Baboon talk story

The Chacma Baboon (Papio ursinus) troops on the Cape Peninsula are the only protected population of this species in Africa. They subsist on roots, fruits, wild honey, bulbs, insects and scorpions. During low tide they may be seen roaming the beaches, feeding on sand hoppers and shellfish, behaviours believed to be unusual in primates.

Baboon/human contact in this area over the years has resulted in some conflict over the usual suspects: food, territory and differing notions of private ownership of property. Lines have been drawn in the sand. Baboons have defended their boundaries and consequently received some bad press. It shouldn't be necessary to have signs forbidding the feeding of baboons. Ditto pamphlets. But we have human nature. Therefore we have signs and pamphlets and the persistence of problem human behaviour.

On our Sunday venture to Table Mountain National Park on the Cape Peninsula, we encounter a poster child for Babi, the Egyptian baboon ancestral god, the renowned virile, alpha male of the underworld.
Whilst the rest of the troop forage in the vegetation and prowl the roadside, this contemporary Babi lords it atop a road sign. In his yawns, scratching and casual exploration of his body he reveals intimacy with every aspect of his mythological heritage. There is a point at which both Camilla and myself lower our cameras, urging Henk to drive on.

Move over Coyote and Raven. I have come home to Babi.

The wire and beads of a refugee economy

South Africa, where the African continent meets end in sea, has become a gathering place of last resort for a huge range of African people fleeing wars, famine and the petty or profound aberrations which political despots visit upon their peoples.
At the Muizenberg Sunday market, I find Zimbabweian refugee Gladys, from the Shona tribe, hawking intricately beaded wire goods and the fine lacy crocheted tablecloths originally specific to the traders around Victoria Falls. Where there's no government aid to fall back on, people turn to creativity. These initiatives get my support.

Animals, lizards, key rings and Christmas ornaments. My magpie eye is entranced, even as practicality forbids my indulging in a 2 foot wire and bead model of a lion. Bartering skills honed over the decades in Egypt, India and Mexico return like a first language. Prices change constantly as we each measure the other's seriousness and point of no return. It is a complex choreography in the dance of survival, as well as a recognized process of establishing mutual respect between buyer and seller. A fool and his money are easily parted. A good trader reads a buyer with an expertise no graduate school of business is ever going to craft into coursework. Oh and did I mention the art of display when infrastructure consists of a few square feet of parking lot and a blue plastic sheet. Now that's what I call shopping!

A Sunday morning shopping experience: rockin' in the free world

When Henk wants blank cds, a flash drive or some plumbing brassware, Camilla a new hat, scarf, roses for the garden, a book on how to look after them or a wind-up kid's toy for the new kitten, they do not necessarily head to the mall, Staples, Office Depot, Barnes and Noble or the designer plant nursery. There's another option just down the road in Muizenberg: the Sunday morning market. Part swap meet, part roadside stall, part craft market, part rerouting of the miscellanea of goods, electronic to eclectic, which could have fallen of the back of a truck somewhere recently, this bustling collection of stalls and wares displayed on plastic sheets on the ground is the place to go on a Sunday morning.

Though the bright products of the Chinese plastics industry are prominent, there's a sense that, like Alice's Restaurant, you can get anything you want. If you don't find it displayed, it could be arranged, over or under the counter. "What is it you want?" is a question I hear murmured in my ear as I glimpse the quicksilver flash of lithe young men: one minute he's at your shoulder, next away, lost in another tide, another current. Working the crowd, driven by equal parts initiative and need. Quintessentially contemporary African Market Place, the entire spectrum of the South African rainbow nation is gathered here with children and dogs variously in tow. The music blaring from speakers in different sectors is loud and as varied as the people. Instincts tell me to keep my wallet close and watch my loosely fastened back pack lest its contents are redistributed without my consent, even while I admire the blue sky and mountains of the backdrop. The pungency of fish from the food stalls is strong in my nostrils. The sun gleams alike on the plethora of plastic as well as on the abundant piles of fruit and vegetables fresh from growers' trucks.

