Author: Collins Rex

Every South African of a certain age remembers where they were when history unfolded around them. For me, one of those moments is 16 June 1976.

I was just shy of my 12th birthday. A boy named Hector Pieterson was barely a year older than me, but our lives could hardly have been more different.

You see, Hector was black and living in Soweto. I was white, in the suburbs of Johannesburg. And South Africa was a country divided by apartheid.

I was too young to fully understand the machinery of apartheid, but I knew that something was deeply wrong when children my own age were confronting armed police in the streets of Soweto.

The events of 16 June 1976 have been well-documented. Thousands of students marched in protest against the imposition of Afrikaans as a language of instruction, police (many of them young and inexperienced) opened fire, children tragically, and unforgivably, died.

We also know the photograph. We ALL know the photograph …

Hector Pieterson, limp in the arms of Mbuyisa Makhubo. His sister, Antoinette Sithole, running beside them in anguish. A frozen moment of grief, fear and urgency.

It is one of the most powerful photographs ever taken in South Africa. Perhaps one of the most powerful photographs ever taken anywhere.

The image travelled around the world and exposed the reality of apartheid to millions who had never experienced it. It helped shift international opinion. It strengthened calls for sanctions and isolation. It became a symbol of resistance and a visual shorthand for the brutality of the apartheid state.

This year, as South Africa marks 50 years since the Soweto Uprising, I have found myself thinking about that powerful photograph, but also about the man who took it.

Recently I had the privilege of interviewing filmmaker, Nhlanhla Mthethwa, director of Sam Nzima: Journey Through His Lens, a documentary that tells the story of the photographer behind the image.

It is an extraordinary story.

For decades, the photograph became famous while Sam Nzima faded into obscurity.

The image appeared in newspapers, books, documentaries, exhibitions and museums around the world. It became part of the historical record of the 20th century. Yet the man who risked his safety to capture it received little recognition and no financial benefit from its global use. Instead, he paid an enormous price.

The apartheid government understood the power of the image immediately. Nzima faced harassment and intimidation. His movements were restricted. His career effectively ended.

The irony is difficult to ignore: the world celebrated the photograph, the photographer retreated into the shadows.

Speaking with Mthethwa, I was struck by how familiar this pattern is. History often remembers iconic moments while overlooking the people who made them possible. We remember the image, we forget the person standing behind the camera.

(Watch the interview here: https://youtu.be/Cx7usUXt-ds?si=sfvg28ay0xn4DuNK.)

What makes Nzima’s story particularly poignant is that his photograph did far more than document an event. It changed the way the world saw South Africa.

In the time before AI, photographs had a unique power: they bypassed argument, they ignored ideology. Photographs cut through political spin and spoke directly to human emotion.

The apartheid government could explain away criticism. It could dismiss reports. It could deny accusations. It could not explain away that photograph of a dying 13 year old Hector Pieterson.

As I watched Mthethwa’s documentary and reflected on our conversation, I found myself thinking again about the 12-year-old girl I was in June 1976.

At that age, I may not have understood the full complexity of apartheid or the long struggle that had preceded Soweto. But I understood that the children on my television screen looked like me; they were my age. They should have been worrying about schoolwork, friendships, and growing up.

Instead, they were confronting a system determined to deny them basic rights. That realisation stayed with me.

It shaped the way I saw my country. It influenced the choices I made later in life. It contributed to my own political awakening.

Many years later, on 11 February 1990, I was on air, reading the news that Nelson Mandela had walked free. Five years after that, President Mandela unexpectedly walked into my radio studio and gave me a hug that I can almost still feel when I try hard enough. I suspect Hector Pieterson my have thought that moment was pure fantasy.

This year, on Youth Day, South Africans will rightly remember Hector Pieterson, Hastings Ndlovu (the first child to be killed on that fateful day), and the thousands of young people who challenged injustice in 1976.

But I hope we also remember Sam Nzima.

Without him, the world might never have seen what happened in Soweto. Without him, one of history’s most important images would never have existed.

History is made by those in front of the camera. It is documented by those behind it.

Let me preface this post by saying that I’ve been trusted to write this story, and to share it. But this isn’t my story. This story belongs to my nephew, Carl Rex, and to his mom, Jill Rex (ne Robertson).

I share it with delight and love, because it’s a tale almost too fantastic to be true. It’s the story of a remarkable man I knew a little in his later years. Maxwell Robertson is my nephew’s maternal grandfather, and he was extraordinary! It’s a long read, but worthwhile!!

