Culchur

Demonstration of stick fighting, Dumazulu Cultural Village

Sunday 7th September

Hluhluwe, KwaZulu-Natal

It may be Sunday, but a day of rest this was not.

This morning, we visited Dumazulu a traditionally styled Zulu conservation village where the rituals of a people are maintained and showcased.

We were met outside by an elder in full traditional regalia who spoke to us at length in isiZulu while we stood by understanding none of it.  There's something very strange about not being able to communicate a word, yet somehow enjoying one another's company.  Eventually, he gave up trying to speak to us and offered some fruit to eat.  I have no idea what it was - encased in a shell so hard he had to beat it open with his walking stick - but it was very sweet and tasty.  I hope we didn't cause too much offence by spitting the seeds out, as it later became apparent that these are simply swallowed by the locals.

Our cultural inhibitions were much relieved when our guide turned up and was able to translate for us.  She explained the ritual as a drumbeat was sound to ask permission to enter the village, and on hearing the drums reply we were allowed to enter.

As well as the chance to visit the inside of an empty kraal which is laid out with artefacts for explaining the set-up to visitors, we were shown demonstrations of spear and shield making by some enthusiastic young men, and bead and basket making by some less-enthusiastic women.  The tour ended with some of the villagers singing Zulu wedding songs for us.

While much of this was clearly contrived for the benefit of tourists, and some of the women taking part were clearly weary of demonstrating their skills to yet another tour, it was still interesting to learn more about Zulu culture.

For example, when a Zulu man is to take a wife, he must pay eleven cows (or in modern times, the cash equivalent) to the bride's father.  If he is a Christian and is married in church, he is allowed only one wife.  If he is not, and is married in a traditional ceremony, he is allowed many wives, so long as each one agrees.

The unmarried women do not cover their bodies and either wear a loose sarong or remain topless, advertising that they are "still on the market" - their words, not mine!  On engagement, they wear long black robes, and once married add a red head-dress and leather underskirt.  Married men wear a beaded necklace to show they are wed.

It's fascinating that so many diverse ancient cultures all place the woman as 'property' who is 'sold' from father to groom.  Why have men managed to dominate so many different societies?

Next to the village was a bird and reptile park, containing some of Africa's most venomous snakes and several large crocodiles, however they paled into insignificance compared to what followed...

Crocodile, Lake St. Lucia

Before long, we were on a boat safari on Lake St. Lucia.  Very quickly, we (or rather our guide) had spotted several crocodile basking at the water's edge.  There's something far more exciting about coming across an animal in its natural environment than seeing it in a park or zoo.

A short while later, we came across a pod of hippopotamus, and were able to get to within about 10 feet of them.  All in all, we saw 6 crocodiles, 3 pods each of about 20 hippo, a goliath heron and an African delta.

Hippopotamus, Lake St.Lucia

The beach just beyond the estuary of St. Lucia is also breathtakingly beautiful, and when we arrived there at dusk, a few hundred locals had gathered for a huge party, with several minibuses decked-out with amplifiers blasting out music and singing, dancing, eating and drinking going on all around.

Drums and spears and skins are all well and good but, like the market and petrol station in Hluhluwe, this stumbled-upon beach party seemed a much more authentic expression of the modern culture of Zululand.

(The genet paid a fleeting visit tonight.)

Hluhluwe

Ilala Weavers, Hluhluwe

Saturday 6th September

Hluhluwe, KwaZulu-Natal

Daylight gave us a chance for a proper look at Hluhluwe, and it was market day.

Stall after stall lined the street, or rather pickup after pickup - each 'stall' consisted of a loaded covered pickup (known here as a 'backie') and you clambered into the boot for a look around.  Gives a whole new meaning to 'car boot sale'.

In the centre of it all, someone was singing, accompanied by two dancers.  It was hard to tell whether the dancers were part of the act or had just been passing and joined in - their Kappa tracksuits weren't quite in keeping with the traditional dress of the singer.  Anyhow, we ended up buying their homemade CD for R20 (about £1.30).

Around 1km outside Hluhluwe, we came to Ilala Weavers, specialists in traditional Zulu basket weaving.  As well as a shop, they had created a small museum of old Zulu artefacts (including woven grass penis head covers designed to "prevent chafing").  One of the highlights was a set of paintings painted by mouth by a local disabled artist.

Heading out of Hluhluwe, we visited False Bay Park, part of the Greater St. Lucia Wetlands Park.  Famous mostly for fishing and birdwatching, there wasn't much to see here.

Snake skin found at Planters Camp, Hluhluwe River Lodge

In fact, the greatest amount of wildlife was seen in the grounds of our own accommodation, driving to and from the gate:
 - impala
 - nyala
 - red duiker
 - vervet monkey

We also found a snake skin and porcupine spine, but without spotting the accompanying animal.