Picnic dreaming on the mountain.

Those clouds we so admired on the beach in the morning lived up to their promise by afternoon.

Still Ben, Gillian and myself were determined to walk on the mountain. It is a thing to do in Cape Town where the famous flat topped Table Mountain and associated humps and bumps dominate the skyline from all angles. The slopes are covered in fynbos, the smallest but richest floral kingdom in the world with over 1000 species, the majority of which are endemic.

Ben and Gillian made flasks of tea, packed rusks in a rucksack. By the time we got to the trailhead on Boyes Drive, however, the mist had come down. It was decidedly wet: Washington weather on the southern tip of Africa. I want my money back! This wasn't in the plan when I booked my ticket. It NEVER rains in Cape Town in summer.

We had our picnic in the back of Ben's little Nissan truck instead then got soaked to the bone walking on a mountain resplendent with wild flowers: yellow, pink, purple, white. No pictures. Too wet. No rain gear. You will just have to believe me: the flowers were beautiful and worth the drenching, nerve wrenching scramble on rain wet lichen slippery rocks.

Like us, you will just have to imagine the spectacular and panoramic views to be had on a clear day.




There are more, better resolution pictures on my flickr site. For those of you who are flickr-connected, see you there.

Saturday morning in Muizenberg

Henk and Camilla are weekday workers. What does one do on a Saturday morning in Muizenberg? Walk along the beach to the Olive Station restaurant for a leisurely breakfast, reinvigorating the bonds between people, with place.


The sky was spectacular with feathered and frilled clouds - harbingers of weather to come. But for the morning it was good.Those beach huts again. Henk is a professional photographer. The little point and shoot I brought with me is a challenge for professionals, especially with the bright light making the display very murky. Blindfold photography with a great sky.
In the background is the newly repainted Muizenberg pavilion with its absurd Pop Art style roof . This building dates from an earlier beachfront development.

Uuuuh, Henk...it is that little button on top.

Do cats dream of sacred fish? A dawn photo-story sans androids and electric sheep

There's nothing dreaming nomads like better than a bivouac on an east facing porch. Set this about with contemplative cats, cushiony couches and rich colour: now you talking no-contest Best of the Show!

Aurora, Muizenberg

The house where I am currently staying is nestled up against the mountain, facing sunrise, Zandvlei (the saltwater marsh of a river mouth) and the sea with a great sky views inspiring the name Aurora. A perfect sun-drenched porch for dreaming and only a block or two to the beach. Thankyou to Henk and Camilla for being such generous and great hosts. Prior to their purchase, this property was a bed and breakfast. I personally much prefer it's current inhabitants.

Reconnecting with old friends like this, I have stumbled into the words of the song: the circle is unbroken and I am staying in the mansion in the sky.View from the front porch with Savannah the dog.

Het Posthuys: a little history

Dating back to circa 1742 (perhaps 1673), Het Posthuys on Muizenberg's Main Road is one of the oldest buildings in South Africa. It was built by the Dutch East India Company and has had various uses over time. Originally it served as a lookout and as a toll house for the collection of taxes from farmers selling their produce to sailing ships anchored in Simon's Bay. It is rumoured to have also served over the years as a police station, stables, brothel, hotel, pub and resturant, though it is now a historical museum, having been restored in the 1980's with private funds.

During the 1795 Battle of Muizenberg between the Dutch and British, the building apparently took some British fire.

The architectural style with whitewashed walls and thatched roof anticipates the Cape Dutch architecture of the early days of the Cape Colony in South Africa. Het Posthuys is an easy couple of blocks walk from where I am currently lodged.

In 1670, attracted by the rich, fertile soil, the Dutch East India Company established a cattle farm in the area now known as Muizenberg. Before that, the first inhabitants of South Africa, the hunter-gatherer Khoi people, would have regarded the area as home.