Maxwell James Robertson was born in Mafikeng on 7 April 1906, the youngest of four children. His father served as a magistrate and his mother was a nurse. The family’s movements around southern Africa exposed him to a world far larger than most young boys of his era would ever experience.

He and his brother were eventually sent to Grey College in Bloemfontein, one of South Africa’s most prestigious schools. There, Maxwell excelled in sport, earning medals across numerous disciplines and winning the Victor Ludorum award. He was also an accomplished horseman. Family stories tell of a severe influenza outbreak when he was only seven years old, during which he rode alone between neighbouring farms to check on isolated families.

The qualities that would define his life – self-reliance, courage and determination – were already evident.

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Act I: The Frontier Explorer

In the late 1920s, Maxwell was employed by R.A. Bailey Ltd., a livestock and forwarding company based at Palapye Road in what was then the Bechuanaland Protectorate.

Early in 1929, the company’s principals approached him with an extraordinary challenge. They wanted to establish a route through the Kalahari between Maun in the north and Palapye Road in the south. If successful, cattle could be moved from Ngamiland to markets further south.

The obstacles were immense.

The route traversed remote country where water was scarce, maps were limited, and vast areas were infested with tsetse fly. The insect posed a serious threat to livestock and carried sleeping sickness in humans. Few Europeans knew the region well, and fewer still were willing to attempt such a journey.

Maxwell accepted.

At only twenty-three years of age, he assembled a party of twenty-six Bushmen (people we now know as the Khoi and San) whose knowledge of the terrain would prove invaluable. Travelling largely on foot, carrying minimal provisions and relying heavily on hunting for food, they set out into one of the least-developed regions of southern Africa.

The journey took months.

Working with local chiefs and headmen, Maxwell reached Maun, assembled approximately 1000 cattle, and then began the difficult task of bringing them south. Because of the intense heat, most movement took place at night. Watering had to be carefully managed. Predators, disease and exhaustion were constant threats.

Against all odds, the venture succeeded.

By the time the herd reached Palapye Road in December 1929, only two cattle had been lost to tsetse fly!

It was an achievement that would establish Maxwell’s reputation throughout the region, but his mother remembered only an unshaven young man, desperately in need of a bath, arriving home by train to Krugersdorp.

And the cattle drive was only the beginning …

The Scientist’s Explorer

In 1930, Maxwell became associated with the Vernay-Lang Kalahari Expedition, one of the most important scientific expeditions ever undertaken in Bechuanaland and the Kalahari.

Sponsored by American explorer, Arthur Stannard Vernay, and collector, Herbert Lang, the expedition travelled across the region between March and September 1930, collecting zoological specimens and documenting a landscape that remained poorly understood by science.

Published scientific reports reveal that Maxwell played a far more significant role than family history alone suggests.

The expedition’s zoologist, Austin Roberts, repeatedly referred to Maxwell in his official accounts. Roberts recorded travelling ahead of the main expedition with Robertson to collect mammal specimens along the Lake River near Maun. Together they gathered extensive collections of Vervet Monkeys and other wildlife while scouting country ahead of the expedition vehicles.

Perhaps more importantly, Maxwell served as the expedition’s bridge to local communities.

At Shorobe, Roberts recorded that Maxwell had advised local residents of the expedition’s arrival and its interest in purchasing mammal specimens. The result was extraordinary. The expedition was greeted by large numbers of women and children carrying hundreds of rodents and other animals for scientific examination.

Such cooperation could not simply be arranged by visiting scientists. It depended upon trust, local knowledge and relationships built over years in the region.

Roberts’ accounts also place Maxwell in the field during hunting expeditions, specimen collection trips and exploratory journeys through some of the most remote parts of the Kalahari. At one point he was part of a party that successfully collected three lions in a single day for museum purposes—a practice that, while confronting to modern readers, was standard scientific procedure at the time.

The published records of the Vernay-Lang Expedition survive today as an important contribution to southern African zoology.

Hidden within those reports are references to Maxwell Robertson, a reminder that scientific discovery often depends not only on academics and museum curators, but also on skilled field men whose understanding of the landscape makes exploration possible.

By his mid-twenties, Maxwell had become both explorer and scientific collaborator, helping to document a region that was still largely unknown to the wider world.

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Act II: Darkness and Reinvention

Following his years in Bechuanaland, Maxwell returned to South Africa and joined West Rand Consolidated Mine near Krugersdorp.

