Chapter 1

A Coffee Shop in Richards Bay, Northern KwaZulu Natal, South Africa.

My transport was late. Very late. Four hours late, and the small airport of Richards Bay did not offer much in the line of entertainment. Oh, yes there’s a coffee shop, but it’s four kilometres away and off the airport property.

The friendly airport staff arranged for me to take the airport shuttle bus to the nearest coffee shop and would notify me when my transport arrived. But then again, one can only drink a limited amount of coffee before one has to ... well, you know what I mean.

The day was hot and humid. As hot and humid as the subtropics here in the north of KwaZulu Natal can get in high summer. A few lazy fluffy clouds drifted in from the sea, but there was no wind here at surface level. This resulted in the uncomfortable sweaty stickiness that was clamping my tropical shirt and cargo pants to my body.

I sat a little away from the other patrons. I was beginning to smell myself and knew that others would smell me too. Sure, there was air-conditioning in the little coffee shop, but in the last four hours since I got here, I’ve been outside smoking a few times.

Why not just go sit in the smoker’s lounge? Have you ever been inside a smoker’s lounge? Well, if you had, you would know that it smelled like a five-day-old stale dead horse in there. I don’t need that. Yes, I’m a smoker but don’t drag me down with the rest of them. I smoke my pipe. Cigarettes suck! They always leave a residue of stinky smelly ash around. That’s one of the reasons I don’t smoke in my car. And if I had to, I’d use my pipe.

As I sat there sipping on my umpteenth cup of coffee, I couldn’t help but ponder the irony of the situation. Here I was, stranded in a small airport in Richards Bay, with limited entertainment options, and my only escape from the heat and humidity was a coffee shop located four kilometres away. The airport staff’s gesture of arranging a shuttle to the coffee shop was appreciated, but the time was ticking away slowly.

My name is Tyron Johannes Van Aswegen, “Ty,” “Hannes” or “Assie” to my friends, but NEVER “Van!” A “van” is a window-less ugly vehicle that’s used to transport boxes and stuff, also favoured by the FBI, CIA, MI5, MI6, KGB, and paedophiles worldwide for the transport of questionable goods and persons. So, never call me “VAN”, if you know what is good for you.

I’m six foot six and any yards in my socks, brown-black shoulder-length hair that I, like now, tie in a ponytail with a leather string. Brown eyes complete the picture of my somewhat toned body, thanks to the occasional visit to a gym.

I work for myself. Call me a “private eye,” or a “private investigator”, gumshoe, tracker, tail, whatever ... Just remember: I know what you did, and I know where you stay...

Right now, I have an assignment. My cover for this assignment is that I’m a wildlife photographer working on a commission for a well-known travel magazine. I’m on my way to a little one-horse, end-of-the-trail, resort village of iSigodi somewhere on the northeastern shore of Lake Saint Lucia, in the iSimangaliso Wetland Park. It is so end-of-the-trail situated that it is only accessible by a two-track, potholed, overgrown, sandy bush road along the slight never-ending dune that cuts off Lake St Lucia from the open ocean to the east of the lake.

Alternatively, you could be transported by air. The friendly staff at iSigodi has its own seaplane to shuttle guests to and from the resort village.

And they are late!

For about the tenth time in the last four hours, I got up and went out the side entrance of the coffee shop. The waiter knew that I was waiting for my transport and just left my table alone. A nice fat tip took care of that issue and I know that my luggage would be safe sitting there at the table.

As I paced, I reviewed what I knew of iSigodi, “The Village”, as translated from the Zulu language. Before I embarked on this mission, I did extensive research on iSigodi, (Pronounced: issie-gawh-dee), and iSimagaliso, (Pronounced: issie-man-ga-lissoo).

iSigodi is situated on the eastern shore of Lake Saint Lucia, high up on the second widening of the lake, across the entrance to “False Bay,” called “Hell’s Gate.”

Lake Saint Lucia is the centrepiece located within the iSimangaliso Wetland Park of 3280 square kilometres of protected wetland (1267 square miles), and a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The lake was named Saint Lucia by Manuel Perestrello, a Portuguese navigator and cartographer, on 13 December 1575, the feast day of Saint Lucy. It was later renamed St Lucia.

Saint Lucy, whose full name was Lucia of Syracuse (283–304). She was a Roman Christian martyr who perished during the Diocletianic Persecution. In Eastern Orthodox, Lutheran, Catholic, and Anglican Christianity, she is regarded as a saint. She is one of the eight women specifically honoured by Catholics in the Canon of the Mass, along with the Virgin Mary. December 3rd is her traditional feast day, which is recognized as Saint Lucy’s Day in Europe for Western Christians. Honoured during the Middle Ages, Lucia of Syracuse continued to be a popular saint in early modern England. Along with Agatha of Sicily, Agnes of Rome, Cecilia of Rome, and Catherine of Alexandria, Saint Lucy is among the most well-known virgin martyrs.