Tomorrow, we retrace our steps a little and head south to St. Lucia where we've booked a boat safari in the hope of spotting some crocodile or hippos.

(No sign of the genet tonight!)

Journey to the bush

Sand sculptures, Umhlanga Rocks

Friday 5th September

Hluhluwe River Lodge, KwaZulu-Natal

Today we left the comforts of Durban and headed for the bush.

Travelling up the Dolphin Coast, we stopped first at Umhlanga Rocks, which is currently being developed into several high-rise luxury hotels, so not much to see here.  There was, however, a man producing rather impressive sand sculptures of the 'big 5' on the beach.

Having missed the turning for the motorway (a hazard of driving in this are as road signs are confusing at best, if not absent), we travelled for a while through towns such as Tongaat, where every available square inch of pavement was covered by people selling goods.

A detour off our track and up into the mountains took us to surprisingly large Eshowe, a major town supplying the needs of local Zulu villages and supporting the local sugar cane farming industry.  Here, we were able to travel on an aerial boardwalk across the Dinza Forest.  There wasn't much wildlife to be seen (one duiker and several large crickets) but a fantastic view nonetheless.

As our journey got closer to our destination of Hluhluwe and the night grew dark, two changes were noticeable.  Firstly, Western-style buildings were replaced by thatched Zulu kraals, and secondly, the style of driving became more and more terrifying.

There seems to be a habit here, if you are driving slowly, of pulling onto the hard shoulder to let a car past rather than waiting them to overtake.  This was easy to get used to (and actually comes to make sense once you're into it) but by nightfall, we were up to three cars wide per lane, like something one might expect to see in Mumbai.

Tree shower, Hluhluwe River Lodge

Arriving late in Hluhluwe with incomplete directions, we stopped in the world's most bizarre petrol station to ask for help.  This seemed to be the local hotspot, with a constant flurry of activity and people and cars weaving in and out at speed like skaters on an ice rink.

Our accommodation for the next four nights turned out to be 7km up a dirt track - not great at night, but worth every bump and jolt.  We're staying in a little log cabin located miles from civilisation, with collected rainwater heated by the sun as our only commodity and a boma and braai as our cooking appliances.  The herd of nyala waiting to greet us just added to the feel of the place.

While cooking, dinner was almost lost to what at first glance looked like an elongated cat, but turned out to be a large spotted genet.  Perhaps "gannet" would be a more appropriate name - four times it had a go at stealing our steaks.  I guess that's just one of the hazards of living in this wilderness.

Swimming with the fishes

Thursday 4th December

Durban

Today's new experience was my first time diving - on this occasion using a bell jar helmet rather than scuba equipment.  A huge array of barracuda, stingray, manta ray and other large fish swarmed around us.

As well as that, and a touristy visit to a waterpark boasting Africa's tallest slide, we met up with a friend of my mum and dad from their time here.  It was great to see Noelene in her home country - I've only ever met her in Holland before.

Afterwards, we took a drive through Durban's city centre and Indian quarter - altogether less picturesque than the postcard-perfect seafront.  Clearly parts of this city have seen great regeneration in recent years and I really hope they succeed in their bid for the 2022 Commonwealth Games so that the infrastructure continues to improve.

As well as featuring the Juma Musjid, the largest mosque in the southern hemisphere (despite being in a predominantly Hindu area), the Indian quarter featured a vast array of markets and bazaars selling spices, fruits and clothing.

What better way, then, to finish the day than with a meal at one of Durban's most popular Indian restaurants?

A land in transit

Nelson Mandela Square, Sandton, Johannesburg

Wednesday 3rd September

Durban

Today was a long day of travelling, making the 8 hour journey from Johannesburg to Durban, stopping just twice: at Heidelberg just outside Jo'burg and at Ladysmith, home to the famous Black Mombaso choir.

Heidelberg is a picturesque town looking exactly as one might expect a South African town to look, while Ladysmith seemed to be entirely focussed around just one street.  With little of note apart from a rather impressive Sufi mosque, the only remarkable thing about Ladysmith was that we were the only white people to be seen and stuck out like a sort thumb - a real lesson in how conspicuous it feels to be in a minority.

While the journey felt at times monotonous on a road so straight the Romans could have built it, with tolls so frequent the Romans could have created them as well, we did manage to see some wildlife along the way: impala, steenbok, ostriches, flamingos and guinea fowl just some.

However, the most unusual sight had to be the man at the side of a 4-lane motorway holding up a slaughtered hog above his head, offering it for sale to the passing motorists.  We chose to decline his offer.