His mining career progressed well and he eventually became a shift boss.

Then disaster struck.

While investigating a misfired blast with a colleague, the charge detonated unexpectedly. Maxwell sustained catastrophic injuries and lost the sight in both eyes. At only 30 years old, he was left with just the ability to discern light and dark..

For many people, such an event would have marked the end of an active and productive life. For Maxwell, it marked the beginning of a new one.

Determined to regain his independence, he travelled to England during the Second World War to study physiotherapy and undergo experimental corneal graft procedures. Because of the dangers of wartime sea travel and his blindness, he paid for a companion to accompany him on the voyage.

The operations were unsuccessful, and he ultimately lost all remaining sight.

Yet even in England he refused to surrender to limitation. Continuing his lifelong passion for sport, he won three medals in competitive sculling.

Blindness had taken his vision, but not his determination.

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Act III: Service and Legacy

Upon returning to South Africa, Maxwell joined the Chamber of Mines Hospital in Cottesloe, Johannesburg, where he worked as a physiotherapist treating victims of mining accidents.

It was work for which he was uniquely qualified.

Having experienced a devastating mining injury himself, he possessed a credibility and empathy that few others could offer. Patients facing life-altering trauma listened when Maxwell spoke because he had walked that path himself.

For the next 35 years he worked with injured miners, helping them rebuild their lives and regain their confidence.

He also maintained a private practice from home and earned a reputation as an exceptional physiotherapist. Among his patients was Sir Ernest Oppenheimer, founder of the Anglo American mining group, whom Maxwell treated at Brenthurst, the Oppenheimer family residence in Johannesburg.

Those who knew him remembered not only his professional competence, but his resilience, humility and refusal to accept defeat.

A Life Larger than Memory

Family stories often become embellished over time. Details soften, achievements grow and memories take on the qualities of legend.

What makes Maxwell Robertson’s story remarkable is that much of it can be independently verified.

The young man who crossed the Kalahari with 26 Bushmen and a thousand cattle appears in the scientific literature only months later, helping one of the most significant zoological expeditions of its era navigate the same landscape. The explorer became a scientific fieldman. The adventurer became a contributor to knowledge.

Then, after losing his sight, he reinvented himself once again – this time as a healer and mentor to others facing adversity.

His life reminds us that history is often shaped not only by famous names, but by the capable, determined individuals working behind the scenes. Explorers, guides, organisers, survivors and problem-solvers whose contributions are easily overlooked but without whom much would never have been achieved.

Maxwell Robertson was one of those people.

(Thanks to Decima – who at age 91 told Maxwell’s story to her daughter, Jill. And to Jill and Carl for letting me share it with you.)

Athol Fugard’s masterpiece is ringing true once more. This time it’s not the horrors of apartheid that are being highlighted, but the violence perpetrated by black African’s against other black Africans.

The immigration issue now is impossible to avoid. It’s in newspaper headlines, and all over social media. It’s in conversations around braai fires, and on WhatsApp groups. It is in the frustrations of ordinary South Africans trying to navigate a country that often feels stretched beyond its limits. And it’s hitting DMs in the form of shocking videos circulated here and internationally.

Before I go any further, let me say something clearly: violence is never a solution, and violence against foreign nationals is just wrong and unacceptable.

No grievance, real or perceived, justifies the intimidation of migrants (whether documented or not), the destruction of businesses, or the targeting of people because of their nationality. South Africa has seen enough violence in its history. We don’t need more of it!

But condemning violence doesn’t mean we should avoid difficult conversations. In fact, the opposite is true. The failure to have honest conversations is often what allows tensions to fester until the proverbial abscess pops.

Over the past few months, I’ve watched South Africa’s immigration debate become increasingly polarised. One side insists that anyone raising concerns about illegal immigration is xenophobic. The other insists that every foreign national is responsible for South Africa’s problems. Both positions are lazy. And both are wrong.

The reality is far more complicated.

As someone who has spent much of my adult life moving between countries, I understand migration. I became an Australian citizen. I built a business there. I still work there and spend considerable time there.

I know what it feels like to arrive in a new country and build a life from scratch. I also know that every country has immigration rules. We complied with those rules when we migrated to Australia, and we comply with those rules as we now live as documented foreign nationals in South Africa.

Every country in the world has immigration rules and laws, even the countries from which many migrants arrive in South Africa!

That is why I find it strange that Africans struggle to have mature conversations about immigration enforcement, without immediately descending into accusations and counter-accusations.

