THERE IS A PLACE …
This mystical and dreamy recreation of a cherished holiday with dearones evokes many memories for those with family living overseas.
When living in London with its low grey skies, icy winds and cold rains one
longs for the sun. Off to work in the dark, return in the afternoon dark. Short
breaks in Spain or Portugal and occasional ski-holidays in Switzerland help to
break the monotony, but the spirit longs for Ingwelala.
Sometimes talking to people is just too lonely when friends say “You poor
thing, your entire family is in England, you are so alone.” But I smile happily,
because daily contact would not be the togetherness we have in Ingwelala.
Is it heaven? No, it’s a private game park adjoining the Kruger National Park,
where the rambling thatched family holiday house is located.
It can be very dry there, game can be sparse, cell-phones don’t work and of
there are mosquitoes. There are no walls, no fences and no guns. No greed
or avarice, simply survival; the animal’s territory. The noise of the world
becomes a distance place, and you confront yourself.
Sitting in the boma adjoining the kitchen, there is movement behind my chair.
The book is engrossing; I’m unafraid – hyenas at my back? Monkeys leap
over my head, having fun in the trees, there is the mongoose family come to
drink at the bird-bath. Is that a giraffe reading over my shoulder?
The reserve has a small store-cum-tennis court and swimming pool. “Let’s go
swim,” says my elder daughter.
But we did not swim. To our amazement lions had got there before us.
Sunning themselves poolside. We, enchanted, watched from the safety of the
car. Then there was the elephant family we spotted and followed to the river.
The huge creatures were as playful as children.
The glory of a full golden moon, whispering grass, a night cloaked in beauty,
and we, secure in a loving bubble. Braaiing, eating, drinking, conversation
flowing and much laughter. The gift that is Ingwelala. And so to bed.
We chose to sleep on the mosquito-netted verandah embracing the house.
We were startled awake by a sharp cracking sound, and there at arms length,
was the largest elephant that ever we did see.
He was snapping the branches off our over-arching tree, delicately stripping
the leaves, placing them in his mouth. This gigantic animal, daintily feeding off
our tree, under our amazed, unbelieving eyes. I stared fascinated, D H
Lawrence’s lines running through my mind. My adaptation of them:
An elephant came to our over-arching tree
On a hot moonlit night
Must I confess how I liked him,
How glad I was he had come like a guest
To eat off our tree
And I in my pyjamas
Watched him feed
And truly I was honoured
When satisfied, slowly, very slowly
As in a dream
He turned and vanished.
Ingwelala, a Zulu word “A place of peace,” is to us “A place of magic.”
And so to bed.