The Wild Coast, a piece of Ireland in South Africa

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Trip Start Feb 20, 2007 Previous
Entry Trip End Jun 2007

  Coffee Bay, South Africa
Monday, June 4, 2007

African travel as I knew it was a thing of the past as soon as I entered South Africa. Gone were the bumpy roads, the rattling matatus, the cramped, uncomfortable, overcrowded seating arrangements shared with men, women, children, goats and chickens. Since I had come to South Africa travel became easy. The journey from Durban to Mthatha, in the Transkei, was so easy I almost felt guilty.

I had booked a Greyhound bus through my backpackers, deciding to give my pig-headed insistence on doing everything my way a rest; I even allowed the agent call my next destination's backpackers for me, so that they would arrange a pickup shuttle to bring me from Mthatha onwards. South Africa seems to be like Vietnam in that respect, it's easier to just allow someone else arrange everything for you. I was beginning to feel tired (recall that I had made it from Tofo to Durban in just three days) - principles and frugality can be more easily ignored when a journey reaches its close.

The Greyhound bus experience resembled that of taking a flight more than taking a bus. The bus station had a clean, comfortable room for Greyhound passengers, where we sat before we had to "check in" with our tickets. We were then given another ticket, a sort of boarding pass, and a sticker to put on our bags, along with a receipt, lest they should get lost. When the bus pulled up outside (exactly on time), we were ushered to the door, where we were met by an attendant, who checked our names off a list, and told us our designated seats. The bus had two floors; I requested to have the seat on the top floor, right by the windscreen, so that I could enjoy the views. The seats were huge, comfortable, reclinable and complete with cup-holders and folding tables. After we took off the attendant called around to everyone and enquired if we were comfortable. Yes, yes, we were. Very. Complimentary tea and coffee were served with biscuits throughout the trip, and DVDs were screened.

The journey was not only comfortable, but beautiful. For the first half we drove along the rugged coastline, where big barrelling waves crashed in spectacularly. The road turned inland then, and twisted expertly up into the Transkei region of South Africa, with wonderful, gently sloping hills coloured soft red and yellow by the burnt stubble grass that covered them. The Transkei is home to the Xhosa people, who still mainly live in beautiful lime green circular huts, with thatched roofs topped with a tyre. In fact, were it not for the carefully engineered highway we were travelling along, occasionally dotted with petrol stations complete with fast food outlets, I could nearly have convinced myself that we were back in "real Africa" again.

The Transkei was one of South Africa's homelands, or Bantustans, regions which under John Vorster's "enlightened" approach to apartheid would be given the right to establish themselves as self-governing, quasi-independent states. A program of massive forced relocation of about 3.5 million people into the homelands was undertaken between the 1960s and the 1980s. The intention was to make South Africa's black nationals citizens of the homelands, and not of South Africa, so that whatever remaining rights the blacks had could be completely removed. In fact, it eventually became clear that South Africa was to be ethnically cleansed of the blacks in this manner. On 7 February 1978 Connie Mulder, Minister for Plural Relations and Development said

"If our policy is taken to its logical conclusion as far as the black people are concerned, there will be not one black man with South African citizenship ... Every black man in South Africa will eventually be accommodated in some independent new state in this honourable way and there will no longer be an obligation on this Parliament to accommodate these people politically."

In 1976 the Transkei was the first of the Bantustans to be given their independence. Life in the homelands was very difficult, and poor. The boundaries drawn had been deliberately drawn around valuable land and resources, so as to keep them in South Africa. The state of the already poor soil in the Transkei soon worsened due to the overpopulation of the region. Most men had no choice but to apply for "guest worker" status in South Africa proper, and commuted long distances or else went to live in the townships that were growing like a fungus around South Africa's cities. The women were left at home to raise the families and work the land.

The Transkei was reincorporated into South Africa in April 1994. Since then things have improved a little, but it is still one of the poorest parts of the country. Education and Health Care are substandard, unemployment stands at 60%, and it is still the case that the women nearly always have to do all the work as the men leave the area to find employment. Aesthetically, it was pleasing for me to see what I think of as "real Africa" here, but this image is inextricably tied up with poverty, which is the norm almost everywhere on the continent. What irritated me was that just a few hours before I had left Durban's clean streets, skyscrapers and shopping malls, and now I was confronted with this poverty, all part of the same country. I don't know enough about South Africa to pass judgement, but for a country that has an economy growing at 5% per anum and one of the largest amounts of mineral deposits in the world, I couldn't help but wonder if those making the money in Durban were forgetting about the Transkei.

