Treasure chests of the countryside

A few years ago, I was driving on the D707 when I noticed this box outside a farm gate. Rusted and worn from decades of desert wind, it immediately caught my interest. Was it a farm mailbox that had been left in peaceful abandonment to the elements or did it have some other mysterious purpose?

I stopped the car, got out and looked around me to see if anyone was watching. An expanse of red desert sand tinged with the green of a good rainfall looked back at me, as did the vast blue sky garlanded with a few cottonwool clouds. The silence was immense, a soft breeze playfully caressed my hair and a beetle scurried over my sandalled feet.

Satisfied that I was the only the human around for kilometres, I gingerly opened the box, unsure of what I would find inside. I smiled. I had not been the only one whose curiosity had been piqued. The lid was festooned with colourful stickers and a can of Sprite had been left inside. Was it a gift? I looked around the car for something I could leave in exchange. All I could find was a packet of Knick-Knacks, my padkos for the trip. I put the packet in the centre of the box, closed the lid and happily drove off sipping the Sprite and wondering who would be the recipient of the packet of chips.

The next few days were full ones – relishing the spectacular scenery at Namib Desert Lodge with its band of fossilised dunes, trudging up Big Mama dune at Sossusvlei to be awestruck by the extraordinary burnished landscape and wandering on the cracked clay earth around the stark trees at Deadvlei fringed by towering dunes. My head was still in the clouds when I drove the sandy road southwards on the return trip. I came across the box unexpectedly and stopped in my tracks. Who had passed this way? Had anyone opened the box?

Once again, I got out of the car and glanced around me. Mother Nature looked back at me – and winked. I’m sure of it. Slowly I opened the box. The packet of chips was gone, replaced by a bottle of Gondwana’s still water that stood proudly in the centre.

My laughter echoed through the landscape. The reciprocal gift-giving was in motion and the unassuming rusty old box, tinged with the pastel patinas of time, had transformed into a treasure chest full of delight, waiting for the next inquisitive person to pull off from the road and cautiously lift the lid.