12. sometimes I feel like Sybil Fawlty

John Cleese’s Fawlty Towers is a classic. 
I used to watch poor Sybil deal with the most uncomfortable situations and giggle my way through her dilemmas.

But sometimes I feel just like her, and bumble my way through situations just waiting for a hidden camera to jump out, saying “Gotcha”!

One particular occasion – not funny at the time and almost reduced me to uncontrollable hysteria – was when we were hosting a French travel writer. It was in the middle of peak fire season and the inevitable happened. In the late afternoon a fire warning came through on the radio and all the staff were mobilised. Ken vanished into a cloud of smoke to save his farm from burning, leaving me to host the guests.

Darkness fell and I was discussing the merits of which boutique wine would suit our dinner. The guests enquired if Ken would be joining us. “Ummmm, no not just yet, he’s busy attending to some farm business” (like putting out half the farm that’s busy burning!)

Not wanting to alarm the guests with the pending disaster, I veered the conversation back to Chardonnay vs Chenin Blanc. With that the guests’ eyes widened, the size of saucers. Darkness is deceiving and almost upon us was a bright ring of red flames. Quietly excusing myself, leaving the guests to the full run of the wine cellar, I dashed up to the house to make sure it wasn’t on fire. All was under control and a sooty, exhausted Ken finally joined us for dinner.

On another occasion we were trying to impress some travel agents. Tippy, a tame serval, followed us around and was a real favourite. We were wandering around the open area in front of the restaurant, visiting the raptor release aviary where three spotted eagle owls were waiting to be released. The horses had discovered that ostrich pellets were being put down daily and were reluctant to leave the area. They spotted Tippy and decided to have a game of chase. Tippy froze and stared at them. Not being street-wise he didn’t know what to do.

My calm demeanour disappeared and I ran like a banshee to pick him up out of harm’s way. This spurred the horses on even more, freaked out the cat, and I was left scratched and humiliated. One of the agents darted around, arms waving, trying to shoo off the horses. At least it broke the ice.

Running a game sanctuary-lodge-farm-home is hard work. 
We could not do it on our own and have wonderful staff to thank. 
Caring and committed animal lovers who go to extremes to save a life, and prevent cruelty, support us daily. 
We have learnt so much in the two years we have been in South Africa and enjoyed the wonderful hospitality. 


We have come to understand the Zulus, and their lessons about the bush and rural life has enriched our perspective and enabled us to share it with others.

Christmas is a time for thanks-giving, sharing and loving. 
However clichéd it might sound, we, at Milimani express our sincere thanks for everything we have. 

And I personally, would like to say asante sana, ngibonga, 

a huge thank you to Ken for making my dreams come true. 

Sybil Fawlty would have a long way to go to beat this!

Published in Country Life, December 2002

Footnote: Thank you for reading my stories. It has been cathartic republishing them, and I confess it has taken me 8 years to confront the loss of Milimani and the death of Ken. Life after 2002 went a bit pear-shaped and the traumatic experience of dealing with the land claim left some scars. Since Ken’s death in 2005 I have been lucky enough to find love again (thank you Rob Stock) and to be embraced by the bush in Pongola. I am also blessed with the incredible love and friendship of the Kuhle family, who have accepted Rob and I into their extended family.

Other blogs by Lois Kuhle:

SMOKE RINGS IN CUBA. A TWO WEEK JOURNEY FILLED WITH SALSA, SUNSHINE AND SILLY PEOPLE:
http://smokeringsincuba.blogspot.com/2013/10/smoke-rings-in-cuba-journey-filled-with.html

COOL THOUGHTS. MUSINGS AND OTHER MAD MOMENTS:
http://loiskuhlethoughts.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-impatient-gardener.html

11. swimming with ostrich

We’ve all heard of ‘swimming with dolphins’, a very spiritual experience; 
Dances with Wolves, a stirring love story; 
and Free Willy....let’s no go there. 
recently, we have been swimming with ostriches.

Along with the purchase of Milimani we inherited many creatures – tigers, crocodiles, horses and a very tame ostrich named Bahl.

Bahl was an amazing character, a lonely male who had changed persona and seriously thought he was human. Going for a walk was like a scene out of Forest Gump. Ken and I were not allowed to walk side by side as Bahl positioned himself strategically between us. He delighted in interfering in the workshop, and he had a fascination for anything that happened at ground level. He slept outside our home, shared his space with warthogs, dogs and humans, and was truly a part of the family.


We are not sure how old Bahl was but suspect the number 13 spanner he swallowed had something to do with his untimely death. He went peacefully in his sleep about a year ago, and his presence is sorely missed.

For ages we tried to source another ostrich, but it’s not as easy as it sounds. The local pet shop doesn’t stock them, and you are forced to buy up to 10 at game auctions. So we were delighted to discover a breeder in Newcastle and immediately ordered three of the flightless birds from him.

When I phoned I was excited to hear he had five-month old birds and had visions of shooting up to Newcastle, popping them into the back of the Landi. This dream was abruptly shattered when he told me they were six feet tall.

We arranged to have them delivered, and when they arrived we offloaded them in front of the restaurant, where we hoped they would settle. Two immediately tucked into the food, but the third disappeared into the bush. Poor Enoch, who was manning the bar, had to thrash his way into the forest to retrieve him, while the others continued to dine. By the time he arrived back, one and two discovered their companion was missing and ventured off to find him. Eventually all three were united, and after this circus, we sat down to well-deserved cold beers.

That night the three newcomers, now named Faith, Hope and Chastity – not Charity, followed the staff to their quarters and sat around the fire, and there they spent the night. They bonded with Doctor, the gardener, and follow him and his rake everywhere, picking up tit-bits.

The next day we had people for lunch. The ostrich had come back to the original source of food and seemed content to hang around while we all oohed and aahed. The next thing they went to the pool and settled on the slasto, dipping their necks in the water. I had a premonition of them going for a swim, and sure enough two of them calmly walked into the water. They swim like ducks! We plucked them out of the pool, and they sat there like drowned rats, confused about all the fuss. They continued to dive into the pool on a regular basis, forcing us to fence the area off.

We thought we’d had to deal with something unusual, but that same week we received a panic call from our neighbour calling for help to get a giraffe out of the pool. Other lodges have had similar strange swimmers, such as rhino and elephant to fish out.

Just when you thought it was safe to go back into the water

Published in Country Life, November 2002

Other blogs by Lois Kuhle:

SMOKE RINGS IN CUBA. A TWO WEEK JOURNEY FILLED WITH SALSA, SUNSHINE AND SILLY PEOPLE:
http://smokeringsincuba.blogspot.com/2013/10/smoke-rings-in-cuba-journey-filled-with.html

COOL THOUGHTS. MUSINGS AND OTHER MAD MOMENTS:
http://loiskuhlethoughts.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-impatient-gardener.html

10. one and two makes eight

You might think from this title that I got nought for maths at school, but in this case ‘One’ and ‘Two’ (or their vernacular names, Moja and Mbele in Swahili) are our seventh and eighth bushpig orphans at Milimani. They were rescued from a veld fire in Eshowe by the Steenberg family, nurtured and cared for until they were seven weeks old.

They are boisterous young males, and willingly accepted by the three dogs, now used to having bushpigs as companions. Eisbein, the Vietnamese Potbelly, has been the best hot-water bottle since grandma fell off the bus.

Kidogo, no. 6 orphan, is also a male and has been recruited to show them what being a bushpig is all about. Our back garden is a disaster area with all the digging and running around by these animals. Ken regularly grunts and shakes his head, complaining that his rose garden will never grow. I have never seen Ken near a rose garden and suspect that he is simply trying to make a point.

