Swedish Royalty

Flipper isn’t really called Flipper, her real name is Filippa. Flipper just seems to be more in keeping with Amapondo life, not least because several locals can’t pronounce her real name.

Flipper is somewhat of a bastard Princess – quite literally as six generations ago the Swedish king was playing away from home.

On her first day in Amapondo, one day before I arrived, she slices a huge piece of her thigh on a swing. She decides to get it treated in the local public clinic who douse it in anti-bacterial powder, stitches is up and ask her to return daily to redress the wound. After a few days they remove the stitches, but in a somewhat shocking oversight, not all of them. After a week, the wound looks worse than ever, and she is continually encouraged to get the problem sorted elsewhere before the settling in of gangrene and an amputation is required.

Flipper eventually acquiesces to seek medical attention at the local private clinic. Fortunately they immediately inject penicillin into her and offer some thirteen different varieties of painkillers. She might be unable to move more than 20 metres at a time, but she sits and crochet’s crafts for hours on end with a beatific smile on her face. “It’s all good” she regularly exclaims to all inquiries.

The Amapondo community ensure that she has lifts organized to her clinics, documentaries to watch, the tree-house to offer comfort and her 21st birthday is celebrated. Despite her tender age, she is certainly no light-weight and is the only one who can keep up with my smoking predilection. Jandre has dubbed me the offspring of His Holiness Bob Marley as he passes out by the fire by 9pm last night, whilst Flips and i chew fat till 3am.

More treatment is required that even the private clinic can’t offer here, and she heads off yesterday.

Meanwhile, my package finally arrives from England into Port St Johns and it’s back on the road tomorrow, completing the remainder of my stay in South Africa in Durban before heading across the Swazi border.