards Nikolai Gogol's "The Nose", but in this case we're dealing with a giant disembodied tongue that's been wounded and is now being loaded into a waggon to be removed by medics. Setting feels like surreal Anglo-Boer War. It's surreal, for sure.

Oh dear dog, "Tell Him It's Never Too Late" by Rachelle Greeff is such a downer. Mario and Maria are a childless couple married for more than 50 years. They move into a retirement home, Mario dies, and Maria moves into progressively smaller rooms until she's sharing. She gets ill with cancer and the doctor discovers she's had a lithopedion inside her all this time. Basically this is a story about death/rebirth, and unrequited love from priest. If you don't know with a lithopedion is, please, for the love of dog, DO NOT google the images. If you do, don't blame me 'cos I told you so.

"Heavy Cerebral Metal" by Deena Padayachee was ... odd. The story is narrated by newly married doctor taken aback by the account of abuse told by patient who has a tip of an umbrella stuck in his head. I can't decide if the doctor is flabbergasted or simply feeling solidarity with man. I pray it's the former.

"A Handbag in the Boot" by Farida Karodia is possibly the weakest story in the entire anthology. It features the unnecessarily twee contrasting lives of a streetkid and a rich white madam. I'm sorry, maybe this story had a place somewhere during the 1990s to highlight differences in economic situations, but now it's just overly sentimental and pandering to Great White Guilt. Bludgeon much?

The collection wasn't all bad, however. "Clubfoot" by Ken Barris was possibly one of my favourite stories. We see the world through the eyes of a clubfooted boy who lives a sheltered life somewhere on the West Coast with his mom. His drunkard, gypsy of a grandfather comes to visit and we learn something unfortunate about the boy's origin. There is plenty of ocean/sea imagery, and overall the story has a dreamlike quality.

To be horribly honest, and I'm probably showing what an unsophisticated fart I really am, I didn't really *get* the majority of these stories, and many of them really didn't get to a point (and this is me pulling my nasty editor face for writing that could have indulged in less waffle). There is heavy emphasis on socio-political issues, which automatically gets a knee-jerk reaction out of me, because honestly, there is more to South African fiction than just bashing readers over the head with history books. You are welcome to tell me I am a boorish Philistine for holding this opinion. (But honestly, that will say more about you than me, and I really couldn't give a rat's arse.)

The Cape Town Book by Nechama Brodie #review

Title: The Cape Town Book
Author: Nechama Brodie
Publisher: Struik Travel & Heritage
Reviewer: Nerine Dorman

Though I’m a born-and-bred Capetonian, and reckoned I was au fait with everything I thought I knew about the Mother City, Nechama Brodie opened my eyes to quite a lot about my stomping ground that was fresh. This is a big book in more than one way – not only considering its physical dimensions but also the depth and breadth of its content. The Cape Town Book covers not only the city’s natural history and geography, but also tells the story of the many people who have lived around the slopes of Table Mountain.

Cape Town’s history stretches much further back than that of the refreshment station established by the Dutch back in the 1600s, and as such, the city has been shaped by the devastating effects of colonialism. Cape Town is thus a melting pot where Africa meets Asia and Europe, and though many of its people’s stories bear testimony to a legacy of inequalities, they are nonetheless fascinating and I feel enriched by having discovered them.

For me, in particular, this book filled many gaps that were omitted from my history lessons during my school days. In particular, I found the history of Islam in Cape Town fascinating – I really had no idea so many Muslim saints were buried here. The realisation of exactly how intrinsic the slave trade was to the city during its early days was also a revelation – much of this had been glossed over me. Brodie goes in depth with apartheid history, and the section about Robben Island in particular is both terrible and fascinating.

The Cape Town Book is jam packed with information and illustrated in full colour with plenty of visuals, including photos and reproductions of historical prints, as well as helpful suggestions for further reading. Scattered throughout is advice on places to visit and supplementary information panels. Not only is this a great book for visitors to the Mother City, but with its stunning layout and well-planned format, it’s exactly the kind of hefty tome that deserves a permanent place in my collection.

Bloody Parchment's Liam Kruger

If you're yet to pick up a copy of the current Bloody Parchment anthology, it's available on Amazon and Kobo, among other vendors. In the meanwhile, I have one of the contributors, none other than Liam Kruger, stopping by.

Tell us a little bit about yourself.

Well, I mean, I write, that's the main thing. Also variously read, run, and drink. I'm a recent graduate of the University of Cape Town's Masters in Creative Writing programme, with a handful of stories published in genre and literary publications around the country.

What gives in your story?

Not much, really? My stories are not, historically, overwhelmingly giving. It's a couple of ghost kids walking around, shooting the shit, coming to terms with their relatively new ghostly station. Sort of like if you saw the trailer for Ghost World and assumed because of the title that the protagonists were actual ghosts.

What do you love about reading and writing speculative fiction?

I mean - look, this notion of speculative fiction being qualitatively different to realist or literary fiction started off as a a marketing tool, and then got a bit out of hand. Good fiction, irrespective of genre identity, should be doing the same stuff in terms of being entertaining and instructive and unsettling. Maybe speculative fiction has a little more carte blanche about the tools that it uses in achieving that effect than the standard realist stuff does.

Is there a novel or movie that you feel has been the most influential on you, that you keep coming back to? 

Y'know, if there is, then my subconscious is probably doing me a favour by keeping me in the dark about it? A couple of years ago I published a story which, in hindsight, had a scene lifted almost whole cloth out of Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita - which is not an obscure book - and when a friend asked me about it, I had no idea what they were talking about. Probably there's another, even dumber source for all of my other work that I'm ignoring. Something like The Mighty Ducks 2.

How do you approach the writing process? 

Obliquely. I try and trick myself into writing longer things by writing a series of smaller things - vignettes, chains of dialogue, whatever - and then looking at them for a while to see how they fit together, if they fit together. The alternative - the one where you outline, try and storm the thing all at once - terrifies me.

liamkruger.com
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Some books I'm in

The Boer War by Thomas Pakenham #review

Title: The Boer War
Author: Thomas Pakenham
Publisher: Jonathan Ball Publishers, 1993

Granted, I started reading this book because I wanted a better idea of the Anglo Boer War for my Afrikaans module during my first level at Unisa for my BA, so this was pretty much supplementary reading – which means I was more consistent about finishing what I started. Plainly put, The Boer War by Thomas Pakenham (which is apparently considered a “go to” for the subject) is very, very dry. And that’s putting it mildly.

Informative, yes, but I had to do my reading in bursts.

That Pakenham did his research is clear, because he’s sifted through a daunting pile of primary sources to put together a fine tome that definitely succeeds in giving me a better idea of the entire debacle. Also, I feel that he succeeds in a degree of objectivity on such a contentious topic because when it comes to exposing the foibles of those involved in the conflict, he doesn’t pick sides. Both the British and the Boers are revealed as perpetrators (and most certainly not very nice people), and both sides have their heroes and villains, depending the perspective of the viewer.

Pakenham also examines the outcomes of the war, and it’s incredibly high cost in lives and material possessions; South Africa’s indigenous populations suffered the most. If one has to look from where the roots of the later oppressive apartheid system grew, they clearly lay deeply entrenched in this time, especially in the attitudes shared by colonial powers in Africa. Thank you, Rhodes, Kruger. You’re both scoundrels, and not the nice kind of scoundrel either (like Han Solo).

As an overview, I feel this book is a good starting point, but as stated earlier, I simply didn’t gel with Pakenham, who failed to engage me. What made reading this bearable is that I have an illustrated hardcover edition that had many wonderful images (yay for pictures) – but if and when I do decide to read further on the topic, I’d like to find an author whose writing style doesn’t make me unintentionally skip pages.

Confessions of a Self-Published Author by Christine Porter

Today I hand over my blog to author Christine Porter, a fellow South African author. Welcome, Christine, and take it away!

