A recent holiday at an idyllic golfing estate on the slopes of the Drakensburg is over but the memory of our perilous trip there lingers on and on.
We had decided to cross into Swaziland through a quieter border post so that we could drive along a rough but breathtakingly beautiful scenic route over the mountains.
My Daughter in law Angie, expressed her reservations. “Those clouds look like rain. Do you think we should risk it?”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” my son Mike mocked.
Admittedly, it had been quite heavily overcast since we left Joburg, with nary a drop of rain. So we did the border crossing thing in a whiz and set off to be entranced by Mother Nature. And, entranced we were – until the skies suddenly lowered and darkened.
Oh my ##!!**!!
With the roads little more than dirt tracks, a torrential rain storm engulfed everything two inches from the perimeter of our vehicle. We were driving a 4 x 4 but we were also pulling a packed trailer on which 4 bicycles were strapped. I strained forward, white-knuckled, eyes peering to try and make out the edge of the road; to ensure that we didn’t drive off into the abysmal mist of nothingness – and I wasn’t even behind the steering wheel! Newspaper headlines and CNN Breaking News kept flashing through my mind – “South African family disappears in the mountains. Last seen crossing the border into Swaziland“ “Storm washes South African family off the Mountains of Swaziland”
It was a nightmare! I’ve lived to tell the tale, so you’ve guessed right. We made it – but I promise you, only by the Grace of God.