July 2018 brought two very special souls into my life. I wouldn’t know this until later, but the friendship formed between the three of us put me on a path of self-discovery and made me grow as a person.
It was winter midday; the temperatures would rise rapidly from outrageously cold and for a few hours, it could be sweltering hot. Typical Gauteng winter weather. Wrap up in the morning, jackets and all, and by lunchtime, it is t-shirt and slops only.
I was traveling along a long, quiet road, making my way back to town after making the rounds at the homes of my outreach families. The sun was burning down on the car and whatever it could find. Lennie, David, and I were dirty, dusty, and in desperate need of some water. We had been on the road since early morning, delivering basic food parcels and dog food to the families that have become our friends throughout the years. These families live quite far from any shops and they have to wait by the side of the road to catch a lift into town when they need anything. It is a whole day excursion so they don’t often make the journey. They live in small villages and have no electricity. Water is fetched from far, the ladies balancing 25l water containers on their heads, making their way home. Poverty is everywhere and I try to assist the families whose animals I have sterilized over the years by making a monthly visit, bringing small gifts that assist with their day-to-day living, lightening their load.
Suddenly, my eye is caught by the lonely figure of a man and a dog walking briskly along the road. What really caught my eye was the dog. The dog looked like the South African breed, a boerboel, and he was in obvious distress, panting and salivating while trying to keep up with the long strides of his companion. Now, I am a very impulsive, nosy person, especially when it involves animals. My motto is if you don’t ask, you won’t know, and with this in mind, I turned my car around and made my way back to them. As I stopped next to them, the young man had a little panicked look about him. (Years later, he confessed that he was scared I was going to abduct him, which made both of us giggle uncontrollably, as he must have been at least 6’6″ and I am fat and old…)
Cautiously and with respect, I greeted him in Setswana and asked him where he was going. He told me he lived in a village approximately 18 km away and he was taking his dog home. One look at the dog and I knew he wouldn’t make it. Boerboels are not made for covering long distances as their bodies are built for power, not endurance. I quickly made a decision and told him to get into the car, offering to take them home. Lennie and David, sitting in the back of the Goanywherevehicle, were now rolling their eyes. Lennie was starting to make sounds like a bleating sheep, and David had moved to the furthest part of the car. They were not keen on sharing close quarters with a huge dog. The young man looked at me with hesitation, but I wasn’t backing down. “Pick your dog up and put him in the car,” I said. His hesitancy made me think the dog was stolen, and I could feel my hair starting to rise. Looking at the dog, I could easily make that assumption. Power breeds are very sought after in the townships. There is a flourishing trade for any dog that can enter the illegal dog fighting ring and earn its owner fame and some money. It’s an easy and disposable source with an unlimited supply available in the suburbs. Dog-napping is a thriving business, and the value of a dog like this would be very high.
I asked him the dog’s name, to which he immediately replied, “Witvoet.” The dog also reacted to his name being mentioned, wagging his tail and looking up at the boy with admiration. Okay, the first test passed. Now I wanted to know the young man’s name. “Seun,” he replied.
“Why are you scared of picking up your dog, Seun?” I asked. Okay, the dog was rather large, weighing around 60kg. Even so, I can pick up my dogs, some of which weigh the same as Witvoet, so it shouldn’t be a problem for a strapping young man.
“I’ve just been given the dog, and I’m not sure how he would react to me picking him up.”
My mind went back to immediate alert status, and I replied, “If you can’t pick up your own dog, then you shouldn’t have him. How on earth are you going to work with a dog that you cannot trust? I will come and pick him up and put him in my car, but then you give the dog to me. You cannot take responsibility for something that you are scared of. What if the dog mauled a child? Make your choices…”
This seemed to motivate Seun, and without further ado, he bent down, picked Witvoet up (amidst a lot of groaning), and placed him in the back of the Goanywherevehicle. Until that moment, I had forgotten that I had my two grooms in the car, and the way they cowered in the back, with the whites of their eyes as big as golf balls, made me laugh. Witvoet paid them no attention, much to their relief. Seun jumped in, and off we went. Seun started telling me the story of how he acquired the beautiful Witvoet, and before he had finished the story, I had already turned my car around (again) and was heading to the property where Witvoet came from. It seemed that the previous owner, living in the affluent area of our community, had decided that feeding Witvoet was costing him too much, so he gave the dog to the laborer. This infuriated me so much, as I have had so many animals discarded in this manner without any thought about how the new owner was going to care for the animal. Out of sight, out of mind. Most of the animals that are kept on chains and in deplorable circumstances come from homes where owners use the hand-me-down tactics because they simply don’t care about what happens to their discarded pets.
