Beyond a scribble on a map, I wish to round off these writings from Southern Africa with a look back to my first entry (http://walter82.blogspot.com/2008/09/long-haul-to-southern-africa.html). In this I alluded to a lengthy conversation with a South African I met on my first night. He painted an apocalyptic picture of South Africa's future. Crime, corruption and disease combining to bring the country to its knees. Flight of people and capital. Implosion.At the time my reaction was as follows:
"I really did not know what to make of all of this. So for now I make no comment. I have 6 weeks ahead of me to explore, debate and learn. I hope I find his predictions way off the mark."
Throughout this trip these predictions have rumbled around and about my brain. As I spiralled around from Zambia, into Malawi, down Mozambique and eventually into South Africa itself I raised this subject with many I met and added context with readings about the region.
It is painful to admit that the majority opinion rested not far from that found on the first night. Rife corruption choking up systems of business and politics. Despite solid economic growth, crippling economic problems. An unemployment rate somewhere between 20 and 40% (depending on the method of calculation). Massive problems of inequality only partially tempered by the rise of an affluent black middle-class. Large sectors of the population feel let down. Their expectations have not been met and frustration is simmering. A crime profile as frightening as any place on earth. It seemed everyone I met knew a friend, family member or colleague who had been a victim of violent crime.
Then comes AIDS. In comparative success stories like Mozambique, this devastation is wreaking havoc, wiping out the most productive parts of the population. On the brink of meaningful, long-lasting development, countries are cruelly pulled back. In South Africa, a country on a different stratosphere of development to its neighbours, this scourge threatens to push it economically and politically over the edge. The unfathomable incompetence of Mbeki in this regard has only confounded the problem. Despite the best efforts of many, in a country with such a difficult past and of such social and monied extremes, the balance is delicate.
Unfortunately, it seems plausible that the combination of complicating factors could destroy this balance and tip the country backwards, fast. To what ends how can one predict, but the ruins of Zimbabwe are bone-chillingly near.
So what for hope. South Africa has come along way from its divisive past. For many it is a miracle that it has come this far. It is the economic power-house of Africa, the doorway to the region. This is not merely a statistical fact. On crossing from surrounding countries, the level of infrastructure and modernity shifts seismically. It has a head start.
Alongside the millions who have little, there are many who have much. The sight of just how much and the stern character of many who have it suggest numbers will stay, however circumstances develop (in reality, many could not leave even if they had the desire). South Africa needs the skills and knowledge of these people for all to develop, but if the politics turn sour and the country further divides on racial lines, havoc is on the horizon. If neither side budge, South Africa walks the line of conflict.
In this regard Mandela has been a shinging light. I am in awe of his lack of spite and sheer bravery. The message of reconciliation from someone of such stature and who had sacrificed so much was and is glue that helped South Africa come this far. Alas he has long relinquished the reigns and can not live for ever. If his ideals die with him hope fades.
I freely admit I have had but a thin introduction to this complex arena and am not in a position to give a valued opinion. But, none the less, my opinion this is.
I choose to add nothing further to my farewell thoughts on this wonderful city (
An end to a great journey shared with great friends - memories that last a life time.
From having these distinctly unintelligent birds (each of their eyes is apparently bigger than their brains) feeding out our hands with marked ferocity, to standing on eggs, looking at pickled bird bits and of course ostrich racing. The latter of these was the main draw. Comedy genius - jumping on the back of one of the birds and chaotically riding (or more accurately being ridden) around until you’re chucked head over heels in one of an array of directions that invariably leads to a rude embrace of hard earth. Hysterics all round and the birds barely seemed to notice.
To cap off an action-packed day we took advantage of our sterling at one of the best ostrich restaurants in the world – Jemima’s (
You may have seen the long running BBC nature programme, Meekat Manner. This is based around a joint UK/SA research project in the Kalahari into the habits of the meerkat. One of the founders of this enterprise was the meerkat man himself Mr Grant M.Mc Ilrath. A while back he broke away and set up a new project based around his controversial research techniques. The result is Meekat Magic. 
In case you have never seen one of these creatures, they are small carnivores about a foot high, closely related to the mongoose and somewhat resembling prairie dogs. Living in groups, they are famous for their communal behaviour, one always standing high on his hind-legs scouring the sky and terrain for danger while the rest forage.
