Cindy-Lou Dale

South Africa has, in the past decade and a half, undergone tumultuous changes -- political, cultural and economical. Following extensive research and meticulous planning I felt certain it was now safe for me, a solo traveller, to return for another visit and see, first hand, just how the nation had been transformed, as the media claimed it had.

DURBAN

Following deliberations with a tour operator at the destination city, I boarded a long haul flight and touched down in South Africa’s east coast cosmopolitan harbour city of Durban. The heat and humidity caught me off guard as did the noise generated by the city street hawkers. After checking into the Elangeni Hotel I decided to see the city’s waterfront by rickshaw.

“Durban, she is an exciting city to play in. There are the good shops too and the nightlife, this is also very good. But the madam, she does not want this,” said Zuma, my Zulu rickshaw-puller who tirelessly pounded along Marine Parade, ordained in a magnificent head-dress, resplendent with beads and other decorations. “The madam, me thinks she wants the mountains and the seas.”

I told Zuma of my plans to travel through KwaZulu Natal. His handsome ebony face beamed a radiant smile and his features softened as he spoke of his land and his people.

“The madam, she is going to the heart of my land. The city she is only the pulse.” Only later would I understand what he meant.

Feeling a little jet-lagged I had an early night and started off early the following morning.

ZULULAND

As arranged, a 4x4 hire car was parked in the hotel’s garage and my guide, Romy, who was to accompany me for the day, was waiting in reception.

Armed with my pre-programmed GPS (arranged through my tour operator), I headed north along the Indian Ocean coast road, driving through Zululand towards Sodwana, near the Mozambique border.

The sheer majesty of the region was awesome - the cobalt blue Indian Ocean, the rolling green hills and indigenous forests, the wide welcoming smiles from the locals.

I felt certain I could hear the wind sigh and whisper the secrets and sorrows of great battles, which were made visible by lone forts and small graveyards on ghostly undulating landscapes. My knowledgeable guide took me to the battlefields where I followed the footsteps of famous military strategists like Shaka - King of the Zulu’s; Winston Churchill; Mahatma Gandhi and General Louis Botha.

Romy and I took an ox wagon to a nearby Zulu village of beehive huts and experienced traditional Zulu hospitality as well as a rural wedding ceremony. I also visited a Sangoma (witchdoctor) who, amongst other things, through ‘the bones’ for me and ‘cast the evil spirits away’.

I continued the journey up the Zululand coast, passing many beautiful deserted beaches and eventually reached Sodwana Bay where I was scheduled to spend two nights at the Sodwana Bay Lodge and two days scuba diving.

Sodwana Bay is one of South Africa’s most popular dive sites and is situated in the northern reaches of KwaZulu Natal. Sodwana, meaning 'little one on its own' in Zulu, is easily accessible, only four hours by car from Durban.

The reefs at Sodwana are named after their distance from the launch site, starting from “2 Mile” going up to “9 Mile”. Perhaps the most scenic reef is “7 Mile” which, on a good day, can compare with the best in the world. Sodwana is diveable all year round with the best conditions being experienced during the warm summer months from November to May.

A horse-back ride along the deserted beach was an unexpected perk and highly recommended.

Whilst at Sodwana Bay a German adrenalin junkie, Klaus, told me of his planned shark cage diving trip, at a small fishing village, Gansbaai, on the country’s famed Garden Route.

“Ganzbaai”, he claimed, “… offerz ze bezt shark cage divink in ze world. Tiz ware it all happenz!” His fearlessness and evident indestructibility was contagious, so I agreed to join him, (immediately regretting the decision) a few days later as I had some sight seeing to do first.

I enjoy driving, so the +-1,000 miles ahead was not an onerous journey (a cheaper and quicker option is a domestic flight from Durban to Cape Town). Two backpacking teenagers I had met at Sodwana joined me for the first leg of my journey.  