With Seun, Witvoet, Lennie, and David sitting in the back of the Goanywherevehicle, I stopped in front of the house as directed by Seun. It was a beautiful home with a manicured lawn and luxury vehicle parked in the driveway. I honked the horn, and an elderly gentleman eagerly made his way to the gate, wearing a welcoming smile. I don’t think anything prepared him for the berating he received that day. He openly admitted to giving the dog away, so I didn’t hold back in informing him about the repercussions of his actions. My years serving on the SPCA Committee had prepared me well for the lecture I gave him. As he stood there with a bemused expression on his face, I also informed him that life has a funny way of rewarding us for the acts of “compassion” we show. “Expect a payback, karma is not your friend ” were my last words to him as I left.
Thinking back, I am grateful for the opportunity that came from meeting these two special souls, even though the circumstances were not great. I didn’t know it then, but this child and his dog would play a very big role in my life.
That day, I took them home. I met Seun’s family and the community he lived in, and just like that, they became part of my monthly outreach program.
Seun was a wannabe pig farmer, and I was a wannabe stable yard owner, so our lives became intertwined. I assisted Seun and his parents where I could, and as I had learned my lesson with Oupa, I also extended my help to the community that resided in their area. It was a small, remote village, part of a caravan park that was frequented seasonally by holidaymakers and otherwise rather quiet and deserted at times. I made sure Witvoet and all the other dogs living there received deworming, tick & flea prevention, food, blankets, and were all sterilized. There were also chickens, sheep, and a few pigs, and I gave as much assistance as I could, bringing books and even getting the vet out on a few occasions when I couldn’t assist. Through all of this, I grew very close to the family, meeting Seun’s wife and son, but my heart lied with Witvoet… That dog.
There was just a magical bond between him and Seun. I loved the way they interacted and how loyal they were to each other. Witvoet became very protective of his new family, much to the discomfort of the community, as he would ferociously defend his home if anybody dared to cross the threshold or venture near the fence.
Every month, I visited the little remote community, which became the highlight of my monthly outreach involving approximately 70 families and their animals. Now, people can say what they want, but my main motivation for outreach was to assist the animals in the rural areas. One by one, I had the dogs and cats sterilized, kept their deworming and vaccinations up to date, made sure everybody had a kennel and blankets, and only then did I distribute donated goods and food parcels to the owners. Sometimes, bribery and corruption are needed to curry favor, and this was my way of ensuring that all the animals were cared for. I must say that I found most people in the rural area willing to learn and assist, and my highest highs and lowest lows came from these outreaches.
The life expectancy of a rural cat or dog is not measured in years. It is measured by how well the family fares financially and how committed the owner is. Then there is the added factor of random poisoning, tick-bite fever, being hit by a car, owners killing them in a drunken stupor, and mischief-making youths using the dogs as bait in dogfighting, and cats being used to “warm up” bloodthirsty dogs before a fight. All things considered, the odds were stacked against the animals living a long and peaceful life. My motto was, and still is, that we do what we can with what we have, where we are.
Unfortunately, there was an ongoing problem with Witvoet’s fierce attitude towards everything he deemed not family. He was so fiercely protective of his human family that he instilled fear in the other residents. People were too scared to walk past the house, although a fence separated him from actually reaching the pedestrians. This caused a lot of grumbling and upset among the villagers. The owner of the caravan resort and camping ground had experienced a series of burglaries earlier that year, which had stopped when Witvoet arrived. Therefore, he considered Witvoet an asset and ignored any complaints from the community. The result was that people had to take longer paths to avoid walking past Witvoet’s house, even if they could have taken a shortcut to get home every day. This caused further discontent among the villagers.
Every month, as I arrived with my car and trailer loaded with donated goods, Witvoet would come running up the pathway to greet me with a huge, open laughing mouth and a tail wagging from side to side. Seun would let him out of the yard for the occasion, and our greetings were loud and ecstatic. How I loved that dog! Once we had exchanged our pleasantries, Witvoet would go back into his yard, and the villagers would gather around the trailer, keeping a wary eye out for the monster dog. Everybody brought a wheelbarrow, and when all the goods were distributed, I loved watching the wheelbarrows heading home. It was the best part of my day. Then, Seun would invite me into his father’s house, and we would go look at all the new ducklings, chicks, and pigs, and discuss our common farming goals. I usually left there as the sun was setting, saying goodbye to Seun and Witvoet, watching them grow smaller in my rearview mirror as I drove away.
