A day on the farm

The first rays of light are just peeking over the horizon. It is six in the morning and I am cozy in bed when suddenly my alarm goes off. I quickly push the blankets off and hop over to the desk where the alarm vibrates and buzzes against the glass counter. I learned in high school that an alarm clock next to the bed is a recipe for a long bout of ‘snoozing’ so I leave it on the table across the room. The floor is cold on my feet and I can see my breath as I stand, shivering – that first shock of cold right after jumping out of my warm bed is probably the worst part of the day. The temperature outside drops to about 15 degrees F during the night, but has gone down to zero on a few occasions. I am thankful I brought my coat having almost left it behind thinking ‘Africa must be warm, even in the winter!’ but boy was I wrong. I would say that my down jacket has been on for over fifty percent of my stay here, just to give you a clue of how chilly the weather can get. Once I’m bundled up, I tiptoe my way into the kitchen trying to make as little noise as possible – this house is about a hundred years old and the wooden floors would creak if a mouse walked over them, so it can be quite a struggle trying not to wake up the farmer in the next room. I make myself a bowl of cereal (or three) and then quietly sneak back into my own room where I pack up my camera, water, snacks etc for the day to come. At about 6:30 there is just enough light to see without the aid of a headlamp, and this is usually when I head out to the field. I remember one of the first days I was here in Africa I headed out the door at 6am with my headlamp on only to get about one hundred meters from the farm before turning around. Why you might ask? Once you step into the field at night with your light, you will see hundreds of pairs of eyes glowing back at you. Red eyes, green eyes, bluish eyes – different species with different color reflections, and boy is it intimidating heading into the dark unknown alone with the eyes of a hundred animals looking straight back at you. At that point, I figured twenty extra minutes wouldn’t hurt.

As I step through the door at 6:30, I am jumped by my two explorer companions Libby and Frankie. They are just as excited as I am to start the day off, and for about five minutes or so they leap up as high as they can almost in an attempt to tackle me. I play with them for a minute in an attempt to move and get warm, but the clock is ticking at this point and so we quickly head out to the field. 45 minutes until sunrise, a couple miles of hiking; no time to waste. We jump fences, open gates, walk through a field of sheep, and finally make it to the edge of the farm where the open field begins. The grass is frozen solid, the metal gates are covered in a layer of frost, and for a moment I forget that I am in Africa. The field is in a slight depression so the elevation drops off from the farm, and the air temperature is noticeably cooler. Despite the frozen fingers, numb face and full body shivers, the dogs and I push on. Another two miles or so to go, and we will make it to a spot where herds of wildebeest and springbok often spend the night. On especially cold nights, I have found the animals themselves to be covered in a layer of frost. At this point, I pull out my camera and follow the animals around taking pictures as I go. The dogs stand about one foot off the ground and can barely see over the tall grass, so when they hear a rabbit or bird take off they chase after it jumping every other step in an effort to see where they are going. It’s quite entertaining watching them run off and disappear into the grass, then every second or so jump up just high enough where their head pops above the grass. It’s almost like watching a bopping head move through the long grass. While they keep busy chasing small critters, I stalk the larger animals with my camera until about 8:30 or so when my grumbling tummy tells me it’s time to go back to the farm.

The sunrise itself is quite a spectacular sight on the farm, especially out in the field surrounded by animals. The sky burns bright red before the sun creeps over the horizon, illuminating the grass and outlining the silhouettes of the animals around me. The sun finally makes its appearance, a glowing orb rising over the horizon, and for one breathtaking minute all the animals stop what they are doing, lift their heads, and look out at the sun. It’s as if they are relieved they have survived another freezing night outside, and at that moment when the life-giving sun shines its light on the land and its warmth instantly felt, they are reassured that they have lived another day. As the sun arcs higher in the sky, the ice begins to melt and the entire field bursts with life – both on land and in the air. I take off my down jacket and make sure to put it directly into my backpack (the first few times I took it off and put it on the ground next to me and turned around to take pictures, then Frankie took a few sniffs of the jacket and peed on it. He tends to pee on everything with my scent on it, and holy cow his pee is stinky…it took two weeks of heavy washing to get the smell out of my jacket!).

