Charlotte's Web

Blogging my world since 2006

The Men of My Tribe


While not all men of the soil (men of the law court and the billable hour, mostly), the men of my African tribe are an earthy and courageous lot. I’ve posted about The Uncle Who Roars At Lions, but I also have a father who is not scared of spending an entire coastal fishing trip in the SAME PAIR OF SHORTS, and a brother who grew a whole nursery of indigenous trees from seeds he plucked with his bare hands off the forest floor (possibly illegally, we’re not sure) and raised each one lovingly to maturity (actually, he’s rather gorgeous and if you know any 30-ish single women who’d fancy a gentle hairy-legged South African to father some children, he’s available right now … but that’s another post). However, I’ve just heard through the thriving family grapevine of another uncle whose courage, determination and commitment to meeting his goals quite outdoes all others.

This uncle was driving with a friend along the motorway towards a golf course where he, my father and a fourth friend had a golf game. To their surprise, they saw one large truck wheel crash through the barrier from the other side of the motorway and come bouncing towards them. They were extremely lucky that the wheel hit the side of his car and not the front or the top. However, all the windows on the driver’s side were shattered and much of that side of the car was buckled in. They stopped the car, wiped their faces of blood, established that both were more or less okay and that the car was still in working order, and then, and this is where my tribal blood starts to ring with pride, PROCEEDED TO THEIR GOLF GAME. My father and the fourth friend were waiting somewhat irritably for their almost-late golf partners, who arrived just in time to tee off, and then, with the gods still on their side, win the round of golf. I am filled with admiration for the men of my family – imagine being side-swiped by an enormous bouncing wheel, to survive with mere facial lacerations, to keep driving in your now-damaged car in order to make your tee-off time and have the audacity also to win the round. He is a hero and shall henceforth be known as The Uncle Who Was Never Too Tired To Play Golf.

So how does my British-born husband keep up with these hoary roarin’, fishin’, tree-growin’ tyre-defyin’ Africans? He takes up cycling, that’s what he does. It’s got to be a lot safer than going to golf.



Author: charlotteotter

Novelist, feminist, crime writer

7 thoughts on “The Men of My Tribe

  1. Those are some hard core men you’re related to. I think I would be far too addled by a car accident to then proceed to a golf game.

  2. >actually, he’s rather gorgeous and if you know any 30-ish single women who’d fancy a gentle hairy-legged South African to father some children, he’s available right now …

    Hmm, well there’s my sister- a former scientist turned librarian. On the down side she is however based in Wellington, New Zealand & claims to like being single- But I think he sounds very nice as a brother in law and father to the little cousins I’d like my daughter to have.

  3. He is. He’s a darling, but his trees are in South Africa and I don’t know if he’d be able to leave them. Pity.

  4. So, I’m thinking, we now know that your techno peasantry extends as far as posting pictures…I may be happily married and live in Central America, but I’m not averse to the occasional glimpse of a “rather gorgeous” South African.

  5. Fraid I haven’t got any suitable relatives, at least not single ones of the right age, which is a pity. Anyone with the patience and dedication to grow trees from seed would be excellent partner/father material!

  6. I certainly have some suitable friends, but they are UK based…. I’m voting with the other blogger who wants a photo. I may also be married, but it’s a lift to any day to view a pretty man. Anyhow, where was I? Oh yes, I was going to say that my own husband’s encounters with a golf club were also very revealing. He had to walk to it to get help because the hire car he had hired had run out of petrol. Now, get this: when he got into it, the fuel gauge said empty, but my husband decided that that was not likely in a hire car, and so therefore the gauge must be broken. !!!!!. That’s the kind of tribe I’ve married into…

  7. Some fine, strapping men among your tribe–would that I were intrepid enough to join! 🙂

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