Wednesday, 31 December 1986: Crossing the Karoo with an Old Sheep Farmer

Gaborone, Botswana, January 1987.

The last three days of my December trip to Cape Town and the Cape Province were relatively lonely, dull, and uneventful.  I was more than ready to get back to Botswana when I boarded the Trans-Karoo Express once again on the morning of the 31^st.  Not many people were riding the train on New Year’s Eve, but I had a compartment mate, a 70ish Afrikaner fellow from Prieska in the heart of the Karoo.  The old guy didn’t speak much English, and I exchanged a few of the usual pleasantries with him in Afrikaans which he appreciated.  He had been in Cape Town to visit a daughter for the holidays and would be riding as far as De Aar where someone was meeting him at the station.

When it came time for lunch, both of us had brought our own food wishing to avoid the high prices and poor quality of the dining car offerings.  He offered me some sausage and fruit which I gratefully accepted.  I tried to give him some of my stuff, but he had diabetes and couldn’t handle my salted peanuts and other assorted junk food. 

My travelling companion was a retired Karoo sheep farmer.  He said you couldn’t make a living from sheep any more as the government requires more hectares of grazing land per sheep than they used to.  I suspect that this is to wisely avoid turning the Karoo into a desert as its carrying capacity for grazing is limited given the scant rainfall.  Our train did pass a few herds and he enthusiastically pointed them out to me.  My new friend also noted another contemporary problem with farming – black labor difficulties.  He didn’t go into much detail on that one.  Like I said, his English wasn’t very good although it was better than my Afrikaans.

We didn’t talk much more that afternoon.  I was busy watching the Karoo landscape, catching the occasional photo.  He’d make comments now and then, mixing Afrikaans and English words freely.  I acted like I understood but the reality was that I often did not. 

Non-white housing from my train window east of Laingsburg, Cape Province.

 

The train pulled into Beaufort West around six that evening.  It was a hot summer day, the sun was still beating down, and our 2^nd class compartment was not air conditioned.  I was determined to get some ice for my Appletizer soda which I planned to have with a cold chicken and salad plate I’d purchased the previous day.  I also wanted a COLD beer.  The availability of ice on the train and the temperature of their beer wasn’t all that reliable.  Checking with the conductor, I learned that we would be stopped in BW for 25 minutes.  He pointed out the direction of the downtown, and I sprinted ½ mile down the platform and over a bridge to the first bottle store.  Shit, no ice!  Someone pointed out another store about two blocks away.  I was in luck.  The Castle Lagers were cold and the proprietor gave me some ice cubes.  Since it was New Year’s Eve, there naturally was a shortage.  Back to the train I sprinted, arriving with five minutes to spare.  I gave a beer to my compartment mate who was most appreciative.  We swigged them down as the shadows began to lengthen over the vast Karoo landscape.

Karoo landscape east of Beaufort West just before sunset.  These extensive plains interrupted by mountains and mesas in the center of South Africa are favorable for sheep ranching but the carrying capacity is relatively low due to aridity.

 

A young Afrikaner dining car steward came by to try and talk us into a “room service” dinner.  I successfully resisted.  My companion ordered fish and chips.  They finally arrived cold and overpriced more than an hour later. 

After the sheep man got off at De Aar, I was looking forward to a few quiet hours by myself before I’d have to get off in the middle of the night in Kimberley.  No such luck.  Two young Afrikaner soldiers who got on at De Aar were assigned to my compartment.  I didn’t feel much like being sociable with them or the New Year’s Eve revelers who were gathering in the corridors.  I turned down an invite from one half-smashed group to join them for a party in the guard’s car at the end of the train.  Instead, I hibernated in my bivy sack on a top bunk, all alone on New Year’s Eve just like I’d been on Christmas Eve.  Bye, bye, 1986.