Once we’re back on the farm, real breakfast is served. The kitchen ladies make grits, eggs, bacon, sausage and toast every morning, and after having spent the morning freezing in the field I am dying to get some hot food in my stomach. I eat as much as I can and then some, usually about three times more than anyone else at the table (the farmer or his guests) even after having eaten cereal before I went out in the morning. Ahhh, there’s nothing more satisfying than eating so much that you can barely move afterwards…

After breakfast the day could go anywhere. Sometimes there’s plenty of work to be done on the farm whether it be chopping firewood, checking the perimeter fencing for holes, rounding the sheep, etc. and sometimes there is not much work to be done and I have the day to do whatever I want. When I have the day off, I usually go out and hike around the farm, exploring new places I’ve never been. It is not uncommon to run into the skeleton of an animal that fell victim to the jackals, porcupine quils scattered on the ground, clumps of feathers where a bird was eaten by a hawk, or anything else you could imagine running into in the desert. For this reason I try to walk somewhere different every day because it’s always neat stumbling upon some desert artifact.
Sometimes I also go out on the safari jeep rides with the tourists/guests who visit the farm. These are fun as well because we drive all around the 10,000 acre farm looking for animals so I am able to see quite a bit of diversity, but unfortunately the bumpy ride is no place to bring a big camera so I usually just go out and enjoy the scenery. I ride on the back of the jeep, and one thing I have learned is that you must always watch the road ahead. Whether there is a 2 foot hole in the middle of the road where an aardvark decided to dig its home the night before or a thorn bush that branches high out into the road, there is always something that could catch you off guard and leave you in pain. Acacia trees are common around the farm, and with their two inch thorns as sharp as razor blades, it almost seems possible to lose a limb to one of these trees if you don’t pay attention from the back of the truck. I often feel like Neo from the Matrix when he’s dodging bullets, because that’s what it can be like if we are driving in a bushy area and I’m standing in back dodging thorns both left and right. It adds to the adventure of the ride though, there’s no doubt about that.

The sun goes down at 5:30 and it is amazing how fast the temperature drops when the light disappears. If the jeeps are not back on the farm by the time the sun goes down, I often go from riding in the back with a t-shirt to shivering with a down jacket in the span of five minutes when the sun crests beyond the horizon. We usually try to make it back before sunset, but occasionally you do get caught out later than expected and when that happens, boy is it a cold ride back to the farm. Once we’re back, we start the fire out in the fire pit and huddle around it to keep warm. Almost every night we have a brai (similar to a barbeque) and cook out on the fire. The food, of course, is amazing. The meat is always fresh, usually caught either that day or the day before, and it’s game meat which is much leaner than beef and much more delicious. We each eat foot long fillets, entire racks of lamb, warthog ribs, or anything else the farmer feels like eating that night. Once we’ve stuffed ourselves to satisfaction, we sit by the fire and digest the tasty meal. I often sit back and zone out while the farmer talks to his guests in Afrikaans, daydreaming about what I should do the next day. At around eight I wander back to my room and I get ready for bed (much like when you go camping, there is not much to do when the sun goes down so it makes for very early nights, especially when the sun goes down at 5:30 like it does here). I sit back, read some, then fall asleep with a big smile on my face as I think to myself just how lucky I am to be here.






A view of the field





My Room (not too shabby eh?)

Frankie and Libby, my explorer companions

The main farm house

A month in Africa!