Shortly before Ladysmith, there was a descent so rapid it caused ears to pop as we left the Highveld for the Lowveld.  Here, the landscape became more mountainous and the trees more plentiful.

As we observed the changes on our journey, it seemed right (if a little clichéd) to reflect on the journey South Africa has come on since my parents lived here more than three decades ago.

They knew the South Africa of apartheid at a time when Nelson Mandela was regarded as a terrorist and the Western world was yet to take notice of a system described by the South African authorities as "good neighbourliness".

Sitting last night in Sandton's (aptly named) Nelson Mandela Square, we were just one of a multitude of races and nationalities enjoying equality in a truly rainbow nation.

While it is clear that vast inequalities still exist - the number of poor, exclusively black townships with sub-standard accommodation we passed today is testament to this - it is incredible how much this country has travelled in the last 20 years since Mandela's release from prison.

One example of that journey was watching crowds of black children walking home from the city's top schools in their blazers and ties.  When my parents lived here thirty years ago, it would have been unheard of for black children to attend such educational establishments, and certainly not to attend the same schools as white children.

There may be a long road yet to travel to achieve complete equality, but as the billboard in Nelson Mandela Square red, "it always seems impossible until it's done".

A land of contrasts

 

Nelson Mandela Square, Sandton, Johannesburg

Tuesday 2nd September

Sandton, Johannesburg

As we followed direction signs for Blairgowrie and Morningside, it would be easy to forget we had just travelled to the other side of the world.

Ahead of us lies a three week journey around South Africa's provinces of Guateng, Free State, KwaZulu Natal, Mpumalanga and North West as well as a sojourn into neighbouring Swaziland.

Thirty years ago, my parents lived and worked here so, although this is the first time I have set foot on South African soil, part of me has always felt a great affinity with this country.  Maybe it was growing up with the music of Ladysmith Black Mombaso or perhaps the braai culture that led to many outdoor childhood meals whatever the weather, but something South African is imprinted on me.  I suspect, in truth, it's the friends my parents made in South Africa whose phone calls and visits punctuated my childhood that made a lasting impression.

That's certainly what we've found in the few hours we've been here - a fantastic bunch of people.  For starters, I've never had so much fun at passport control as when listening to the marriage advice dolled out as part of the service today.  Contrast that with the domineering, no-nonsense matriarchal figure running the car hire desk, or the windscreen washer who, when told we didn't need our screen washed, performed a dance in the street for us instead.

Saddening, then, amidst such fun and characters to have found such a dependence on guns.  We're staying in one of Jo'burg's wealthy suburbs, and armed security guards are routinely employed to protect each person's own little bubble.

Saddening, too, the divide that exists between rich and poor.  Running along the east side of wealthy Sandton is the M1 road, the other side of which likes Alexandra, one of South Africa's poorest townships.

It's difficult to reconcile the lavish spending on armed security to protect a leafy suburb while overlooking such poverty.

This certainly seems like a land of contrasts...

Going Commando

A load of balls...

Facebook and twitter are usually full of people talking pants, but today you might have noticed they're talking no pants, as lots of us shed our undies and go commando to help raise awareness of male cancers.

Men are notoriously bad at talking about their health, but it seems this is particularly so when it comes to concerns in the underwear department.  We may be great at moaning about blisters and backache, but bums and balls rarely feature on the conversational agenda.  It seems us guys spend half our life playing with them, and the other half pretending they don't exist.

I say all this somewhat hypocritically.  A number of years ago I found a small lump on one of my testicles, and rather than do anything about it, I simply worried.  

Eventually, years later, I plucked up the courage to visit my GP and get it checked out.  Clearly not an occasion I was looking forward to, it really wasn't that bad.  The doctor invited me to find the lump, had a quick feel and referred me for an ultrasound scan.  This was also far less embarrassing than I imagined.  Maintaining as much modesty as possible with a carefully positioned towel, the scan was over in an instant and the technician was able to show me there and then that everything was normal.  I left wondering why I had spent years worrying when it was so simple to have it checked out.

Until today, no-one knew any of this.  If I'd been to get my lungs or kidneys checked, it would have been an acceptable topic for conversation, but because it involved testicles, I somehow felt the need to keep it under wraps.  Today, it's time for that to change.  Testicular cancer is 100% curable if caught early, so it's time we ended the taboo and started talking openly about how to look after our balls.  It's time our private parts became public, conversationally speaking of course.

That's why thousands of people are going commando today and encouraging our fellow men to talk about and to check their balls, prostates, bowels and moobs.  Visit malecancer.org to find out more.

Go on.  Get 'em off for the lads: