Hello from Witbank (or eMalahleni – place of coal - as it is now officially called). It’s morning – any morning – but it could equally be afternoon. My brother Brendan is sitting on the opposite side of the desk, reading out a complex list of figures to his assistant, Julene, who sits in front of her computer at her own desk at the far end of the room. (Brendan isn’t into computers) 
Beneath Brendan’s desk can be glimpsed the ample form of Milo, his unpredictable Jack Russell bitch (who either loves you and licks you or hates you and nips you. There’s no telling. Happily, I’m loved - although her lovers have to endure a great deal of intimate dogginess).
Beside Julene, on her desk, is Charlie, her much-loved and manicured Pekinese, who goes with her everywhere. Apart from my visiting presence, the company in the room is completed by Maverick, Bren’s beloved, elderly Jack Russell, who lies on his cushion at the side of the room.
Bren used to have big dogs but didn’t replace those who died when thieves started poisoning guard dogs before attempting to enter a property. Now, most people keep small dogs that live inside.
Beyond the house, in the garden cottage, Elbie works at the complex, computerised embroidery machines. To do so successfully, one has to have both nimble fingers and brain, and to be both capable at artistic design on the computer and competent with technical repairs on the machinery. Elbie impresses on both counts.
On the back lawn, Frans is painting and welding lengths of tubing that are due to become balustrading to separate the bays in a vast warehouse servicing the giant vehicles that work in the open cast mines. Frans, like most of Bren’s workers, has been with him for years.
Absent are Conal and his team, who are working on the mines. What a visit here brings home is the immense amount of preparatory work that goes into any construction project. The tendering process is long and complex – and all jobs must be tendered for. The office is littered with the dozens of files containing details of such tenders, orders, supplies, invoices, tax filings and the rest of it. Apart from the actual business of building there is the tedious daily transporting of staff to and from the mines, generally on roads as potholed as they are busy.
On his left wrist Bren is wearing a bandage, evidence of a fall that he took on a mine while running through the rain. He fell hard and may have chipped the bone. The injury is painful and slow to heal. It has done nothing to improve his temper, which is not good at the best of times. During the course of our conversations, he has conveyed to me in language both passionate and coarse his views on various entities and the idiots running them.
The current objects of his ire are the local authorities, because of whose alleged ineptitude, Witbank’s water and electricity supplies are forever cutting themselves off. And he spoke truly. Both electricity and water are erratic. Five-litre bottles of water are scattered around the kitchen and the bathroom in anticipation. One has to distinguish between the back-up water supplies and the drinking water. Witbank’s water distribution pipes are made of asbestos, as Bren learned from one of the engineers, and he thinks it best not drunk.
Once a week Aggie comes to clean the house. Aggie has been around for ever and a day. She speaks several languages but she didn't want her photo taken as she doesn't trust cameras. Anyhow, you can glimpse her through the window.
As is customary in this country, all the doors to the house are protected by sliding metal grills while the windows and garden are littered with beam alarms and other security devices. Witbank has a severe crime problem. Numerous attempts have been made to rob the house, the last earlier this month. Muggers have twice attempted to assault Brendan at his entrance and been deterred only by the pistol that he habitually carries in a quick draw holster.
He recalls that the embroidery machines used to be operated by a rather innocent young woman and a black male assistant, both of whom were in fear of their boss’s irascible temper. The assistant wanted a day off to buy a car and discussed with the young woman the wisdom of entering the boss’s office to seek it. He had barely started presenting his case to Brendan when Brendan noticed on the security video that a thief had scaled his fence and was busy stealing metal bowls from the front garden. 
Brendan stepped outside and fired a warning shot that first froze the thief in terror and then inspired a lightning leap back over the fence, minus the metal bowls. The young woman, however, who was working in the cottage, was convinced that Brendan had shot the assistant for having the temerity to ask for a day off. She locked herself in the office and refused to come out until she had proof that the assistant was alive and well.
Bren can tell you such stories all day – of hijacked colleagues, robberies, burglaries, assaults and the associated evils of living and running a business in this part of the world. But the long and the short of it is that during the day visitors are confined to the house and garden and during the night to those parts of the house that they are actually inhabiting. 
To enter the wrong passage or room is to trigger an alarm. Going for a walk is seriously discouraged. One leaves and returns to the house only in a vehicle. It’s a bit confining but better than being mugged or dead. Elbie was saying that a friend of hers was shot dead at his home in a gated estate, the victim it seems of a misdirected targeted killing.
A delivery truck arrived one morning with a load of cement bags. Unlike in Europe where these must now weigh 35kgs or less, the delivery consisted of 50kg bags. These are brutes to move around, as I know well. I was fascinated to watch the workers load them on to their heads and carry them through to the garage.
The best time of the day is the evening when we retire outside to scatter seeds for the birds that flock down from the trees for supper. Doves are in plentiful supply, along with a few quelea and sparrows.
Bulbuls arrive for the apples spiked for them above the birdbath, while in the further corners of the garden thrushes and hoopoes peck a dusty living. The star of the show is a pin-tailed whydah, a pugnacious sparrow-sized bully, named Julius (after Malema) who dive-bombs the other birds at frequent intervals to drive them away from the food.
Our day outings are either to Witbank's extensive new shopping centre on the outskirts of town, the only place where one can walk in relative safety, or to a mine to fetch the crew. At Wolvekrans mine I was astonished by the size of the drag-line buckets. At night we generally take ourselves to the Calypso restaurant to enjoy a fish and calamari dinner, washed down with a glass or two of white wine.
The missing member of the family is Micaela, who lives in a gated community in Pretoria, from where she runs a little business selling up-market equestrian equipment to the riding establishment. She is an equestrian herself and proud of her two horses. 
Her business involves a great deal of travelling to shows. The very smart new 4x4 Ford pick-up is a recent acquisition to replace the saloon whose transmission system proved unequal to towing her trailer. If you ever need to buy a comfortable saddle, Micaela is the person to speak to. And the airport pick-up service she provides is unparalleled.
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