May 24:
It is morning before we know it and we are up and away from the invitingly warm covers too soon. We shower and change as Anthony comes in and makes breakfast. There is another man with him this time. Sydney is the spare driver and a member of the Sotho tribe.
We leave around 8.15 through much snarled roads and pick up an old gentleman, Mr Alan “Call me Fred” Poole, at the posh hotel just next to the Wanderers club. We also have to go through more congested traffic to pick up an American couple from the Airport Grand before we can head out towards Kruger. This couple is nowhere to be found and we waste 10 minutes looking for them, Anthony pleasant and agreeable as usual. By the time we can leave the Johannesburg area, it is past 10am.
Thus begins a day that’s dedicated to the road!
Thus begins a day that’s dedicated to the road!
Everything here is so far and takes far too long to get to. People are punctual, yes, but not punctiliously so. Time-wise, things seem flexible and people seem to take delays in their stride.
The first part of the ride is uneventful and takes us through flat corn-fields, gold-mines and coal mines. There are several thermal power plants. We stop for a toilet break in about one hour. The next part of the drive is more undulating terrain and the vegetation changes a bit. The landscape is more interesting, though not very different from what we’ve seen in the open areas of Zambia or from the planes we’ve been on. We stop for lunch at about 12.45 at Dulstroom, the highest town in South Africa, if Anthony is to be believed, at 2100 metres elevation. We eat at Charlie Cs—chicken burgers for the kids and toasted sandwiches for us.
Another Viva Safaris van and driver are here in Dulstroom to take us the rest of the way. We change vans and Anthony leaves us here after he’s had his lunch. Sydney and a young Shangaan man called Nellie take us the rest of the way.
Sanjib has to change enough of his USDs to ZARs and we were supposed to stop at a bank in Dulstroom. To help things along, Sanjib walks to the bank a few blocks away so that we can pick him up when we’re done. We go to pick him up only to see that the lady at the bank tellers window is at lunch and wouldn’t be back before 2pm. Sydney says we’ll stop at the next town and we go on.
The “next town” is Lydenberg and here we stop at the Standard Bank for what we think is a short stop. Well, we’re still there at our corner 45 minutes later, waiting for my man to come back.
The time is spent talking to our Sotho and Shangaan warriors about things sociological—the rampant polygamy, the family hierarchy, how things work in villages, their system of redressing disputes; the kings, chiefs, mayors in their villages and provinces, a structure far removed from the governance of the cities and much like our own panchayati raj.
The first part of the ride is uneventful and takes us through flat corn-fields, gold-mines and coal mines. There are several thermal power plants. We stop for a toilet break in about one hour. The next part of the drive is more undulating terrain and the vegetation changes a bit. The landscape is more interesting, though not very different from what we’ve seen in the open areas of Zambia or from the planes we’ve been on. We stop for lunch at about 12.45 at Dulstroom, the highest town in South Africa, if Anthony is to be believed, at 2100 metres elevation. We eat at Charlie Cs—chicken burgers for the kids and toasted sandwiches for us.
Another Viva Safaris van and driver are here in Dulstroom to take us the rest of the way. We change vans and Anthony leaves us here after he’s had his lunch. Sydney and a young Shangaan man called Nellie take us the rest of the way.
Sanjib has to change enough of his USDs to ZARs and we were supposed to stop at a bank in Dulstroom. To help things along, Sanjib walks to the bank a few blocks away so that we can pick him up when we’re done. We go to pick him up only to see that the lady at the bank tellers window is at lunch and wouldn’t be back before 2pm. Sydney says we’ll stop at the next town and we go on.
The “next town” is Lydenberg and here we stop at the Standard Bank for what we think is a short stop. Well, we’re still there at our corner 45 minutes later, waiting for my man to come back.
The time is spent talking to our Sotho and Shangaan warriors about things sociological—the rampant polygamy, the family hierarchy, how things work in villages, their system of redressing disputes; the kings, chiefs, mayors in their villages and provinces, a structure far removed from the governance of the cities and much like our own panchayati raj.
Men are supposed to pay bride price for wives, the opposite of our dowry system—the more qualified the bride, the more the bride price. Rich men show their status by marrying several wives and having many children “but the computer recognizes only one.”
Sydney tells me a story about a man who married his half-sister, because nowadays, if a man has 10 wives in 10 different places, who can know all his siblings? So this man married his half-sister and finally had to divorce her out of family embarrassment. Stories like this continue. Sydney thinks one wife will be enough. Nellie disagrees. His father married 5 times, and so will he.
Where Nellie grew up, women and children were not allowed to have eggs—only the men could eat eggs. In Sydney’s village, it was kidneys that only the elder men ate—women and children could not eat them. The Americans show interest in the conversation, seeking clarifications now and then. Alan "Fred" Poole stays mum.
We still wait for Sanjib to emerge from the bank. I keep the Americans engaged with stories about the elusive tiger, whom we have hunted for many a vacation, through the Sunderbans and Sariska and Corbett, without being able to actually sight. The Americans have their own story to tell about their elusive wolf, whom they have been tracking through Alaska and Yellowstone without success. The conversation moves to the Black Mamba and Sanjib’s mortal fear of snakes. Still n
o Sanjib and still, Alan Poole stays mum.
I finally feel forced to go in search of my errant husband. It is now that Alan Poole comes down from the van with me and very gently offers to take ZARs out of his ATM in exchange for Sanjib’s dollars “if he’s having trouble.” I nod shamefacedly and cross the road to go to the bank to see what is holding my man up. I find him at the counter waiting as 2 tellers count out his cash over and over again, pinning every 10 100ZAR notes as they go along. They put it all, finally satisfied, in a bag and Sanjib and I run back to the van bag in hand. Sanjib apologizes to the crowd. The crowd kids him about snakes and the journey continues.
A few more hours cross. There’s more conversation now, thanks to that interlude at Lydenberg. Quiet Sydney has opened up now and refuses to stop. The Americans—Bill and Ellen from Wisconsin—are loud and friendly and even Alan/Fred has started talking a bit now and then.
We still wait for Sanjib to emerge from the bank. I keep the Americans engaged with stories about the elusive tiger, whom we have hunted for many a vacation, through the Sunderbans and Sariska and Corbett, without being able to actually sight. The Americans have their own story to tell about their elusive wolf, whom they have been tracking through Alaska and Yellowstone without success. The conversation moves to the Black Mamba and Sanjib’s mortal fear of snakes. Still n
o Sanjib and still, Alan Poole stays mum.I finally feel forced to go in search of my errant husband. It is now that Alan Poole comes down from the van with me and very gently offers to take ZARs out of his ATM in exchange for Sanjib’s dollars “if he’s having trouble.” I nod shamefacedly and cross the road to go to the bank to see what is holding my man up. I find him at the counter waiting as 2 tellers count out his cash over and over again, pinning every 10 100ZAR notes as they go along. They put it all, finally satisfied, in a bag and Sanjib and I run back to the van bag in hand. Sanjib apologizes to the crowd. The crowd kids him about snakes and the journey continues.
A few more hours cross. There’s more conversation now, thanks to that interlude at Lydenberg. Quiet Sydney has opened up now and refuses to stop. The Americans—Bill and Ellen from Wisconsin—are loud and friendly and even Alan/Fred has started talking a bit now and then.
tribal images courtesy:
1 comment:
Its always amazing to know.. about different cultures...
ur article about man's so many marraiges and the part where women are not allowed to eat eggs..is pretty amazing..
Thats really normal for them...but for others it will be very strange.. just as they would find some of our customes weird..
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