Back From South Africa

So, I'm back in the office, having returned from a lovely time in South Africa. I'm told it's unusual to have a relaxing holiday there, but that's precisely what mine was... Good food, all the plans made by other people, beautiful surroundings, and no pressure to do anything at all. Sometimes you want the new-town-every-night, ultra-tourist expedition... And sometimes you just want to swim lazily in the river, drink too much wine, and spend hours cooking dinner.

South Africa is an interesting contrast to Botswana. Actually, South Africa is an interesting contrast to everywhere. It's unique. “If you could figure out the South African psyche,” a friend said wryly, as we sat on the porch looking out at the gorgeous cape mountains, “if you could untangle these fucked-up South African problems, you could figure out the rest of the world. Easy.” There's a part of me that's inclined to agree. I don't mean that in a wholly negative sense – South Africa was fascinating, and there's no arguing with the level of development it's achieved compared to the rest of Africa; there's no arguing with the election of Nelson Mandela; there's no arguing with the wine! But it's a tense, violent, deeply divided country. Another person I met, a documentary film-maker who just released a highly acclaimed film about an important South African humanitarian, said of visiting Botswana that it was, “Amazing. Familiar. So familiar, but without all of that underlying tension, the hatred. It was like South Africa if apartheid had never happened. Peaceful.”

Something people often say when you ask them about crime in Botswana is, “Oh, yes, there is crime. But it's not, like, you know – South African crime.” Meaning car hijacks, armed robbery, knifing, rape... Violence. Of course, I didn't see any of that. I stayed in a beautiful seaside mansion, went to beaches that reminded me of Southern California, enjoyed the luxuries of such things as malls, restaurants, and movie theaters, went wine-tasting... Etcetera. And that bleaker side of South Africa was completely hidden from view. The majority of the country was hidden from view, actually – visible only as ragged strips of slums along the highway, the kind of rough shacks that look healthy and friendly here in D'Kar, each on their own little dirt plot, attended by a few goats or chickens. Strung along the side of the highway in South Africa, though, crowded together so that the corrugated roofs touch each other and the thin sidings lean up against the thick wall separating that world from the world of smooth asphalt, fancy cars, airports – there, it looks worrying. Dangerous. It brings to mind the frequent riots, when people from those very slums would surge out of the walls and bracelet the highways with burning tyres, protesting against the sleek Mercedes and BMWs, the Jaguars and Porsches, as they gunned their way towards the airport. Peek through the cracks of picture-perfect white South Africa, and it seems like perhaps things are balancing on the edge of control.

That's a paranoid thought, perhaps. But at the moment, with the spectre of Zimbabwe, of Mugabe, hovering over all of Southern Africa – all of Africa, all of the world, I suppose – South Africans are hyper-conscious of how quickly their country could crumble away. I don't think it will. But there's something slightly disturbing about that thin veneer of the white kingdom that hovers over the country, a bubble it's so easy to stay in, to see your own face mirrored in the walls and ignore everything outside of it.

We stayed in a beautiful house in Hermanus, owned by a wealthy South African family – the father, a staunch patriarch, farmer, wine enthusiast, had turned out three sons exactly in his image, and then one daughter that broke the mold. Not only did she choose to become an artist, but – horror of horrors – she married a black man. They've been together over 10 years and have two lovely children, but her father is still not comfortable with their relationship, a fact that was hilariously evident during the holiday. Luckily they weren't forced to be near each other the whole time – the daughter had commandeered the house for herself and her friends, including the family I arrived with, and everyone was working in the arts in some way or another. Her parents only popped in a couple of times, for Christmas and for a leisurely boat trip on the river.

I spent hours and hours having conversations about Africa during the holiday, and I hope to organize some of those thoughts and write them down here over the next month or so. For now, however, I'm back in the office, embracing the unofficial extended holiday that is January. Hope you're doing well, and the updates should be flowing regularly again!