Driving back and beyond Durban, on the south coast road, I traveled through sub-tropical forests, passing blue lagoons and deserted golden beaches. I spent a night at the Mbotyi River Lodge, near Port St Johns. The locals were speaking of nothing but the coming ‘sardine run’, which I was told, was the annual migration of millions of sardines which move up the coast. This phenomenon occurs around June/July every year and occasionally the shoals come so close inshore they can be netted from the beach.

I left before dawn, bound for Kleinbaai harbour, where I had arranged to meet Klaus. Whilst driving I listened to the soothing voice of Danny Glover as he read Nelson Mandela’s autobiography, Long Walk to Freedom.

Klaus, clearly hyped up, was waiting for me on the ‘Barracuda’. Within moments of me climbing aboard we motored out of the harbor. Frankie, our Skipper, said we were heading towards Dyer Island and would be there within 20-minutes. His statement evoked frantic activity on deck.

I found a discreet corner to ooze myself into a diving suit and, true to his word, 20-minutes later we dropped anchor. The crew excitedly began chumming the water with bloody entrails. Moments later Klaus and I were lowered ourselves into what looked like a flimsy bird cage. I found myself questioning my logic when agreeing to partake in this madness. Too late for regrets now, I thought and said a silent prayer.

Less then 10-feet away, a Great White effortlessly glided by; it took a bite at the innards thrown overboard then turned towards the cage. I'd like to think that the sudden warmth which enveloped me from within my wet-suit was fear. The Great White lost interest and turned away. However, my excited relief was soon dispelled when I spotted another Great White, one of monstrous proportions, fast approaching from the murky distance. I frantically began gesticulating at Klaus to look. Forget bodily functions and fear; let there be no doubt – when facing imminent demise, your life does flash before you.

In an instant I recalled my aunt’s wagging finger of warning and immediately felt gratified that I would at least prove her wrong as I had not become another victim of senseless crime, as had she predicted. My friends too had warned me of the dangers of traveling in South Africa, “… don’t ever stop you car unless you’re at a service station… keep you car door locked at all times… never go anywhere without a guide”. However, no one thought to warn me of the wildlife. So, in a final act of defiance (and with my eyes tightly shut), I kept my finger depressed on the shoot button of my camera, hoping my family and friends would eventually be presented with what I faced in my final moments. A second later I was thrown off my feet, and sent careering to the back of the cage. The mammoth beast had turned away from a head-on collision at the last moment, its tail glancing off the steel bars, sending the cage crashing into the hull of the boat above, and us tumbling within it. I sometimes still sit upright in bed at 3am thinking about it.

Later on deck, I had an overwhelming urge to consume my own body weight in alcohol but could not communicate or form the words to my request. The crew ignored my stuttering and wild gestures at the cooler box, handing me a towel instead.

A cold beer had found its way into Klaus’ hand, who nonchalantly enquired about the ‘other dangers of South Africa’. He asked the Skipper what the chances were of him getting shot and stabbed.

Frankie regarded him sternly. “It depends on what you mean by dangerous – inoculations are available against most tropical diseases; being shot and stabbed rarely happens, unless you’re extremely unlucky. Being savaged by a wild beast is more likely but most people manage a more or less complete recovery - given time and physiotherapy - many even walk again.”

Klaus was ashen. Frankie chuckled and exchanged a knowing look with one of his crew, who rolled his eyes in return.

I spent the night recovering in a nearby bar.

DRAKENSBERG MOUNTAIN RANGE

From Gansbaai I travelled north-east, in the direction of the famed Drakensberg Mountains.

Its awe-inspiring cliffs, which are snow-capped in winter, has been preserved and venerated for eons since the San Bushmen roamed the slopes. Tens of thousands of paintings depicting their daily life can be found on rock faces - now a World Heritage site. In this 240,000ha world of sheer cliffs, deeply incised valleys and crystal clear rivers, the bearded vulture, the black eagle and numerous species of antelope, find refuse.

The fearless traveler may wish to conquer the cliffs in summer or ice-climbing in winter, and the adrenaline junkies may prefer repelling, white water rafting or a helicopter ride to view the mountains from above.

In my wisdom, I opted for what I thought would be the genteel and leisurely pace of walking one of the many well-marked hiking routes.

