Tale guide

“What a beautiful day,” said Leani as she pulled out of the driveway of their home on South Africa’s KwaZulu Natal, lower south coast.

Ann agreed as she reclined her passenger seat a little and settled back. Looking at her watch she said “it’s six am so we should be in Johannesburg by about two o’clock. She looked back to check on young Jonathan wrapped comfortably in a cosy blanket and strapped safely in his baby chair. He was wide awake and quite intent on battling with Mr Plod, oblivious of his surroundings.

They were on route to Johannesburg, where I had been gainfully employed for many years, and their journey would take them up the N1 highway that climbs twelve hundred meters from sea level and the humidity of the semi tropical eastern coastline to the temperate Midlands surrounded by the Drakensburg mountains before the steady climb through 2000 meters on the often hot and dusty highveld. The scene was set for an uneventful journey to the big smoke!

The traffic along the double carriageway to Durban flowed smoothly and the hour and twenty minutes passed quickly as the two women chatted away about all things good and bad that fashioned their lives at the time.
Leani had grown up in a tough and strict home that had instilled fortitude and resilience as well as dollops of courage. She wasn’t phased in the slightest at having to drive the 700 hundred odd kilometres, even though, given the many hundreds of eighteen-wheeler cargo haulers that ploughed the highway between Durban docks to as far as Gaborone, Lusaka, Brazzaville and beyond, the journey would take anything from eight to ten hours.
But they didn’t bargain for an unexpected snowstorm on the Drakensburg.

The girls had pulled into a highway stop at Mooi River, to change baby Jonathan’s nappy, stretch their legs and buy a couple of cooldrinks before setting off again. They heard the sounds of a number of emergency sirens growing loader as the two were busy parking the car.

“What on earth is going on?” asked Ann

Two traffic police vehicles and two ambulances came into view travelling at breakneck speed northbound and within no time at all, they flashed passed them.

“There must have been a major accident,” said Leani, “I hope the road isn’t blocked for us now. We could be stuck for hours,” she exclaimed, a little concerned.

It was Ann that first realised that something wasn’t quite right. “I can see snow on the berg,” she announced surprised. “Isn’t it the wrong time of year for snow on the mountains?”

“Yes of course,” came the reply.

Soon thereafter they drove around a bend and there in the distance, a cluster of emergency vehicles stood parked across the road, all flashing their blue, yellow and orange lights. With a great deal of anxiety, the girls joined the line of vehicles that were backed up from the blockage ahead and slowly moved forward until they reached a number of traffic policemen standing on the tarmac.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” said one of the policemen leaning against the driver’s side of the car. “Where are you going?”

“Johannesburg officer,” replied Leani, “what’s happened?”

“Nothing has happened as such Ma’am,” replied the officer. “We have had a most unusual snowstorm over the van Reenen’s pass and the road is impassable,” he announced. “I’m afraid you should rather turn back.”

“We can’t turn back!” came Ann’s immediate reaction. “There must be an alternative route?”

“Well, Ma’am, if you really want to take a chance of becoming stuck in the snow, you need to take that offramp,” he pointed to the ramp on which a line of vehicles were slowly moving forward, “and turn right towards Colenso and on to Newcastle at the foot of the berg. It’s possible you may be able to cross through the mountains that way but, I must warn you that there are no guarantees the storm will not spread eastwards and block your route later today.”

Ann looked back at baby Jonathan who was kicking his legs and giggling out loud, as if he saw the funny side of who knows what. The Policeman’s story or Granny’s worried look.

The ladies thanked the officer and followed the traffic across the flyover. Most of the vehicles turned right back onto the onramp and headed back in the direction of Durban where the risk of getting exposed to the elements was considerably diminished.

With no consultation, Ann announced confidently, “Let’s give it a crack. When we reach Newcastle, we can book into a B&B and stay the night. The storm has to pass by the morning, otherwise we’ll take our chances.

Author’s note (Please don’t forget that we are talking about Ann of Africa here, and not some hairbrained English woman fearlessly taking on the elements in some of the harshest parts of Southern Africa}.

The road to Newcastle was uneventful save for the steady falling of light snowflakes the likes of which, Leani, having grown up in the Free State, had never seen before other than on distant mountain tops. A white blanket lay like a soft fluffy cushion on the fields on either side of the road and as far as the eye could see,

“Maybe a few people will have the same idea, so we should see if we can phone forward and make a reservation?” Ann of Africa, always the pragmatist, was weighing up all the possible outcomes. “I’ll phone Richard and get him to sort out an overnight stay.”

Back in his apartment in Johannesburg, the bushman was oblivious to the dangers his family were trying to deal with, when his cell phone rang. It was Ann.

“Hello sweetheart,” he answered, I guess you must be getting close?”

“Close?” there was a hint of frustration in what was normally a confident, tone in her voice.”

“What’s up?” asked the bushman, now alert to something amiss.

