Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Back in Small Town South Africa
May 7, 2006, Witrivier, South Africa
During the past couple of weeks we have covered a lot of ground and been reunited with a couple of friends. After leaving Jeffrey's Bay, we continued east along the coast through an area known as "The Wild Coast". The drive was beautiful: mountains to the north, the Indian Ocean to the south, and charming beach towns all along the way. Of course, though, the tranquility of the drive could not be completely enjoyed since I was waiting for the car to fall apart.
At one point, we entered an area called the Trankskei. This area was actually an independent state until the early 90's. It consists of various villages set in the hills, mountains, and valleys. Cows, goats, and sheep litter the streets. Small farms that provide food for the families that live there are scattered throughout the hillsides. As we drove through this area, we got a real feeling that we were back in "Africa". Much of South Africa has a feel of suburban, urban, or small town America, however the Transkei was much different.
We were eager to spend a couple of days in this area, but as we were driving, we blew two tires within a couple of hours. Blowing tires is actually one of the most minor problems we have with the car. Changing a tire is a ten minute process, the only struggle is provided by our archaic jacks. However, blowing two tires became a big deal because we were forced to use our last two spare tires. The area that we were in was very rural and the chances of finding any tires, especially the correct size for our car, were going to be slim.
Our only choice was to turn around and continue up the coast, hoping to find a larger town that would have spare tires. Before leaving the Transkei, we stopped in a small shop/restaurant to get lunch. There was no menu. We could not understand a word of what the girl behind the counter said when we asked what the food of the day was, but we ordered three. The staff spoke very basic English, causing us to use sign language to communicate our needs. When we asked for a bathroom to wash our hands, which were covered in dirt and grease from changing the tires, we were given a basin of water which immediately turned brown from our filth. It was great being back in Africa! As quickly as we entered this alternative world, though, we continued down the road and re-entered "America".
Within a few days we arrived in Greytown, a destination that we have been eager to see for the past couple of weeks. We first heard about Greytown when Sean and I were driving from Johannesburg to Cape Town. In a previous blog, I explained how we stopped in a town called Colesburg and met two men from Greytown who invited us to stay with them when we were in that area (this was the night when Sean and I didn’t have money to stay anywhere and initiated our new occasional practice of sleeping in the car).
Our purpose in going to Greytown was to see how HIV/AIDS was affecting rural South Africa, where some estimates list the rate of infection at 70%. We stayed with one of the men who we met, named Les, and his family. We arrived on a four day weekend, and could not meet with the HIV/AIDS organization until Tuesday. Over the weekend, Les and his family showed great hospitality, the same wonderful hospitality we've received all throughout South Africa.
On Tuesday we met with the head of an organization in Greytown that is involved with home based care (Sean will soon be posting an article) and she offered to let us tag along on Wednesday, as she visited various homes. The primary objective of the organization is to provide basic necessities for people who are terminally ill and hopefully help them to regain a satisfactory level of health. In addition, they aid the people in obtaining documents such as birth certificates and national identity cards that will allow them to benefit from government programs.
On Wednesday morning we set off through the mountains with a pick-up truck full of food, blankets, and clothing. After about 45 minutes of driving on winding paved roads, we pulled onto a rocky dirt road and then stopped at a collection of four small cement, mud, and rock houses. The care providers working for the organization gathered the goods from the back of the truck and approached a round cement house with a thatched roof. A couple of minutes later, one of the care givers emerged from the house and asked us to come in. As I entered the dark room, I first noticed the small, coal burning fire on the ground that caused a smoky smell to fill the house. As I looked past the stove, my eyes met the reason for our visit. She was wrapped in blankets on the cement floor. I could not determine her age, but she looked young. One of the workers told us that she was 19 years old.
We were told that this young woman had lived in Johannesburg, but like many others, when she got sick, she came back to her family. According to the care giver, the girl is not eligible for the free anti-retroviral drugs that are offered by the government because she does not have a national identity card. In order to get one, she would have to walk down the mountain, sit by the side of the road waiting for a taxi that might not come that day and that would cost money that her family did not have, and then sit in a government office filling out papers. She would then have to wait up to six months to get the identity card. This all from a girl that could hardly walk and might die at anytime.
We continued on to other families, hearing their various stories. At another house that we visited we met a man and his sister. His sister had been raped a couple of months earlier and was not yet sure of her HIV status. We were told that the woman, despite being in her thirties, has the mental age of a three year old. The man who raped her was caught and the trial is set for the middle of this month. As if the initial rape was not horrific enough, the family of the victim is now being harassed by members of the rapist's family. Apparently they feel that as a man, it was his right to have sex with the woman and she had no right reporting it. As we drove back to Greytown, I sat silently, trying not to generalize about "African" culture, and I wondered how people could be so ignorant.
