Game viewing at Kgalagadi, is very different from Kruger, for example.  The sand dunes run in huge parallel ripples, most animals spend their time wandering to & from the water holes in the bottom of the wide valleys.  Cover’s very sparce, so the game shelters under any thorn tree not already taken.

National Parks are using solar technology to pump underground water up, into small concrete pools that are visited all day by thirsty gemsbok, springbok, ostriches, well everything in the park actually. I didn’t see ANY natural water, so they’re doing a great job keeping the park alive.

It’s bloody hot, dusty desert country.  After 2 days, I had had enough, I’d seen lions & after last nights great braai with the “love birds”, I decided to leave Kgalagadi on a high.

Oh hell, it was back to reality with a bang. There was trouble back in Kloof. Our brilliant municipal services had decided to disconnect the electricity supply because “the meter’s not registered” The same meter I’ve been using, billed & paid for, monthly, for the past 15yrs. Useless buggers.  They needed all the usual documentation… AGAIN… NOW.  Luckily I had copies with me.  So I had to get to a computer terminal somewhere to transmit them…

I’d stopped thinking about the leaking tanks… Not a good sign. I HAVE to keep on top of problems like this before they become overwhelming.

What did we do without smartphones & Google?

Very quickly, BLV Sweiswerke website came up & Nyati galloped down the R360 to Upington. The same highway we’d spurned in favour of the Kalahari sand roads, just a week previously.

Hennie Boshoff’s father had started BLV Sweiswerke (welders, for you ignorant English). Hennie was now firmly at the helm & subscribed to the “can do” philosophy on life. This Man could write a book… He’s been around & done more than most, a lot more.

My stomach was in a knot thinking about the weeks we’d spent installing these bloody tanks. They’d been manufactured, pressure tested & built-in, no facility for removal… Ja Mom, I know… An old fool.

Hennie took one look, pulled a policeman’s face, he used to be a policeman, called Sarita & Slang, waved at the tanks & growled, “Jy moet uit trek”.

So, they set too it, as only “Hotnots” can, laughing & swearing, swearing & laughing…  I got a bit twichy when they brought up the oxyacetylene & a bloody great big fork-lift.

But come out, those tanks eventually did.

Repairs would take a while, so after a sundowner braai in the scrap yard using Hennie’s special knotted vine wood, I settled down for a night in the BLV workshop guarded by the worlds biggest, meanest, junkyard killer watchdog, bushman.

Next day, it was done…
Now to put them back…

Oi vay, what a struggle… The language was indescribable,  especially from the delicate Sarita..The fork lift worked valiantly, well they all did, cutting, welding, lifting, lowering, pushing, pulling… Swearing.

But, put them back, they finally did.

There seems to be no limits to the hospitality of the people here.
Hennie put a bakkie at my disposal to run around Upington, so I took the opportunity of having a haircut, refilling a gas cylinder, buying some maps &  groceries.

Rina presented me with a huge tin of wonderful homemade biscuits.
Lynette invited me to park Nyati at her guest house on the West coast when there. Sonja scanned, copied, typed & emailed documents to all points, averting many threatened disasters.

Just like the “Mayfair” family in Bloemfontein, I found it very difficult to leave BLV.

But, leave, I reluctantly did.

If there’s anyone who’s planning a trip to this neck of the woods, as essential as the beer, more so actually, because Hennie’s got stock.
Make a note…
BLV Spieswerkers… Upington…
They can & do fix EVERYTHING…

www.rv-nyati.com