One month ago today I remember driving to the airport with butterflys in my stomach – excited, nervous, not knowing what to expect. Could this be real? Am I really heading off to Africa? Was it possible that I would be working on an animal reserve in one of the most beautiful and diverse areas in the world, or was this just some sort of a phony con where I would find myself alone and stranded at an airport halfway around the world from my family? With little to no information on what I would be doing while I was down here, where I would be staying, or even what country I would end up in, I didn’t know what to expect. But I mustered up the courage and hopped on my plane, wondering if I would need to look up youth hostels when I landed in this unknown place with nobody waiting for me. After the grueling 15 hour flight, I waited for nearly an hour for my bags, and when the conveyor finally stopped I only had one of my two suitcases. This was a concern because not only did I not know where I would be headed when I left the terminal, I was also supposed to meet up with the guy that was picking me up nearly a half hour ago (I figured 45 minutes or so was enough time to get out into the terminal where I would meet up with him). I only hoped that I could resolve the luggage issue as quickly as possible and get into the terminal before he deemed I was missing or did not arrive, and drove off without me. I began to file a claim for a missing suitcase, and it dawned on me that I had no address to give them, not even a phone number to contact me at. I tried to picture everything I had in the bag, already thinking about what I could get by without on the trip and what I might have to have sent to me from home in case it never showed up. Just then, a man walked out from one of those ‘do not enter’ doors with a dolly carrying just my bag on it. I didn’t know why it was the only bag that showed up in this fashion, but at the time I didn’t ask questions as I was extremely delighted to see that my bag had arrived. I rushed to grab it and head out into the terminal where I could only hope the man that was supposed to meet me was still waiting. I had been told he would be holding a sign that said ‘Max’ on it, making it easy for me to locate him. When I rounded the final corner turning into the terminal and out the sliding doors, my eyes quickly scanned the bright room full of people. I looked at everyone who seemed to be waiting on someone, carefully reading signs they held up and looking for that familiar one that would have my name on it. This was the moment that would either make or break this entire trip – the moment that had caused me the only stress before arriving – whether or not this program was for real and whether someone would actually be waiting to pick me up when I got off the plane. I only hoped that my hour and a half delay at the luggage department hadn’t deterred whoever was supposed to be picking me up. As I looked at all the signs, I realized that none had my name on it. I looked around at the hundreds of people walking this way and that, and before I could really think about what to do next, a familiar voice asked from behind ‘Are you Max?’ I had spoken with Darin on the phone twice before so I knew what he sounded like, and he must have known who I was given my disoriented appearance when I walked out of the sliding doors and clearly didn’t find what I was looking for. At that moment, I nearly sighed with relief. My only worry had been settled, I would not be left stranded in the airport wondering what to do for the next three months.

It was already dark by the time we reached his car. He asked if I was hungry, and I quickly replied that I was. We stopped to get some food, and I must have annoyed him with the many questions that I had. After all, I knew nothing about what I had gotten myself into – not even which country we were headed to. He was delighted to have me though, very eager to answer any questions that I had. I was, after all, the first of four that would arrive for the program – he must have been exciting that things were finally getting under way (this is the first year this program has been established, another reason why I was slightly worried the program might be some sort of scam because I was not able to contact anyone who had done it before). As we drove out of Johannesburg that night, he showed me on the map exactly where we were headed – about 700k to the west to a small town called Kuruman. Around midnight we were both pretty tired, him from the five hour drive to get to the airport to pick me up and me from the 24 hours of travel to get to South Africa. We quickly fell asleep in the mini-sized car that I could hardly find enough room to sit in nevertheless try to lay back for a nights rest in. The jet lag must have caught up to me because by 2am I was already wide awake. I sat up in an attempt to let Darin know that I was awake and ready to cruise – we still had about 5 hours of driving to go. He was probably half asleep himself because when I sat up he asked if I was ready to continue driving. He let me take the wheel because he was still quite tired, but I had no problem with driving through the night as I had become quite accustomed to it having taken a 6,000 mile road-trip only a few months prior.

“Just remember to stay on the left side of the road” – the words struck me at first, but then I remembered that I wasn’t driving in the States anymore. I had to be careful that I didn’t accidentally drive on the right side of the road by habit... not as easy as it sounds. Then he was asleep, and I was to myself as I drove the 400k or so left to Kuruman. I must say, we’ve got it good in America… after having driven in both Switzerland and South Africa, I have found that other countries don’t believe in providing enough road room for even a bike to squeeze through two cars on opposite sides of the road. Incredibly narrow, I had to be fully attentive not only to stay on the road, but also not to sway even the slightest into the next lane where trucks were passing at 120kph just inches from the side of the car. After about an hour I began to feel more confident and was beginning to feel more comfortable behind the wheel. This allowed me to focus more on something that had been in the back of my mind all night - I had been in the country for nearly half a day, having driven several hundred miles through Africa, but I had not yet seen Africa. One of the biggest curiosities I had was what the land actually looked like, but because I arrived so late and had been driving through the night, I had no idea what the landscape looked like. I felt like a kid up all night anxious for Santa to come on Christmas morning – I was just so excited to see where I had landed myself, what the other side of the world looks like!

