When being hosted by Rotarians, one is often adorned with gifts: pins, flyers, mugs, pens, candy, wine and even the occasional T-Shirt. I have received all of these in abundance during my travels throughout South Africa. However, it wasn’t until my trip into the rural Northern Province that I received my most interesting gift. Ironically, it wasn’t actually from a Rotarian, but instead was facilitated by a Rotarian with vast connections.
In early July, during my winter break, I traveled to a little group of towns (Potschefstrom, Klerksdorp, and Orkney) about an hour south of Johannesburg to spend some time with Rotarians, give presentations, and get more acquainted with a different part of South Africa. Currently I am studying in a town called Grahamstown – it is an English speaking area that I have heard called “liberal” or “progressive” by different people outside of the town. Although I have a few Afrikaans speaking friends studying there, they are the minority and I had not had the opportunity to really converse with mainstream Afrikaans. That was until I went to Klerksdorp and stayed with an Afrikaans family.
I had a wonderful time with my hosts and was impressed with their kindness, generosity and their consistent joy in facing the challenges of everyday life. I was also impressed by the plethora of interesting activities I participated in that weekend. I saw cave drawings, visited hospice in the township, hung out with a youth group that did service projects in Mozambique, learned how to make a nice sound with a Vuvuzella (a well known tool for soccer fans in South Africa) – got one to take home, visited a game farm, and ate my weight in meat – biltong, boerewoers, kudu steaks, etc. Many memories were made and – as one would expect visiting a country where the big Five roam in the wild - the most fun involved animals.
After my presentation at the Klerksdorp Rotary Club, my host asked me if I had seen game while brainstorming potential afternoon activities for me to participate. To my honest affirmation that I had seen game in South Africa, he asked, “Yes, but have you touched game?” My eyes lit up and inquisitively I said, “That sounds interesting.” I wasn’t disappointed. Interesting is a very good word to describe a visit to the local taxidermist.
I never had the inclination to meet a taxidermist before. Although some of my extended relatives hunt, I didn’t really grow up with it nor did I pay any of my hunter friends a visit when the meat was hung in the garage. I confess I eat meat – all kinds of meat- so I can’t (and won’t) claim some sort of moral superiority in protecting the lives of animals (Sorry vegetarian friends). I certainly don’t believe in being cruel to animals before they are eaten – beating them, pumping them full of steroids, keeping them in places too confined – those types of behavior violate common decency. But utilizing the entire animal – meat, skin, tusks, bones, etc - after it has been hunted does not fit in the cruelty category for me. Thus, taxidermy should intrigue me. However, it still surprised me when I realized after being surrounded by the stuffed animals that I was – in fact - very intrigued.
After I adjusted to being in the still-life zoo, I meandered around and felt each animal skin as my host named the animal: first in Afrikaans, then in English. Warthog was rough with a few long hairs that were quite coarse. Zebra was smooth and felt very similar to a cow hide. The hippo was amazing and was smoother than I had anticipated. It was also interesting to see all of the various antelope side by side and learn to distinguish the hartebeest from the wildebeest, the kudu from the impala. Finally, to see the teeth of a lion so close helped me to appreciate the strength and majesty of the animal.
When I had wandered around the shop for about a half an hour - looking at each specimen with renewed interest – I figured it was about time to leave when the taxidermist himself arrived and asked if I wanted a guided tour of the process. He must have read my facial expression, because the next question he asked was if I got queasy easily. I hesitantly shook my head yes to the first question and responded with the same hesitancy to the second question: “I don’t think I do.” With that we agreed that I would view the process and hope that the smells were not too difficult for me to manage. Luckily they weren’t, but trying to describe the pungent odor that came from the process - not from the animals themselves, but from the various chemicals used to treat the skins - is difficult. I have blocked most of it from my memory, but I think the cocktail of smells might have included some sewage, a dash of sulfur, and a just a bit of something that resembled rotten tuna. Needless to expand – it wasn’t pleasant. Viewing this process was interesting though, and it consisted of preserving, scraping, preparing, and artfully placing the skins on the specialized mold made just for the animal in question. It was an international process: the molds and some of the customers came from the U.S., the marble eyes for the animals came from Germany, and the skins came from throughout Southern Africa. It takes about a year from the time a skin is dropped off by a hunter – cut in a specialized way needed to create a successful replica - to when he or she can expect his or her animal finished. Watching the technique involved in placing the skin with strong attention to detail making sure each animal looked real and alive. Witnessing this compelled me to see taxidermy as more of an art than a practice. I was impressed and thankful for the experience to challenge my presumptions.
As I talked with the taxidermist about the hunting laws in South Africa, culling, and the liaison that many hunters have with the local people – helping with over population and often leaving the meat behind and taking just the skin – I thought of how many times I make assumptions and judgments concerning things of which I know nothing. I smiled as I realized that after a couple more hunting stories, my host and I were on our way out. As a parting gift the taxidermist walked over to a stack of springbok skins and asked me to feel how soft they were. I did and stroked the skin - focusing my fingers on the razorback part of its hide where the white fur sticks on end. At my curiosity he smiled and picked up the skin – handed it to me – and said “A present to take home.” I accepted, humbled at such generosity from a stranger, but not necessarily surprised. Spontaneous generosity seems to flow from many people here – even to strangers. It is a saving grace in such a dynamic place.
Accepting this grace is how I came to receive my most interesting gift in South Africa.