The next day, we left Greytown and headed into Swaziland, the 18th country for the African AIDS Awareness Campaign. Swaziland has the highest national HIV/AIDS infection rate, over 40%. We planned to stay in Swaziland for a few days and meet with a couple of organizations. Within two hours of entering Swaziland, we entered the town of Manzini, looking for the backpackers lodges listed in our guide books. Unfortunately, neither of the books gave directions or addresses for the backpackers, so we decided to drive around and ask for directions. As we drove through the downtown area, receiving contradictory directions from people that were not even familiar with the word "backpacker", we were stopped by the police. The officer who stopped us, informed us that our car was not roadworthy and that we would have to pay a fine. We explained how far the car had come and that the officials at the border approved of the car, but he would not budge. He asked Sean to go with him into the police station. Twenty minutes and ten American dollars later, we were back on our quest to find the backpackers.
Night quickly fell and there was still no sign of the backpackers' lodge. We drove in and out of the town at least five times, following three different sets of directions. When we finally did find the backpackers we were exhausted and hungry. We booked in and then got directions to a supermarket. We arrived just as it was closing, quickly got some food and then sat on a bench outside of the supermarket and discussed our plans for the next few days. After eating, Nate went to the ATM machine to draw cash, because we barely had enough to pay for our accommodation for one night, nevermind putting gas in the car and staying for a few days. Nate returned and informed us that neither of the two cash machines was accepting his card; they represented the two most prevalent banks in the area and had never before constituted a problem. This, combined with the warm welcome of the police, convinced us that Swaziland did not want us there. The only other cash available to us was sixty American dollars that I had, which would pay for our night's accommodation and our departing tank of gas. If need be, we will return to Swaziland with a certificate of roadworthiness and a full pocketbook.
We spent the night at the backpackers and in the morning I changed money to pay for our bill and fill the car. We left Swaziland twenty-two hours after arriving and headed to my friend Eugene's farm in Witrivier, South Africa. We arrived at his farm two days ago with fifty cents in South African rand, the equivalent of eight American cents. Thankfully Sean and I have been reunited with our ATM and credit cards that were sent to Eugene from the States. During the next business week, a series of meetings will determine the future of our campaign. I'll keep you posted.
May 7, 2006, Witrivier, South Africa
During the past couple of weeks we have covered a lot of ground and been reunited with a couple of friends. After leaving Jeffrey's Bay, we continued east along the coast through an area known as "The Wild Coast". The drive was beautiful: mountains to the north, the Indian Ocean to the south, and charming beach towns all along the way. Of course, though, the tranquility of the drive could not be completely enjoyed since I was waiting for the car to fall apart.
At one point, we entered an area called the Trankskei. This area was actually an independent state until the early 90's. It consists of various villages set in the hills, mountains, and valleys. Cows, goats, and sheep litter the streets. Small farms that provide food for the families that live there are scattered throughout the hillsides. As we drove through this area, we got a real feeling that we were back in "Africa". Much of South Africa has a feel of suburban, urban, or small town America, however the Transkei was much different.
We were eager to spend a couple of days in this area, but as we were driving, we blew two tires within a couple of hours. Blowing tires is actually one of the most minor problems we have with the car. Changing a tire is a ten minute process, the only struggle is provided by our archaic jacks. However, blowing two tires became a big deal because we were forced to use our last two spare tires. The area that we were in was very rural and the chances of finding any tires, especially the correct size for our car, were going to be slim.
Our only choice was to turn around and continue up the coast, hoping to find a larger town that would have spare tires. Before leaving the Transkei, we stopped in a small shop/restaurant to get lunch. There was no menu. We could not understand a word of what the girl behind the counter said when we asked what the food of the day was, but we ordered three. The staff spoke very basic English, causing us to use sign language to communicate our needs. When we asked for a bathroom to wash our hands, which were covered in dirt and grease from changing the tires, we were given a basin of water which immediately turned brown from our filth. It was great being back in Africa! As quickly as we entered this alternative world, though, we continued down the road and re-entered "America".
Within a few days we arrived in Greytown, a destination that we have been eager to see for the past couple of weeks. We first heard about Greytown when Sean and I were driving from Johannesburg to Cape Town. In a previous blog, I explained how we stopped in a town called Colesburg and met two men from Greytown who invited us to stay with them when we were in that area (this was the night when Sean and I didn’t have money to stay anywhere and initiated our new occasional practice of sleeping in the car).
