I trundled westwards to discover what all the fuss was about regarding Groot Marico, that, apparently, nondescript town made famous by Herman Charles Bosman in his stories about the area. He originally taught at a little school nearby but subsequently was so entranced by the town’s inhabitants that his creativity got the better of him and he felt he had to share in writing, what he’d experienced. A number of books on this little backwater sprang from his pen. He wrote about the people in a kind and humorous way. If you are unfamiliar with his works, your life is incomplete. His stories are rare gems. Try Stone Cold Jug and Mafeking Road.

However, my first impression of Groot Marico was a huge shock. I actually reversed to make sure the destination sign I had been reading was accurate. Never before had the quote, ‘Never judge a book by its cover’ been so accurate.

Nevertheless, it wasn’t long before I discovered that this little town, with the incongruous name of Groot (big) Marico was anything but and perhaps should have been named Klein (small) Marico. Only two hours’ drive away from three major towns, I was to be shown that the size not only belonged to the river but the large hearts of its inhabitants.
As aware as I was that Groot Marico was famous for Bosman’s depictions of the locals, their shenanigans with the powerful mampoer drink and even leopards, it still didn’t prepare me for the people themselves. I knew Bosman’s old schoolhouse had fallen down and had been rebuilt elsewhere. I recalled meeting the, now late actor, Patrick Mynhardt, who spent his life bringing Bosman’s characters to life on stage and how my Johannesburg writer’s group – Writer’s 2000 – had begged him to do a short presentation as Oom Schalk Lourens. How enthralled we all were and I vowed then and there, that one day, I would visit Groot Marico. It all sounded so fascinating.

Suddenly, there I was. The replica of the schoolhouse in town, (the original had decayed beyond repair). Bosman didn’t teach in the town, as the schoolhouse was apparently quite some distance away. There are the well-known photos of Bosman and of Patrick Mynhardt on stage depicting the character of Oom Schalk Lourens and even a photo of the latter’s tombstone, where the words inscribed relate how happy he had been to spend his life as an actor. It all became real and I was witnessing it. I couldn’t understand how others preferred being armchair tourists. It just doesn’t compete with reality.

What else lay behind the scenes? Far more than I imagined. This was my first port of call and being so close, it was reached very quickly. My caravan park perched on a lake and watching the sun sink behind the mountain while dappling the still water with its last rays of the day made every evening really pleasant. I loved the tranquillity. Gone were the traffic noises of a bustling city, the endless false alarms being activated, sirens and people shouting to intrude on your peace – as I’ve mentioned before. I was in my own little world and it was a winding-down process that I was enjoying.