There is no doubt that the Cape Weaver (Ploceus capensis) is a very smart looking bird – which makes it worthy of photographing over and again.

The pale eyes of the males are striking, especially when contrasted against the bright orange-brown face of their breeding plumage.

While they were only occasional visitors to our garden over thirty years ago, the Cape Weavers are now clearly resident in the area and are seen here daily throughout the year. The number of them appear to be on the increase too, although I have never actually recorded this.

What I can attest to is that they are a noisy community – especially as the breeding season approaches and during that season. The garden is alive with their rather harsh swizzling azwit, azwit calls. These weavers construct a large coarsely woven nest made of grass and leaf strips, which has a downward facing entrance which is suspended from a branch. Apart from the awe I have for the weaving skills of these birds, the acrobatics required in the process is quite amazing to observe.

The relatively long bill of the Cape Weaver means that they can feed on a wide variety of vegetable and animal matter, such as insects, spiders, seeds, nectar, and fruit. Apart from eating the bird seed – both from the feeder and foraging on the ground, I notice that these weavers are quick to inspect whatever food has been put out on the feeding tray – often standing their ground against Common Starlings and Red-winged Starlings. They tend to pick up pieces of food and fly away with them to eat elsewhere or to perch on a branch to eat ‘in private’, as it were.

While we did not enjoy a good aloe flowering season this year, I have often observed Cape Weavers perched on aloes to get at the nectar, so am not surprised to read that they are considered to be one of the major pollinators of aloes.


It is usually a toss-up between the Olive Thrushes or the Laughing Doves which will be the first to arrive at the replenished feeders each morning. Close on their heels come the Southern-masked Weavers – still the most dominant weaver in our garden by far. The male Cape Weavers are already looking ready for the breeding season, with some showing more deeply coloured faces than others:

I never tire of seeing the rather shy Spectacled Weaver that darts out of the shrubbery when the coast is clear and is quick to disappear in a flash:

Black-headed Orioles call from high in the tree tops and have only occasionally swooped down to refresh themselves at the nectar feeder. The Speckled Pigeons have had a bit of a shock this month as we have at last got the boards under the eaves repaired. With a bit of luck they will now seek someone else’s roof in which to raise their next families – they had become too much to deal with in terms of the mess they make and their propensity to chase each other around the ceiling at night. I might have mentioned before that one of them (the same one?) has taken to eating the fish or tiny bits of chicken I put out on occasion – it even chases other birds away until it has eaten its fill. That sounds a little macabre, so here is an ever-cheerful Black-eyed (dark-capped) Bulbul to lift the mood:

Several Common Starlings are coming to visit at a time now, their beaks have turned yellow within the last few weeks, so I imagine they too are thinking about the breeding season ahead. Also in a courting mood has been a pair of Knysna Turacos that have been following each other through the trees and occasionally showing me their beautiful red wings when they fly across the garden. The other morning one of them came to drink at the bird bath not very far from where I was sitting – I felt very privileged to be so close to one. The photograph below is a cheat not from this month, but we all need to see beautiful creatures from time to time and I would love to share this one:

The Bronze Mannikins give me great cause for delight with their daily visits:

Lastly, the Red-winged Starlings continue to fly around the suburb in large flocks. I think whatever fruit they had managed to find in the fig tree is over for now they gather in the Erythrina caffra, where they nibble at the remaining few flowers and at the seedpods. Up to six of them at a time fly down to investigate the apples I have placed in the feeding area – and tend to make short work of them! This is a female:

My bird list for this month:

African Green Pigeon
Bar-throated Apalis
Black-collared Barbet
Black-eyed Bulbul
Black-headed Oriole
Bronze Mannikin
Cape Crow
Cape Robin-Chat
Cape Turtle Dove
Cape Weaver
Cape White-eye
Cardinal Woodpecker
Cattle Egret
Common Fiscal
Common Starling
Fiery-necked Nightjar
Fork-tailed Drongo
Greater Double-collared Sunbird
Green Woodhoopoe
Grey-headed Bush Shrike
Grey-headed Sparrow
Hadeda Ibis
Knysna Turaco
Laughing Dove
Olive Thrush
Pied Crow
Red-eyed Dove
Red-necked Spurfowl
Red-winged Starling
Southern Boubou
Southern Masked Weaver
Speckled Mousebird
Speckled Pigeon
Spectacled Weaver
Streaky-headed Seedeater
Village Weaver


A young couple walk purposefully down the brick path toward a bench overlooking the water hole at the rest camp and sit down. He sports dark, closely-cropped hair and is wearing a baggy green top over tight jeans. The glistening white of his sports shoes strongly suggests they are new arrivals for he has clearly not walked far along the dirt roads and dusty paths that vein through the camp. He doesn’t notice the Cape Sparrow perched to the left of him on the Spekboom hedge.