“We’ve run into a snowstorm in the Drakensburg,” replied Ann shakingly. “We were diverted just before Frere, off the N3 and onto a minor road to Newcastle. But there is no let up in the snow so we were hoping you could find us a B&B for the night?”

“No problem,” came the bushman’s overly confident reply as he immediately and naturally stepped into his usual state of command, “I’ll get back to you shortly.”

Newcastle is an industrial town and generally very Afrikaans. It lies in the foothills of the Eastern Drakensburg where the temperatures drop to freezing and below and snowfalls are a regular occurrence in the winter. It is predominantly a mining town and can hardly be considered a prime a tourist attraction. The bushman opened up Google and scanned the pages for a Bed and Breakfast in Newcastle.

He found what he thought was a suitable overnight establishment and called up ‘Tweekoppen Rust’. (Two headed rest). The photographs presented a warm and welcoming establishment, and the bushman decided to call and book two en suites for Mum, Jonathan and Granny.

The Tannie (auntie) on the phone was friendly and welcoming enough and accommodation was available, which was good enough for the Bushman who was not renowned for his due diligence, shall we say. (I mean, hundreds of travellers, heavy snowstorm, accommodation in demand but available? What more does one need to know?)
Leani followed the directions Richard had given them she steered the car to Tweekoppen Rust.

Ann of Africa instinctively knew that she had made a mistake. And with one look at the furniture that resembled tired relics from the Boer war, her worst fears were realised.
“No way will I stay the night in this dump,” she whispered urgently to her daughter-in-law before heading for the front door.

Once back in the car Ann burst forth “Trust Richard to dig out a flippin museum for us to stay in! He just hasn’t got a clue.”

Leani laughed, “So I guess we are taking on the Drakensburg mountains then?”

By this time it was going on for one o’clock in the afternoon although looking through the darkness caused by the thick snow filled clouds all around them, one would think it was midnight.

The wind howled past the car windows as Leani guided the sedan back to the two-way main road that had once served as the main ‘highway’ connecting the Transvaal to the coast. The snow had been falling steadily by now although the traffic continued to flow northbound.

It occurred to granny that baby Jonathan was unusually quiet given how long they had been travelling in the car since early morning. She turned to find the little boy kicking his legs, flapping his arms and giggling as if still highly amused at all the fuss.

The buildup of ice on the windscreen finally forced them to switch on the hazard lights and bring the vehicle to a stop. The other drivers behind them were battling with similar issues so there was very little resistance or even complaints from their fellow travellers.

But Ann was alarmed at the turn of events. “But you don’t have a scraper, and, what’s more, you can’t stop on the road and block the traffic behind us.”

“Well, I don’t have many choices,” replied Leani still with a smile in her voice. And as she opened her door, the car behind slowed to a stop as did the one behind that and so on until the line of traffic stretched way back and out of sight.

When Leani opened the driver’s door and jumped out, she stepped forward to reach the windscreen, slipped on a layer of ice on the tarmac and fell straight down. At any other time, the incident would probably have raised concern, but on this occasion, the speed at which she alighted and then disappeared from sight was very funny and granny couldn’t contain herself. And at the sound of her raucous laughter, Leani, who was staring at herself sitting in the cold snow in the middle of a national highway, saw the funny side and started laughing.

The driver from the vehicle behind them, left his car and came forward to lend a hand. Leani and the stranger tried to push the ice off the windscreen with their bare hands and although they achieved some success, the bulk of the ice sat stubbornly stuck to the glass. The stranger remembered his toolkit and immediately went and found a paint scraper in his boot.

And that’s when the fun began. No sooner than the stranger started scraping the ice off the windscreen with Leani using her hands to sweep the loosened ice off the wet glass, than she felt her wedding ring slide off her finger and fly through the air before dropping into the soft snow in the middle of the road.

It was as if a deathly silence had descended on the scene as the shock of losing her most precious possession hit her between the eyes. She turned and without giving it a second thought, she walked out into the traffic and started to search blindly in the snowy sludge.

Granny spontaneously stepped into the road and began to wave the slow line of oncoming cars to stop while Leani continued to search for her ring on all fours.

Three or four other travellers joined the search once they became aware of the tragedy. It couldn’t have taken many minutes although it seemed like an eternity, before a young man in a damp sweater simultaneously threw his arms in the air and shouted, “I’ve got it! I’ve found it!”.

Everyone cheered as if they themselves had somehow found the ring. The traffic jam slowly began to move forward again. All was forgiven as everyone was thanked for their generous patience and the convoy now made its careful way up through the pass and down the other side.

They eventually parked outside the bushman’s townhouse at 21h30, just over fifteen hours since leaving the coast. Tired and worn out but very glad to have arrived safely with ring in hand.

“And as for you,” chirped granny looking straight at the bushman, “your ability to find some decent accommodation, is about as exceptional as your ability to understand the difference between a monkey and a baboon!”

And as for baby Jonathan, he had fallen into a deep sleep having enjoyed the funniest ride of his little life.