Talking Sewage

Semigration is the movement of people from one part of the country to another. Gansbaai and Pearly Beach have seen a flood of these semigrants to the area over the past two years. They are collectively referred to as ‘Inkommers’ and are welcomed for their contribution to the local economy. However, some of them are resented for the brashness, arrogance and insensitivity that they bring with them.

The Inkommer who I met a few days ago was neither brash nor arrogant, and he seemed genuinely interested in local history as well as the natural environment. I met him while walking my dog and we stood chatting at the side of the road. He told me he had recently settled in Pearly Beach after more than 30 years in Gauteng, where he had worked as a hydrologist in the Waste Water Management Department of the City of Joburg.

“So, you’re an expert in sewage disposal?” I asked. “Maybe you will be able to answer a question I have been asking myself of late.”

“I would be happy to share my knowledge.”

I started by telling him that I had noticed that all the new houses that were going up discharged their waste water into a conservancy tank built close to the street boundary. On enquiry, I had been informed that when the tank filled to capacity it had to be pumped out by the Municipal sewage tanker at a cost of R700 per 6000litres. The effluent was then transported to the treatment works. Now, my question was this: why aren’t new home owners allowed to install old fashioned septic tanks like mine, which seldom need to be emptied?

“This is a subject close to my heart,” he said. “A septic tank is far more ecologically friendly than a conservancy tank. And I’ll tell you why.”

He then went on to explain that in a septic tank the solid matter, which some vulgar people refer to as shit, is broken down by bacteria and microbes in an anaerobic process that does not require oxygen. This takes place mainly in the first of two chambers, where the heavy stuff settles and the partially purified water overflows into the second chamber. There the process continues and almost clear liquid is discharged into the drainage field, where organisms in the soil complete the purification process.

“That’s the soakaway, right? And with a conservancy tank? What happens to the sewage that gets carted away?”

“It goes to the Eluxolweni waste water treatment works. There it is pumped into what is known as an oxidation pond.”

This, he said, is like a lagoon that consists of a series of shallow, open concrete channels that become submerged and disappear from sight. It is designed to treat wastewater through the interaction of sunlight, bacteria, and algae. Algae grow using energy from the sun and carbon dioxide and inorganic compounds released by bacteria in water. During the process of photosynthesis, the algae release oxygen needed by aerobic bacteria. This mutually beneficial interaction breaks down organic material in the effluent and all that is left is a minimal amount of sludge.

“So, like with the septic tank, it is an effective biological way of disposing of raw sewage? But why do you say the septic tank is ecologically more friendly?”

“Most of pearly Beach is built on sand and the water table is very low, so there is little danger of contamination from a soakaway. With two tankers constantly riding up and down, a lot of diesel gets consumed, thereby adding to our carbon footprint.”

He went on to say that, as the area had become more populated, many new properties, especially in the Resort and Eluxolweni, were too small to accommodate a septic tank. That was why a treatment works had become necessary.

“But I still don’t understand why homeowners with a regular sized plot are not allowed to build a septic tank.”

“Think about it. It costs money to run the system. The Municipality needs as much revenue as it can get. By making everyone take the conservancy route, those tankers ar kept busy generating an income. Disallowing septic tanks means that some people in the community will be subsidising others. It’s unfortunate but unavoidable.”

“Now it makes sense,” I said, jerking the lead and getting my dog to her feet. “Thanks for the explanation. I am going to share this info next time I go to the pub, where the locals gather and like to talk sewage all the time.”

To view my longer work as an author, you can find me on Smashwords here.

Pop-splat

 

“A prominent businessman is murdered in an apparent hijacking. For Matt Dreyer the death of his father seems like murder most foul. This disturbed Hamlet of the 21st century sets off on a tortuous and bloody hell ride to track down his father’s killers. Ian Martin's POP-Splat looks at today’s South Africa through cynical eyes and uses his unique brand of sick humor to satirize a sick society.”

