One of my favourite authors is Herman Charles Bosman. He had a way of telling a story, within a story, and then an ending that seldom related to the actual story, but rather highlighted the moral of the story. His writing is very humorous, yet at the same time brutal in honesty. He had a very peculiar way of looking at the world, and then bringing it down to a few written words. His philosophy is so true (though in today’s times, he would ruffle a few “woke” feathers), and his humour is so…funny. I did a quick read of the story I am referring to before writing this, just so I can get my facts straight. I giggled all the way. And it made me want to read another one, and another.

In one of his stories- “In the Withaak’s Shade”, Oom Schalk Lourens recalls the day a leopard laid down next to him, in the shade of a tree. Afterwards, when he related the story to the town folk, he was asked if it was indeed a leopard or a cheetah, the difference being (according to the story) the number of spots they have. Oom Schalk Lourens said that given how frightened he was at the time, counting spots did not cross his mind. His thoughts were on running. He said: “You only do one kind of running. And that is the fastest kind.” I can relate to this.

Some people say that in order to conquer your fear, you must face it head on. Some make reality TV shows out of it, such as Fear Factor. But take it from me, when you are facing one of your biggest fears, counting spots and keeping your eye on the cash prize is the last thing on your mind.

Had you asked me about what my “Fear Factor” is, I would have named many things. I used to be petrified of passing trucks on a road. I also had a fear of heights. Some others are still with me, others I have concurred, through time and maturity. That was until 2 days ago.

So what happened two days ago? I was doing what I have come to like doing best down here: Walking through the orchards at Beaumont. I had several walking companions, as Colin had joined me, and 2 of the 3 dogs. On some of our previous walks, I had heard “piggy” noises occasionally. I thought it may be some small warthogs. The dogs would go off and create some havoc, and the piggies would squeal. Growing up in Africa, we are not afraid of warthogs, in fact we find them comical, and do not mind (respectfully) bumping into them. They run off very fast – as fast as they appear. So I would walk through the orchards, piggies would squeal, and life happily went on. Until that moment when I came face to face with the “squeal”, and it was not a Pumba, with his tail in the air.

To quote the song Weeping: “I knew a man who he lived in fear. It was huge it was angry it was drawing near”.

What appeared on this particular day, it was huge and it was….-and this is where it gets complicated, because I actually cannot describe it to you, because just like Oom Schalk, I did not quite think of counting its spots. But what I can tell you, is that it was simply the biggest fattest domestic pig I have ever seen in my life. Not that I have seen many. I am a city girl, remember? And there it was, less than 3 meters from me, with its nose in the dirt. I was petrified. What do you do? I looked around me and thought: OK, what now? Do I run and find a tree, or does one stand motionless and wait it out? My solution: do not make eye contact and take 5 steps forward.

“Colin, look around. What is it doing?”

“It is five steps behind you with its nose in the dirt.”

So, I bravely take another 5 steps, and again ask Colin what it is doing? He reports back that it is now 10 steps behind me, still snorting dirt. Twenty very careful steps later, the pig moved on to a new patch of dirt, and I finally felt safe enough to walk off rather fast.

But the pig had spoiled it for me. The next day when I went for my walk, I was all alone. It was a very hot day. Colin was away on business, and the dogs did not move from the shady spot they were sleeping in. I was all on my own, and for the first time since I started my daily Beaumont walk, I was too frightened to walk on my own. Trying to conquer my latest fear factor, I march on bravely. On this walk however, I did not look at the little apples, I did not stop at the bees, in fact I did not even stop to drink water. Instead, I had my eyes and my ears pealed, listening out for anything that may look or sound like a snort. I felt it my duty to report to farm management that they have a big, fat pig roaming their orchards, and I was quite happy to help them locate her (it could also be a him. I did not check) by describing the exact spot where I last saw her (I did not mention that it was also my first sighting.) Oh, the friendly farm hand said, she keeps the orchards clear of snails….

By the way, in a much lesser way, I also am not a fan of snails (my fear factor here is stepping on one with no shoes on.) So, the predicament now is, which fear to conquer: Pig, or snails?

Until such time, I think I may avoid Beaumont when walking on my own. My next Cape Crawl may well document how I walk the suburban streets, admiring rather sad looking gardens and low ornamental (the type we grew up with, before crime became an issue) concrete fences and dodging children on bicycles.

I will keep you posted.

As always: remain blessed.