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Typical Witsand scene
Thought I'd get you thinking... I mean match this to Sop n Dop. I dare you aka somewhat inadequately Soup and a Dram
Yeah! We went out this evening; for a change; dressed to the nines. Jurie in jeans, me in leggings and a headlamp walked down to our local bowls club for an evening of Sop n Dop.
Where else in South Africa or this planet for that matter would you find such bonhomie?
All 103 residents of the village gathering on a crisp autumn evening to share soup; home baked bread and a wee drop of wine in pursuit of raising funds for the local bowls club. Although I suspect it was just an excuse to booze up; for affable, amiable, friendly, genial sociability.
OK. Poetic license; 102 out of a possible 160 odd people were there.
I have been attending for the last 7 years. As far as I could gather this has being going on for 16 years says a local tourist agent, no; for 19 says the local general store dealer and sponsor of the biggest lucky draw prize of the evening. Come autumn, come the quieter tourist months, come dark and empty evenings, the local bowls club enters with its annual fund raiser. One of the highlights of the social calendar and I defy anyone from my past life in the bright lights of Sandton and Northcliff to say they had better community evenings.
Sadly no pics; these folks with all their down-to-earthedness are sensitive about wrinkles, dress code and other stuff that goes with retirement and aging. I love them all so much.
An evening of enormous fun and delicious food costs you R40 and with that a chance to win some wine in the lucky draws. I wasn’t so lucky this year but it was my turn last year. Ladies of the club make pots of soup Nigella Lawson or Jamie Oliver wouldn’t come near in flavour. Others show off their bread baking, preserve making and pate-making skills; to say nothing of the all the desserts. If you leave the evening hungry, or remotely wishing you’d had just a little bit more of whatever, it’s your own entire fault.
The farmer, the fisherman, the granny, the butcher, the baker, the grocer, the candlestick maker, the old, the young, the sophisticated, the down to earth, I love them all; they were all there. I watched two old dears, both over 80, both; the story goes they were actually born in Witsand, both hard of hearing, communicating above the noise, the buzz, the laughter with their cell phones - actually sending each other messages; happy as can be, part of this lovely community, this place I now call home.
At one table the fish caught at sea or on the river were getting larger and larger as the evening progressed and at another the world’s problems were being solved faster than you say SOP n DOP! Happily yesterday’s election and our famous Oscar didn’t feature.
None of the food went to waste, the last two loaves of bread were auctioned off at R70 and R65 respectively and one them donated back and re-auctioned. One loaf had already had two slices taken off and was therefore more valuable because the buyer knew what he would be getting. Can you beat that logic?
My headlamp and the strong arm and warm embrace of my best friend and love of my life guided me home, safely past puff adders catching the last of the heat in the road. Such is life in the platteland aka remote country districts in Southern Africa and I would n’t want it any different.
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Bruce Gamble
non-member comment
What a lovely description of your evening. You don't need photos. You have painted such a vivid mental picture for me. Here in London, we are on nodding terms with the neighbours on either side of us, one of whom has lived there for twenty years alongside us, but beyond that, we scarcely know anybody else in our street, let alone our neighbourhood! I envy you that community spirit.