The Road To Sun City

by Mike Rossi
 
When winter has passed, the Gauteng grasslands turns into a potential tinderbox. One careless strike of a match and all goes up in flames, and every creature inside is reduced to ash. Not nice, I said to myself standing almost neck-high in Buffalo grass looking at the aged granite koppie, spared by the mining industry, as it was probably a titch too small for their needs.
 
I’d made many trips towards Sun City; in fact I’d lost count how many times I’d driven from Jo’burg on a hope and prayer, searching for Nimbus. The road is littered demolished koppies.
 
This part of the world is popular for mining of kitchen tops and precious metals; you can hear the tuc-tuc-tuc of drilling and whizz of chainsaws reaching 110 decibels when the thunder of expensive motorcars on their way to Sun City quieten down. You’ve heard of Rustenburg Black granite? Very popular with covering the dead or to debone your lamb on.
 
For the next 2 hours I stood and looked at the gathering of the Nimbus clouds. The only sounds were incessant clatter of drills in the distance and chirping jar flies of the Cicada family. Cicadas love heat — the hotter it gets the more spirited their singing. They can produce sounds up to 120 decibels. And at close range, it’s loud enough to cause permanent damage to your ears. Right now, however, the volume is more bass, suggesting it’s the mating season.
 
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