A sovereign country has a right to control its borders. That shouldn’t be a controversial statement, but here it is.

The greatest challenge facing South Africa is scale. Most credible estimates suggest that South Africa may be home to between two and three million undocumented migrants. (And many estimates are considerably higher.) No one knows the precise number, but even at the lower end of those estimates, we are talking about a population larger than many African cities.

At the same time, South Africa is dealing with unemployment above 30%. Youth unemployment – at above 60% – is among the highest in the world. Municipal services are failing in many areas. Public healthcare facilities are under immense pressure. Economic growth remains stubbornly weak.

Whether one favours stricter immigration controls or more open policies, these facts matter. South Africa doesn’t have unlimited capacity and cannot welcome all Africans with open arms. That is not xenophobia, it is reality.

One of the arguments one hears is that South Africans should remember the support many African countries provided during apartheid. South Africans should be grateful and consequently accept any and all Africans that come here to live. Yes, countries across the continent opened their doors to South African exiles. They educated our students. They hosted political activists. They provided diplomatic support when much of the world looked away. That history matters. But history is all it is.

The assistance provided during apartheid was directed at people fleeing political persecution. It was an act of solidarity during a specific period of history. The challenge this country faces today is different.

This is a debate about jobs, infrastructure, healthcare, housing, state capacity and economic opportunity.

Why aren’t we asking why Botswana, Namibia and Zimbabwe don’t open their borders to all Africans? In fact, some of South Africa’s neighbours take a far harder line on undocumented migration than South Africa does.

Botswana routinely detains and deports undocumented migrants. Namibia enforces visa and permit requirements more strictly than many South Africans realise. Neither country is generally accused of being anti-foreigner for doing so. They’re simply exercising the rights of sovereign states.

Another aspect of this debate that fascinates me is how rarely we discuss the flow of migration in the opposite direction.

Millions of Africans have moved to South Africa over the past several decades. How many undocumented South Africans have moved to Zimbabwe? To Botswana? To Mozambique? To Malawi? The answer is: very few.

South Africans emigrate, certainly. But when they do, they overwhelmingly head for Australia, New Zealand, the United Kingdom, Canada, Europe and North America.

There is no equivalent migration crisis involving South Africans elsewhere on the continent. Why? Because migration follows opportunity. And for all its challenges, South Africa remains the economic powerhouse of Southern Africa.

People don’t risk crossing borders because they dislike their home countries. They do so because they are seeking something better: prospects, an income, a future for their children.

I understand that completely. All migrants do.

I also see this crisis from another perspective. Just outside the gate of the suburb in which we live is an informal settlement called Orange Farm. Estimates are that around 80% of all the residents of Orange Farm are undocumented migrants. These are families, young people trying to earn a living, older people providing services to a community. In fact, our staff member, Goodwell Nyarenda, is a Malawian national who lives in Orange Farm. Goodwell – although documented – could be a target of xenophobic violence at any time. He’s a good, hardworking man who deserves better.

Which brings me to the conclusion I keep returning to: South Africa needs both compassion and control.

Compassion without control eventually undermines public confidence. Control without compassion eventually undermines our humanity. The challenge is finding the balance.

That balance will not be found in slogans. It won’t be found in xenophobic rhetoric. And it won’t be found in pretending the problem does not exist.

It will be found in honest conversations about what South Africa can realistically sustain, what role migration should play in our economy, and how we protect both the dignity of migrants and the interests of citizens.

Those conversations are long overdue, and until we have them, violence is going to be a daily occurrence, and South Africa will once again – just as in the apartheid years – be a pariah.

Neil Diamond wrote:

“… nowadays, I’m lost between two shores
LA’s fine, but it ain’t home
New York’s home but it ain’t mine no more”

There is a moment that always gets me …

It happens somewhere over the Indian Ocean, somewhere between the fading familiarity of one country and the approaching familiarity of another. Two homes. Two identities. Two versions of myself. And somewhere in the middle, suspended at 35,000 feet, I realise I no longer belong entirely to either.

I recently returned to South Africa after a work trip back to Australia. Presentations. Meetings. Coffees. Airports. Familiar roads. Familiar accents. Dear friends. The strange comfort of routines my body remembers, even when my mind has moved on.

And now I’m back in Kosmos, with my gorgeous man, recalibrating my internal compass …

There is enormous privilege in being able to move between worlds, to maintain deep ties to both Australia and South Africa, and to understand each country from the inside rather than from headlines or stereotypes.

