When we wake up we are immediately followed by 4 kids from the surrounding villages. In the beginning this is a bit threatening, but when I return later to talk to them it turns out that they are bored and are looking for something to do. It is Saturday and there is nothing else for them to do. When I talk to them I call them boys, but soon I am being corrected by one of them. He points at the others and says: “ They are boys, I am a man”.
A brochure about local culture tells me that boys need to do a ceremony of a certain period in which they do assignments and rituals after which they become a man. Apparently the kid I called boy previously already completed the ceremony while the others had not.
The sun slowly crawls its way up in the sky and we know our morning hours are over when it begins to burn in our faces. We quickly pack up a day backpack with lunch and the camera and start on our hike towards a waterfall that ends in the sea. A narrow track leads us through the hills and down to the banks of the river. This river turns out to be famous, because this is the only river where the Kingfish, who normally only lives in deeper waters swims up. They swim against the stream until they reach a small island, they circle this and swim with hundreds of them back to the sea. Numerous scientists have done research on this phenomenon, but so far it is unknown why they do this.
We have to cross this river and I let my eyes skim over it with the story of the Kingfish in the back of my head. Nothing to see. The path continues on the other side of the river. We put our clothes in a dry-bag together with the camera, the daypack and our shoes. We quickly wade into the water and push the dry-bag in front of us to the other side of the river. We can feel the cold water pass by us, but we manage to reach the other side and we quickly get dressed again to continue the small steep track up the cliff.
By the clattering of water on the rocks we can hear we’re getting closer. We’ve been walking for two hours now. We wade through some thick bushes and the waterfall appears in front of us. Litres of chrystel clear water crash down on the solid stones and from there into the sea. Via slippery rocks we find our way down and fill up our water bottles. It’s late in the afternoon when we start our journey back. The wind is softly blowing, caressing our shirts and pushing us gently in the right direction. Our footprints from before lead us back to where we came from.
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The car shakes when I start it up. We just packed up our tent and pushed everything in its original place before we head off to Port St. Johns. It rained the night before and kept us out of our sleep while litres of water found their way over our tent towards the ground.
The potholes on the sandy track are filled with water and there are spots with thick mud. We have faith and navigate ourselves out of this and back to the main road.
It feels like we’re driving into an ant farm. Streets are filled up with people, school kids, trucks and men trying to push heavy wheel barrows. We drive into Lusikisiki, mix with the local traffic and end up parking in between a rusty truck and a market stall selling bananas. Helga stays in the car while I bump my way into the supermarket. While I push my cart I try to find the right products. I seem to be the only white guy in the supermarket. Not something I feel uncomfortable with while I think back to the time I taught PE at a juvenile hall in San Fernando Valley, Los Angeles.
I look up when somebody starts talking to me in really good English: “ sir, that car outside, that must be yours? It’s from Australia, how did it come here?” I smile, he is the first one to notice since the colours of our Australia number plate are the same as the area in South Africa we’re driving in right now. While I explain how the car got here I see his expression change, his eyebrows are now raised and he says: “really?”. I try to nod as convincingly as possible and say: “really.”. Deep in his own thoughts I see him push his cart to the cash register.
I quickly find the last items on my grocery list and follow his example. When I leave the store a security guard picks me out of the stream of people also leaving. I have to hand in my receipt and all my groceries are checked against my receipt. Behind my I see all the locals leaving the supermarket without raising their heads. In the reflection of the window I can see myself and I wonder if I am giving out the wrong impression by the way I look? After carefully checking every single item they let me go. I quickly leave the store, put everything in the back of the car and get behind the wheel. Away!
A large grassy site almost like a golf course is our camping spot for the night. From our tent we have a view of the chocolate colour river and the large cliffs, or “the gates” that are the entry to Port St. Johns.
It’s late in the morning when we leave our camping spot and leave Port St. Johns. School kids seem to have their break. Kids in uniform are along side the road and watch the cars pass by. The speed bumps turn out to be camouflaged and have the same colour as the tarmac….Helga gives me an angry look when she is almost lifted out of her seat and thrown into the backseats because of me missing it. I give her an apologetic look and mumble “sorry” while I try my best to spot the next one.
An imposing man in a uniform steps in front of our car. By the way he moves you can see it is not the first time he does this. His belt is heavy from his gun and he almost seems to lean to that side when he walks from the weight. I brake while I look around me. I missed it completely at first, but it turns out there is a police car on the side of the road kind of hidden behind the bushes. Around the car are three policemen. One handles the speeding camera, while the others are leaning on their rifles. The imposing policeman’s hand is sliding over the bullbar and while he walks towards us his gloved hands are tapping rhythmically on the bonnet. His destination is the driver side window which I already opened. A large head comes into our car and asks us: “where are you going?”. I see his nostrils move like a nervous bull and he seems to take in the air of the car. If I would have some popcorn on my lap that would have been funny. Helga answers his question by telling him the next big city on our map. He gives her a serious look and he almost seems to want to smell if we are speaking the truth. “ How long are you staying in South Africa?” Helga answers: “four weeks sir”. He takes another big gulp of air and I think: I hope he leaves some for us too. “ Alright, continue” says the policeman while he gets his head out of the car. I look at Helga, who shrugs, and with both windows open we quickly drive on.
Via a long track through several small villages, cornfields, groups of schoolchildren going home for the day and a lot of lazy cows standing in the middle of the road without any inclination to go off it, we end up at the Kraal. We are invited by our Dutch friends, who work as doctors at the hospital in Isilimele, just a few kilometres away, to enjoy pizza night.
