I am now sitting nervously close to the border with Mozambique. This is not the first time that I almost can see how greener it is on the other side of the fence. Last week I took a dive in Sodwana Bay, some 80 Kms from the Mozambiquean border, but decided to come all the way through Swaziland to Nelspruit and enter via Ressano Garcia. Call it procrastination, I call it shitting myself.
I knew it was going to be difficult to go back to Moz for the first time after nearly 30 years, but never imagined how deeply affected I would be in terms of physical symptoms. Every morning I wake up around 4:30 am and cannot get back to sleep. May be it is the fisherman in me that knows he is going back to Bazaruto, Inhambane or Ponta do Ouro to throw the nets in the sea.
My return trip to Moz had been planned in a slightly different way and things went somehow pear shaped. My good pal Roddy Buchanan was going to come with me but unfortunately could not find the resources to do it. My cousin Louie from Jo’burg fancied a week in Bilene too, but when I phoned yesterday, to arrange a rendez-vous in Nelspruit, he informed me that some business had came up, and he wouldn’t be able to make it.
This things happen but I am determined to go anyway, even if it means (and it does) that I will jump one of the hectic taxi vans heading up Maputo way. These Toyota Hiace vans are jam-packed with people and goods and are one of the best ways of getting the local flava. All for a mere ZAR 100.
Antonia, an English geography student I have met, is also going to Moz. She has no strict plans other than to go to the beach for 2 weeks and has been told Moz is a beach paradise. Sharp sharp! She was going to get a lift with her pal but again, things did not go according to plan and her mate postponed the trip. We’ve decided that one day of Nelspruit is one day too long and will be traveling together across the border in a couple of hours time. My heart is racing and I hope I do not start crying as I enter home, the cradle of the Sacramento kind. May be I will be disappointed in case the place wont live up to my expectations, and that scares me too. I guess all this questions explain perfectly my emotional state. Whatever happens I can relax and be confident that the situation is about to be resolved.
As a result I may even be able to select a country where I want to live in, and become a boring bastard like my dad that exchanged an exciting job as land surveyor in the African savanna for a comfortable bank clerk’s position sitting all day long behind a desk. I might even get married and start making babies to my mom’s greatest satisfaction (for more info or a wife application pack contact nuno.sacramento@gmail.com). Who knows.
The recent past
After hectic and theatrical Cape Town I jumped in a plane and went up to Jo’burg. I did consider going overland but my liver beg me to leave the Cape a.s.a.p. and so I did. I miss it immensely though…
My next stop was Jo’burg. My Cape Town friends hooked me up with some people but advised me that in Jo’burg one MUST have transport or else one can get stranded all day waiting for friendly lifts after work hours. Traffic is chaotic and the City Center is a shambles. Needless to say I like it. A lot.
My time in Jo’burg was spent behind bars. Every house is some sort of inverted cage. Inverted because in the view of many South Africans it keeps the animals outside. It is a fucked up life style but as anywhere else in the world, people just get on with their lives in the best way they can. Fear is just one of the ingredients of Jo’burg life, hard to grasp for a Swiss or a Norwegian, but present in all aspects of Gauteng culture. It is a spice and a constant adrenaline rush.
With the crazy Cape lifestyle behind, I decided to look for a more wholesome one, as I was approaching the tropical beaches with white sand and turquoise blue waters. In Jo’burg I started eating normal meals again and at normal times. With my cousin we visited several porra (Portuguese) restaurants and I managed to spend a lot of time catching up with the books I had brought. I also realized that my belly was growing again and that something would have to be done about it.
My cousin who I’ve now met for the first time ever, is a Hells Angels type. He deals cars, works as DJ and belongs to an Alberton-based Harley Davidson group called Satan’s Saints. His name is Louie and like me, he was born in Maputo. When I asked him if he wanted to go back he said he couldn’t really, because in Moz he wouldn’t get the same things he gets in SA. I gathered he was talking about Cable TV, fast Internet, good roads and fast food paradise. ‘Moz is nice for a week of sun and fishing but then I’m happy to be back here in SA’ he says. I don’t know If I agree.
South Africa has an American feel to it. Long stretches of road, Cable TV with 100’s of channels, Fast Food every where and a feeling that any idea is a feasible business opportunity. My wee cousin Tania (Louis’ daughter) took me to theme parks and huge shopping centers and even to a Zoo where people get shifted around in golf carts in order to prevent any calorie loss.
For the first four days of my stay I looked at Joburgs Center from afar and got increasingly curious about it. My parents had spent some time in Jo’burg in the 60’s and I felt close to it somehow. After driving through Jo’burgs City Center I found it a beautiful piece of modern architecture and urbanism and despite the short stop at the City Art Gallery in Joubert Square (to see Africa Remix), I still feel my curiosity is not satisfied. And it wont be until I enter the Ponte tower…
For everyone planning to come to the World Cup in 2010 I can assure you Jo’burg City Center is NOT going to be ready for it. We’ll wait and see.