I published Pop-splat in 2008, and the issues the novel deals with seem as relevant today as they did 14 years ago.

Copies of the paperback are available for R80. Contact me on 078 455 7355.

To view my longer work as an author, you can find me on Smashwords here.

Trees Must Fall

This 35-year-old tree had been leaning over at an increasingly alarming angle and finally snapped at the base. It happened in the night on 29 May 2022. Three days later, I had stripped the foliage, removed the lighter branches and cut the main trunk into short lengths. I admit I did not accomplish this single-handedly, having been helped by two younger family members armed with a chain saw. I now have a substantial supply of firewood that should last me through the winter once I have split the logs into usable pieces, which is not going to be speeletjies (child’s play).

This tree was one from a grove of seven that I had allowed to grow to maturity and die, either from old age or as victims of rampaging north-westers. Now there is only one left, and it could topple in the next storm, or it could defy the inevitable for another year or two. I should have cut all of them down a long time ago because Acacia cyclops is an invasive species that has colonised large areas of the Western Cape, crowding out the indigenous fynbos. But it makes excellent firewood and for a long time it has played an important part in my preferred way of life, which involves a considerable amount of outdoor cooking. 

I have hardly ever bought braaihout, choosing rather to harvest trees that grow within easy walking distance. Cutting down suitable lengths, carrying them home, sawing them into short pieces and splitting them with an axe is arduous work but good physical exercise. However, I cannot recommend this as a way of making a living, having tried to do just that on two occasions.

It was out at Groothagelkraal back in the '80s when the property was owned by the alternative couple, Ian and Avanol Bell. I gave up the attempt after three weeks, having been reduced to a physical wreck. I was exhausted and becoming emaciated, my arms and legs were badly scratched in a hundred places and I had developed tendonitis in my right forearm from the constant stress of wielding a chainsaw. It also soon became clear that there was very little money to be made after deducting expenses like wages for two helpers, chain oil, petrol and chain sharpening. 

When I heard about a charcoal kiln for sale, I thought this might be an easier way to turn Rooikrans trees into a commercial product that could yield an income. Charcoal is produced by partially burning wood in a space starved of oxygen. The kiln was about 2meters long, 1.2 wide and 1.5 high. It was built with heavy steel plate, had a chimney at one end and a meter-by-meter hatch on top. The thing weighed a ton and transporting it proved to be a nightmarish operation. After positioning it close to a dense stand of rooikrans, I set to work cutting enough meter-long pieces to pack the kiln two thirds full. This took three days. Then I had to find a quantity of dry wood with which to build a fire on top of the stack. Once the flames had taken hold, the hatch had been closed and  sealed with soil, and smoke was rising from the metal chimney, I went home.

When I returned in the morning it was clear that the fire had gone out. At the third attempt the starter blaze spread to the main bulk of wood and The chimney smoked for a week. On opening the hatch, I was delighted to find that the lengths of wood were black, brittle and lightweight. Genuine charcoal! I began to pack my black gold into bags, thinking I was now in business. Then, halfway down, the branches became heavier and uncharred. This meant that more than a third of the load would have to be refired.

I persevered for another six weeks and ended up with about a hundred bags of charcoal of dubious quality. It was time to admit defeat and move on. Neither firewood nor charcoal were going to provide me with a living, and I added them to my list of failed enterprises.

Forty years later, I can now see that my life has been one long list of failures. This does not bother me, though, and I remain cheerful and self-assured. Early success at any one endeavour would have prevented me from experiencing a number of life-enriching setbacks. There can be no doubt that failure keeps one grounded, while success promotes hubris, the enemy of humility and compassion. When I see bags of braaihout at the superette I know what it has taken to turn trees into neatly packaged fuel. As I split the logs from my fallen rooikrans I will think with scorn and just a little pity of all those who have lost touch with nature and are incapable of a braai without Blitz and briquettes.

To view my longer work as an author, you can find me on Smashwords here.