Back to Durban

The 2+ hour trip back, might have been uneventful had it not been for one girl. She calmly came to the front of the bus to ask if there would be a bathroom stop. She was told that we hadn’t planned on it, but that if we needed on we would stop in about 25 minutes. She smiled and thanked him and returned to her set. Not two minutes later, she came back up front to ask if there was some place closer to stop. She was told that there wasn’t, but that we could pull over if she really needed. She smiled and thanked him and returned to her seat. Again, within a couple of minutes, she was back up front telling all that she couldn’t wait and needed to stop. When told that it would only be 10 minutes or so, she said she would try, but this time, she decided to stay standing in hopes that would help. It didn’t. Within a minute or two, the bus pulled along the side of the South African highway for a 21 year old, American women to pee.

Shakaland

King Shaka was an amazing leader of the Zulu community. It is an amazing story. Shakaland was built in the mid-80’s for the making of a documentary. It was decided to leave it there as a living museum. The land is part of the Zulu property, but it is run by a hotel company that pays a “concession” to the Zulus. In addition, they employee Zulu members to work there and also have contributed a lot to the building of roads and schools.

This was a very odd experience. I have been to places before where they were re-enacting an earlier period from history. In this case, it was like watching a community in a zoo. The people were playing the rolls that, as I understand it, they live out in real life. There were girls there who balanced jars on their head, old women weaving mats, men tailoring garments, people stringing beads, and other activities. Nobody there seemed happy to be there. They would never get hired at Epcot.

The only people who seemed to enjoy what they were doing were the people who demonstrated the various tribal dances. The power was overwhelming. It was very fun to watch and their athleticism was quite impressive.

As we left, we all kind of agreed that it was kind of uncomfortable peeking in on their way of life. We figure that is must be what they need to do to survive, but it felt like they had sold their souls. The only thing in the States that might be comparable was visiting a reservation. I recall the same discomfort when Christopher and I went on an airboat ride in the Everglades. They were selling all this stuff were told had been made by the indians themselves. Who knows. I just made me kind of sad.