We are camping outside the fence that marks the boundary of the Kraal and we are woken by people walking around the car who are obviously packing up. We get dressed and walk towards the main building. This is what is happening: the government is busy constructing a new, tarred, road to make the hospital and this part of the Transkei more accessible. The local community believes that the government is not using enough local people to do this work and are therefor planning to create roadblocks to demonstrate against this.
Bags are being packed, doors closed, laundry folded and before we know it everyone has left to hopefully get through it before it’s really closed. There are stories that these roadblocks could last weeks before the police is able to end them. Helga and I are a little agitated by this, but decide to stay. We are not in a hurry to go anywhere and we are told that for our car there are enough (4×4) alternatives to leave the area. We use the rest of the day to write the blog, get coordinates for 4×4 tracks in the gps and finish our books.
February 25, 2016
We decide to go, we pack up and drive up the steep path leading to the road. Just before we left we heard that the demonstration had stopped and that the roadblocks are gone. We decide to take the road less traveled nonetheless. On the road to Isilimele, where the hospital is, we see an older woman slowly walking up the hill. We give here a ride and she tells us her name is Christina, that she’s 65 and is on her way to the hospital for TBC treatment. She speaks good English and tells us a little bit about her life while we tell her about our travels. We drop her off at the hospital and walk around quickly to get an impression about how things go here.
Helga and I leave the hospital and drive south over old roads with washed away bridges. We are heading towards Mdumbi.
A small track leads us towards the coast. Schools are just out and we drive through large groups of children all neatly dressed in similar uniforms. Almost all the groups we drive past turn towards us and cup their hands to beg for “ssssweeeets!”. We don’t respond to this request, but wave and give them a smile. I loose my patience when a group of boys, who we pass without giving attention, pick up some stones from the ground and throw them at the car. I can hear one of them hit their mark.It resonates through the car. I quickly brake and reverse, but by the time we reach the spot again they have all fled. With a huge adrenaline rush we drive down a road that will take us to the coast. When we get here we realise we took a wrong turn and ended up on the wrong side of the bay….we can almost see where we need to go, but we have to drive back through the small town we just came from, towards the main road and get the next exit.
Slowly we drive back, luckily the children are all spread out by now and they are no longer a bother.
Mdumbi: tourists and the local Xhosa community intertwined
A wall full of surfboards stares at us, Danish Rasmus and I both pick one and walk to the beach. The waves hit the rocks hard. We run behind each other down to the beach, jump over the sharp rocks and land flat on our stomachs on the surfboards. We paddle out while we get hit by the first brakes. A moment later we’re sitting on our boards, waiting for the perfect wave.
When the wind increases (level full power in no time) and the thunderstorm starts, Helga and I decide to pack up the tent temporarily and hide out with the dogs in the kitchen.
Getting excited by the drummer’s first beats at a concert, that’s how I feel. The hail falls loudly on the steel roof and the noise is overwhelming. The wind also lets us know it’s here with the branches slashing agains the building.
After the hail stops we move to the “living room” where everyone else is and a couple of hours later, slightly intoxicated, after hearing a lot of travel stories, we pitch up the tent again.
February 27, 2016
We wake up from the sun heating up the green canvas and the inside of the tent rapidly. The sky is clear blue and all that is left of yesterday’s storm are the branches and leaves on the ground. Bare feet we walk on the wet grass towards the kitchen. A large cup of coffee washes away the light headache.
Johann, the owner and instigator of Mdumbi Backpackers takes me on a walk around the property. He grew up here. His father used to have a holiday home in the area and Johann spent a large part of his childhood in this area. He uses the money the backpackers generate to improve life in the community. For example, he oversees a project building a hospital. He also brings the community closer to the tourists who visit Mdumbi by having the church and pre-school on the property.
Johann also feels close to us. Together with an old Honda African Twin he travelled around Africa. He integrates sports (surfing), local community, travellers and tourists. He does it in a way I have never seen before, it is like a good cocktail where you don’t taste the alcohol.
For the last time I paddle out to catch a few waves before they all disappear and the ocean becomes quiet again. Afterwards we drive on to the next place on the map: The Wild Lubanzi.
Mdumbi Community Projects
Mdumbi Backpackers is situated on URC premises at Mdumbi Beach and was founded on January 2002. Thirty% of this backpackers is owned by 5 local employees, 10% of its profits are given to the local community representing body and 9% to TransCape NPO. It is closely involved with the community and formed Transcape NPO to respond to the educational, economic and health needs in the area. There vision is to active communities that address and improve their own health, education and economic development. There mission is to provide access to the support, knowledge, and resources necessary for communities to initiate the process of change towards a better quality of life. See www.transcape.org
On the health side Transcape has started a HIV/Aids program which include the implementation and management of awareness days, support groups, an ARV clinic, training programs, wellness and home base care. Transcape is managing a malnutrition project at Canzibe hospital, does maintenance and upgrading of the hospital and surrounding clinics, support community members with transport for medical emergencies and maintain a project concerning multimedia communication between Canzibe Hospital and clinics.
On the education side Transcape has started an education project at Mdumbi Backpackers. This involves a library; extra English and life-skills classes for school goers; preparing matriculants for final exams; computer, business, secretarial, entrepreneurial and vocational training for young people ready to explore the labor market; a pre school and ABET. Transcape also sponsors a pre school at Canzibe Hospital.
For economical growth Transcape started an interest free micro-financing project through which multiple small businesses like shops, brick-making, gardening, chicken farming, ext. are formed. Transcape is also involved in tourism development and agricultural programs.
By the clattering of water on the rocks we can hear we’re getting closer. We’ve been walking for two hours now. We wade through some thick bushes and the waterfall appears in front of us. Litres of chrystel clear water crash down on the solid stones and from there into the sea. Via slippery rocks we find our way down and fill up our water bottles. 