Left - Caroline Hurry with Callie and Wig as a baby

We now have five orphaned bushpigs around the house. Picollo and Wig (numbers 4 and 5) were gradually introduced to the three original orphans when disaster struck. They teamed up with two wild pigs and one injured Wig severely. A week later Picollo was hurt.


Wig’s back leg was badly gashed with a lot of muscle damage. I took her down to Durban to be x-rayed by the vet at C.R.O.W. That was quite a mission. Wig was immobilised but not anaesthetised and she began squealing the place down. She eventually cooperated and once the damage to leg was assessed, we decided to let the healing process take its own course. She spent that night at C.R.O.W.

The next day mum and I went to collect her, the idea being I would shoot through to Milimani in Pongola. Wig is normally a good traveller but obviously all the fuss had disorientated her, plus it was as hot as hell. We put her into the travelling box, believing all would be well. Ha! The next thing she managed to push open the door and squeeze her way out. She promptly sat on mum’s lap in the front of the Landrover. The whole Houdini manoeuvre had opened up the wound and she bled like a – dare I say – stuck pig all over mum’s nice white cotton outfit. There she sat all the way along the highway to Umhlanga Rocks, watching the traffic whizz by. Bushpigs are solid creatures and even at seven months old they’re heavy. Mum arrived home covered in blood and bruises!

Wig was not happy about travelling that day, so we spent the night with Helena who is used to unusual houseguests!

Picollo and Wig are free, but still use the house as a base. They frequently visit the workshop and show Ken what to do, which doesn’t go down to well. Kidogo, Mojo and Mbele will have to wait until they are big enough to leave the bottom of the food chain when, hopefully, the call of the wild will draw them back into the bush.

I am not sure mum has forgiven me for this yet. Being burdened with unusual ‘grand-children’ isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be!

Published in Country Life, October 2002

Other blogs by Lois Kuhle:

SMOKE RINGS IN CUBA. A TWO WEEK JOURNEY FILLED WITH SALSA, SUNSHINE AND SILLY PEOPLE:
http://smokeringsincuba.blogspot.com/2013/10/smoke-rings-in-cuba-journey-filled-with.html

COOL THOUGHTS. MUSINGS AND OTHER MAD MOMENTS:

http://loiskuhlethoughts.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-impatient-gardener.html

9. demolishing demon d6 dozer

I was born in an era when we were destined to save the world. We applauded those who tied themselves to trees to save the forests or chained themselves to dozers to prevent them from demolishing the forests. Saturday afternoons were spent writing obscene remarks in cruelty-free lipstick on furrier’s shop windows.

The preservation of life was ultimate. We did not eat meat, never wore leather and our chants of ‘om’ haunted our parents. We listened to suicidal songs by Leonard Cohen, but Bob Dylan was the ultimate.

OK, so that was decades ago, but the imprint is there.

I’m totally convinced that Ken bought Milimani so that he could do his ‘boys and their toys’ thing. The first purchase, for a tidy sum that tilted the budget, was a Demolishing Demon D6 Dozer. You know the type – yellow, big feet, and lots of voomah. I was not around when the creature arrived and I certainly wasn’t privy to its future movements. 

(The picture on the left is the DDD6D in one of his more uselful moments. Pulling our tractor out of the Mkuze River. We never quite established how the tractor got there in the first place.......quite unbelievable!)

Dense bush surrounded the front of the restaurant, obscuring the view of the dam where animals come to drink. Within hours of the yellow peril arriving, it had cleared the area and the dam was suddenly visible. Nice, I’m sure but no-one warned me. I went down to the area to be confronted with what I called Armageddon. Tears welled in my eyes and were soothed with comforting remarks of, “You’ll see, the animals will love it. It’s going to be great.” Well, they did, and it is. Sadly, ‘1’ to the yellow peril.

Keeping such creatures is not cheap. Every time ‘he’ – couldn’t possibly be a ‘she’ – broke down, I rejoiced, but then the budget went for a song. Mechanics were called in and hours were spent discussing the innards of the great beast. Phone calls were made all over the country to source spare parts, none of which I was the least bit cooperative about.

