The South Post was once our home. It lies on a hill, one hundred metres above sea level, on the south-east coast of Kwah-zoo-loo Nah-tahl. It enjoys a semi-tropical climate with temperatures of around twenty to thirty degrees in the winter months and up to forty degrees in the summer.
The views over the Indian Ocean from the front patio are spectacular, and like all of the properties in the area, ours was no more than a road or two away from huge, sprawling sugar and banana estates that are spread-eagled over hills and valleys that stretch deep inland.
Despite urbanization, the area is populated by troops of monkeys that pester the residents daily in search of tasty morsels and much more, given half a chance. There are a great many snakes, but they tend to keep away from humans unless they inadvertently slip into someone’s home to find warmth during the winter months. Sometimes antelope wander the streets during the night.
On more than one occasion, particularly in the early years, we were subjected to the devious, clever, and agile skills of vervet monkeys. They can be very quiet as well, so they cause quite a scare when one comes upon them inside the house without warning. This is the time to beware, because the monkey becomes more frightened of your appearance than you of its, and it will escape in a flurry and a flash, knocking anything that may be in its path.
Once, Ann fancied a fresh steak and kidney pie from a local home industry’s shop in the village. When we arrived home, she put the pie down on a plate in the kitchen and went to the bathroom. She wasn’t away for longer than a minute but when she returned the pie was gone.
Did you take my pie off the plate in the kitchen? she called out because (according to urban legend) I eat everything in sight, all of the time!
I did not, I replied indignantly. I would never do such a thing.
We wandered outside and saw a monkey sitting on a concrete fence post. He was holding a steak and kidney pie, tearing the crust off and throwing it away while tucking into the juicy insides. He looking sheepishly at Ann as if to plead Sorry!
We spent the best ten glorious years of our lives together in that piece of paradise and reveled in beauty of the spectacular birdlife, from bright yellow weavers to crowned eagles that constantly circled in search of rock rabbits and the odd, unfortunate, and unprotected puppy dog.
Our bedroom was sea-facing and boasted a sliding door which we left open just about all of the time so we could benefit from the cool air regularly that was brought in on the onshore sea breeze. Of course, house robberies being what they were, the open door was properly protected by a special security gate (Trellidor) made of expanded metal designed to let the cool air in and keep the bandits out.
One mid-summer’s afternoon a few years back, Ann was resting in a spare room towards the back of the house so she could enjoy the cool of an air-conditioned smaller space. She had fallen asleep while I tinkered around in and around the front patio and garden.
I walked around the corner past our bedroom’s Trellidor and to my utter amazement saw a fully grown leguaan, having somehow crawled through the expanded metal gate, walking across the floor of our bedroom.
I didn’t want to wake up Ann, primarily because I thought she would be scared stiff at the prospect of the reptile wandering around the house. I was greatly apprehensive myself as I had never had to take on a leguaan bare-handed and had no idea how I could get the thing out without injuring myself. I rushed to close the interleading door to the rear of the house. Then I collected one of the grandchildren’s little play stools and a broomstick and went in search of the predator.
At first, I couldn’t find the animal and had no idea where it had gone. I gingerly knelt down and looked under our bed. All was clear there. I went into the lounge and dining room and checked behind the furniture. Nothing there either.
Eventually I went back into the bedroom and approached a couch that stood up against the wall near the door and slowly started to draw it back.
Unbeknown to me, Ann had heard some of the commotion and had come out to see what was going on. She walked into the bedroom from behind me and caught me in a pose that closely resembled that of a Roman gladiator, crouched, ready to strike, a toy red chair in one hand and a broomstick in the other! She laughed so much that she clean forgot to take a video of the action, a video that would have certainly raised millions on TikTok, I’m sure.
Hidden away behind the couch lay the leguaan, probably seeking a little shade from the summer sun. I ran outside and opened the Trellidor.
Although the leguaan stared at me with its cold eyes, I was emboldened by its lack of aggressiveness. Using the broomstick, I moved its dead weight forward towards the door, constantly keeping the toy chair raised in defense. Eventually the leguaan got the message and sped off through the open door into the garden.
I rushed outside, but by the time I got there the animal had completely disappeared. Ann couldn’t stop laughing for a long while thereafter, much to my embarrassed amusement.