I blame the leopards. They treated us to such magnificent displays – including one which leapt into a tree with its impala clamped in its jaws – that, of course, we were in celebratory mood when we returned to camp at Mala Mala.
The occasion was the launch of a book on leopards by then Mala Mala ranger Nils Kure, who produced some of the best photographs yet seen of the beautiful, deadly predator. The leopards at Mala Mala reserve (which is part of the Sabi Sands, which adjoins the Kruger National Park) are so habituated to vehicles and people that you can get right up to them … as you can see I did, from the accompanying photograph.
After an excellent dinner by lamplight in the Mala Mala “boma”, we small group of journalists and rangers retired to the pub (as one does …). And I heard about “khaki fever”– the all-consuming lust which overtakes women visitors to game parks when they encounter the hunky rangers.
Booze being the tongue loosener it is saw some of the rangers acknowledging that the unspoken part of their duties included seeing that guests – and especially women – were taken care of …
The next day, the thumping headache and feverish shakes that consumed me I put down to the late night and the imbibing. That, though, was only partly correct: I found out when I got back to Johannesburg that I had begun such a serious bout of tonsillitis I was bed-ridden for three days and almost had to be hospitalised.
Now, that was a media junket to remember. Some others, though … not so much.
Like the time a bunch of media people were assembled to visit some eco-project in the Lowveld. After an agonising six-hour trip to Nelspruit in a wheezy minibus, we traipsed around the site, looking at solar-this and appropriate technology-that, before heading to a hotel for the night.
I was forced to share a room with a hack who snored so loudly, I took a blanket and pillow on to the balcony and slept there (as much as I could). The upside was that I was wide awake well before sunrise and treated to a memorable scene of a blood red ball, slowly changing to orange and then yellow, creeping up over the Lowveld trees.
Another indelible memory – mainly because it gave me a warning about my allergy to shellfish – happened on an Air France “jolly” from Joburg to Cape Town, to show off its plush new Business Class. On the return flight, we were served an array of tasty treats.
In true French style, there was plenty of shellfish. I began to feel queasy as we approached Joburg, but I made it back to my car and drove home. I barely said hello to the family as I grabbed a bucket and headed for the loo … where I stayed for the next hour.
One of my favourite game reserves is Madikwe, on the Botswana border. It was opened in the 1990s by then Bophuthatswana President Lucas Mangope and I was there, after a five-hour kombi journey.
It didn’t take long for His Excellency to realise I was there and I could see him fuming because he knew I was the one writing the unflattering stories about his homeland government corruption.
My reputation in relation to Bop meant that, when Sun International opened the Lost City, I was probably the only journo not invited. For many years I was on a Sun International blacklist. An enemy of Mangope was an enemy of theirs apparently. Many hundreds of hacks – from entertainment writers up to editors – enjoyed Sol Kerzner’s hospitality.
To my knowledge, only one editor – John Patten from Durban – refused on principle. The others probably felt (correctly) that too much principle can mess up your back swing on a golf course …
The first time I went to Sun City was as a private visitor, with my family, after the fall of Bop. And, despite my cynicism, I quite like the brash aura of the place. The food was good, too, and the service was excellent.
Of course, I never forgot Section 37 of the then Income Tax Act, which allowed for pay-back concessions of up to 20% on projects in the “homelands”. That effectively meant South African taxpayers gave Sol R200 million for building the Lost City …
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