“Hennie ou maat, did you see this,” Robert said as Hendrik placed his fishing rods in the back of the silver grey Isuzu.

“More, môre, manne!” greeted Hendrik as he climbed into the backseat alongside Japie who was always chewing on something.

Robert turned towards the backseat holding up the morning newspaper and repeated, “Hey did you …” Before he could finish his sentence Hendrik grabbed the paper and threw it on the floor between Japie’s hairy legs.

“No negativity from you today, Robert! Vandag ons gaan lekker vis vang!” Hendrik announced with an enthusiastic grin.

“Jaaaa!!!” roared the other two men in unison.

“But it looks serious,” Robert protested.

“Just drive,” Van Wyk pleaded from the front passenger seat.

There, on the floor between Japie’s hairy legs, peering out from under a size 10 veldskoen, the front page headline read: Now Paralyzed Local Fisherman Caught More Than He Bargained For

Minutes after the bakkie pulled off Taudiarora arrived, looking frantic.

“Heei,” he shouted at one of the workers. “O kae Meneer Joubert?” The confused looking man pointed towards the road leading out of the large mealie farm.

“Damn it,” Taudiarora cursed.

“Hela Ngaka ya bo rona!” greeted a much older man emerging from a nearby storeroom. “What’s wrong?” he asked, as he registered the obvious distress etched on Taudiarora’s face.

“They’ve gone fishing, haven’t they?” said the wide-eyed traditional healer.

“Yes, they have. Why?” the older man asked curiously.

Just then another man came running towards them with a copy of the local newspaper held above his head.

“Meleko!” he shouted.

The eldest of the three farmworkers grabbed the newspaper and started reading. His eyes widened. Taudiarora muttered to himself while staring down the exit road as if Hendrik and company might miraculously reappear in the distance.

“Oh Abram!” the man exclaimed “Hobaneng Abram? Why?” he pleaded as if appealing to the man himself.

“No one listens in this damn town anymore until tragedy strikes! Abram will never walk again because of his drunken stubborn nature,” the traditional healer spluttered. “I have to go and warn Hendrik and those men. Their lives are in grave danger,” Taudiarora said with a sudden sense of urgency.

“Wait!” shouted the eldest farmworker. “Let Samuel give you a lift with the tractor, otherwise you might not make it in time.”

“Thank you. You are a good man,” replied the healer.

On the riverbanks of Metsimaholo Hendrik and his buddies set up their fishing rods, camp chairs and a small braai stand. The sun was out. The waters were relatively calm. It was a perfect day to just hang out, talk nonsense and forget the world’s worries just for a few hours.

Robert cracked open the large cooler box, filled with ice and an assortment of alcoholic beverages: “Viola!”

“Gee-whiz Rob! You’ve really outdone yourself,” said Japie, a stick of dry wors hanging from the corner of his mouth as he peeked at the available stock.

“Wheeewoowheeeeeeee!!!” whistled Van Wyk. “We should have brought a designated driver,” he chuckled.

“Whoohooo! Whoohooo!”

The men turned almost in unison towards the source of the noise. A few metres above them, in a willow tree, a large brown owl looked down on the men.

“Now that’s unusual,” remarked Hendrik as the rest stared at the large bird of prey.

“Growing up our nanny used tell us that spotting an owl in broad daylight is a bad omen, and usually signals death,” commented Robert. “I’ve never liked the bird since,” he added looking a little worried.

“Shoo! Shoo!” Japie yelled at the bird, trying to scare it away. The large feathered observer took one look at him and swooped low enough for him to be forced to dive for cover before returning to its perch. “Feisty little bugger you are,” said Japie as he slowly backed away from the base of the tree. The men, though a little unsettled, laughed the incident off and continued to prepare themselves for a great afternoon out.

Suddenly a tremor tipped the braai stand over. The cooler-box toppled over with a series of clink-clinks.

“What the …!” Robert shouted as he jumped to save the alcohol from being smashed. Just as well the cooler-box was already on the ground.

“Oh cra–.“ His 1.7 metre frame hit the ground hard before he could get the last word out.

The men looked at each other in astonishment.

“Mine?” Japie said.

“Welkom is nowhere near here,” Hendrik chipped in.

“And that?” Van Wyk pointed as droplets danced on a large portion of the river’s surface, much like they do on a crocodile’s back during mating season.

“Hendrik!” a voice shouted from a few hundred metres behind them. On a giant sun-kissed rock a breathless Taudiarora was waving his arms, beckoning them away from the water.

“Ntate?!” Hendrik mumbled to himself in confusion.

Just then a second tremor, more violent than the first, knocked all four men to the ground.

“Get out of there, you fools!” shouted Taudiarora who had to hold onto a boulder to help him maintain his balance.  The sight of ominous and mysterious clouds that had gathered almost out of nowhere knotted the healer’s stomach.

“Move it!” he shouted as the friends scrambled to their feet and gathered their things.

An angry rumble growled from deep within the imposing charcoal cumulonimbus clouds. Then came a heart-stopping “KKkrrrr-BRrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!” Lightning decimated the willow tree the large owl had been perched on earlier. The trunk was split down the middle, flames licking its base.

“I think I’ve seen enough!” Robert tried shouting over the relentless downpour that now consumed them.

“Let’s get out of here!” Van Wyk yelled.

Running back for his camp chair, Hendrik was confronted by dense greyish-blue smoke rising from the river.

“Hendrik!” shouted Van Wyk, now sitting on the hooter which was barely audible over the pelting rain.

A menacing shadow began to take shape from within the smoke, growing larger with every passing second. Hendrik felt unable to move. Japie ran back and grabbed him by the arm just as a second bolt of lightning eviscerated the camp chair.

They raced to the bakkie. As Robert dropped his foot flat on the accelerator and sent mud flying in every direction, the men grabbed headrests, dashboard and handles.

Standing on the roadside a couple of kilometres on, Taudiarora waved for the bakkie to stop, then quickly squeezed himself into the backseat of the double-cab soaking wet with a look that could turn a man to stone. No one said a word as Robert wrestled with the steering wheel. Thank goodness for four-wheel drive.

Tell us: The tone of this chapter changes from humourous to more scary more or less when the owl hoots. Are there birds or events that you view as foreboding?  Or others that you think of as lucky?