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Republic of South Africa, northern Transvaal. Mooketsi Area. Limpopo. Brandboontjies river area. House of hunter Rossi Pohl. .African Stories: The Last Great White Hunter.||.Oberholzer: Without a doubt, it was one heck of a day in May. Not a maybe May, but a harsh and hot Mayday May. The 17th of May 1987, written in my small dairy, circled, with exclamation marks. Back then, South Africa was in turmoil and in places turning in on itself, bleeding internally, bashed and bruised on the outside. So, me, the ‘skenaaiwer' (Afrikaans slang word, translates to something like, foxy schemer, manipulator, wrangler), filled with visual testosterone, manages, through right-wing sympathizers in the SAP in Levubu in the Limpopo Province, to execute a portrait of an AWB father and his son. (The Afrikanerweerstands Beweging was an extremely militant, fascist, right wing movement.) I do this portrait with outward superficiality and thus, don't die. Then later that day, I rattle my Kombi over the mighty, yet very dry, ‘Brandboontjiesrivier'. This translates to something like ---- ‘Burning beans River'. That brings me to friends who live on a farm called ‘Rolvark' in the Mooketsi district. This quaint name comes from the farmer named George, who shot a wild pig on the top of one of his Bushveld koppies. The pig was so enormous that they had to roll it down the hill. (Thus, the name ‘Rolling Pig') After an enormous braai of marinated Warthog ribs enhanced by a couple of ‘sluks' (gulps) of Mampoer, (a home distilled fruit brandy or spirit made from fruit) my photographic libido starts to quiver again, intensely -----I am afraid to add. I am shown the way to the residence of one of Africa's last great white hunters. Being liberated by the brewed brandy and the African spirits, I remember the French saying ----- ‘Le dernier le grand chasseur blanc'. In the house of stuffed beasts, I am totally overwhelmed, both enthralled and devastated, chilled to the bone. A large calibre elephant gun lies on an elephant ear table. Beneath a tree with a stalking leopard, a few elephant footstools and enormous tusks stand quietly, sadly, silent. To my left, the beam from an elephant trunk light refracts light onto my film and sadness into my heart. Just think about it ----- an elephant trunk light. Towards evening I take it all in, the stuff that happened to me on that day in May. That evening, I am sitting in a bar inside the trunk of a tree, drinking beer from the vat inside the soul of a giant 6000-year old Baobab tree. (‘The Sunland Big Baobab near Modjadjiskloof'). So, this is the long-ago short story of that helluva day in May...*Sadly, this enormous Baobab ‘Bar' was closed to visitors when part of the tree collapsed in 2017. (KEYSTONE/LAIF/Obie Oberholzer)