Reviews
When it comes to traveling, I’m a voyeur. I spot the best seat to people watch, plop back and watch the myriad people of our world’s top cultural digs go at it.
I prefer if they don’t take my presence into account. If they don’t hang up signs or hand out flyers promising me an ‘authentic’ experience; if they don’t tote around a glossy photo album marred with white faced tourists ‘having a good time’ in the midst of it all.
I love to go where there are no souvenir shops or double decker tour busses, or most importantly, no McDonald’s. Ideally, even the nearest internet café would be miles away—but in these times, when people who call mud huts homes have cell phones instead of shoes, I’ll overlook that detail.
Until recently, my pursuit of the ‘real’ has been largely in vain. Every dusty trail I set foot on, hoping to kindle that ‘what such and such place was like 10 years ago,’ experience, Lonely Planet and its fisherman pant sporting groupies have already trashed and tread on.
It is on a work assignment with my colleague, Andrew, in the Nkomazi region, in the Mpumalanga province of South Africa that I find it—sans guide book.
Conversations with some locals in the area lead us to ‘Asambini Tours’, a newly developed travel company started by Youth in Action (YiA) to bring in much needed income and encourage tourism in the area (YiA is a wing of the region’s Thembalethu Home Based Care, an NGO for victims of HIV/AIDS and poverty).
We will explore some of the region’s sites, and then stay with a host family (in a mud hut) in the nearby village of Malanga. Asambeni guides admit that the family may not be as prepped as others in surrounding villages because it is their first exposure to foreigners.
No packaged mints and fluffed pillows? No room service? No other tourists? We are sold. It is a mutually beneficial package complete with a portion of the proceeds going back into Thembalethu.
We book a combination of the 1 day tour, and the ‘Your Family in Africa’ dinner/bed/breakfast and entertainment package, and are slated to depart at nine o’clock the next morning.
Day 1:
Golden Nobela and Sandile Sambo, our guides, are ready to roll when we arrive at Thembalethu. They apologize because the ‘tour’ van is not available, and they have to use a car instead.
Andrew and I are relieved as anything that smacks of ‘organized’ tour, usually sends us running in the opposite direction. Besides, it sounds much cooler in retrospect to say that you road-tripped around South Africa.
Our first stop is Matsamo Lake, the largest earth-walled damn in the southern hemisphere, built to control water to the sugar plantations. From here, you can see the terrain of neighboring Swaziland.
Next it’s on to visit the ‘Sangoma’ or traditional tribal herbalist. On the way, Golden and Sandilie tell us urban legends about the black sangomas—also known as ‘witch doctors’ to many Westerners.
According to our guides, Black Sagomas are known for abducting children and forcing them to work in the fields—but only after driving a nail in the child’s head, as they believe it to make a more productive worker of the child.
The Black Sangoma’s kidnapping scheme is elaborate. First, he or she will approach a parent, and warn that the child is sick. After this the Sangoma will prescribe a series of unsuccessful ‘treatments’ on the patient; when none of these ‘work’—the Sangoma informs the parents that their child has passed away. A funeral, using a body double is held, and the abducted child is presumably never heard from again.
As we approach to the home of the Sangoma, our guides vow that we needn’t worry about kidnappings—apparently she is well known and trusted in the area.
Golden and Sandilie lead us over the dirt path to our herbalist’s home, and she greets us with a smile. We enter her room, and sit on thatched mats on the floor while she prepares to ‘throw the bones’ for us.
‘Throwing the bones’ is the traditional healer’s method of determining what your fate is based on the positions of the thrown bones. It is believed that Sangomas even have the power to contact your ancestors to see if they approve of your lifestyle. Supposedly, one’s physical ailments are the curse of an angered deceased.
Her insights—at least via Sandilie’s translation—are rather non-descript. She asks both f us questions, like ‘are you tired sometimes?’; ‘do you ever have pain in your body?’ and ‘sometimes, when the wind blows in your eyes, do they itch?’ She also offers us both herbs for our said disorders.
Just before we depart, Sandilie informs me that according to our herbalist my ancestors want me to become a Sangoma. I’m greatful for their approval, but I think it’s too late for such a dramatic career change.
Outside, the children and Sangomas in training are gearing up for a traditional dance and music performance. Once in costume, the aspiring herbalists thrust and jerk their bodies to the rhythm of the drums like ecstatic marionettes. Shaking, heaving and chanting, they lurch about in demonic trances, falling at the feet of villagers and confessing their deepest sins.
The performance lasts for nearly and hour before Sandile and Golden give us the ‘let’s go’ signal. We say goodbye to our hosts, who continue their dance as we depart.
Next up is a leisurely drive through Nkomazi to a spot known as ‘Jesus’s Footprint’. Supposedly, God’s son walked across the region, and left his foot print as proof.
The walk to and from the footprint is a highlight. For once, we’ve found ourselves in an area not created for us. The locals go about their daily lives, paying us no mind. In some ways, their reality is refreshing. As we proceed back to the car, a group of young boys pass by and wave. They want us to take their picture, so we do.
We need to make it to Samora Machel Monument before dark, and we’re cutting it close—considering there’s nearly and hour drive ahead.
Luckily, traffic isn’t much of an issue in the area, and we cruise through the countryside in good time, stopping at a fast food joint called ‘Chicken Licken’ for take away snacks.
The panoramic backdrop of the mountains along the way to the Samora Machel Monument is breathtaking, and the site itself even more so. A fiery sunset creates vast shadow lands of the valleys below, while ethereal chimes of wind through the monument’s steel pipes lament the controversial death of Samora Machel.
In silent awe, we remain at the monument until the final rays of daylight evaporate into the horizon.
Growling stomachs combined with the darkness set us in motion to our final destination—Malanga, where we will dine with a local family, and cap off the night in a mud hut.
The ride to the village is bumpy, filled with frequent courtesy stops for passing cattle. However, once there, it’s more than worth it.
We are greeted by a grinning host family, and children clad in traditional attire. They crowd around us and lead us to an open area where traditional dances commence. This celebration is followed by a sumptuous smorgasbord of local cuisine.
Following dinner, we are led to our accommodation—a simple mud hut as promised. However, our hosts have gone out of their way to provide extras—a set of velvet pillows and in room water basin.
We thank them profusely for their hospitality, and collapse onto the mattress—content, yet ready for a good night’s rest.
However, this plan dissolves as we are accosted by a barrage of giggling village children insistent on teaching us their nighttime games. While language barriers prevent us from grasping the songs behind the activities—we do learn that school yard freeze tag is apparently a global phenomenon.