My only stipulation for returning the next month was that Witvoet would not be poisoned or killed by the villagers. I knew that the methods of getting rid of unwanted dogs often involved poisoning, and I also knew that many of the villagers didn’t like Witvoet. However, I hoped that the promise of the returning donations trailer would outweigh any malicious intentions.
March 2019, nearly a year after meeting Witvoet and Seun, I needed an extra pair of hands on the plot. We were struggling with erecting paddocks and looking after the menagerie, so I offered Seun a part-time job. He was so happy. He had been without work for a few months and had another baby on the way. We came to an agreement, and Seun started working for me. I would collect him from a nearby garage in the morning at 7 am, take him to the farm, and at 17:00 every night, I would drop him off there. From there, he would catch a taxi back home. Some nights, he couldn’t find a taxi, and I would drive him home. The best part of my day was watching the reunion between Seun and Witvoet when I dropped him off. There was a long driveway to his house, and Seun’s dad would see my Goanywherevehicle pull up by the gate, open the home gate for Witvoet, and every night, I would watch Witvoet run to Seun, his tongue hanging out, his eyes shiny with the last rays of the sun, turning them both into eternal figures painted in gold. That is how I remember them.
Not long after that, Witvoet was poisoned. He died a terrible death. I found out when Seun called me. He was incoherent in his grief, and I had to sit down to steady my broken heart. We sobbed, a white old woman and a young black man, our tears uniting us in pain and grief. I never returned after that. Seun continued to help me on the farm, but in the evenings, I made sure he would reach the rendezvous point for the taxi so he would be on time to catch a ride. My heart couldn’t return to the place where I would no longer see that beautiful, happy, shining dog running down the lane to meet his owner. I had no business to tend to there anymore, so I would send little grocery hampers to Seun’s mom when he went home.
It seemed like the family was cursed because, not long after, Seun’s young wife went into premature labor. She suffered from a heart condition and was hospitalized. Their beautiful baby daughter was born one morning, and due to complications arising from the birth, the mother passed away. Within a short period, Seun had lost two beings that made his world go round, and one afternoon, life took a U-turn, leading Seun to take his own life. As I sit here and type his story, the keyboard is blurred, and so are my eyes. It has been a few years since his death, and how I miss him. Sometimes, I see a tall, thin young man in front of me in a queue or on the road, and my heart skips a beat. We came from very different backgrounds, our lives were extraordinary and unalike, and yet, against all odds, we forged a friendship that left an everlasting mark on my life. I had the privilege of meeting a remarkable young man who was destined to achieve great things, but life took its toll and robbed us all of the opportunity to watch him grow. My legacy to him and Witvoet is sharing their story. I can only hope I did them justice.
Time is said to heal all wounds, but it’s not true. We continue to grieve for the loss of friends and loved ones long after their passing. Small things remind us of them, and while these memories bring moments of joy, often accompanied by a smile and laughter, the aftermath is one of sadness and a wish for a different outcome.
This young man had aspirations and goals. He made me smile when he would tell me, “I am going to be rich one day. Then I am going to buy my mom a big house with a washing machine. Next door to that property, I am going to buy you a house, Miss Yvette. I will build you stables for your horses, and we will all be together.”
Then, life happened, and we were robbed of this opportunity. Some souls are just not meant to stay; they come and share their light for a little while, burning bright, warming our hearts, and just as suddenly as they appeared, they leave. Their warmth lingers on and warms us when we are reminded of them.
I now know that life is a journey. I know we are not the same people we were when we first started off as teenagers or youngsters, wanting to take on the world and having plans of winning the fight. Now, I am just grateful for the fact that I am still here. I have learned that fighting will get you nowhere, but listening and learning will often quell any argument. There are things I regret and hope to never repeat on my journey, and then there are the things I wish I could have changed. Seun is one of those regrets. I wish he had told me how sad he was and shared the burden of loss, as it might have lightened the load he was carrying. I am saddened by the fact that he will not achieve all the goals he had set for himself. Just sad, sad, sad. Then I think, maybe he was just not meant to be here for a long time. His soft heart and kind ways would have suffered a lot of bruising.Some stars don’t linger…
Wherever he finds himself now, I hope he has found peace and knows that he is sorely missed. My favourite memory is the one where I dropped off Seun at night and saw Witvoet run towards him, both of them bathed in the last rays of the sun, I think that is what it looked like when they were reunited in heaven.
Seun Radebe and Witvoet. What an honour to have known you.
