by Braam Pretorius
During the week I wear a different hat. Office attire, meetings, sales targets, HR discussions, budgets, strategy.
The world of offices and boardrooms where titles matter and everyone seems to be chasing something just slightly out of reach.
But on weekends I drive out to our plot at Kromdraai. There the hats change.
My worker, Wizidom often sends me a message during the week: “Boss, when are you coming?” He knows my name is Braam, but somehow, he prefers “boss”. Out there it is not about hierarchy or corporate titles. It is simply the role we play in getting the work done.
When I arrive at the plot the first thing that change is the silence. No phones ringing. No emails. No polished boardroom tables. Just the wind moving through the thorn trees and the distant sound of animals.
And the strange thing about the bushveld is that there is no hiding there.
In the city we build layers around ourselves, suits, offices, titles, cars, social media profiles. These things create a kind of distance between who we are and how the world sees us.
Out in the bushveld those things mean very little.
The sun does not care what your job title is. The wind does not care what car you drive. The soil does not care about your bank balance.
Out there the measures are different.
Do you help your neighbor when there is a problem? Do you keep your word? Do you care for your animals properly? Do you fix the fence when it falls down?
Those things matter. Money means less. Character means more.
It reminds me that for most of human history, these were the only things that counted. Long before cities and corporations existed, people judged one another by their actions, not their status.
In the bushveld, those older rules quietly return.
There are no fancy decorations, no corporate language, no way to pretend to be something you are not. The land has a way of seeing straight through you.
Perhaps that is why I keep returning to Kromdraai. Not just because it is peaceful.
But because out there, standing in the sun with the wind moving across the veld, I am reminded of something simple and honest: The sun and the wind already know your real name.