Scatterlings of Africa

The sun was already beginning to set as we made our way back to the farm. Light, refracted from the dust around us, accentuated the colors giving us one of those dramatic African sunsets.

We pulled up to the homestead and saw that old man Vickery had already started the fire for a braai. We gratefully accepted a cold beer and told him about our ride up in the mountains. Dusk was setting in and a nightjar started to call close by.  I was enjoying the evening sky mirrored in the lake in front of us when a loud grunt jolted me back to the present moment. “Oh! That’s Bert the hippo.”  Alan said.

“He comes out and grazes the garden at night.” “ Give him a wide berth and be careful if you wander off to take a pee in the bushes.” “He generally stays away from the house.”

With hippo’s being the number one killer in Africa, I’d be sure to tread carefully.

The nightjar calling close by seemed to be the signal for the rest of the nocturnal animals to come out and the bush quickly came alive with nocturnal sounds.

Stories of our day’s adventure unfolded and were getting bolder and bolder the more drinks we had. Hungry eyes followed the progress of the meat on the fire and eventually, after some prodding, the old man declared it ready! Onto a warm dripping tray it went and instead of saying Grace, old man Vickery said; “Right! Steaks done, now it must rest for 10 minutes.”

I don’t know what magic happened in those 10 minutes while the meat rested but when we did finally sit down for dinner, it was one of the best steaks I have eaten. Yes, it was grass fed and organic but still - next level.

In that content, after dinner, satisfied phase, between deciding whether we should go to bed, or have one more for the road, Alan mentioned that his cousin has a nightclub just down the road called House on Fire and why don’t we just pop in for a last drink there before calling it a night? His idea seemed good, so we wandered down the road and into House on Fire. The place was pulsating with energy. We grabbed some drinks and wandered around. We found an open-air stage out back and a crowd milling about. Shortly thereafter the stage lit up and onto the scene burst Johnny Clegg with his high energy, foot stomping, Indlamu warrior dance. Heels kicking high above his head, he immediately connected with his audience. In no time we were singing along. Here was the very soundtrack of my youth playing out live in front of me under the great African night sky with a full moon rising. It was electric!

It felt like the music, the lyrics and Le Zoulou Blanc was speaking directly to me. I was genuinely part of something larger, like a bull within the greater herd and I recalled what he once said;

“There are moments in life that are pure, and which seem to hang in the air, unhitched from the everyday world as we know it. Suspended for a few seconds, they float in their own space and time with their own hidden prospects. For want of a better term, we call these moments “magical” and when we remember them they are cloaked in a halo of special meaning.”

It was one of the most memorable and unexpected nights I’ve experienced and one I am unlikely ever to forget.

I just had to include this incredible image below and one last quote of his:

Johnny Clegg in a traditional Zulu outfit during his wedding to Jenny Bartlett in 1989. He was fascinated by Zulu culture, and was known as the ‘white Zulu’. Photograph: Trevor Samson/AFP/Getty Image

“For me the magic of music is that it can amplify hope. Like all art, it can offer a new way of seeing and experiencing the moment you are in. It is invisible and ephemeral. It uses the organisation of time (rhythm) with melody (sound) to create a new but very temporary context of reflection.”

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