In early July, during my winter break, I traveled to a little group of towns (Potschefstrom, Klerksdorp, and Orkney) about an hour south of Johannesburg to spend some time with Rotarians, give presentations, and get more acquainted with a different part of South Africa. Currently I am studying in a town called Grahamstown – it is an English speaking area that I have heard called “liberal” or “progressive” by different people outside of the town. Although I have a few Afrikaans speaking friends studying there, they are the minority and I had not had the opportunity to really converse with mainstream Afrikaans. That was until I went to Klerksdorp and stayed with an Afrikaans family.
I had a wonderful time with my hosts and was impressed with their kindness, generosity and their consistent joy in facing the challenges of everyday life. I was also impressed by the plethora of interesting activities I participated in that weekend. I saw cave drawings, visited hospice in the township, hung out with a youth group that did service projects in Mozambique, learned how to make a nice sound with a Vuvuzella (a well known tool for soccer fans in South Africa) – got one to take home, visited a game farm, and ate my weight in meat – biltong, boerewoers, kudu steaks, etc. Many memories were made and – as one would expect visiting a country where the big Five roam in the wild - the most fun involved animals.
After my presentation at the Klerksdorp Rotary Club, my host asked me if I had seen game while brainstorming potential afternoon activities for me to participate. To my honest affirmation that I had seen game in South Africa, he asked, “Yes, but have you touched game?” My eyes lit up and inquisitively I said, “That sounds interesting.” I wasn’t disappointed. Interesting is a very good word to describe a visit to the local taxidermist.
I never had the inclination to meet a taxidermist before. Although some of my extended relatives hunt, I didn’t really grow up with it nor did I pay any of my hunter friends a visit when the meat was hung in the garage. I confess I eat meat – all kinds of meat- so I can’t (and won’t) claim some sort of moral superiority in protecting the lives of animals (Sorry vegetarian friends). I certainly don’t believe in being cruel to animals before they are eaten – beating them, pumping them full of steroids, keeping them in places too confined – those types of behavior violate common decency. But utilizing the entire animal – meat, skin, tusks, bones, etc - after it has been hunted does not fit in the cruelty category for me. Thus, taxidermy should intrigue me. However, it still surprised me when I realized after being surrounded by the stuffed animals that I was – in fact - very intrigued.After I adjusted to being in the still-life zoo, I meandered around and felt each animal skin as my host named the animal: first in Afrikaans, then in English. Warthog was rough with a few long hairs that were quite coarse. Zebra was smooth and felt very similar to a cow hide. The hippo was amazing and was smoother than I had anticipated. It was also interesting to see all of the various antelope side by side and learn to distinguish the hartebeest from the wildebeest, the kudu from the impala. Finally, to see the teeth of a lion so close helped me to appreciate the strength and majesty of the animal.
When I had wandered around the shop for about a half an hour - looking at each specimen with renewed interest – I figured it was about time to leave when the taxidermist himself arrived and asked if I wanted a guided tour of the process. He must have read my facial expression, because the next question he asked was if I got queasy easily. I hesitantly shook my head yes to the first question and responded with the same hesitancy to the second question: “I don’t think I do.” With that we agreed that I would view the process and hope that the smells were not too difficult for me to manage. Luckily they weren’t, but trying to describe the pungent odor that came from the process - not from the animals themselves, but from the various chemicals used to treat the skins - is difficult. I have blocked most of it from my memory, but I think the cocktail of smells might have included some sewage, a dash of sulfur, and a just a bit of something that resembled rotten tuna. Needless to expand – it wasn’t pleasant. Viewing this process was interesting though, and it consisted of preserving, scraping, preparing, and artfully placing the skins on the specialized mold made just for the animal in question. It was an international process: the molds and some of the customers came from the U.S., the marble eyes for the animals came from Germany, and the skins came from throughout Southern Africa. It takes about a year from the time a skin is dropped off by a hunter – cut in a specialized way needed to create a successful replica - to when he or she can expect his or her animal finished. Watching the technique involved in placing the skin with strong attention to detail making sure each animal looked real and alive. Witnessing this compelled me to see taxidermy as more of an art than a practice. I was impressed and thankful for the experience to challenge my presumptions.
As I talked with the taxidermist about the hunting laws in South Africa, culling, and the liaison that many hunters have with the local people – helping with over population and often leaving the meat behind and taking just the skin – I thought of how many times I make assumptions and judgments concerning things of which I know nothing. I smiled as I realized that after a couple more hunting stories, my host and I were on our way out. As a parting gift the taxidermist walked over to a stack of springbok skins and asked me to feel how soft they were. I did and stroked the skin - focusing my fingers on the razorback part of its hide where the white fur sticks on end. At my curiosity he smiled and picked up the skin – handed it to me – and said “A present to take home.” I accepted, humbled at such generosity from a stranger, but not necessarily surprised. Spontaneous generosity seems to flow from many people here – even to strangers. It is a saving grace in such a dynamic place.Accepting this grace is how I came to receive my most interesting gift in South Africa.
3 comments:
is that an elephant FOOT stool????
Definitely interesting! I (as you may have suspected) have mixed emotions about this (ha ha!) but would love to hear more about it from you! :)
Yes it is an elephant foot stool. But it is fake - it is illegal to kill elephants.
Yes, I have mixed feelings about it as well. But it was interesting.
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