She is wearing khaki cargo pants still stiff and showing factory creases. A blue hooded top covers her hair as she sits staring straight ahead, ignoring the cheerful calls of the Cape Weaver on her right, even though it flutters down now and then to search the brick paving around her feet.

He unfolds the coloured map they were given at reception and tries to hold it firm against the gentle tugging from an impish breeze. He turns the map this way and that before stabbing his finger on the water hole they are seated at. “We’re here,” he says with a degree of authority. He runs his finger along the patterns of roads radiating through the park. So absorbed is he in this task that he doesn’t notice the back of a lone buffalo disappearing among the Spekboom and other shrubs a little to the left of the water hole.

She picks up a pair of powerful binoculars and scans the area around the water hole. Neither the presence of a flock of Guineafowl nor the pair of Hadeda Ibises appear to hold her interest, for she quickly lowers the binoculars to rest on her lap. She leans towards her companion. “There’s nothing of interest to see here.” Her voice is flat. He is still studying the map but obligingly leaves off to raise the binoculars to his eyes. He sweeps across the landscape too quickly to pick up either the heron keeping watch over some ducks …

… or the Black-backed jackal that had come for a quick, furtive drink.

“I hope the rest of the park doesn’t look like this desert. All the pictures showed green grass and trees.” There is a whine in her voice as she strokes the binoculars on her lap with her index finger. He grunts and returns to perusing the map before looking up with an endearing smile.

“I overheard in the gents that this area has been denuded of vegetation because so many animals rely on this water for drinking.” He looks at her sulky face and pats her shoulder. “It’s early days though.” He folds the map and rises from the bench. “You hold the map,” he says, giving her a hug.

She shivers in the now icy wind. “Yes, we’ll be warmer in the car.” They walk away holding hands and so do not see the Kudu bulls emerging from the thorny scrub to quench their thirst.


During winter male Cape Weavers (Ploceus capensis) adopt a dull-looking non-breeding appearance. With the onset of spring, they change their appearance significantly. They turn a bright golden yellow with a dark yellowy-olive back; have a black sharp-pointed beak and pale golden eyes. That is not all: their face and throat becomes suffused with a deeper orange / chestnut wash.

The males are polygamous and have been recorded as having up to seven breeding females in their territory, which they vigorously defend. I imagine everyone has to get along in a more sociable manner when sharing a source of food – such as at the feeding area in our garden – but this explains their aggressive behaviour when, at times, males seem to chase each other away from food on the ground, in the feeders, and even ‘bouncing’ each other from the nectar feeder.

Male Cape Weavers go through various stages of changing the colour of their plumage, depending on their age and the breeding cycle. I am not familiar enough with this to comment fully except to note that some appear to be more colourful than others – as the two shown above illustrate. This  individual, however, has been particularly noticeable in the flock of weavers that visit our garden.

He is unusually ‘colour-washed’, as though he had fallen into a pot of dye instead of dipping into it. I wonder if this is usual for Cape Weavers or if this one happens to be an exception.


Apart from the blossoms of the Erythrina caffra trees, there is little in the way of natural sources of nectar for birds at the moment. This is why the ‘pub’ in our garden has become increasingly attractive and needs to be refilled every day – if not twice in the day. A few of the recent visitors are:

A pair of Cape White-eyes visit the pub several times a day. One usually waits on a branch nearby for its turn. They are small enough birds for a pair to perch and drink at the same time, which is delightful to see. On other occasions a small flock of them descend on the area, with much chatter has they dart in for a drink when they can.

Cape Weavers have little in the way of manners. They swoop in to drink whenever they feel the need – which is often. The blush on this bird shows the breeding season has arrived.

Here is an example of the dominance of the weavers: a Cape Weaver dislodges Mrs. Amethyst Sunbird.

Mrs. Amethyst Sunbird managed to return, yet was conscious of a Cape White-eye waiting in the wings for its turn to drink.

Lastly, a very welcome visitor to the ‘pub’ is always the brightly coloured Black-headed Oriole.