Classic Karoo, Karoo Life, Karoo People, Karoo Roads IV, Townstays
Strangers in Merweville
Aug
By Chris Marais & Julienne du Toit
Spring, 2008: Our diesel bakkie purrs softly down the main street of Merweville on a late afternoon in a long-ago September, a thin layer of dust has settled on everything in sight and there seems to be a brace of windmills for every house in town. Eyes are scratchy, throats are dry.
In the evenings here in the Karoo Highlands, one should look up and study the stars. You’re in the Sutherland-Calvinia-Williston-Merweville ‘big sky’ country, where the First People were once able to see the moons of Jupiter (the Jovian satellites) with their naked eyes.
They called Jupiter the Dawn’s Heart Star, and we should call it Sir. That’s because that big old planetary neighbour of ours – with its wickedly strong gravitational force – takes most of the cosmic hits meant for us. Just the other day, a comet smashed into Jupiter, giving it a black eye the size of the Pacific Ocean. Sometimes, I think, it’s good that most of us don’t really know what’s going on up there.
Like a Desert Movie Set
I’ve got us a room at the Springbok Lodge, and the booking was made with the owner, one Kallie le Roux, on the telephone. I ring the bell at the front door and, when no one answers, phone Kallie on his cell. I think he’s just down the road and will pop over and open up for us.
“I’m a dominee living in Darling,” he tells me, and now I’m confused. “But there’ll be someone over shortly.”
Right. Aletta Viktor and her little daughter Lanie arrive, unlock the place and show us around. It’s huge, with a frightening array of kuierplekkies, little party nooks. On the dining room table lies Die Koupos, the local newsletter, and its main feature is all about the town’s top festival, the Dankfees Bazaar, which happens annually in Autumn.
Muller’s General Dealer
On our late afternoon walkabout, Jules and I come upon strings of exotically flashed-up bee-eaters, resplendent in tropical party colours of emerald green, yellows, a hint of turquoise and a host of black accessories. Go figure – European bee-eaters in the Deep Karoo. They fill the air in rushes of snatching beaks as they scarf down unseen insects, before returning to their telephone line perches around the old school boarding house.
On an afternoon walk, we pop into Muller’s Handelaars for tinned mussels and fresh farm butter. Are we perhaps not looking for Woolworths? We find a pack of biscuits and a couple of cold cokes – good enough. Now where’s last week’s Sunday Times?
“I’m sorry, we don’t have them,” says the friendly woman behind the counter. “But here, would you like to borrow my Huisgenoot?”
The Dominee phones that night, all the way from Darling, to make sure we’re settled. He suggests we look up Jan Mocke, the koster (verger) at the NG Mother Church.
Mr Mocke is a treasure. While Jules interviews Jan inside, I traipse up a little hill behind the Mother Church for a photograph. As I’m setting up my ponderous tripod and gear, I glance at the horizon and see deep and dark banks of rainy weather galloping towards us all the way from Cape Town. I capture the church, the town and the thick cloudscapes in one very dramatic, lucky set of shots. More about this later.
Dry and Desperate
We are visiting the Koup at a time of drought. The last time things were so dry around here was in 1961. Farmers are trying to sell their livestock fast, or move the animals to other, greener, pastures. Farmhouse doors are simply being shut – and the land temporarily deserted. ‘Town jobs’ – of any description – are at a premium.
Merweville is totally reliant right now on its windmills and boreholes, some of which stretch down more than 120 metres into the Earth in a frantic search for underground water.
“You can only farm in the Koup if you actually come from the Koup,” says Jan, as he shimmies spryly up a ladder to get to the steeple. I’m following a little more cautiously, cameras flapping off my neck. “It’s just too hard for outsiders.”
My plan is to climb out onto the roof of the church at the steeple and take a semi-aerial photograph of Merweville. But I’m seeing lots of slippery slopes here, in the form of pigeon droppings, so I back down at the last moment. Instead, we all agree on a jaunt out to the ‘Englishman’s Grave’, the last resting place of some bipolar Tasmanian gent from the Anglo-Boer War.
And this is a typical Karoo story. Walter Oliphant Arnot committed suicide in these parts after leaving strange messages in his prayer book. However, the townsfolk of Merweville promised his family overseas that they would look after his gravesite forever – and so they are.
Magical Marina Witbooi
That night Dominee Kallie phones again, this time with a suggestion that we connect with his housekeeper, Marina Witbooi.
“She’ll bake you some delicious panbrood (pan bread)”, he assures me.
Which she does, the next morning, out in the lapa oven with a fire roaring and the dough already kneaded. Within 20 minutes, we are feasting on panbrood filled with various tasty accessories. A long Karoo nap is immediately called for.
Late that afternoon, Marina returns (as arranged) with a whole gang of children and a couple of donkeys, built small in ‘biblical ass’ fashion. A complicated little interlude follows, during which the donkeys are vaguely attached to the cart. Then they’re off, on their through-town photo shoot, Marina holding the reins in dignified style.
This is a short chapter excerpt from Karoo Roads IV – In Faraway Places (360 pages, black and white photography, R350 including taxes and courier in South Africa) available from September 2024. Anyone interested in pre-ordering a first edition, author-signed copy should please contact Julie at julie@karoospace.co.za for more details.
The Karoo Quartet (Karoo Roads 1 – 4) consists of more than 60 Karoo stories and hundreds of black and white photographs. Priced at R960 (including taxes and courier in South Africa), this Heritage Collection can also be ordered from julie@karoospace.co.za
Hi,
I was trying to cycle to Sutherland from Prins Albert and managed to get to Merweville at 2100 due to the ghastly Karoo wind. I had nowhere to stay so decided to try and pitch my tent in the church grounds. Decided to report in to my better half in Durban and she promptly Googled a place to stay and the very same Mnr le Roux came to fetch me as he would not have a cyclist staying in church grounds.
He said I looked really sick and asked if I needed a doctor. He came to check on me later to see about my recovery.
Fantastic experience.
Kind regards
Desmond Hayes