A Struggle for one, A Struggle for all – But The Rain Will Come Tomorrow

As I drive into Roelfie van der Merwe’s farm, I am struck by the neatness and order which dominates his landscape.  It’s a hot day, and on arrival, he and his wife, Marche, offer me some freshly (home)made cookies and cool drink. I can’t help but notice that his dress code is as neat as his farm.  We are here to talk about the drought.  Extreme and widespread, this drought that has persisted for the last eight years.  In this Aberdeen region of South Africa, the annual rainfall historically is 300-350mm per annum, and this year, they have had just short of 75mm of rain.  The rainy season is typically from August to February, and today, in September, there is no sign nor prediction of any respite. 

“It’s heartbreaking,” says Roelfie. “Seasons of drought and nourishment are part of a farmers’ life, we know that, but this one has been particularly brutal.” The veld will need a long time to bounce back – it needs 50mm to start to replenish – anything more than that in one rainfall will wash the topsoil away. After that initial 50mm is absorbed, then a lot more consistent rain over a long period will be necessary to get the farm back to its former state. Right now, Roelfie has to bring in 100% of his feed, which amounts to around 2500 kgs per day. It's expensive and there is no support from Government. 

Furthermore, the emotional impact on him and his family is real.  He is quick to point out that the farmers help each other. “This drought has revealed great generosity of spirit.  The tougher it gets out there, the closer we all stay. We are a proud bunch, but we are a kind bunch.  We look after each other – and the support we get from our local farmers association and Agri EC is deeply appreciated. Marche tells us he is the pillar of strength for friends and family.  “He tries to keep everyone positive and is a beacon of hope.”  She is tangibly proud of him. They met at a 4x4 gathering in Graaf-Reinet, and it was love at first sight!  “My first gift from him was droewors, and the second was a pair of mohair socks!”  I ask Roelfie how he copes when things really seem hopeless. “We are lucky our marriage is very strong. We have each other. We have land.  We have healthy children, and we have God.  I have no idea how faithless people survive emotionally.”  Marche adds, “When he is down, I am strong, and when I am down, he is strong. We fill in for each other. And we pray together as a family.  That is how we survive.” This is faith in its purest form. There is a quiet acceptance in Roelfie.  He tells us, “We are in the middle of God’s creation. This is just a season we are in, and it’s a dry one.  We have to trust God’s wisdom that everything is as it should be.  Seasons change, and it is our job to take the lessons and learn from them.”  On a day to day basis, farming practices continue.  Roelfie wakes up a 5 am to feed the goats and check that the goats and kids are safe.  It’s winter, and it’s cold, so they need caring. He carries a stomach tube in his vehicle with a litre of lukewarm milk so he can feed any needy kids on the run.  Often Marche and their two children will assist – it’s a family circle of love.  His son will take over the farm and is learning as much as he can.  The advice Roelfie received from his Dad and the same advice he gives to his son is:  “A good farmer is always amongst and between his animals,” he smiles. 

Weeber Truter is another farmer scathed by this drought. He has been on his farm “Trutersdale” near Oudtshoorn for 40 years – the farm he was born on.  “I have never experienced such a bad drought,” he says.  “But I sense it's changing. We have had a little more rain this year than last year, so things are looking up.” 

I am struck by the strength, hope and faith that is evident – it’s against all odds.  And in this is a deep sense of gratitude. “I am lucky,” says Weeber. “I have had so many blessings – I have been able to educate my children, I am still healthy, and I am more fortunate than most.”  

He worries about his wife, Tina. “The wives struggle more. They shoulder the burden. It’s not an easy job.  It can be lonely, and the closest shop could be 200 km away.  They are strong women and the backbone of any farm.” He, too, has a deep faith. “This is all in the Bible. It is no surprise.  It’s a 7-year drought, and it is nature. A cycle of life and nature (with God) always sorts itself out.” I can see that Weeber is a man who lives close to the earth.  He tells me he doesn’t check a rain gauge.  He takes out his spade and checks the levels of moisture in the soil. That tells him everything he needs to know. 

To get a full picture of the impact of this devastating drought, I have a conversation with Sias Reynolds.  He farms near Beaufort West with Angora goats and merino’s.  He has been farming for ten years, most of them dry.  He counts himself lucky as he thinks he has more resources in the form of irrigated pastures and a structured grazing system. Allen Sayvory’s holistic management system implemented by his father, Louis, allows the veld to rest for longer periods inbetween grazing.  I ask him about climate change. “The Karoo has always been water scarce. It may be global warming, but we will always have dry season cycles.  Yes, this one is more harsh, but the earth will correct itself. This is farming.” He rents all the land he farms and tries to use the drought to his advantage constantly looking for opportunities to expand.  This gives him access to more veld and hopefully getting rain on some of the land.  He says: “I cannot allow myself to think to much about the drought. That will only have a negative impact on my positive outlook.  I know I am an optimist – but  we are always one day closer to rain!”  It’s been an interesting day for me. Both heartbreaking and uplifting. It is tough out there, but somehow, the resilience and faith of these farmers and the love and support they share with their families and the community is watertight.  I ask Roelfie what he will do when the rain finally comes. 

“I will get on my knees and pray.  And then  I will dance in the beautiful rain with my family! – It WILL come soon.”… “The rain will come tomorrow!” 

It’s time to leave the farm. I say goodbye and get in the car to make my way back to the city.  I glance back and wave with hearty vigour.  But he doesn’t see that – he is too busy scanning the sky for signs of rain.