Rainbow nation: beach hut style

Almost a cliche of Muizenberg, the brightly coloured Victorian beach huts are often featured on picture post cards. Herewith my amateur instamatic efforts to add the body of work documenting these curiosities. More about the history beach huts which date from the realm of Queen Victoria can be found here.

Asian cat attack: the wild affair of Asia Sky Lightning Claw.

The latest male in my life is a fist sized, ten week old bundle of fury who lost no time asserting his territorial claims by peeing on me (and incidentally the couch and the silk cushions). His Asian Leopard Cat ancestry (Fels Bengalensis) shows strongly in striking stripes and rosettes on his coat, and most prominently in his fierce wildness. Yes, all kittens are demanding, but this one is a terror, all claws and teeth, curiosity and feral instincts. Don't be fooled for a moment by the cuteness factor.

(This one's for you Lionheart).

Hanging ten in Muizenberg

Last year when on Big Island, Hawaii, I was fortunate enough to get to pay respects at one of the only known temples to surfing, Ku'emanu Heiau (pictured above). In a nation famous for surfing, the little beachside town of Muizenberg where I have landed for the moment is considered the birthplace of surfing in South Africa. A look at the geography explains why.
Muizenberg lies south of Cape Town, where the shore of the Cape Peninsular curves eastwards on the False Bay coast. The beautiful long curve of beach is almost 20 km/ 12.5 miles long. The horizon is dramatic with jagged peaks of the Cape Fold mountain ranges. Houses are set between mountain and sea on steep slopes.
A railway line, running along the seaboard at this stage links these southern suburbs with Cape Town city centre. False Bay is known for its Great White shark population. There is a shark watch service in Muizenberg with a system of flag signal alerts for bathers and surfers. So far sharks have made their presence known during my visit, stranding a humpbacked whale calf and giving the shark alert guy some work to do raising and lowering the signal flags at Surfer's Corner. Oyster catchers and sea gulls call these these parts home too.

The swallow has landed in the fairest cape

In 1580 Sir Francis Drake, the English navigator on a circumnavigation of the world, sailed around the southern-most tip of Africa and called it "the fairest cape in all the world." To South Africans, Cape Town, the first established European settlement in the country, is also fondly known as the Mother City.
Flying into Cape Town after seven years away, a stormy sky only makes the hazy beauty of the geography even more wondrous. Struck by the accuracy of the appellation over the centuries, I am an explorer discovering the definition of geographic beauty for the first time today. This is still the fairest cape, and I have seen a couple and then some, since I left.

Through a glass fuzzily, from an aircraft window and with a cheap lill' point-an-shoot camera, some shots of the south western tip of South Africa.My friend Henk arrived at the airport in good African time to fetch me, bringing me safely back to his mansion in Muizenberg where I promptly hacked the home internet to indulge my habits whilst fending off the ankle level attacks of Asia Sky Lightening Claws the ten week old Bengal kitten. Camilla made a tomato basil pasta supper fit to welcome a prodigal gal home
Sunset from Henk and Camilla's Aurora porch. Tomorrow cultural reprogramming and an investigation of a whale which beached just below the house, chased by sharks apparently. My Fav Tribal Elder has instructed me to bring back a tooth. Yeah, easier said than done, you lolo Hawaiian, but I will do my best. Do whales have teeth anyone?

My body has forgotten time. The household is a huge slumbering rustle, squeak and grunt of cats, kittens, dogs and a restless Cape wind rustling leaves and spattering a few unseasonal raindrops on the roof.

It is 4:30 am. My ear is tuned to the sleeping contentment of the continent again, even as early traffic begins to part the night and the avian dawn chorus strikes up. The warm velvet air is heavy and heady with the scent of lillies and the aptly named brunsfelsia. Yesterday, today and tomorrow. These are enduring things. .