As the sun dips towards the horizon
Shadows lengthen in the Karoo and a hush descends over Merweville. It’s tranquil scenes like this that cause city dwellers to dream of having a property in the platteland: a tractor parked on the main street; a police van trundling down the road; and a beautiful old Karoo house, the stoep with its concave roof right on the pavement.
The village of Merweville doesn’t wear its heart on its sleeve. Notice how neat the streets are, how well tended the houses, how cheerful everyone you encounter. The village exudes the sort of beauty and silence – and a certain peacefulness – that you’d expect from such a remote, isolated place. All this despite the bleak water situation.
The plants are the first to reveal that something is wrong. Macabre white skeletons of fig trees rise out of the dry earth, and an orange web of dead branches – presumably once belonging to a blue gum – are etched against the cloudless blue
