The other Africa

Richards Bay, 7/2/2018

Dad’s big 100^th birthday celebrations in NZ went off swimmingly. Quite literally in fact, as those of us able (or willing), joined him in the water for his daily swim. Very special!



Dinner at a local restaurant with about 30 close friends and family proceeded smoothly enough.  A few short speeches and Power point nostalgia were topped off by a catchy tune to “Dear Grandad Jack” written and performed by Misha and Sarah.

https://vimeo.com/253065673

Thanks to all who made this occasion so special.

Moving on.....

After about 40 hours of flying backwards in time, I reboarded the patiently-waiting good ship Shanti in Richards Bay, South Africa. The whole trip took a lot out of me. Despite being wonderful, it still required major organising and dancing to different tunes than what I’m used to sailing solo. I still don’t feel as if my head’s quite on right. Somehow this interlude was a kind of demarcation, a time to reflect on what’s been and what’s ahead. Perhaps it’s a corollary of looking aging in the face.

Friday was a typical Sth African summer’s day, high humidity and temperatures topping 40. The Boardwalk mall seemed a good place to take shelter for a few hours and restock the empty fridge. From the street, the mall is a vast, grey, slab-sided monolith that appears to be set in several acres of wasteland and car parks. Inside, it is the same brightly lit, air conditioned spaciousness as found in any modern shopping centre. All the mega department stores, supermarkets, restaurants, book stores, toy shops, boutique fashion parlours, electronics stores, arcade gaming dens, all blaringly loud and glaringly seductive.

I needed a post office to return the door keys which I had inadvertently brought back with me from Melbourne.  Surely any self respecting modern shopping mall has a post office.  Surely not.

I was directed outside of the confines of coolness and took one of the corridor exits, stepping into what seemed like Dante’s Inferno. Crossing a narrow street it was as if I went back in time, entering what must have been the old shopping centre before it was plasticised. Suddenly I was shoulder to shoulder with hordes of dark skinned people swarming like flies in all directions. Those that were stationary were standing in long queues at the ubiquitous ATMs. Friday must be pay day.

When I finally found the well hidden PO I could scarcely believe my eyes: a queue as long as an international flight’s, with the same crowd-controlling belt barriers, winding back and forth, several layers deep. Surely this couldn’t simply be a post office?  A man was directing traffic, sending next in line to form shorter lines in front of each counter. There were about ten narrow counters, each positioned behind an old fashioned, timber-framed sash window. I half expected those serving to be wearing a green plastic visor and stretchy arm bands on long sleeved shirts.

And it was HOT.  No air conditioning in this antiquated building. Sweat dripped from every brow. I had no idea what they were all there for.  There was no sign of any mail being handled. In fact there was no sign of any prepaid post bags and I was starting to get worried that such things didn’t exist here.  But fortunately, half an hour’s melting later, my turn came and the large woman serving me disappeared out the back for no more than another ten minutes to locate such an uncommon request. Shoni, you should get your keys in another week or month....

On my way back to coolness I passed yet another thick queue, the longest and saddest yet, lining up before what was little more than a hole in the wall, with a handwritten sign for some government subsidised medications for long term communicable diseases.  This is the side of Africa I hadn’t yet encountered.

Yesterday I hauled out at Zululand YC on the club dolly to replace a broken seacock and through-hull skin fitting.  The hull was water blasted as well so is now barnacle free and looking tidy.  At $AU120 in and out, it’s got to be the cheapest place to lift out of the water in the world – naturally, it feels a little precarious, kind of like careening on wheels.

They do have a more expensive travel-lift which also uses the same concrete launching ramp at high tide. I had to wait for a deeper keeled yacht to be launched before me.  It was interesting to watch the yard boys jump overboard once they’d finished untying ropes.  Again, not something you’d see in Oz.

So now I’m almost ready to continue coastal hopping south.  The new stays which were sent up from Cape Town yesterday should be here tomorrow, that is, if the local version of “island time” doesn’t prevail. Clearing out takes a full day, so with any luck, I may be doing an overnighter the 90 miles to Durban by this Friday. Be good to go sailing again.