Karoo storm
By: Jesh Baker
Tags: Roadtrip, Life, Karoo, Coffee, Fiction

She heard the rise in the engine note through her sobbing and she slowly uncurled herself up from the tight foetal position she had balled herself into. She’d lost track of herself and had no idea at all of what time of the day it was. The elongated oval of sky she could see through the alpine windows as she lay back in their cocoon was dark grey, it was almost purple and she could see the occasional burst of lightning — it must be about 6pm she thought — what happened to the day?

He was dead — the man she knew only as her surname and that she had thought was long dead had in fact been alive all these years. “Aaaarrghh” and a fresh bout of deep retching sobs escaped her and she felt Nadeem’s hand reach for her. She pulled her hand away and instantly regretted it — she quickly reached for his slowly retreating hand, it was there, solid as ever. She held on and pulled herself up. She adjusted herself and then climbed out of the cocoon, over the low panel separating the front section from the rear cabin and settled onto the passenger seat.

She glanced over at the instruments and could see that Nadeem had the little Landy at a steady 110km/h — pretty much top speed for their road trip car and only ever achieved in a push — regular driving was a gentle ambling 90. She looked away and then back at him, seeing his focussed attention on the road, scanning miles ahead. His long arms awkwardly hugging the steering wheel while his body was twisted slightly to the left — there was so little space in the cab of these iconic but most impractical cars. She managed a brief smile at his obsession with this old, slow, noisy car.

Nadeem turned to her; “We’re about to experience that very rare thing Kate, a proper Karoo storm after a long dry season”.

She looked out into what was the darkest grey sky she had seen since being in the Sahara as a child when a storm suddenly appeared on the horizon as they reached their stop for the night. A solitary raindrop streaked past her — trailing a clear line on the dust covered window. The sky ahead was a massed bank of dark and in a moment, she felt him tap off and they slowed as he scanned the vast fields on either side of them. He eased over to the left lane as goods trucks they had passed earlier slowly boomed and trundled past on the fast lane.

“Kate, we’re not going to make it to the B&B before the storm breaks — I tried but it’s still an hour to go — do you mind if we…”

“Absolutely not, please let’s stop” she said, cutting in before he could finish — “I need a stop too”.

She could smell the petrichor starting to rise in the air and knew that he loved the moment of a breaking storm probably as much as he loved her — probably more she thought and suddenly a laugh burst out of her at the thought. He turned towards her and smiled, his left hand indicating a small sign that said Du Toit Boerdery, Klein Begin, Fanie and Elmarie.

“We’re going to visit the distant cuzzies, miskien sal ons a bietjie Afrikaans praat” he joked; the words sounding strange coming out of the mouth of this nut brown man with as much hair on his face as a bear. She was always amazed when she heard South Africans of colour speak Afrikaans — her limited knowledge of the country before her initial arrival here had her expecting only the seven-feet-tall-built-like-shithouses and very white Afrikaners to speak the language. She had learnt so much since then, about the this language created by slaves and the people of this maddeningly fascinating country but was still always initially startled when she heard the language roll out of Nadeem’s mouth — the same mouth that she kissed so deeply and frequently in these last few years.

Ten minutes later the Landy was parked off the unpaved farm road, at a small clearing in a field that had just been ploughed. There was a little koppie to their right hand side and together with the concrete water tank on the left side — there was a patch of ground sheltered from the main gusts of wind whipping around in the incoming storm.

“Cafe?” he asked and Kate nodded — it was late in the day for a coffee but the storm was almost upon them and there was nothing for it but to sit it out — she curled her legs under her and snuggled down into the seat with a poncho around her while Nadeem dropped out and around the back of the Landy to get the little gas stove going for the afternoon storm watching coffee.

Some minutes and a few muttered curses later she could hear the sounds of beans being crushed as he quickly ground a few handfuls of beans in the wooden, box-type hand grinder. Next came the whoosh of the gas stove lighting and then the soft humming of Sufi poetry. It was so much like how they have been for a while now, so familiar that for a brief moment, Kate imagined they had not just got the news of her Dad and she was still going to make it to give him a surprise visit in Valencia before the year was out. She was so full of excitement that she had family beyond her jida that she had not even mentioned her plans to Nadeem.

The smell of coffee from the bubbling moka pot broke through her thoughts as the first huge raindrops smacked into the windscreen in front of her. “Here it comes” shouted Nadeem as he grabbed the pot and dashed back into the cab. He set the pot down in the centre console and proceeded to gently and alternatively fill the two ceramic lined, stainless steel cups, making sure each cup had a fair share of the precious crema.

The rain had now started up properly, the rich aroma of the coffee he had specially blended for them, mingling with the rising petrichor. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply — catching the rich, slightly sweet scent of the eau de cologne Nadeem dabbed on after each morning shower — even if they were camping out in the sticks with no one around.

She opened her eyes to see him staring at her with that tenderness that melted her heart from the very first time she saw it. She reached over to him and dropped her arms around his neck and lay her head on his chest while he sat obliquely to cradle her more carefully. In a bit the windows were so steamed they had to wipe them down with the kikoy that lay across the narrow dashboard and she cradled the warm cup in her hands. She sipped the still hot coffee — it was almost sweet to the first sip, with a deep chocolatey richness, luxuriant body, a hint of cranberry tartness and a nice clean, slightly acidic finish. She had never loved coffee as much as she did in these last three years with this man obsessed with finding perfection in every cup. She laughed a small laugh and looked up at him. It was properly pouring down now on the insulated roof of the Landy sounding like an orchestra of small drums.

It was a bit later, the rain had settled into a steady thrum, the coffee cups drained, the lightning had died down and he was lifting his t-shirt over his head and she caught a muffled “I’m heading out, you coming?” The naughty child smile as his face re-appeared with the t-shirt in his hands was all the prompting she needed.

Half a mile away and with a clear view onto the tiny clearing by the koppie, all that Fanie and Elmarie could make out from their stoep was the sight of two people racing across their recently ploughed fields — it was hard to tell with all the rain — but it did look like they were kaalgat — “ja-nee — stad japies” they laughed.