Thank You: Never Too Late

Thank you, Inspector Jacobs, for helping me 21 years ago

Over the years, I have taken to say thank you to people who did something for me, and to say sorry when need be.

There was one person I omitted to thank at the time, 21 years ago, and apologise to for the trouble they went to on my behalf. That was Inspector Jacobs of the Tweerivieren police post at the Kgalagadi Transfrontier National Park. My good wife Kathy never let me forget my omission nor the context.

This story started in winter of 1992 when Kathy and I first visited the park known then as the Gemsbok Kalahari National Park. We relished in being there and resolved to take our still to be born kids there one day. Thus, it was we set out with daughter Keah, seven, and son Joel five, in the winter of July 2003 to the park. We journeyed to once again smell the sand, see the wide-open spaces of Africa, find a little of ourselves on the banks of the Nossob River, and leave the Kgalagadi in our souls for ever. We met such kindness on the way.

To get to the park, you travelled north on the R360 road from Upington to the park gate 250 km away. The last 54 km was awful. It was like driving on hard egg boxes. People said the corrugations took R10 000 off the value of your vehicle. The value of the figure today can be gauged by the memory that petrol in Upington at the time was R3.97 a litre. Dreadful. That was the only word to describe the Kalahari Road. We resolved to avoid that awful road on the way home. Fateful.

We camped at Tweerivieren, Nossob and Mata Mata. There were many complaints about the cold, but, hey, that was the African desert in winter for you.

When you are so far away from home, you often need the kindness and the help of a stranger to get you through. Take what happened to us on Monday July 14 2003. We encountered such Kgalagadi kindness. We arrived at Mata Mata, only to find that the bottom of our trailer was coming adrift from the back panel. This was a task for rivets. Kathy went to the reception desk to seek help for the trailer, and was told that a parks staff member would be along in the morning to help. Fat chance of that, I told myself cynically. Fellow travellers made jokes about a riveting experience. I did not see the funny side of that.

The next day, sure enough, two employees of the park arrived to help out. They towed the trailer away to their workshop to fix the rivets that had come out. They said that even four by four trailers were taken apart by the road. The staff also replaced a few other rivets that were loose. I inquired about the cost, and was told: “There is no way I can charge you. It is all part of the job.”

All too soon Wednesday July 16 2003 dawned. It was time to go. We headed back to Tweerivieren. Kathy asked the border police at Tweerivieren about the road on the Botswana side, as we wanted to avoid the dreadful 54 kilometres back. Inspector Jacobs assured us that the Botswana side of the road was better, and that there would be no hassles. 

Indeed, the Botswana border police at their post called Two Rivers could not have been more pleasant. From the Botswana road you could look across at the South African road, and see those hapless souls crawling along. We got stuck in the sand at a point. We were graced by five young school children and their teacher who physically hauled the trailer out of the soft sand. The exit point of the Botswana road was Bokspits, 53 km away from Two Rivers. Disaster struck at the Botswana police station again. I realised I had left my reading glasses back at the Two Rivers border post. The sergeant on duty kindly undertook to make contact with Two Rivers later and gave Kathy his cell number for her to call him later.

From Bokspits we re-entered South Africa at Gemsbokpos. Once on the hard forecourt of the police station, we attempted to tie on the light panel of the trailer. A burly policeman came up.

“Can I help,” he asked. He was a great moral support to us as we tied up the light panel. He also phoned through to Tweerivieren and told Inspector Jacobs about the lost glasses. He told us that Inspector Jacobs was going to town in the morning, so could drop the glasses off in Upington for us.

Looking back, what we would have done without the unbelievable kindness of the people of the Kgalagadi is unthinkable. the burly policeman gave Kathy his cell number and said if anybody stopped us because of the trailer, we were to phone him. We stopped in at Upington at the end of the day. The burly policeman phoned to say that Inspector Jacobs had driven across the border to Two Rivers almost straight away to look for my glasses, but they were not there. Kathy was so grateful for his help. I was quite concerned. For some reason I went to look in the car. And there, in the driver’s seat door compartment, were my glasses.

Kathy was really irritated with me. She wanted me to phone up the three police officers to apologise. I refused. For years afterwards, no make that for decades afterwards, whenever I misplaced something – read lost – Kathy showed no sympathy. She just reminded me of my glasses and the policemen who had tried to help back in the Kgalagadi. She made me feel bad about not losing my glasses and even worse for not telling the police the glasses had been found. She made me feel bad for my behaving rudely. I did feel bad for being ungracious. Often, in the years afterwards, I told students to say thank you timeousy to people who deserved it. You know, do as I say, not as I did. And Kathy never let up about this.

Then, at the beginning of November 2024 I was taking in the sunset at the McDougall’s Bay beach in the Northern Cape, which is now home. A friend introduced me to a woman taking in a short holiday in McDougall’s Bay, Isabella Jacobs. She spoke of being in the police at Tweerivieren. Connections were made. She was the wife of the then Inspector Jacobs, who was now the retired Captain Jacobs. I recognised him instantly, when I subsequently met him. I thanked him for his help 21 years ago and apologised for the trouble I had put him to unnecessarily.  

I was reminded, again, that a visit to the Kgalagadi is undertaken more for the memories afterwards, than for the actual experience, which is far too fleeting, no matter how many nights are spent on the sand. It is the memories that stay longest about the Kgalagadi; of the silence, the space, the animals, the friends and the kind people you meet along the way. People like Captain Jacobs. Thanks again, Captain. Sorry it took me 21 years to say thanks.