I wrote this poem years ago in Botswana and just found it in an old Orapa CJSS school magazine as I was trawling through papers that need sorting out! To put it in context, we only had one Spar supermarket in Orapa and it kept rather daft hours considering it was the only place to buy food. The town was surrounded by a 5km deep wilderness area marked by perimeter fence which had only two gates in it - east and west - policed by security points where everyone had to stop and register their business. People often waited for lifts into town once they had had their passes approved and stamped, so it was common to see pick-ups (bakkies) driving into town full of people.
Orapa had a game park but the kudu were the least confined of all the inmates as they can jump 10 foot fences easily. A friend of mine had one land on his car after it jumped one of the perimeter fences designed to keep people out.
Now most Batswana don't bothe with gardening. They have been taught to weed out all plants that might harbour mosquitoes and brush the dusty soil away to leave a bare yard that has nothing growing on it at all...
But our next door neighbour in Orapa was a Zimbabwean RE teacher called Moyo who had been brought up with an agricultural heritage. He always planted spinach, sugar cane and maize, even though every year the kudu would decimate his efforts. He'd tie plastic bags to every fence post and string wires across his garden but to no avail. At the end of every year he would claim to give up and would promise only to keep a Batswana style garden...but each year he would re-plant nonetheless.
In the first year we attempted growing stuff of our own, we produced ten times as much maize as my good friend Moyo by directing all our family bath water and washing suds onto the garden. This extra water and fertilizer boosted growth so much that our crop was ready for harvest before the kudu came and before Moyo's maize had begun to swell! The poem was written for him and found its way into the school magazine!
It's in the style of a Stanley Holloway monologue! Enjoy...
The Kudu
The Kudu, one knows,
has an excellent nose
For a feast that could feed quite a
number..
So a vegetable patch,
Well, it’s hardly a match
For a handsome young buck
Who is down on his luck
And who’s looking quite lean
‘Cause he hasn’t a bean
Or a cabbage, a pea or cucumber.
Now our story begins
In the terrible ‘thins’
(That’s a term that means
winter to Kudu).
For there’s hardly a leaf
Or a grass blade beneath
And the sun has dried up
All the water they sup
And they’re hungry you see
‘Cause they’re missing their tea
And they cannot buy food
such as you do.
So it soon came to pass
When he ran out of grass
That this antelope planned
just what to do...
He would venture to go
To a place we all know
(For the Orapa Spar
Well, it wasn’t too far)
Even though he’d no car
He’d be there in an hour
And he’d ask for some lunch,
would that Kudu.
Now our Kudu was wise
And he donned a disguise
So as not to draw too much attention.
He sported a suit
and a silk tie t’boot,
With a pair of fine shoes
Though he didn’t know whose
That he’d happen to spy
Near to Lion Tree Braai
While out walking not long
after luncheon.
But on reaching the gate
It was getting quite late
And he feared his plan might
have a hiccup.
For often he’d heard,
Though is seemed quite absurd,
That the shops shut at noon
Which was rather too soon,
And the sun in the sky
Said that ‘pm’ was nigh
So he flagged down a
blue and white pick-up.
In the town he was dropped
Very near to the shop
Which he hoped would stay
open all Sunday
But his progress was barred
By a small piece of card
That he couldn’t ignore
(Being stuck to the door)
Which politely advised
All those standing outside
That the shop was now
closed until Monday.
‘What on Earth shall I do?”
Thought our hungry Kudu
For he longed for some warm
milk and honey.
And yet wandering around,
Desperately searching the town,
Though he scoured every street
For a morsel to eat,
Well, he never did find
Anything of the kind
That would satisfy his aching tummy.
‘Til at long last he found
A tall hedge that did bound
A fair garden as green as was Eden;
He saw seeds had been sown
Of all vegetables known,
“And it smells so divine!
It’s just got to be mine!”
Said our friend with a fetish
For radish and lettuce,
Who drooled at the sight
Of the dinner he might
In an hour or two get to feed on.
For paradise found
Lay upon hallowed ground,
Where a kudu can’t graze
in broad daylight.
‘Cause this gardener’s toil
Was to worship the soil
And the plants he’d grown there
Which he nurtured with care
He did guard with such zeal
That a chap couldn’t steal
them
Until it was well after midnight!
Justly proud Moyo was
Of his garden because
He had had some successes already.
For in previous years
He had warmed to the cheers
As he’d pushed his prize peas
(Which were free of disease)
To the town in a barrow
Along with a marrow
That he’d sold for two pula, ten thebe.
Now about peas and beans
Moyo had nasty dreams
As he knew it would
soon be high season
For the kudu to come
And eat up every one!
“And they won’t stop at that!”
He had told next door’s cat,
“For they surely will pillage
All the tops of my spinach
Without care and without
rhyme nor reason!!”
So a plan he had hatched
To protect his green patch
From the scourge of the pestilent kudu.
He had planted a hedge
Right up close to the edge
That he’d trimmed nice and neat
So the view from the street
Would be lovely and green
But no crops would be seen
And no deer would appear
to say “Shoo!” to.
Now this hedge had grown dense
So engulfing the fence
That the garden seemed fully protected.
Not a single green bean
From the street could be seen;
In fact none of his veg
Could be spied through the hedge..
“And my hedge is so tall!”
Rejoiced Moyo (who was small -
a point that he’d rather neglected).
Now a kudu can bound
Fifteen feet off the ground
And considerably higher than hedges.
And on seeing no light
By the darkness of night
This same kudu did glide
To the grocery side
And began to consume
Every single legume
From the middle right out
to the edges.
By the following spring
Well there wasn’t a thing
That still grew there
In poor Moyo’s garden.
He claimed in disgust
That he’d rather sweep dust
Than offer free food
To a beast quite so rude
As a young kudu buck
Who, because of ill luck
He was somehow
expected to pardon.
So a kudu, you see
May well steal for his tea
No matter how strong your defence is.
For a hedge ten feet tall
Is no problem at all
To a beast with a nose
For a gard’ner who grows
Prize-winning produce
That he’ll quickly reduce
It to dust that’s surrounded by fences.