I’m Christine Porter, and I’m a self-published author.

Four years ago, I would rather have lived on in unpublished obscurity than type those words. Self-publish? Heck no! That’s for people who are kidding themselves. People who lack the talent and skill to land a publisher.

Like many authors, I needed that pat on the back from a professional – someone whose job it is to recognise good writing – to know that my work was worth publishing. Writers tend to be solitary creatures riddled with self-doubt, and I believe many of us shy away from self-publishing because of it. If a publisher doesn’t want us, we must not be good enough.

My distaste for self-publishing is still shared by many, but with self-published books such as The Martian and The Hunger Games trilogy going as far as film adaptations, it’s certainly no longer a form of publishing that can be poo-pooed. Those titles – and many others – are well-written, well-edited and well-produced. They are a far cry from the vanity presses of a decade ago.

My own decision to self-publish came only after Peril Beyond the Waterfall was published electronically in 2011. I was suddenly shackled, not even free to market as I wished. The fact that there was no print version rankled a fair amount too.

I’m not slamming the publisher at all – they did everything that could be expected of a big publisher dealing with a completely unknown author in a completely unknown medium. The book actually sold. I was featured in a couple of publications and scraped in a review or two, but I’ve never been happy at the bottom of the priority list, so when I finally finished my second book, I knew the route I had to take.

I regained my rights from the publisher with very little fuss, and have reproduced and re-released the Peril Beyond the Waterfall that I wanted, with the cover I wanted, and the illustrations I wanted in print. I love this version of Peril. I resented the former.

The decision to self-publish spelled freedom. It’s been an absolute joy working on the project, and meeting like-minded writer types who have walked the same path. It’s far from easy. Every aspect of the book has to be considered, and you don’t have a publisher to think about things for you. You have to take ownership of the entire project and ensure that the quality is high, otherwise you really are no better than vanity-published.

I’m not sure I’m entirely past my distaste for self-publishing. I still feel it’s necessary that people know that I had a publisher, and chose self-publishing despite this. To me, it lends legitimacy. It must also be said that I would not have been able to self-publish four years ago. It takes a significant up-front financial investment, and back then I simply would not have been able to carry the costs. That is why publishers exist. That is where their value lies. In my case, though? I’m enjoying this independent ride much too much to stick my wrists back into the shackles any time soon.

My next title, Night of the Cologoro, is the first that I will be producing entirely independently. The experience I’ve gained and connections I’ve made help immensely. There’s a whole support structure that I didn’t have four years ago. It’s hard work. It really is. But I love it, and I’m excited, and I am going to make it work. Watch me.

Buy your copy of Peril Beyond the Waterfall at Ereads, Amazon, or in print.

Don't Film Yourself Having Sex by Emma Sadleir and Tamsyn de Beer #review

Title: Don’t Film Yourself Having Sex
Authors: Emma Sadleir and Tamsyn de Beer
Publisher: Penguin Books, 2014

As the title of this book suggests, it’s full of very useful advice, and as authors Emma Sadleir and Tamsyn de Beer say, please never, ever, ever film yourself having sex. Just don’t do it. Don’t even let your partner tempt you as a way to spice up your kinky time.

To give a little background, Sadleir and De Beer are attorneys and their areas of expertise cover print and electronic media law – so basically, they really know their ins and outs with regard to the use of the internet and social media, and they’ve written this book to give Joe Public the low-down on how to survive the many pitfalls presented by the internet.

While many of us would hesitate to say or do nasty things to people to their face, social media and our many electronic devices, be they smartphones, tablets or computers, offer us the illusion of immunity.

Ask yourself this: how many times have you jumped on a self-righteous bandwagon when there’s been some sort of social justice issue becoming the flavour of the week? Have you stopped and thought about whether anything you’ve said or posted could possibly create serious backlash? You might lose your job or, even worse, tarnish your reputation. Once an event has gone viral on social media, it sticks. There’s no way to truly dislodge it, and its effects can ripple out and affect you for years afterwards.