One of Africa’s most exceptional natural wetlands and coastline areas is the iSimangaliso Wetland Park. It encompasses a vast array of pristine marine, coastal, wetland, estuary, and terrestrial ecosystems that are aesthetically pleasing and essentially untouched by human activity. It is almost 240,000 hectares in size (593,000 acres), and those hectares include vast wetlands made of reed and papyrus, lake systems, long sandy beaches, coastal dunes, coral reefs, and savannahs.

These habitats are vital to a variety of species found in the wetlands and oceans of Africa. Because of the park’s transitional location, significant floods and coastal storms interact with its ecosystems, leading to ongoing speciation, or the evolution of new species, and great species richness. Large groups of flamingos and other waterfowl, as well as nesting turtles, are among its striking natural spectacles.

iSimangaliso also boasts all the key African terrestrial animals like lion, cheetah, wild dogs, rhino, tsessebe, and oribi. The park was previously known only as “St Lucia Wetlands,” but was renamed in 1999 as iSimangaliso, the Zulu word for; “Miracle and wonder.”

As the translated name implies, the park offers a magical and majestic landscape with beautiful scenery, abundant wildlife, and some great enjoyable activities. It is a paradise for any wildlife photographer, and those who want to enjoy an African safari in a relativity calm and safe environment, away from military coups, and other unhealthy activities that can get one killed without any reason.

Sure, it sounds like paradise, but I must never neglect my yellow fever shot or my anti-malaria meds as I’ve no wish to challenge my system. Or maybe die. Mosquitoes tend to make their aerial attacks during sunset in squadrons of several thousand strong. I assure you, fighting a bout of malaria is not for the faint-hearted, and is sometimes ... Fatal.

But getting your vaccine shot and drinking your weekly anti-malaria bitter pill, while employing mosquito deterrents like citronella, basil, an open bottle of eucalyptus oil, or even catnip, helps to keep the little critters at bay. And so your stay at the park enjoyable.

“iSigodi” or “The Village,” is located on the eastern shore of the North Lake, on Lake St Lucia. It is run by a woman of about twenty-seven years of age, and a real fire-eater, according to the source that did my reservation for me. With a registered name like Kristýna Nikita Nováková, she had to be from the Czech Republic. But she was simply known as; Melanie Ková.

It was time to get back into the air-conditioned coffee shop again and pay my bill. I would then rather go back to the airport and either wait on my transport at the airport or make arrangements for an overnight stay at a hotel in Richards Bay.

I entered the coffee shop through the now familiar side entrance when I was nearly run over by a small five-foot-three figure. She crashed into me from the side, stumbled into the nearest table, but stayed upright, although her Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses went flying across the tiled floor of the small shop.

“Watch where you are going, Doofus!”, she exclaimed, arranging her sling bag to again hang by her side. I couldn’t take my eyes off her while picking up her sunglasses from the floor and handing them to her.

She was a young woman who embodied a quintessential nerd beauty, but now stood trembling before me with a red glow starting to take hold of her face and neck. Her brown eyes spit fire. Long brown hair cascaded down her back in a soft natural wave, framing her delicate features perfectly.

She was decked out in a khaki safari shirt and multi-pocketed khaki-coloured cargo pants that reached to just above her knees. The outfit hugged her slender figure, showcasing her toned arms and legs. The shirt was buttoned to her neck, just revealing a hint of her creamy complexion. Heavy woollen socks and a pair of highly polished leather boots sitting on top of slender ankles completed the image.

She grabbed the sunglasses from me and inspected them as if to see if they were damaged.

“Well, you should watch where you are going, and not look back while you are running forward,” I hit back.

“Just get out of my way!” She snapped, then dismissed me by turning towards the counter of the coffee shop.

“Manners, manners...” I mumbled as I took my luggage trolley and also stepped towards the counter, so I could pay my bill.

“What’s that?” the brown-haired, brown-eyed venomous brat spat.

“I questioned your manners. You could have at least apologised for bumping into me.”

“I apologise to you? It was YOU that did not look where you were going!” She hissed.

“Well, Lady, a pleasant day to you too,” I sighed and looked at the cashier behind the till-point. “My bill, please.”

“Sure, Sir!” The cashier replied and started to add up my umpteen mugs of coffee. “And I hope your transport arrives soon.”

“Me too! The bloody transport is nearly four and a half hours late, but what do you expect from a not even one-star rated resort in the Bundu? If their service is this bad in the beginning, I don’t know what my stay there will be like.”

“Where are you going to, Sir?” she asked as she handed me my bill.

“A place called iSigodi, on Lake St Lucia...” I replied and offered my debit card for the payment. “And add a fifteen percent tip for your kindness and friendly service.”

“Why, thank you, Sir. Please call again.”

“Are you Tyron Van Aswegen?” The brat asked.

“Yes, and what is it to you?”

“I’m your transport,” She simply stated.

“Eventually!”

“Come, let’s get going. It’s still a thirty-minute flight,” and she turned, walked to the glass door of the coffee shop, and went through, letting the doors swing back closed on their own.

