For the first 16 years of my life, once a month, my family packed the car and we spent a weekend in the Baviaanskloof. My grandparents were retired smallholders and lived on the farm Mistkraal. We lived in Port Elizabeth and the Baviaans was around the corner.
When we planned these visits, my parents never said they were “going to the Baviaanskloof”. To them, they were “going home”. They both grew up in the Kloof and only left to attend high school in Willowmore, and later to work in Port Elizabeth.
The Baviaanskloof lived up to its name: We often came across baboons on our travels. “As close to human as you can find,” my dad used to say. We'd watch the baboons for a