But we think about the emotional dislocation. The quiet psychological whiplash.

Australia still feels like home; 28 years is most of my adult life afterall! South Africa also feels like home, particularly since it’s the land of my birth, and imprinted on my soul. Yet both sometimes feel slightly out of reach, at the exact same time.

In Australia, I slip back into old rhythms almost immediately. I know how things work instinctively. The systems are familiar. The social codes are familiar. The humour is familiar. There is a predictability to daily life that settles into the nervous system almost unconsciously. Catching up with old friends and family feels as though no time has passed at all.

Until suddenly it has.

Because beneath the comfort sits another reality: life moved on. People evolved. Friendship circles shifted. Absences have slowly became normal. The embraces are warm and very real, but one is no longer woven quite as tightly into the fabric of everyday life.

And then there is South Africa, where my beloved husband, and my wonderful thatched home wait to welcome me back to the Africa of my heart.

South Africa gets under your skin in a completely different way. It is louder, more volatile, more emotionally intense. The contradictions are sharper. The inequality more visible. The politics more immediate. The energy more raw. South Africa can exhaust you and inspire you in the same afternoon. There is something deeply alive about it!

The conversations are different here. More layered. More conscious of history, identity, race, resilience, survival and reinvention. South Africans carry complexity differently. Humour becomes armour. Cynicism and optimism coexist in bizarre and fascinating ways. And despite all the frustrations, there is a humanity here that can be difficult to explain to outsiders. And here, of course, are lifelong friends, close family.

So I move between these two worlds carrying emotional residue from both.

In Australia, part of me misses the intensity and unpredictability of South Africa. In South Africa, part of me misses the order and familiarity of Australia. In both places, there are moments where I feel entirely at home. In both places, there are moments where I feel strangely foreign.

People still ask me why we returned to South Africa. After more than a year of living here, some ask the question for the first time. And with each asking I realise the move wasn’t a single decision made once, it is an ongoing negotiation of identity.

Every return flight reopens old emotional files. Every reunion both elates and saddens. I guess that’s the price – and the privilege – of belonging to more than one place.

Somewhere between Melbourne and Johannesburg, between memory and reinvention, between familiarity and distance, I’m learning to live with carrying two homes inside me at once.

And I’m so prepared for the lesson!

Sawasdee ka!

I don’t believe in reincarnation, but if I did, I’d believe that I lived in this remarkable city in a previous life. My first trip to Bangkok was around 1990. When I stepped off the plane onto the tarmac (no aerobridges then), I felt I was home.

Now, almost four decades later, the feeling is the same …

Join me for a whistle-stop visit to the incredible place that is Bangkok!

Bangkok is a relatively “young” capital by global standards, but its rise has been rapid and strategic. Originally a small trading post on the Chao Phraya River delta, it became the capital of Siam (now Thailand) in 1782 under King Rama I, marking the beginning of the Chakri dynasty that still reigns today. And the people love their royal family. The old queen, Sirikit, was particularly beloved; her recent passing will have the city in mourning for at least a year.

In its early years, Bangkok was a water-based city, defined by canals (khlongs) and river trade, earning it the nickname “Venice of the East.” Over time, especially in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Western influence, infrastructure development, and modern medicine accelerated urban growth.

The result: a city where royal temples, informal settlements, luxury malls, and global finance coexist, often on the same street! (Or along the same river.)

To understand Bangkok, one needs to spend time on the Chao Phraya River, where life in many ways is as it has been for centuries.

Original houses sit cheek by jowl with industrial developments, modern mansions, and the ever-present wats (temples). People live on the water, grow food on the water, and fish. It’s a subsistence life, definitely not one of luxury, but by and large people are content to live in this way. On the river, enough is enough.

What I’ve always found really interesting is how people garden on the river. From fruit and vegetables to flowers, the tiniest plot is bursting with pots.

The river is still used to ferry construction material and other heavy goods that would otherwise clog the already crowded roads. Barges doing the heavy lifting (or pulling!) are a common sight up and down the Chao Phraya.

It was interesting – and encouraging – to see many homes being restored, and stunning new places being built.

Bangkok has clearly recovered from COVID. The city is thriving, and there’s an air of optimism about this megalopolis of 11 million people.

Religion permeates every facet of Thai life, and Bangkok is no exception. There are wats everywhere – in the city, in the suburbs, and along the Chao Phraya. Wedged in between houses, occupying prime real estate, you’ll find a wat – from the simplest to the most ornate. And it’s not just Thai Buddhist temples either, there are also Chinese temples, mosques, Hindu temples, and churches.

