Civilisation

I like being in a country that works. When I say that, I don’t mean to condescend the other countries I have been to. They all work too – in a fashion.  Things just take a bit longer, they aren’t as high quality, and normally end up costing about fifty per cent more than you thought. But then that was Africa. This is not.

Obviously the main difference between South Africa and the likes of Mozambique, Malawi and Tanzania is the number of English speakers and, to be more blunt about it, white people. Now I have seen enough of the ingenuity, practicality and pragmatism of the Bantu people (black Africans) to know that they are by no means unintelligent or uneducated, and so I am slightly puzzled by why South Africa is so much richer, more developed and civilised then the rest of Africa. 

But maybe it isn’t any of those things – maybe it just seems like this to me because South Africa seems more like Western Europe, and so I associate it with modernisation and development. Maybe the other nations are at a similar level of social evolution, they have just taken a different path. And maybe the white population of South Africa, through holding the vast majority of the wealth, is holding South Africa back, making it try and become the England of Africa (Namibia is Wales, Botswana is Scotland and Zambia/Zimbabwe are Northern Ireland and Ireland, in case you were wondering. Oh and Lesotho is the Isle of Man and Swaziland is Jersey). Africa should perhaps find its own path, away from a Western-imposed (the likes of Anglo American and BAT run things here) model of development.

That said, I like going into a shop and knowing how much something is going to cost. I like having electricity twenty-four hours a day, and hot water too. I like a fourteen seater bus being for fourteen people (even if it is being driven by a drunk Aretha Franklin fan), and I like not having to pay through the nose for a visa.

More importantly, I like the countryside. The palm-fringed beaches of Mozambique are far behind. Mpumalunga (seriously, that’s what it’s called) in the north of the country is filled with rolling hills, dense vegetation and stunning streams, rivers and waterfalls. This travelling lark works on recommendation, and I was recommended mountain biking in the Blyde River Canyon, up to somewhere called ‘God’s Window’, which gave me the chance to experience this first hand.

‘God’s Window’ – that’s a bit of a pretentious name isn’t it? I thought that myself, until I saw it. There are actually two God’s Windows – the less good one close to the road with all the tourists (including the local kids on a school trip who feel the need to stand at one of the world’s most outstanding areas of natural beauty and blast out a Pitbull-Soldier Boy remix from their cellphones), and then the one that you have to cycle for two hours up an old logging track to get to. I did both. Guess which was better?

The first one is just a viewpoint, overlooking about fifty kilometres of wonderful countryside. A slight haze hangs over the valley most days, but it just adds to the splendour of the sight.

However, the second one – the ‘real’ God’s Window to the locals – is actually a large, upright flat rock with a square hole in. Like an actual window. Look through it and the view is even better. Perhaps because it is higher, perhaps because it is framed by this natural feature. Perhaps because you have had to sweat like a pig in order to get there, and when you do there is no one else in sight.

I think I spent about an hour there, just listening to a few tunes on the old iPod (which is working well, in case you were concerned) – Sigur Ros if I remember rightly, eating a tuna pasta salad I had concocted the night before (no, I haven’t lost my culinary skills yet), and generally enjoying being alone. I hope God wasn’t trying to look through it at that point, because he would have had to peer over my shoulder.

Anyway after that I went kloofing, which the Afrikaans version of canyoning. Which means that it is generally more aggressive (like all the Afrkiaaners) and that you don’t get a choice as to whether you are jumping into the waterfall – because otherwise their big dogs just chase you in. Still, once in the waterfall, it’s nice to be there. The Afrikaaners also enjoy taking pictures of you whilst looking ridiculous, and then commenting on the picture in Afrikaans which they know you can’t understand. Still, a nice day out.

And now I am in Swaziland, waiting for the Umhlanga, the Reed Dance Festival. It is where 60,000+ virgins in the kingdom come together to dance with reeds on in front of the King, and then he chooses one of them (the youngest are twelve years old) to join his harem. Sounds quite spectacular – we shall have to wait and see.

In the mean time, I am in the nicest hostel in the world. No jokes, this place is stunning. And it only costs £9 a night. Check out the view from my window - not bad, not bad at all.