My guides were reluctant to enter the mouth of the creek, even if they would not say it outright. “You could go but we got to get permission,” one says. They had wanted to turn back obviously having little regard for the story I needed to tell. I told them to press on and we did, under an arching canopy of trees lining the dark waters of the Bethany Creek.
Seen one, seen all. That was my initial thought upon learning that I was headed Bethany way, up the Supenaam River. I could already hear the clichéd descriptions of all hinterland villages: peaceful, quiet friendly, easy-going and so on.
Bethany sounds biblical and in fact, the name is
