Spring in the Karoo
By Gail Evans

Excerpt from Chapter Three: Meditations In My Favourite Places In Southern Africa. By Gail Evans.

The Northern Cape, Olive Schreiner’s stomping ground that gave rise to the noble classic, "The Story of an African Farm." Sheep farming country. Home of the long lashed, doe eyed, three-toed Ostrich whose feathers adorned the rich and famous flappers of the 1920's. Hospice to Tuberculosis patients who escaped the continuous, rainy, cold, damp days of Europe to breathe in the life giving, dry, clean air of the Karoo and reclaim a few more years of their lives.

I have chosen to visit the Namaqualand which is flanked by the cold Atlantic current on the west coast of South Africa and Namibia to the north. This is the home of the San and the Nama, of Mountain Zebra, Cormorants, black-headed Herons, Springbuck, Antelope and Malachites. The most well known Nature Reserves in this area are Namaqua, Richtersveld and Goegab

The vault of the clear blue sky curves, reaches down to the circumference of the horizon, 360 degrees, 365 days of the year, all set out in a radius that encompasses the vast expanse of this whole earth. Ozone embracing, blanketing in life giving oxygen. The stark, boulder strewn terrain beneath this dome stretches on for infinity. Hot and dry, smouldering towards the skyline, often reaching temperatures of up to fifty-three degrees.

The sun, bright- blazing- ball of white heat angling across the northern perimeter marks out the time of day, drawing shadows that play along the ground with clock like precision. Accurate, never wavering from their path as they move from west to east in every alternating twelve-hour sequence.

The dome-shaped granite outcrops are interspersed with dark-green, succulent stubble. A lazy, unshaven woman. Hidden in her brown, dry, wrinkly skin are evolution’s imprints where 500 million years are ingrained on ancient stone hidden between the scrub of her unkempt, bristly legs. Here lie the longest, uninterrupted, reptile fossil records, the ancestors of mammals and the remote ancestors of man preserved in the rock beneath this moisture-less shimmering heat.

Mirages of cool, clear puddles tantalize across the tarmac then disappear in a ghostly vapour, shrouded holograms concealed, then revealed again a few paces off. Empty, thirst quenching promises, lies of the land, illusions in the listless air of this never ending semidesert plain.

Not a sound. Not a breath of wind. A constant silence prevails. I hear only the noise of my own nostrils sucking in the febrile heat that surrounds me. I mount my mountain bike, wheels turning, the shoo-shoo of the pedals my only refrain.

Space. Miles and miles of it. I feel myself extending, breaking the boundaries of my self-imposed limitations. Free wheeling I stretch my arms out, feel the warm air brush my skin as I slip through this invisible, scalding veil. I glide along the road, knees bracing the bicycle handles then come to a halt and am filled with an incredible sense of self in this uncluttered terrain. Two simple words come to mind. "I am."

Every September a miracle occurs in spring. The Namaqualand, almost in defiance of nature itself decides to give a flower show that is unequalled anywhere else in the world. She suddenly, from the very depths of her being throws out a tantalizing, seductive, voluptuous display of daisies in a fit of frivolity. For this is a woman relishing in herself. Bright yellow, tawney orange, stark white, purple bouquets interwoven into the deep recesses of her secret chambers, nesting in amongst a rock strewn landscape and covering the wide-open spaces of her belly in a flushed attempt at modesty.

Hence the mountain bike. I am riding in search of them, not restricted to the laid out roads, but free to bounce through granite boulders and acacia and quiver trees in order to root these blooms out wherever they might choose to suddenly appear. This is not the "Chelsea Flower Show" all neatly laid out with an entrance fee. It is a treasure hunt.

Pay-dirt. A downy quilt thrown over the desert. Gentle, soft, silky, brightly coloured, vulnerable petals overlaying the harsh, rocky, moonscape that lies beneath this flamboyant array. Brush strokes of nature, her textures rich and warm. Flashes of pure genius on a pentimento so dour and forlorn.

I roll out my sleeping bag and remove the basket from the bike which is filled with all sorts of delicious things to eat packed up by the chef back at my hotel. As the sun goes down in blazing colours that reflect the same yellow-orange-golden-purple pallette as the daisies that surround me, I open a bottle of aged merlot and paste some Ostrich pate onto a savoury biscuit. Sundowners have never been this good. Next up is Duck Bobotie done with roasted masala, turmeric, apricot jam and seedless raisins served on top of a bed of basmati rice. Before the sun finally disappears, I savour a slice of Melktert, almost but not quite as good as my Ouma used to make.

The temperature suddenly plummets as the sun disappears and it is time for the symphony of the night sky which has played out over billions of years in exact and unchanging chords, never wavering from the score.

This is a stargazes heaven. The diamond studded cathedral of the Northern Cape has eighty per cent starlight and visitors come here from all over the world to view their pristine clarity, unmarred by pollution or city lights.

The baton appears. Venus cupped in the sliver of the new moon conducts the velvet, bejewelled cloak of night. The Pleiades tinkle, shimmering bells, seven sisters or are there eight? Orion drums on in frantic pursuit chasing them from behind to be followed by his harping dogs, Canis Major and Minor with symbolling Sirius in tow. Through them flows the piano concerto of the Milky Way, a billion keys dancing across the galaxy. And to guide those sailors whose boats plow through the earth’s waterways, the Southern Cross strikes the final chord.

From: Meditations In My Favourite Places In Southern Africa. By Gail Evans. Copyright 2001.

Gail Evans has authored two other books,"Time Trials" and "The Firstborn of God". All her titles can be previewed and ordered at her website.

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