My last night out in Jo’burg was spent with the Vesparados, a group of Vespa maniacs in leather jackets who are planning to go from Jo’burg to Cape Town on the small Italian bikes stopping in pubs along the way. I asked if I could join them and they said yes. It coincides with my birthday afterall…
After nearly a week of protected life, eating well and sleeping accordingly, I decide to rent a car and go to Pretoria to see the Houses of Parliament and visit an artist called Jacques. Somehow this visit empowered me to move on and I decided that by Sunday I’d of to see Kwazulu-Natal.
I do not really know how to describe my time in Gauteng but I will try to do it in one sentence: Have you ever felt you shoudn’t be at a place at that specific moment in time? And have you ever felt deep inside that you have been in a place, that you haven’t visited before? That was Jo’burg and Pretoria for me.
Road trip
The plane trip from Cape Town to Jo’burg left a sour taste of defeat for I felt I had missed sight-seeing large chunks of the country. To invert this I decided to do a road trip that my dad had done 40 years ago, during the 1960’s, when he was approximately my age. I had two options: 1) to rent a car and do it on my own, going to the exact same spots dad went (poetic but anal!) or 2) to jump the Bas Buz and sit comfortably looking out the window, and having the odd chat with fellow travelers. Being a people’s person, unlike dad, I chose option 2.
This meant I wouldn’t see the same things but fuck it, I would see others. First day I went past the Drakkensberg mountain range. Yes past in a parallel line without ever entering it properly. Living in Scotland and coming all the way to SA to see hills and mountains seemed silly so I headed to Zulu land (something Scotland is deprived of). My first stop was Pietermaritzburg, where decades earlier Gandhi had been thrown out a first class train carriage for being coloured, resulting in the whole movement of peaceful protest.
PMZ is a small and uneventful city. The reason I was there was to see the Art School, described by someone as the most Afro-Cosmopolitan in Africa. I am dying to do something in Africa and a research connection with African academia is something to be cherished.
PMZ was a pleasant surprise. The hostel where I stayed was messy but, without a shadow of a doubt, the best one I have ever stayed in. The owner (Kelvin) was a natural host and brilliant chef. The place had amazing energy and gathered characters ranging from a fisherman and intellectual (Andre) to a very articulate and not at all annoying messenger of God (Pete). When you throuw into the equation a beautiful Frrrench couple and a Weegigeese looking for his identity, you have a perfect fruit salad.
I decided to stay another day in PMZ cutting my time in Durban shorter. I booked a skydive for 9 am next day and after a night without sleep (butterflies in my stomach) I was informed that the dive was cancelled due to the weather. I went to visit the museum instead, and saw and amazing portrait of the Queen of England side by side with the King of Zululand, same size (I will prepare a lecture about it in due time).
Leaving PMZ in one of the mini bus taxi vans I got to Durban in an hour for the meager amount of ZAR 30 (E 3) the same amount I paid for the taxi from the stop to the hostel in a 5 min journey.
Durban is still unknown to me. However I can say that I’ve tried the local delicatessen, the famous curry in a carved loaf of bread that goes by the name of Mutton Bunnie Chow. I promise I will cook it when I’m back in Scotland. For bookings use the e-mail above.
In the few hours I spent in Durban I managed to meet Carol Brown only to realize that we have a lot in common in terms of curatorial research. I have the hunch that great things can come out of this encounter and there is even the possibility that Art Cup might happen in Durban in 2010.
Heading North from Durbs I headed to Sodwana Bay for a diving course. Andre, the intellectual fisherman had told me how beautiful and addictive it is, and guess what, he was right. After theory and a pool dive we headed down to the beach for a 12mt dive. It was so addictive that I have decided to do it again, and again, and again. Its better than CAT dad, and I will have the chance to see Moz underwater. I am having some ideas for the house in the Algarve, in terms of art and diving (Art Cup style).
Between Sodwana Bay (very near Moz border) and Nelspruit (the present location equally closed to the border) lies the small Kingdom of Swaziland where I spent about a day. The place is beautiful and the hostel situated in the middle of a natural reserve. At night the fire would be lit, and local women would cook local food in local pots over it. The travellers in the Hostel would gather around the fire and chat under the beautiful African Sky. A short walk around the house put me in contact with Zebra, Wilderbeest, Boks etc, all a few meters away. But the height of the experience was the strip club 20 mins away from the hostel by car, where a number of Jo’burgers and me stared at women dancing like snakes.
I am going now, without proof reading what I wrote. I am not able to upload any photos either but promise will do it at a later date. I just really wanted to put this down to writing before I enter Moz. Lets hope I am not disappointed with what I am about to see.
Cheers.