Once we were in Mthatha I sat and waited for my pickup at a petrol station, reading a book about South Africa's recent history, and thinking all those dark thoughts, as I am liable to do. A cheerful Xhosa man approached me, wondering if I was heading to Coffee Shack (my chosen backpackers). I was, and so climbed on board his minibus with a few of the other staff who had made the day trip to Mthatha, and off we went on our way to Coffee Bay, on the Wild Coast part of the Transkei.

The 100km drive took an hour and a half to cover, because the road was bad by South African standards (it could have passed for a motorway in many other African countries, however). The slower pace suited me though, as it gave me a chance to admire the scenery; the subtle hills with huts perched upon them, the playing children and the African towns. As we drove closer and closer to Coffee Bay the landscape started to take on a harsher, greener feel to it, I supposed because of the sea. When we did see the ocean it was breathtaking, angry and white - it is called the Wild Coast because of all the ships the sea has swallowed here. Grey, battered cliffs rose away from the rocky beaches, up to yellow-green fields of stubble grass where cattle, sheep and goats grazed. It all looked vaguely familiar to me, but I couldn't quite put my finger on why. Then, suddenly, I realised - this was just like the coast of Ireland, except not quite as green.

The Coffee Shack Backpackers was a pleasant, laid back place, with friendly, welcoming staff. Upon arrival I was given a free beer, and that night several complimentary vodkas, in honour of it being a full moon! I quickly made friends, and had a great first night swapping stories, laughing and enjoying decent company. Some local girls came to dance and sing for us, to the sound of African drums, and a hat was passed around for us to give donations. This little show proved to be quite controversial with the audience, mainly because the girls (aged 10-15) were topless. Whether this should have been done was discussed at length by all once the show was over. Some felt that as guests in South Africa it was not our place to judge what people wore in traditional dances. I would have agreed with this had I seen even a handful of Xhosa people dressed traditionally while going about their daily business - instead they wear Western clothes everywhere. Personally I didn't feel comfortable watching girls of that age dressed as they were, but more than anything I didn't like the idea of a group coming to perform for tourists at a backpackers. It feels artificial and exploitative, and although I know it earns money for the locals, I would prefer to be given the choice to see these shows and not have them forced upon me. Artificial culture shows for tourists always feel fake to me; I came to Africa to experience genuine culture, culture which would be taking place even if I (or other tourists) were not present.

I spent the next day reading, writing and relaxing, a much needed break from a few days of travel. I explored around the coast a little, and looked for Coffee Bay's main beach, which I had heard was beautiful. Unfortunately its beauty had been somewhat diminished by a ferocious storm which hit the area a few months ago (the same storm as that which ravaged Vilanculos). All the sand had been washed out to sea, and all that remained was a fairly bleak looking grey rocky beach.

That night I sat around the fire that was built, listening to drums, and chatting with some of the locals. I noticed while listening to them talk amongst themselves that their language contains click noises. I asked about this, and they said there are three distinct clicks used. They tried to teach me how to make the different sounds, and my efforts provided everyone with great amusement. I remember a friend telling me before I left that some African tribes click when talking, but I refused to believe that this was true. I was proven wrong in Coffee Bay.

On my last day I went for a 10km walk up the coast with four English companions, to see "Hole in the Wall", a cliff that looms out of the sea with a huge tunnel scored neatly through the middle by wave action. The walk there was very enjoyable, along the coast, over gentle green hills, passing by Xhosa huts and villages. The weather was warm for winter, and the sky blue. It was wonderful to be by such wild ocean, which reminded me so much of home. The hole in the wall itself was relatively impressive, although I have seen phenomena not unlike it in Ireland several times. What I enjoyed most, however, was the walk there, being outside, stretching my legs, and hiking. Because we set off late I decided to hitch back, as I wanted to spend the last few hours of light catching up on my diary. The first car that passed was a bakkie (local slang for a pickup truck), and we were given a lift in the rear. I love hitching; the anticipation of the wait, the exhilaration of being picked up and given a free ride, and this was all topped off with the pleasure of being able to sit in the open air, bouncing along a dirt track with the wind blowing in my face.

I caught up with my diary that evening, and had another pleasant night around a camp fire with friends, chatting, drinking and laughing. Later in the evening we walked to the beach and sat high on the dunes, watching the waves crashing in, with everything lit brightly by the near-full moon. The crests of many of the waves shimmered florescent green because of the phosphorescence, a phenomenon I had never seen before in my life. I retired to bed at a respectable hour, sad to leave this beautiful place on what was to be my last African journey, but excited to see Cape Town.

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