Our purpose in going to Greytown was to see how HIV/AIDS was affecting rural South Africa, where some estimates list the rate of infection at 70%. We stayed with one of the men who we met, named Les, and his family. We arrived on a four day weekend, and could not meet with the HIV/AIDS organization until Tuesday. Over the weekend, Les and his family showed great hospitality, the same wonderful hospitality we've received all throughout South Africa.
On Tuesday we met with the head of an organization in Greytown that is involved with home based care (Sean will soon be posting an article) and she offered to let us tag along on Wednesday, as she visited various homes. The primary objective of the organization is to provide basic necessities for people who are terminally ill and hopefully help them to regain a satisfactory level of health. In addition, they aid the people in obtaining documents such as birth certificates and national identity cards that will allow them to benefit from government programs.
On Wednesday morning we set off through the mountains with a pick-up truck full of food, blankets, and clothing. After about 45 minutes of driving on winding paved roads, we pulled onto a rocky dirt road and then stopped at a collection of four small cement, mud, and rock houses. The care providers working for the organization gathered the goods from the back of the truck and approached a round cement house with a thatched roof. A couple of minutes later, one of the care givers emerged from the house and asked us to come in. As I entered the dark room, I first noticed the small, coal burning fire on the ground that caused a smoky smell to fill the house. As I looked past the stove, my eyes met the reason for our visit. She was wrapped in blankets on the cement floor. I could not determine her age, but she looked young. One of the workers told us that she was 19 years old.
We were told that this young woman had lived in Johannesburg, but like many others, when she got sick, she came back to her family. According to the care giver, the girl is not eligible for the free anti-retroviral drugs that are offered by the government because she does not have a national identity card. In order to get one, she would have to walk down the mountain, sit by the side of the road waiting for a taxi that might not come that day and that would cost money that her family did not have, and then sit in a government office filling out papers. She would then have to wait up to six months to get the identity card. This all from a girl that could hardly walk and might die at anytime.
We continued on to other families, hearing their various stories. At another house that we visited we met a man and his sister. His sister had been raped a couple of months earlier and was not yet sure of her HIV status. We were told that the woman, despite being in her thirties, has the mental age of a three year old. The man who raped her was caught and the trial is set for the middle of this month. As if the initial rape was not horrific enough, the family of the victim is now being harassed by members of the rapist's family. Apparently they feel that as a man, it was his right to have sex with the woman and she had no right reporting it. As we drove back to Greytown, I sat silently, trying not to generalize about "African" culture, and I wondered how people could be so ignorant.
The next day, we left Greytown and headed into Swaziland, the 18th country for the African AIDS Awareness Campaign. Swaziland has the highest national HIV/AIDS infection rate, over 40%. We planned to stay in Swaziland for a few days and meet with a couple of organizations. Within two hours of entering Swaziland, we entered the town of Manzini, looking for the backpackers lodges listed in our guide books. Unfortunately, neither of the books gave directions or addresses for the backpackers, so we decided to drive around and ask for directions. As we drove through the downtown area, receiving contradictory directions from people that were not even familiar with the word "backpacker", we were stopped by the police. The officer who stopped us, informed us that our car was not roadworthy and that we would have to pay a fine. We explained how far the car had come and that the officials at the border approved of the car, but he would not budge. He asked Sean to go with him into the police station. Twenty minutes and ten American dollars later, we were back on our quest to find the backpackers.
Night quickly fell and there was still no sign of the backpackers' lodge. We drove in and out of the town at least five times, following three different sets of directions. When we finally did find the backpackers we were exhausted and hungry. We booked in and then got directions to a supermarket. We arrived just as it was closing, quickly got some food and then sat on a bench outside of the supermarket and discussed our plans for the next few days. After eating, Nate went to the ATM machine to draw cash, because we barely had enough to pay for our accommodation for one night, nevermind putting gas in the car and staying for a few days. Nate returned and informed us that neither of the two cash machines was accepting his card; they represented the two most prevalent banks in the area and had never before constituted a problem. This, combined with the warm welcome of the police, convinced us that Swaziland did not want us there. The only other cash available to us was sixty American dollars that I had, which would pay for our night's accommodation and our departing tank of gas. If need be, we will return to Swaziland with a certificate of roadworthiness and a full pocketbook.
We spent the night at the backpackers and in the morning I changed money to pay for our bill and fill the car. We left Swaziland twenty-two hours after arriving and headed to my friend Eugene's farm in Witrivier, South Africa. We arrived at his farm two days ago with fifty cents in South African rand, the equivalent of eight American cents. Thankfully Sean and I have been reunited with our ATM and credit cards that were sent to Eugene from the States. During the next business week, a series of meetings will determine the future of our campaign. I'll keep you posted.
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