“Bitch...” I muttered as she went through the doors.

“Who, Melanie? Don’t judge her too harshly, she’s got a tough time as it is.”

“But manners and customer service are the fundamentals of any business. At least she could be more friendly”, I replied. “Is she always like that?”

“Ever since the investors in her lodge threatened to withdraw, stop funding her, and ... Never mind. I’ve said too much already.” She looked away, and waved her hand in the air, dismissing what she intended to say.

“No, say what you want to say.”

“It’s not my place to say. Go, before she leaves without you,” Giggle. “Then you’ll have to walk to iSigodi...”

“Well, with an attitude like that, it’s a wonder she’s still in business as it is,” I replied.

The glass doors opened again, and a brown head appeared: “Come on now! I’ve not got all day!” Miss Bratty Bitch snapped.

Richards Bay Airport, Northern KwaZulu Natal, South Africa.

The drive in the shuttle bus back to the airport went without any word spoken between me and the still nameless brown-eyed, brown-haired Missy ultimate bitch.

We arrived at the airport and evacuated the shuttle bus. I collected my two kitbags, backpack, and shoulder sling bag.

“You travel light for a two-week stay,” Nameless remarked.

“Yeah. I just pack what is needed. If I forget something, or I need something else, I’ll just buy it at the destination,” I returned.

“Well, where you are going, there ain’t any Checkers, Cape Union Mart, or multi-store malls about,” She smirked.

“Then, I’ll just wing it till I get to the convenience store, Miss...” I replied, trying to draw her out to say her name, but she just shrugged her shoulders and walked off.

“Come! This way...”

I followed her out of the terminal building onto the apron and past a blue and white Cessna 206 Stationair floatplane with the wheels extended.

“Come! That Cessna ain’t mine...” She threw over her shoulder and strode on towards another Cessna 206 Stationair, a red and white floatplane with a funny registration of; ZS-OWL. It stood parked on parking bay two of the only two parking bays for scheduled flights.

Miss no-name strode up to the back twin loading doors, got up on the right-hand float, and opened the doors. Then she jumped off the float and indicated with her hand for me to get up on the float.

“Get your gear into the space on the left side, on top of those crates and strap it down with that spare strap,” She instructed.

“Okay, Miss...”

“Why do you call me ‘Miss?’ I’m not a teacher!”

“I don’t know your name. You know my name, but you aren’t sharing yours.”

“You may call me Miss Ková,” she simply stated and started to look the aircraft over in what is known as a pre-flight inspection.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Ková!” I called at her departing back, and thought: “Boy, this is going to be a long thirty-minute flight!”

So, this was Kristýna Nikita Nováková, the owner of the lodge at iSigodi. Hmm ... And she speaks fluent English with only a trace of an accent. Interesting woman. I wonder why she acts so unfriendly.

I dropped my luggage onto the crate that she indicated to me, tied it down with a nylon strap to the crate and tightened the strap so that the kitbags, backpack, and shoulder bag would not move during the flight.

In the meantime, she was reaching up to look at the horizontal stabilisers and rudder of the craft. She had to reach up on tiptoes as a Cessna 206 Stationair seaplane sitting on floats was high off the ground. I chuckled, she could have gotten a ladder from the Fixed Base Operator or the mechanic.

With the outside inspection completed, she ended up back at the back right-hand side cargo doors, got up on the float, and shut the doors.

“Now, get in,” She instructed, and I looked at her with one eyebrow raised. Realising that I did not know where to be seated she replied: “You get in from the left-hand pilot door, and buckle into the right-hand seat.”

“Oh,” Was my only comment.

“Now move it!”

Lucky for me, I know my way around small aircraft. But I was not about to let on to Miss “Bitchy” Ková that I am familiar with this model of the Stationair and know that it doesn’t have a right-hand side forward door.

I got into the right-hand seat, and she followed into the pilot seat. She buckled in and then looked at me.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Buckle up!”

“How?”

“Oh, brother!” She exclaimed with a rolling of her eyes, then reached over and clipped my seatbelt and harness securely. Then she ignored me and started her cabin check and start-up checklist.

“You better put this on,” she said and handed me a headset. “Bibi is a little loud.”

“Bibi?”

“The aircraft. HER name is Bibi...”

“Oh.”

“Now, sit back, relax, AND DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING!”

“Yes, ma’am! Whatever you say, Ma’am!” I replied and was rewarded with brown eyes spitting fire from behind the aviator sunglasses.

She got busy pushing buttons and flipping switches. I watched her every move. If she noticed, she did not say anything or comment. While going through the checklist, she gave me a safety briefing. Something I knew by heart but refused to grace her with that knowledge.

After a few minutes, she spoke into her boom mike and contacted the tower, requesting start-up and taxi clearance. She got both clearances immediately. Richards Bay is a small airport and there’s not much traffic.

Miss Ková then opened her side window and shouted “CLEAR” to no one in sight, but it’s the procedure and must be done. She then reached with her left hand under the control column and turned the ignition key to start.