Capetonians reckon they know about rain. I’m not so sure. It’s either absent or it’s a drizzle that softly soaks the senses to the point of irritation. During a storm, it comes at you in horizontal gusts, rendering umbrellas and awnings useless.
You have to head north if you want to see proper rain: a thunderstorm, preferably in the Kruger National Park.
A year ago, we crossed from Mozambique into South Africa at Giriyondo in the north-east of the Kruger, on our way to Letaba where we were going to spend the night. The bush was dry. At a cement dam fed by a borehole, elephants elbowed each other out of the way for a drink of water. But in the distance, huge white clouds were billowing, filled with the…
