Carol’s Column

JR now playing a tune for Gershwin

For 16 years we owned a 4x4 vehicle, a Datsun Safari, which we bought second-hand at the time.

We called him JR after the wickedly indomitable JR Ewing of Dallas fame. Well, his number plate was JRB123T, so JR seemed appropriate.

Like the original JR, our JR was larger than life.

He showed us places to where we'd never been. Such as the remote Kubu island in the middle of Botswana's Makgadikgadi salt pans (once a vast inland sea). A secret island occupied only by pink and purple baobabs.

Throughout the continent, we slept on the roof rack watching nocturnal hyenas, leopards, jackals and honey badgers below. JR took us into the middle of great elephant and buffalo herds, up impossible Lesotho passes and through fast-flowing Zimbabwean rivers.

We got stuck everywhere including on a beach as the tide came in. Saved by a high-lift jack and muscle power, JR started. A hero!

We'd sit for hours observing lions mating, warthogs snuffling, springbok pronking and pythons catching birds.

And from that roof rack we regularly lost tents, chairs, tin trunks, fishing rods and everything else we hadn't tied down carefully enough.

There were magic moments, such as the time we sat at a waterhole at Savuti on JR's roof. A small herd of elephants, 15 including tiny calves, approached. It was so silent, we could hear their feet shwooshing in the dry sand, their rumbling stomachs, their wheezes.

When they reached JR, the matriarch paused. Face to face, we gazed at her eyelashes, her wrinkles, the hairs on her ears - then she, and her herd unrolled their trunks to drink beside us.

It was one of the most perfect things we ever saw.

The sea, the bush, the mountains, the desert - JR gave us Africa.

My kids could fix a puncture in three minutes flat, replace engine oil in 10.

But, as happens, they moved out of home and JR languished.

Then two weeks ago, the doorbell rang.

Outside stood Gershwin Blaauw and his father. He wanted to buy JR, he said.

My husband needed to think about it, he replied, taken aback.

"Sell JR?" I exclaimed.

"JR deserves better than sitting idle," he answered.

Gershwin and his dad returned. They lived in a township with bad roads, they explained and JR looked strong.

On a long demo drive, JR rattled and shook, as he always did and we pointed out his disabilities.

Gershwin was determined. "I'll give you R5 000," he said.

My husband, aware of JR's shortcomings, said he'd take R4 000 as he reckoned our old friend needed work, here and there.

Gershwin was delighted and so was my husband. But when Gershwin took JR, I couldn't watch. That was a week ago.

During the long weekend, we drove into the country along with three million other South Africans. Coming home, the roads were clogged with traffic.

"I wonder where JR is?" I mused as we battled up a particularly steep hill.

And then, over the crest, immediately ahead of us, was JR bowling along like a champ.

Inside sat seven adults and eight children. From the large back window, the kiddies giggled and waved.

At the next hill, JR pulled away with ease, and was gone.

Both of us were silent, amazed at the unbelievable coincidence.

On reflection, in my heart, I believe that the spirit of JR was saying: "Hey, you guys, I gave you the most wonderful times of your life. And now, look at me, I'm doing it for another family. Aren't you pleased?"

We are JR.

Hey, Gershwin, JR's going to show you things you never imagined.

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