At Wat Chin Wararamworawiharn we were fortunate to see a good karma ceremony being performed – fish being released into the Chao Phraya.

One of the things that makes Bangkok so entrancing is its food. And, man, it’s everywhere! From street stalls and markets, to super high-end restaurants – there’s literally something to satisfy every taste.

Market food is cheap as chips, fresh, and so tasty. From ready-made to fresh produce, the range is extraordinary.

I had the great privilege of eating a very special meal at “Nahm”, the restaurant founded by Australian Thai chef extraordinaire, David Thompson. David has since moved on to a less refined, Thai street food-focused restaurant, but Nahm is still amazing.

Bangkok isn’t just a city you visit, it’s a city that overwhelms, absorbs, and constantly reinvents itself. It’s a place powered by migration, commerce, and an ability to hold contradiction without ever resolving it. And I love it!

My previous post was an observational one, so it’s salient to use the first day of our second year to give you an update of goings on over the previous month.

There have been a couple of notable achievements on the home front: we got a tenant for our cottage, and we’ve embarked on a project of updating/upgrading all the light fittings in the house.

Our new tenant, a sweet young fellow named Hendrick, moved into the cottage on 01 February. He was particularly excited to keep the rather funky furnishings!

The light fittings in our home have been a source of constant irritation, but with so many other things crying out to be done, they’ve taken a back seat. Not anymore!

In a previous blog I showed off pics of the new chandelier the man created for the lounge …

And now the remaining hideous old lights have been replaced with revitalised, and newly-created, specimens.

Next up, my resident lighting genius will be installing a vintage industrial “shovel” fitting in the dining room. Watch this space for pics of the properly restored fitting, appropriately installed.

For the rest, life has progressed at a cracking pace.

I’ve been reminded of the absurdities (and wonders!) of this place …

We’ve watched keenly as the water hyacinth that chokes our Hartbeespoort Dam is attacked by tiny bugs …

We’ve watched from afar as Johannesburg battles a water crisis. (Some suburbs have had NO water for almost a month.) We’ve been quietly thankful that Kosmos is currently unaffected, and we’ve been outraged that the Gauteng Premier brushed off people’s concerns by suggesting that showers in hotels are the answer to their untenable situation.

And, as always, we’re grateful for time spent with the people we care about.

Kosmos remains fabulous (especially when we haven’t spotted a baboon in some time!!), and we love our late summer garden.

Until next time, sala kahle!

And just like that, we’ve been in South Africa for 12 whole months.

Today some indulgence is required because this post will be more philosophical than usual; anniversaries do that to me.

Looking back over the past year, I see joy and sadness. I see frustration, contentment, trepidation, and excitement. I see achievements and failure. In short, I see a life taking shape and solidifying, and with each passing week, this place is becoming home.

The first few months of our time back in South Africa disappeared in a haze of activity. We battled with bureaucracy at all levels, we bought cars, opened bank accounts, took occupation of our house, did renovations, tried to maintain our professions, and so much more. We were so busy that we barely had time to breath, much less take time to just come to terms with the enormity of our move.

Now, as I write, I can take stock and share a few home truths:

• It’s been exhausting – emotionally and physically
• It’s been challenging and rewarding in equal measure
• It’s been scary, but inwardly fortifying
• It’s been humbling
• It’s been fun (and funny!)
• It’s been mind-numbingly annoying and gratifying at the same time
• It’s been lonely in the quiet hours

The list could go on almost endlessly, but here’s the reality: moving countries when you’re 60+ isn’t the same as doing it when you’re 30+, and we (particularly I) underestimated just how tough this would be. Changing countries somehow compresses the human experience. It strips away the invisible scaffolding you didn’t even realise was holding you up, and it takes time to re-erect that scaffolding and make it permanent.

Every reason we had for relocating is as valid today as it was when we made the decision to move, it’s just taken me a little longer to fully acclimatise to being in this place at this time, but I’m getting there.

I love our home, and our old and new friends. It’s wonderful being closer to loved family members, and being more engaged in their lives (and having them in ours). I love Africa and her people – the laughter, the music, the spirit. I’ve made peace with many of the things that frustrate me, and I’m learning to cut myself some slack and give it time.

Most of all, I love sharing this adventure with my gorgeous man. So – happy ZAversary to us!! And to you, dear reader – thanks for being on this journey with us.