I drove on for a few more hours and by now Darin had woken up and I was beginning to feel my eyelids getting a little heavy. I pulled over and let him take over, while I took a cat nap in the passenger seat. Not realizing how exhausted I was, I crashed instantly. I woke up around 8 am slightly disoriented – as if the past 40 hours was some kind of blurry dream. When I squinted my still sensitive eyes out the window, I could what I was looking at. I remember jumping up in my seat at that moment, glancing over at Darin and announcing “the sun came up!” I quickly looked out every window, front and back, to see exactly where we were and what this place looked like. We were in Kuruman now, and the town looked vaguely familiar – I realized it had components from a number of places I had been before. The buildings resembled those I had seen in Jamaica just a few weeks earlier, the people as well, but the vegetation and trees almost looked like those on one of the Florida Keys, some almost palm-like. The roads, as I said before, reminded me of the narrow streets in Europe, and the grass fields that spread for miles just outside town made me think of the plains in Croatia that stretched out as far as the eyes could see. Despite being completely foreign and unknown to me, I felt a slight familiarity to where I was. The feeling was comforting and warm – at that moment I grinned and said to myself ‘this is going to be one hell of a trip.’

My parents were right. I didn’t think it at the time, but the more that I experience here, the more I realize the truth in what they had told each other the day I left. Just as they had dropped me off at the airport and were heading back into the van, my mom caught my dad’s eye and said “Africa’s going to pull him in. Do you really expect he’ll be back in three months?”

I’ve been lucky enough to meet several groups of people that have stopped by the farm, all of them coming from different parts of South Africa. They all seem interested in the foreign kid from America and have been overly kind to me, but better yet many have invited me to come visit where they live. As if pushing pins into a map, I am slowly filling in the gaps where I can hop from house to house around the country to visit the folks I meet here, thus prolonging my stay here and getting a better idea of what Africa is like from a locals perspective. This is quite exciting because it provides me with a free ticket to cruise around the country heading from one person I've met to the next while experiencing the many different landscapes along the way. Just last night, in fact, I met a guy who worked for a tour company in Kruger National Park (the biggest national park in South Africa and one of the most famous in all of Africa). He told me he has several connections and that it would not be a problem getting me a place to stay, and possibly even working for the tour company he worked for if I was interested. I couldn’t believe my luck when I heard this! It is through these random turn of events that my door to Africa has opened up more and more, and even though it has only been a month since I arrived, I feel like I already know enough people to make this trip last a year! This is not to say that I will end up stuck here forever, or even a year for that matter, but I am just excited at all the friendly people I am meeting doors that are opening up. And it may very well be the case that I fly home in August as planned, but one thing I do know for sure, this will not be my last time visiting this beautiful country and its wonderful people.

Arguing Blue Wildebeest

Chrimson Breasted Shrike Pair





Water Buck with an Attitude

Baby Waterbuck - note those stubby little horns coming in!

Pale Chaunting Goshawk (Juv)