Our guide, Jade, a white haired and sweetly unobtrusive elderly lady, shepparded a group of unsuspecting tourists into single file and marched us for the day at a frightening pace.

The Drakensberg is truly a hiker's paradise -- a wilderness which renews your body and soul.

The spectacular Sani Mountain Pass offers some of the most dramatic views across southern Africa. It also boasts access to Africa’s highest pub, at some 3,000 meters above sea level, where I spent the night in comfortable accommodation.

Early the following morning I returned to Durban.

SHEBEEN CUISINE

On my last night in South Africa, I decided to experience the Zulu culture one more time and headed into the ghettos with Romy, my guide, who promised me the best Shebeen (African bar) in the province.

Matilda, a rotund Zulu woman, with a bulbous derrière, clad in a leopard print pants suit, runs a true African Shebeen - hot, dark, filled with African gewgaws and the pungent smell of their stale sweat. The locals filled the small establishment, ‘kicking back’ with a potent home brewed fruity vodka punch (with a stick of sugar cane) and live, pulsating, African music.

Matilda and her husband, Philemon, sweat like diamond miners in a kitchen the size of a small sailing galley. I watched in amazement as they put together the 'Shebeen Cuisine' which had won them fame; including their trademark dish of Durban’s 'Bunny-chow' - a thick lamb curry in a hollowed-out hunk of bread.

Ignore the African way of tortoise speed service and do like the locals and enjoy the experience.

For starters I ordered Mopani worms, coated in beer batter, flash fried and served (in a battered enamel plate) with a sweetly overpowering chili sauce and a side-dish of Vhuswa pap (a traditional porridge, made from maize). This was washed down with several stout beers (served in bottles) to douse the chili sauce.

What do the worms taste like? I hear someone ask. Chewy and taste just like you'd expect worms to taste - slightly scaly, crunchy skin, a bit earthy even.

An hour later I was told there were two items available for main course. Matilda’s special, which she claimed it to be Nelson Mandela's favorite, was again, Mopani worms and Mogodu (black tripe and wild African spinach stew). I opted for choice number two, ostrich steak and cubed crocodile tail, grilled and served with a cherry-peppercorn sauce and nothing much else. Dessert was a fabulous vinegar pudding, comprising of sponge cake with a sweet and sour sauce.

Later Matilda brought a bottle of (aptly named) ‘Jungle Juice’ and two chipped enamel cups to my table. She confided that it was in fact apricot brandy distilled in a back room. She oozed her large frame into a comfortable position and said; “Now the madam and Matilda, we drink”. And so we did.

The following morning, after settling my hotel bill, I strolled down to the Marine Parade. I found a bench under a palm tree where I ate a bunny-chow whilst quietly contemplating my experiences over the past week.

I found myself speculating as to who had benefited from the political changes in the country, and came to the conclusion that it was clearly not the people who needed it most. Racism was now more prevalent than ever, further fuelled by inter-tribal conflicts. Abject poverty was everywhere to be seen; in the cities, once proud buildings had fallen in to serious disrepair; crime was rampant and left to an unskilled police force suffering corruption; the unemployment rate was one of the highest in the world, as was drug smuggling, murder, rape, car hijackings and child prostitution.

My somber spirits were immediately uplifted while watching a group of local women - a colorful and noisy explosion of skirts and tribal beads. It appeared as if life was not too gloomy for them as they shrieked with hilarity at the gossip being told. At that moment I realized I was smitten with this once beautiful country, its golden beaches and its warm ocean, and knew I had lost my heart to the spirited and proud Zulu people, who had touched me with their warm hospitality and friendly smiles.

South African’s I found remarkable in their curious lack of urgency and their dogged determination to squeeze every moment out of a day. This was an experience which would linger long, together with the memories of their vast blue sky and baking sun.

As my plane taxied down the runway, I recalled Zuma’s words “The madam, she is going to the heart of my land. The city she is only the pulse.”

-- ends--

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© Cindy-Lou Dale 2005