Having been a city slicker beforehand, the concept of bush management was alien to me. It grows, so leave it. This caused trailer-loads of friction – with the DDD6 in the middle of it. Coo-ing remarks of how valuable ‘he’ is and how we could not survive without ‘him’ repeat themselves in my nightmares.

The ultimate insult to my ‘destined to save the world’ philosophy came with Shayamoya, meaning ‘catch the wind’ in Zulu.

In order for Milimani to become an internationally recognised lodge, we needed an airstrip. Dad was a pilot and his guidance was sought. A site on top of the ridge was chosen, but again I was unaware of this.

All I knew was Ken took guests for game drives and their ventures were recalled in hushed tones. Questions of ‘Where did you go? What did you see?’ were met with conspiratorial looks, but claims of ‘tons’ of impala, wildebeest, nyala and giraffe were blurted out. I personally had never seen so much game gathered in one place. Where was this paradise? The secret was almost given away when a friend returned saying: 

“Are you planning to land a Jumbo jet, or is this the Masaai Mara?”

I was cautiously escorted to Shayamoya, champagne in car to soften the blow. Ken had made his airstrip with the help of the DDD6D – and the animals love it.

Even so I have to confess that threats of burning the demon and chaining myself to ‘him’ still come chanting out the ‘70’s child in me.

Published in Country Life, September 2002

Other blogs by Lois Kuhle:

SMOKE RINGS IN CUBA. A TWO WEEK JOURNEY FILLED WITH SALSA, SUNSHINE AND SILLY PEOPLE:
http://smokeringsincuba.blogspot.com/2013/10/smoke-rings-in-cuba-journey-filled-with.html

COOL THOUGHTS. MUSINGS AND OTHER MAD MOMENTS:
http://loiskuhlethoughts.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-impatient-gardener.html

8. the moon is empty

Zululand experiences a dry winter and wet summer. Our winter days are glorious with bright sunshine, with a slight nip in the air in the evenings, but comfortable, moderate temperatures during the day. 
But no rain.

This time, though, the rain gave up on us last summer. With very little offerings from heaven, by April the grass had turned brown, whereas, in previous years everything remained vibrant shades of green up until June. The earth is resting and the brittle veld has given up on expecting more rain.

We sell ‘rain sticks’ in the curio shop and one guest gave it his all, twirling the bamboo stick filled with rice to imitate the sound of rain, chanting pleas in Zulu. His efforts were rewarded with a thunderstorm later that evening, but since then no-one has been able to match his rain-making ability. Every day we look longingly towards the south, hoping that one wispy cloud is going to fill out and drop its load all over Milimani.

A gracious Zulu gentleman called Enoch works with us. Enoch is from the old school and his knowledge of Zulu folklore and culture keeps us enthralled for hours. Hoping that Enoch has more contacts ‘above’ than we do, we asked him if we could expect some rain from a tiny cloud that was looking promising. “No,” he said confidently, “the moon is empty. There is no rain.”

Despite us encouraging him to leap up and pendula (turn over) the moon, it was a given. There would be no rain for us. If the crescent bowl of the new moon faces down, it is empty. But if it faces upwards, it is full and we can expect rain.

Enoch also explained the importance of frogs. If frogs croak, rain is around. Almost as if on cue, a frog started croaking and we all looked around in amazement. Sadly, I think he was merely deceived by the sprinkler on the lawn, as the moon was definitely empty.

Enoch escorted us on a walk with the bushpigs one evening, impressing us with his knowledge of medicinal plants. “This tree,” he said “is used for a woman who wants to have a baby.” Kay, a guest, looked suspiciously at the tree, as did I. No, not in the mood to have a baby right now, so we moved swiftly along. “And if I hit you with this branch,” Enock continued in all seriousness, “you will have twins!” With that Kay and I bolted from the forest.

