Northern Drakensberg: Ampitheater Hike

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Learned: isiZulu Language

Good Morning
Good Afternoon : Sawubona
Good Evening

How are you? : Kunjani?
I am fine and how are you? : Ngisaphila wena unjani?

Also, listen for different ways to answer “how are you?” such as: “I am a little bit fine,” or “I’m in a bad mood.”

The Zulu people form part of the Nguni group consisting of the Zulu, Xhosa, Ndebele and Swazi. Although the speakers of these languages understand each other when they speak, the written languages are somewhat different.

The Zulu people are found mainly in KwaZulu Natal. Zulu people have a Zulu King (presently King Goodwill Zwelithini). The Zulu nation is popular with its rhythmic music and Zulu dance (indlamu). IsiZulu is a very idiomatic language and proverbs are often dominant in language usage. An example is the proverb Ubone mina nje, bayoze bakubone nawe abanamehlo summarised as Amabona bonane (You see me, those with eyes will also see you.) Gcugcwa, a well known thief who had stolen even the untouchable King Shaka’s cattle, said these words to King Shaka before he was murdered on King Shaka’s instructions. The proverb in generally regarded as Gcugcwa’s prediction that King Shaka would also eventually be murdered.

from “South Africa ‘Phrased’: A Quick Reference Guide to South Africa’s Eleven Official Languages”

Lesotho Shebeen

Lesotho: Le-su-tu (meaning country of mountains, an independent country inside the country of South Africa); Basotho: Ba-su-tu (the term used to refer to the people who live in Lesotho, the word actually means high); Sesotho: Se-su-tu (the language spoken by the Basotho people)

We ducked through the low door of the hut and nestled our way into the cramped and dark inner circle lined with benches. The Basotho elders inched toward the front of the hut to make room for us, moving closer to the bucket of brew for which we’d come. A shebeen is a traditional African pub, and this beer had been brewed by hand. The five or six people who sat around the brew all had the look of having passed beyond the counting of years and marking of age. Their faces were deeply lined, their teeth were few, and their smiles wide. They wore the traditional hats and blankets customary in Lesotho and welcomed us by immediately filling a large plastic cup with brown, grainy liquid. As we passed the cup around the circle each of us took a sip. Grains of maize clung to the sides of the white plastic as the liquid sloshed around the cup, and felt as though they’d get stuck in my teeth as I swallowed the lumpy mix. The beer was musky, smelling of corn and fermented fruit, and warm. The cup was passed around twice, as the rolling, quick-paced consonants of Sesotho pushed against the thatched roof and walls of the little hut.

Learned: Sesotho Language

Thank you very much: Ke leboha haholo

Sesotho is amongst the first African languages to be written and has an extensive and growing literature which covers a wide field of human experience. Throughout the years the language has undergone a constant uniform writing method called disjunctive writing. The writing convention in Lesotho differs from that of South Africa although the language is the same.

Sesotho is the only language in the Sotho group which, unlike Setswana and Sepedi, borrows click sounds from the Nguni languages. Sesotho is intelligible to the Batswana and Bapedi. Therefore it may be spoken over a large area in South Africa.

from “South Africa ‘Phrased’: A Quick Reference Guide to South Africa’s Eleven Official Languages

Wetlands

From the verandah of the very last house before, as the crow flies, reaching the Mozambique border, you will find an Africa unrecognizable to the thorns and sands of the bush. I had thought the African winter was brown, dry, cracked; a place where water makes itself known subtly, through the shade of a lone green tree over a riverbed of sand. But in St. Lucia, Africa is water.

The Greater St. Lucia Wetlands, recently renamed iSimangaliso Wetland Park (although locals dismiss the name change as a marketing move), is one of South Africa’s five World Heritage Sites. It is home to five eco-systems, with such varied topography as wetlands, oceans, rare vegetated sand dunes, forests, and rivers. It hosts myriad residents, including amphibians, fish, birds, and mammals, perhaps the most famous of which is the hippopotamus. Hippo are responsible for more deaths in Africa than any other animal, despite the fact that they reach their great size by munching on grass alone.  This rounded purple beast with its rose-colored underbelly is indeed massive, as you can see if you are lucky to catch sight of one rising from the water, or if you are even more fortunate, watch him trekking through the tall grass at what can only be described as a heaving, jiggling gallop.

Ironically, the hippo’s best mate is the crocodile, and you’ll often find them sunbathing together on the St. Lucia beaches. Crocodile lie in the sun mostly immobile, with their intimidating jaws stretched open. In fact, they are not trying to frighten you or mark their territory with their terror. Crocs use the fresh air as it wafts through the saliva inside their mouths to regulate their body heat, and it is that cool air that keeps them from overheating from the hot sun on their scaly skin.

A few more St. Lucia photos…

Khula Village

Mbali showed me around Khula village today. The village, only seventeen years old (its inception coinciding with the end of apartheid), is the replacement home of a people who, before the government moved them, had hidden themselves in the St. Lucia Wetlands. There they lived without any electricity or running water. They brought their laundry to the river and cooked over open fires. They planted gardens in the fertile soil of the wetlands and used the trees to make carvings to sell on the sides of the roads. They were in hiding, but they used the land to live on their own terms. Mbali explained both sides of the forced and controversial move; for the government, that forest area fell under conservation territory, but for the Zulu that land was how they lived.