Until next time, sala kahle!

I can barely believe I just typed “month 12”. The realisation that we’ll soon be marking a whole year in South Africa is mind-blowing to me.

The past month disappeared in whirl of family visits, special occasions (hello, NYD), work around the home, and managing uninvited wild guests.

And in between, we managed a few excursions, including brekkies out at one of our favourite stops – a Woolies cafe …

We celebrated 2+3’s 31 December birthday in a rather more low-key manner than has occurred in many past years, but this one was truly exceptional!

This year we walked with elephants!

About 10kms from our house is the “Elephant Sanctuary”, where rescued elephants are rehabilitated and – where possible – returned to the wild. There are currently four elephants at the sanctuary that can, for a variety of reasons, not be re-wilded. These magnificent animals live at the sanctuary and are comfortable to have limited interactions with visitors. They spend most of their days foraging in the mountains behind the sanctuary (accompanied by their keepers), but at night they sleep safely indoors.

It was such a privilege to learn about and interact with these gentle giants. And getting a kiss from Temba – priceless, albeit a little muddy!

One of the reasons we moved to South Africa was to be close to old friends and family. NYD delivered that in spades!

Joined by some of my cousins, my nephew, and old and new friends, we started 2026 on the best possible note. There was good food aplenty, bubbles, and enough laughter to last well into the new year!

After new year we welcomed a house guest. Urbain’s sister, Francet, has lived in the UK for over 20 years and she spent the last few days of her South African sojourn with us.

It was great having a few days to get to know one another again, having barely seen one another over the past years. And we also loved sharing a little of our African life with her.

No visit to Africa would be complete without wildlife! With limited time, we couldn’t get to a proper game reserve, but we did manage to visit a conservancy close to home where they care for injured animals that cannot be re-wilded. There are wild dogs, cheetahs, hyenas, antelopes, and these fine creatures …

Now, our little part of the world is home to many wild critters, some less welcome than others.

We love our regular bird visitors, adore the neighbourhood squirrel, and even find the monkeys cute, but we draw the line at baboons, especially when they make their way into our home. We’ve had two visits in the past 10 days, and replacing all the fruit, chocolates and snacks, and cleaning up after them is wearing a little thin. We also do not appreciate their wanton destruction of things we value and love.

Mercifully, the baboon visits made up a small part of our African life over the past weeks!

We also finally got around to replacing some of the really ugly light fittings that have been annoying the bejesus out of me.

Urbain crafted a fabulous chandelier that has true provenance. The wooden frame was made from a recycled outdoor bench, ripped out when Monash University had landscaping done. The ceramic pieces were cast by ceramist, Jack Latti, from floodlighting lamps (globes) and a reflector that Urbain has used in his career as a lighting engineer. These pieces were fired in Jack’s anagama wood-fired kiln, and are hanging from bits of rescued and recycled fascia board rescued from our friend Dewetia’s house. The metal shades are IKEA fruit bowls.

We also made the acquaintance of spectacular looking bugs …

Had a tipple or two at newly-discovered haunts …

And found treasures in forgotten bits of our garden.

Here’s to the 2026 we all wish for ourselves!

Until next time, sala kahle.

I’ve been tardy, but I do have a valid excuse – Day 1 of month 11 was Christmas day!

I’m sitting here, listening to Paul Simon’s remarkable album (does he have any other kind??), “Surprise”, eating homemade peanut brittle (a gift from Urbain’s sister, Yolande), and reflecting on the month just gone. It was another corker, with visitors from far away, an overseas trip, cultural experiences, Christmas, and much more. Strap in, folks, here we go …!

Even though I stepped down as Co-Director of the South African Film Festival (ANZ), I still serve on the film review Committee. We reviewed the first batch of films and held our first review meeting. There are some great offerings, so be sure to watch for the launch of the final programme.

As has become the norm, we visited our favourite haunts, including a fabulous Mozambiquan dive bar, and a great breakfast spot that comes with wildlife.

Having grown up on the Highveld, I’m used to spectacular electric storms, but the ones we’ve experienced in Hartbeespoort have been a level above! We sat often over the past weeks just watching, in complete awe of the power of Nature on full display.

With Christmas around the corner, and Urbain’s family coming to lunch, I started planning my menu. And that led to the hunt for a Christmas ham. Imagine my surprise and utter bewilderment to discover that there is only a thing called ‘Gammon” to be had here. Even really good butchers looked at me as if I had two heads when I enquired about “a leg of ham”. For the record, this is the difference …

As it turns out, the gammon was delicious, but next year I’m making my own HAM.