We live close to some villages and we invite the children to sing and dance for us. The money they raise goes towards schooling. The youngsters are full of energy and display kicking skills that make your back ache just watching them.

Most of the children are not quite in their teens, and the passion and enthusiasm they put into the singing and dancing brings their lives in the village alive. Enoch explains the songs to us before they begin. Most are based on being better than someone else and fighting to save your pride and your woman. Hearing tiny kids passionately singing “if you take my wife, I will beat you up!” fills Enoch and the staff with stifled giggles.

As the children warm up and become more confident, and cheeky, they revel in the response from the guests and the cheers and clapping from the staff.

The moon might be empty right now, 

but the hearts and voices of Zululand are filled with song.

Published in Country Life, August 2002.

Other blogs by Lois Kuhle:

SMOKE RINGS IN CUBA. A TWO WEEK JOURNEY FILLED WITH SALSA, SUNSHINE AND SILLY PEOPLE: http://smokeringsincuba.blogspot.com/2013/10/smoke-rings-in-cuba-journey-filled-with.html

COOL THOUGHTS. MUSINGS AND OTHER MAD MOMENTS:
http://loiskuhlethoughts.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-impatient-gardener.html

7. it's all in a day's walk

‘Walking the dogs’ has always had such a romantic connotation. 
One envisages a good looking husband, sporting a tweed coat, Labrador at his side, walking along the misty river banks, occasionally throwing a ball or Frisbee. 
But at Milimani, as romantic as it is, a calm stroll with the Labrador just doesn’t happen.

When it became apparent that our three bushpig orphans needed to ‘get out more’, our three dogs (one is a Labrador, so we do have some of the ingredients), and us (sans tweed coats) started taking them for walks. We’d stroll from the house for a kilometre to the helipad where we’d let them forage. On the way back, a compulsory pit stop at the water tank for a wallow ensured that the trademark of the walk was left all over our legs and shoes. These evening walks became a ritual and guests were invited along.

My uncle, aunt and (favourite) cousin came to visit and a bushpig walk was on the agenda. By now Picollo had grown quite large and loved Velcro. Colleen, Kelly and I were so wrapped up in conversation that we neglected Clive who was being attacked – in a friendly way – by Picollo, hungry for the Velcro on his takkies. Clive’s cries for help eventually stopped us mid-sentence. I instructed him to ‘just ignore Picollo', and he exclaimed in horror: “At which point do I ignore her, Lois? When my foot is half way down her throat?” Clive abandoned the walk and retired to the safety of cricket on TV.

A Blackbacked Jackal, Jacki, came to us from C.R.O.W (Centre for the Rehabilitation of Wildlife). Jacki was tame, and although free to roam, adopted us for a short time. The dogs and pigs were initially sceptical but later accepted his presence. After that Jacki joined us on the walks and they became even more chaotic. Pigs chasing pigs, chasing dogs, chasing jackal. Jacki soon wondered off, and has hopefully settled amongst his own type.

Then Jasper the Friendly Goose arrived. Jasper is an Egyptian Goose, about two-years-old, and used to humans. To be frank he is neither an Egyptian nor a goose (actually a duck), and definitely not friendly. He too came from C.R.O.W. He immediately took over our home, our lives and our nerves. The only person he didn’t attack was Ken. The rest of us had to dodge flapping wings and a snapping bill. Jasper also joined the walks.

When the time came to take two of the bushpigs, Picollo and Wig, to the release enclosure at the restaurant, Jasper escorted us, and discovered that this was where we spent most of our time, so every morning he flew there and strutted around the swimming pool. We were having breakfast with guests when Jasper literally landed on one lady’s head! Thankfully she had a sense of humour and Jasper was chased off what he considered a good nesting place!

Picollo and Wig have settled into their new enclosure and will be introduced to the three other bushpigs that were released six months ago. We take them  for long walks into the forest and down to the dam for a wallow. Soon the other bushpigs will accept them and they will be free to go.