Now, all 17,000 Zulu who once lived in that forest inhabit Khula village, some in cement houses painted in vibrant colors (blue, peach) with porches, and some in wooden shacks or half-built structures of stone. Mbali says that there is no jealousy among the villagers; some can simply afford more (usually those who work for the government in some capacity). There are two well-constructed cement buildings with several windows and bright blue doors. One has become the “mail room,” each villager has a post office box there with a key. The other was given to an elderly woman by the community. Her ailing health confines her to a wheelchair and she doesn’t have much money, so the community voted to give her the building for her home. Both buildings were originally constructed by the government as model homes when the community was moved from the forest. These model homes came with promises to build the entire village in the style. “That,” Mbali said, “was during an election year.” There has not been any new construction since.

Across the dirt road is a medical clinic, but it is only open once a month. If, on the day that the clinic opens, it is deemed that you are very ill, you will then be taken to the hospital. Mbali talked about pregnancy. If you are in your last month, it is best that you have some cash hidden away so that you can take an expensive taxi to the hospital or other nearby clinic. She also commented that many young girls can’t deliver in a clinic because they are so young they have complications, and usually need caesarians; they must be taken to the hospital. Youth pregnancy is an issue the community struggles with.

We went to the elementary school, which holds forty to fifty children for every teacher in a classroom. Prince William and his son Harry came to visit Khula village not too long ago and donated a building for the school (made of several long, orange cement constructions), but apparently they couldn’t donate replacement glass for the few broken windows lining the buildings.

We visited the church during the congregation’s lunch break (worship is an all-day affair on Saturdays), and the members gather in the shade beneath the trees between the morning and afternoon services. The meetings actually take place inside a circle of white rocks that are situated outdoors, and the sacred pillow of Shembe is taken out of its temple. Mbali explained that Zulu Christians believe in Jesus Christ, but believe that after his death God sent a second son, Isaiah Shembe, and it is to him that they dedicate their worship. Most of the group were women and children, and we joined them in our bare feet under the trees. The women were dressed in white robes with black sashes, and wore hats that announced their marital status: white if they had children but were unmarried, white with woven beads or brown fabric if they were married, and a scarf wrapped around their head if they were still virgins.

The men, of course, are free to take more than one wife, she explained. Though the women don’t like it, they must accept the practice. Mbali described a lot of pain, crying, and heartache, but if the man wants more than one wife, it is so. In traditional times, all the wives and children would live in the same compound with the man, but today it is acknowledged that there would be too much fighting between the women. The families live separately, and the man must divide his time between them. While the women must accept sharing their husbands, the men must ensure equality between their wives. “If she gets a watch, I get a watch,” Mbali said, “If you spend two nights with her, you spend two night with me.”

St. Lucia Night Drive

Chameleon:

Frogs:

Hyena:

Swaziland Morning

Heard: “It’s a choice.”

He struggled a bit to load his bags onto the bus, four small black ones and one large, square, maroon pack, piling them high onto the seats. He then balanced his bicycle, with its handlebars folded over and peddles tucked in, into a free corner of space in the passenger van, and, finally, sat down next to the window. He spoke with a lisp and an accent, and when the driver asked him in his own soft South African twang to write down the place he was going, he looked at him curiously, the corner of his mouth slightly upturned.

Daniel, a Frenchman from close to Poitiers, was biking his way around the world. By the time he had reached Swaziland, he’d been on the road for nine months and had spent time in Spain, Portugal, Morocco, and Senegal, among other places. While we sat talking that night, not far from the canopy of trees and bonfire that served as the backpack’s dining room, he explained his plan to visit every continent by the time he ended his trip; when the end would come exactly, he had no idea. He had no plans. Every morning he woke without knowing where he would sleep that night. Sometimes he pitched his tent on the side of the road he’d been biking and cooked a small dinner over his stove before going to sleep. He told me he stays as long as he likes in each place he visits, and moves on when he stops enjoying himself there.

His face was tanned and creased, his eyes small, and his smile full of small white teeth, spaced apart and crooked, with one or two jutting over his bottom lip, adding to his lisp. His forearms were also browned, and he spoke of the joy of bicycling. He liked that it brought him close to nature in the countryside and close to people in the cities. It functioned as a conversation piece, the quickest mode of transportation from point A to B, or access to all those places a car just can’t go. But, he grinned, he “never practiced bicycling in France.” He had never done a bike trip like this one before, had certainly never trained for the Tour de France; he just packed his bags one day and started peddling.

We spoke in English, though we stumbled. He said he never minded the challenges he encountered because of language; yes, if his English was better he could “get his way” more easily, but, he said, that would also mean that he would get his way and then, be on his way. Struggling through the conversation also meant spending more time interacting with people. He grinned again and said it usually meant more time laughing with people. I told him I thought what he was doing was amazing. “Amazing?” “Amazing, like, so wonderful.” “Amazing…” he turned the new vocabulary over in his mind.

“I wish I could do what you’re doing,” I said. “It’s a choice,” he countered. “Anyone can. You can. It’s a choice.”

Check out Daniel’s blog; if you need help understanding French, try using a website translator.