For the past 10 years, I’ve served as a Judge at the Asia Pacific ICT Alliance (APICTA) Awards. The Awards move around the various member economies, and this year we were in Taiwan.

Over five days, there were meetings (I’m also member of the Executive Committee of APICTA), events, and – of course – the competition itself.

It was a delight as always to catch up with Australian colleagues from across the country, and also those from the whole APICTA family.

This year 2+3 had work commitments and couldn’t join, so I flew solo (as I had for several years before roping him in).

Australia had a bumper crop of 16 entries across several categories, and we took home three gold medals and a merit award. And along the way a great time was had by all!

Upon my return from APICTA, a real treat was in store for us; dear friend. Dewetia, had to be in South Africa for work, and spent a night. What a joy!

It was during Dewetia’s visit that we learned of the tragedy in Bondi where 15 innocent people, out to celebrate the start of Hannukah, were murdered by two gunmen in a terrorist attack. 39 more innocents were injured. The attack, however, also saw remarkable acts of bravery and compassion, and galvanised a community against anti-Semitism.

Bondi Beach Shooting: Everything We Know About Terror Attack Targeting Jewish Holiday Event | TIME

On a more positive note, we marked the annual tradition of giving “Christmas” to our refuse collectors on the last rubbish collection day before Christmas. After much deliberation, we also upheld the tradition of giving Christmas hampers to staff (in addition to any other gifts and bonuses). Our brilliant gardener, Goodwell Nyarenda, lives in the informal settlement close to our village and for him and his family, the hamper bucket is as useful as the contents.

In preparation for overnight guests (nine of them!), we furnished and equipped our cottage, and generally prettied it up.

Urbain’s sister, Louwene, and her daughter, Mekayla, were the first to arrive, a couple of days before Christmas.

Then it was Christmas!

The table was set …

Obstacles were overcome – like having no electricity for more than three hours until just before the guests’ arrival! A feast was prepared …

The family gathered … And a glass was raised to absent loved ones who will always be missed at times like these.

And just like that, it was 27 December and the house was just ours again.

I leave you with a video of Urbain being groomed by our friend Derrich’s cat. Until next time, merry belated Christmas, and sala kahle.

I’m a day late in writing this blog because life got in the way. And maybe I’ve also been a little distracted by the sunbird building a nest outside my office window, and the squirrel that comes searching for a snack every morning (and some afternoons).

I’m beginning to make Christmas and new year’s day plans, and getting ready to head to Taiwan in a week’s time. In between, there’s been gardening, and visits, and trips, and concerts.

Here goes – a quick recap of month nine (and a gratuitous sunset video) …

You know by now that we took a 3,500km road trip a few weeks ago. Since then, we’ve mostly been busy around the house.

Our thatch roof was in need of some emergency maintenance, and a team came out to do the necessary. It’s the first time I’ve ever really seen thatching being done and it was a treat seeing the guys work.

And thank goodness we had this work done when we did, because shortly after, the Mother of electric storms arrived!

From time to time we have visits from baboons. These are mostly harmless, but always unwelcome. Why? They go from harmless to destructive in moments! That’s why we’ve never photographed or filmed our hairy visitors; we’re too busy chasing them away! Until a couple of days ago …

Now that the rains have come, we’ve spent quite a bit of time in the garden. New lawn has been laid and is establishing itself (and can’t yet be mowed), I’ve planted lots of seedlings, and our gardener, Goodwell, is building little stone walls everywhere.

I’ve re-purposed soup cups, two of them 40 years old, and have started thinking about other redundant vessels that can be used to hold succulents.

Despite all the chores, we’ve time for the fun stuff. We had our monthly “Salieri” opera appreciation gathering (“Romeo and Juliet” was this month’s offering), and as always there was also great conversation and good food. We also saw the Mzansi Ballet School in action in a modern ballet, “Private Presley”. The performances may not all have been completely polished, but it was wonderful to see young people giving it their all in front of an appreciative, paying audience. And the highlight for us? Chatting before the performance to an old gogo (grandmother) who was there to see her great-granddaughter perform.

In a week I’m off to Taiwan for the Asia Pacific ICT Alliance (APICTA) Awards where I – and three other Aussies – will be joining the international judging panel. This is my 10th outing and I’m really looking forward to it.

And now I’m going back to watching that industrious sunbird!

Until next time, sala kahle.