Although it’s often hard to release the animals, it’s far more rewarding to watch them embrace freedom and interact with their own species.

But it looks like Jasper has no intention of going anywhere. Life’s too good beside the pool!

Published in SA Country Life, July 2002

Other blogs by Lois Kuhle:

SMOKE RINGS IN CUBA. A TWO WEEK JOURNEY FILLED WITH SALSA, SUNSHINE AND SILLY PEOPLE: http://smokeringsincuba.blogspot.com/2013/10/smoke-rings-in-cuba-journey-filled-with.html


COOL THOUGHTS. MUSINGS AND OTHER MAD MOMENTS:
http://loiskuhlethoughts.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-impatient-gardener.html

6. designed by chaos

When we were renovating Milimani, we proudly showed friends and family how the lodge was progressing and monitored our success by their reactions. My favourite was when a friend exclaimed “Wow, who was your interior designer?” I humbly replied “Oh, it was designed by Chaos.” Being a typical Sandton girl, she replied, “Don’t think I’ve heard of him.”

Well, let me introduce you to Chaos. He was totally obsessed by his new project, has amazing vision and endless energy – and I’m married to him.

Before we moved from Kenya to develop Milimani, we dreamt of what we would do and how we would do it. 

I fantasised about the former and Ken worried about the latter.

We inherited an amazing set-up on the farm and aimed to revamp the accommodation to suit international tourism. I wasn’t particularly keen on the typical Zulu rondavels and wanted to build something easier to furnish, but finances put an end to that day-dream.

Friends from Kenya came to visit not long after we moved down and we told them about our concerns about being able to do something different with a round building. Over copious amounts of vodka, Lucy, our colourful Kenyan friend, grabbed a piece of paper and a felt tip pen and set out to design what is now fondly called “Vodka Cottage.”

During the haze of the evening it all made sense and seemed quite logical. And in the grim light of the morning, nursing sore heads, we found Ken, hammer and chisel in hand, working to the plans that Lucy had scribbled out. Vodka Cottage is our favourite room and became a template for the other three rondavels.

The next challenge was: what to do with the restaurant area?

I managed to throw ‘Feng Shui’ jargon at ken many times and it often got me my way – until he realised I actually didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. We’d devised a brochure before we started building and I’d written ‘….with a swimming pool built into a man-made cave…’  The brochure was printed and Ken looked at me in horror. Where was this man-made cave? I explained that we should build it over the small pool at the restaurant and put a game-viewing lounge above it. He challenged me with some engineering talk and I responded with ‘girlspeak’. But it was the brochure that decided the issue – I just love the power of the written word. So poor Ken and his able helpers carted in rocks and stones, and 12 tonnes of cement later, we had a cave over the swimming pool.

We’d also decided to make our own furniture. This time it was Ken’s turn to completely blow my mind. He scouted the bush for dead wood and brought back, what in anyone else’s mind, looked like firewood. This was carefully sorted and categorised outside the workshop. Inside, Nkoni, our capable carpenter, produced the most amazing pieces – beds, tables, dressing tables, chairs, lampstands – everything that was needed for the rooms. We have guests that drive through the bush now looking at dead trees, saying: “That would make an amazing table/ lamp/ etc.”

Despite our lack of plans and seeming chaos, we had a lot of fun putting the lodge together and the result has been rewarding. 

Mother Nature gave us plenty of inspiration and it is she who deserves most of the credit.

Published in Country Life, June 2002

Other blogs by Lois Kuhle:

SMOKE RINGS IN CUBA. A TWO WEEK JOURNEY FILLED WITH SALSA, SUNSHINE AND SILLY PEOPLE: http://smokeringsincuba.blogspot.com/2013/10/smoke-rings-in-cuba-journey-filled-with.html

COOL THOUGHTS. MUSINGS AND OTHER MAD MOMENTS:  http://loiskuhlethoughts.blogspot.com/2013/12/we-have-pending-nuptials.html