One of the many South African cruisers we met in Madagascar gave us a lesson in the South African way of life. He told me not to smile at black people. "If you smile and look friendly, the blacks will know that you're a tourist and you'll be an easy target for them" -he said. We also heard about people driving with their windows up and doors locked at all times. Pretty fucking scary. When we tied up Aliisa at the small craft harbour in Richards Bay, I went for a walk, looking for a soft drink and burger while waiting for the officials. I tried to look mean whenever a black guy was walking past. I was pre-pared, pre-conditioned, pre-judiced.
Fortunately I soon realised that the warnings were not necessary. I could not hold a straight face for long and soon started to smile and say hello to people. The blacks would almost always respond with a bright smile and sometimes with a groovy three-stage hand-shake. The whites often responded with a grunt, looking at me suspiciously under their brow.
South Africa is suffering from paranoia. (noun, a mental condition characterized by delusions of persecution, unwarranted jealousy, or exaggerated self-importance, typically worked into an organized system. Oxford English Dictionary). The blacks don't really trust the whites and the whites don't really trust the blacks. The Afrikaans (Dutch descent) seem to have an underlying bitterness in them. But I don't want to judge that either. A lot of people have seen a lot of suffering and violence in South Africa. A lot of people of all colours, religions and backgrounds.
I do my best to be colour-blind but it's hard to write about South Africa without using the words "black" and "white". Any of the people in the story that follows could be of any skin-colour. Take your pick. It makes no fucking difference!
At a local picnic spot it was easy to get into the groove. People everywhere in S.Africa were generally friendly.
RICHARD'S BAY
The small-town harbour of Richard's Bay is the largest coal-exporting port in the world. After each South Westerly gale, the marina is full of low-paid workers scrubbing off the coal dust from the decks of wealthy yacht owners. Sailing and owning a boat is still very much an elite sport. I suppose it's a bit elite in most of the world though many of the cruisers that I know are everything but "elite". That includes myself. It's all relative.
We arrive from a four day sail from Inhambane, Mozambique. We have hand steered most of the way from Madagascar and are quite exhausted when we park the boat at the small craft harbour. It's 10am, the officials are supposed to arrive soon. I walk to the shops and buy a local newspaper, bread, juice, burgers and chips and a box of red wine. We wait and relax. Immigration finally arrives at 5.30pm and plays with Charlie while I fill in one form.
Harbour police and customs had already visited earlier. "Do you have any funny stuff onboard", the police asks. "Just that one there", I reply, pointing at Charlie. Charlie is rubbing herself against his boots. I offer to open lockers for him to inspect but he's not bothered and leaves. All the officials - after they finally got their lazy asses onboard - were friendly and laid back. Nobody asked for clearance from Madagascar. We later learned that some other yachts did get searched quite thoroughly. Who knows how they take their pick.
We move to Zululand Yacht Club, a couple of miles back and up a little creek. I take a shortcut and we almost hit the sandbank. My depth sounder is showing 1.3m and the passing speedboats are giving us a smiley wave. Great. Our third marina on this voyage. We have power and water and access to showers and laundry. Life's sweet.
Enough of dolphins. A whale came past and waved hello to us.
The Promised Land of Security Guards
The population of South Africa can be roughly divided into two halves. One half is living behind barb wire fences. The other half is working in security, guarding the first half. Security is seemingly high everywhere. Seemingly. The crims in South Africa don't seem to be very intelligent and as long as there is a gate, a fence and a security guard, all is ok. Most of the fences are easy to climb over, at the yacht club one only needs to walk through the on-site chandlery to avoid the security guard.
At the Zululand Yacht Club we get more warnings. Don't go to the "black part of the shopping centre". What fucking black part? I thought apartheid is long gone. The old, more run down area has cheaper shops and it is crowded by those who are smart enough to pay less for their groceries. Mostly working class people. The newer part, shiny and grand, is filled with the "better people", its parking area full of nice new cars and its european style cafe's filled with people who either are successful or would like to think that they are.
Why the "other side" was supposed to be dangerous, I don't know. Every time I went there, I was surrounded by families, women, children, ordinary people doing their shopping. The only explanation was paranoia. The national disease of South Africa.
BORED
After a few weeks of rest, Richards Bay starts to seem a bit too boring. From a long list of things to do, I picked the most important ones; Change oil. I think that was it. The toilet has been leaking for a while and I pulled it apart trying to find the fault. The service kit price was a bit rude so I put the toilet back together and let it leak. The shit goes to the right address, no big deal. We hire a car for one day, together with Yacht Namaste family and check out the local game park, Umfolozi. Giraffes, Zebras, Monkeys, Gazelles, Rhinos, Hippos, Crocs etc, almost everything but the Big Cats and Elephants.
A stripey creature at Umfolozi Game Park. Despite the name of the park, the animals are not game for hunters. Some visitors are game enough to step out of the car.
Sailing Holiday in South Africa?
A good friend of mine, Kongo is flying in to see us. He does voluntary work as a biologist in Madagascar and has been looking forward to have a sail on Aliisa for a while. Madagascar as a meeting place didn't work out so we try South Africa. Kongo's idea of the famous Garden Route, wine tasting and beautiful anchorages between daysails never comes true. In fact, there is no such thing for the sailor in South Africa. When the wind is right, you get the hell out and go as far as you can. When the weather is not right, you just sit tight and wait. (Really, I don't see any point in owning a yacht in South Africa unless you are planning to use it to get the hell out of there and never come back.)
As we were sitting tight in Richards Bay, the last remaining chance for Kongo's holiday sail is from there to Durban, 85 miles. But the weather is continuing to be shit and wind from SW, against the current and against.. well against! Finally we get a 48 hour weather window but the bastard Port Captain is not in his office and the boys in the harbour tower - otherwise friendly - refuse to let us go. The job creation in South Africa has resulted in too much bureaucracy and too many rubber stamps. With a threat of the water police towing us back in, we are held captives of Richard's Bay. The weather turns shit again and Kongo's holiday is ending. Two weeks cramped in a small yacht, sleeping on a narrow saloon bunk. Sorry.
Mid December, after 6 weeks in Richards Bay, we motor to Durban, burning 50 litres of diesel on a windless Mozambique Channel.