Essentially, Sadleir and De Beer talk about how we communicate, and how our methods have changed so rapidly over the past few years. (They’ll even share some of those pesky abbreviations in a way that isn’t tl;dr.) Much of what they discuss is pretty darn serious, but they keep the tone of their cautionary tales light, and set out the sharing of the information in an often funny, tongue-in-cheek way that often had me laughing out loud. This is the sort of book you can buy your aged father or get your teenage daughter to read. And, in fact, I suggest you do. And omfg, please don’t ever joke on Twitter about planting a bomb at an airport. Just don’t go there.

Through the lens of Santu Mofokeng #photography

Santu Mofokeng’s series of photographs of black South Africans, Black Photo Album: Look at Me: 1890-1950 (1997) should be viewed within context in its role as the consolidation of an archive. As Mofokeng states: “These are images that urban black working- and middle-class families had commissioned, requested, or tacitly sanctioned. They are left behind by dead relatives, where they sometimes hang on obscure parlor walls in the townships. In some families they are coveted as treasures, displacing totems in discursive narratives about identity, lineage, and personality” (Cargo Collective). These images are drawn from a period which gave rise to apartheid and the disenfranchisement of black people in the country, as well as an erasure of their identity beyond the official, state-sanctioned information (Furstenberg 2002:60).

The images themselves are clearly posed, themselves creating an illusion through their careful poise and attention to detail, down to the choice in clothing and props selected, as expression of the subjects’ whims and, as Mofokeng states: “We see these images in the terms determined by the subjects themselves, for they have made them their own. They belong and circulate in the domain of the private. That is the position they occupied in the realm of the visual in the nineteenth century. It was never their intention to be hung in galleries as works of art” (Cargo Collective).

The people depicted in the photographs are ordinary, everyday people whose stories would have otherwise gone untold had the images not been preserved. The importance of these images is also worthwhile bearing into consideration, for as Mofokeng says, “Officially, black people were frequently depicted in the same visual language as the flora and fauna, represented as if in their natural habitat for the collector of natural history” (Cargo Collective). Compare these to photographs taken by William Roe (of which a selection is housed at the Graaff-Reinet Museum, Graaff-Reinet), and it becomes apparent that Mofokeng’s work fills a large gap in the photographic record that depicts black Africans in a similar fashion – snapshots of people’s lives that exist as a sort of time capsule that remembers where official history-makers of the time were apt to erase.

Something else that one must consider, specifically within the context of the time that this work was put together (1997) that a large body of the photography documenting black lives would have focused on events such as the violence in the townships. To bring out a body of work such as this, Mofokeng is showing a very different side to the public compared to what would, at the time, have been presented in the public eye, as stated by Furstenberg (2002:61): “Mofokeng positions his practice as an alternative to the collectivizing and dehumanizing operations of the archive and to the totalizing notions of identity constructed by the concepts of ‘Soweto’ and ‘townships’”.

The images themselves therefore offer viewers a degree of visual ambiguity precisely because they are taken out of context of the homes in which they initially hung. Their meaning, collected, changes, becoming rather a narrative discourse about a population segment, rather than purely portraits of family. Together, they establish a collective identity for those who were historically disenfranchised and disempowered due to apartheid. The images stand together to preserve memories that would have otherwise been swept under the rug or otherwise ignored, and also speak of a people who have made the trappings of European culture their own. By not being overtly political these images regrouped during recent years nonetheless communicate the effects of an oppressive regime without resorting to blatant imagery. Look at Me does exactly what the title suggests, offering the viewer the command to look, and not deny the past, and to remember and not be swept under the carpet.

 
Bibliography:
Furstenberg, L. 2002. Representing the Body Archivally in South African Photography. Art Journal 61(1), Spring:58-67.

Santu Mofokeng. Cargo Collective. September 12, 2015. <http://cargocollective.com/santumofokeng/black-photo-album>