Time flies in africa

I often find myself heading towards the water hole, a few miles walk from the farm. This natural sinkhole, which extends nearly 300 meters deep of pure freshwater, is the product of thousands of years of erosion caused by slightly acidic water eating away at the earth below. It is the only spot on the 10,000 acre farm where water occurs naturally on the surface, without the need for a well. But it is not the water that draws me, rather the rock walls surrounding the pool that have been carved by years of erosion. It is a unique spot on the farm, much like an oasis in the desert, with 100 foot cliff walls surrounding the deep water below. There is a way down, of course, as long as one is willing to get their hands dirty – something I’ve never really had a problem with. I come here to feel a sense of peace, to feel welcome in a familiar surrounding. When I come to this crater, this rock paradise in the midst of the barren desert, I am comfortable and relaxed -- almost like being somewhere I belong. In many ways, it makes me feel like I’m home again. To climb, to explore, and to run around these rocks as if I’m running around the Flatirons in my own back yard, it is a sensation that I can only get around the cliffs by the water hole. And just when you would think that nothing could survive in the small, acidic pond in the middle of the desert, it is in fact beaming with life. There is a layer of algae that covers the surface, and underneath live an abundance of frogs. Birds fly from across the farm to drink, and several species of rodents live in the surrounding rocks – some that resemble marmots back home (I believe they are Rock Hyrax’s). And I have also noticed that every day, for about 10 minutes when the angle of the sun is just perfect, a spectacular beam of light shines through a tiny hole above one of the rocks and illuminates the entire cave below. It's an amazing but short lived sight to capture.
The rest of the land is striking in its beauty – the long, golden strands of grass sway generously in the breeze, the acacia bushes spread extensively amongst the rolling hills, the rare tree that stands lonely and tall in the harsh dry desert. When the sun is low, both the sky and the earth light up in color. The plains burn a fiery gold as the rays of sun glide through each blade of grass. The sky turns bright red, the mighty sun glowing with its first or last breath of the day. Just before sunset the wildebeest run in circles, stirring up the dust below their hooves into a majestic cloud that shimmers in the fading light of day. Almost like ghosts, the wildebeest slowly disappear into their cloud of dust, until finally the sun has gone and the night settles in, and only the hoof prints of hundreds of animals remain. By morning, the winds will have swept dust clean, leaving a blanket of untouched sand across the savannah as if every new print is the first of its kind.
Once the sun inches beyond the horizon, the sky remains bright and lively, but in a much different way. Out here on the farm, you can see the stars forever. The nearest town being over 100 miles away, there are no lights to distract from the beauty of the night’s sky. There is a mesmerizing cloud that shines bright, almost like a blanket of shimmering dust, or rather diamonds – the Milky Way is clearly visible and quite breathtaking when it can be seen so clearly.
Africa is a place of great beauty – one could spend a lifetime here and never manage to take it all in. The people here are wonderful as well. There are about 10 farm workers, all of whom live behind the main house. None speak English, and only a few can murmur a few words. The most widely spoken language in this region is Afrikaans, and a few can understand Zulu. But in the three weeks I have spent here, I have tried to get to know each person at the farm, at least to some extent. It can be quite difficult at times, with them rambling in Afrikaans and me trying to interpret what is being told to me, but we are often able to get the point across after using a wide range of body motions combined with simple words. I’m sure it would be entertaining to watch from an outsiders perspective… There are also about 15 kids on the farm ranging from one to ten years old, all very cute but also unable to speak English. I don’t think they quite comprehend that I cannot understand what they are saying to me because no matter how many times they ask something of me only to get a questioning stare in response… they continue to speak to me in Afrikaans as if I am a native. At that age though, they are impossible to disappoint, so it doesn’t necessarily matter what they ask of me as long as afterwards I point towards the swing-set or the soccer ball and ask them to play. They are also fascinated by my camera and love having their pictures taken. Once I take a photo, they all run towards me and everybody huddles around the screen trying to get a peek. Just when you thought it was hard enough for one person to see from those tiny camera screens, ten children butt heads and mash together to look at a photo that I have taken. That in itself is quite entertaining, so I rarely walk out to their homes without my camera.
As I get more acquainted with the staff here, they let me into their lives a little more day by day. It was only just recently that I began playing with their children, and yesterday was the first day that one of the maids showed me inside her own home. They are all very kind and welcoming people, and although racism still runs deep in South African culture, I often find myself spending more time in their area of the farm rather than that of the white owner. Such is life though, and South Africa still has a long way to go in gaining equality for all its people, but I try to keep an open mind and take whatever is being said to me with a grain of salt – especially when I hear the whites talking about the blacks in SA.
Anyways, the sun is going down, I’d better get out to the field and enjoy myself!

The kidos around the farm

The cliff walls surounding the sinkhole




Wildebeest - Shadows in the dust - Sunrise




Early morning plains






A frog in the algae