Find them he did and over a slow process (I believe it took 2 years or so), starting with watching them from hide’s half a mile away, he managed to get closer and closer until he was standing right next to a group of creatures which no-one round here had seen, let alone managed to approach. To them he was just part of the scenery. An animal posing no threat and since we were with him we must be fine. If ever they became concerned, with a series of hand-gestures or clicks he laid them at ease. Not communicating so much, as making the sort of noises and movements they had learned to associate with him. Ah…that’s him….he does all those strange things and is harmless.
With the meerkat comfortable with us, it follows that the other animals were relaxed with our presence. I mean if those uber careful little meerkats don’t mind those odd bipedal things then they must be fine. To my amazement I saw this theory working with my own eyes as a springbok, which on any other occasion would have fled from our presence before we had even noticed it, grazed in our vicinity with seeming indifference. An experience that left me dumb-founded in my sleep-depraved twilight daze.
On leaving the rumoured to be inbred Oudtshoorn, the road stretched to the horizon across the wide arid plain. Leaning back in our seats we ate up the road as the music played loud on repeat. Past ostriches and many a live tortoise (and a dead one after an incident involving our bumper, a shell and a driver who shall remain nameless). 
An isolated shack in the distance with large red letting on its side. “RONNIE’S SEX SHOP” came into focus. Just two nights before a local lass had told me about this place. In the middle of nowhere a far from overrun bar owner had painted this sign on his large white-washed wall nearest the road. It acted as a beacon for weary passers by with even the slightest sense of humour (or sexual curiosity). He lay the place open to those who came. They drank, maid merry and left a little part of themselves behind. From the scribbles over every wall, to bank-notes, hats, cards, the occasional bit of porn and, most commonly, bras and pants that now hanged from the rafters.
A compelling combination of unintrusive welcome. The owner an appropriately laid back bearded man who, depending on the customer, was happy to chat or stare contently into the distance. A moment in time etched on my memory. Perched on a bar stool with beer hand, searching the ever-dangling memorabilia as Bassett produced contemplative melodies from the old piano, the likes of which I did not know he had it in him. Beautiful......but as ever time was running.
Through crumbling hills and out into wine country. Taking wrong directions in pretty little towns and escaping through the vineyards. Except for a comedy incident with a leak this proved to be an uneventfully enjoyable journey 
On arriving in Cape Town I soon discovered an obstacle to this ambition, namely how bloody huge this country is. A short distance on the map turned out to be over a thousand kms round trip. There was only one thing for it…….a road trip!
Taking shifts between Dingo, Rupert and myself (other Dave lazed back in the surprising comfort of the bubble car) we made our way out of the big city, up into the mountains and across the cape. Stunning views looking back over the city and before us into the rugged valleys. As we passed from Anglo region to Afrikaans – indicated by an increase in comedy signs – our procrastination became clear. We were running late and there was only one thing for it. Foot down and away...
We hammered away to the coast across sweeping tilled lands. There we found one picturesque town after another, racing our way between them through lush forest and wetland. Up and down the green valleys of the Garden Route (N2). A unique narrow strip of land which resembles much of northern Europe. Mountains to its back hoard the rain from the hinterland and create a climate and scenery quite unlike anywhere else in this part of the world.
The clouds set in as we pressed on through rain and mist. There were little fishing villages and nature trails. In the bigger towns, shopping mauls infested by pick-ups. And you know what, as we past through these towns we barely saw a black African. Sadly, economic division holds strong. 
The final stretch. Booming along at 100mph along skiddy windy roads, we were nearly there. Despite a detour down a collapsing road we had made it the bridge for 5pm. As we approached realisation hit that we were actually going to do this. I could feel my stomach turn at the thought of throwing myself off the bridge and down.....down some 700ft, waiting for that cord to bite...we egged each other on.
That moment when you perch on the edge. Your brain can not compute what is about to happen. The endorphins rush, adrenaline peaks. A strange smile comes over my face and I jump. Arms spread out wide you hurtle downwards at break-neck speed. No time to think, mind-blowing sensory-overload. Hard earth rushing towards you. The bungee bites and you decelerate. Then comes a stretch and the bounce. The gentle sensation of sprung into the air, swimming with your arms and shouting with delight. In short - I f*****g love it!!
In fact we loved it so much we hogged the platform for a good hour and a half doing 8 jumps in total. The safety guys were great lads. As the music pumped they let us do forward, backward with chest harness and, last but by no-means least, running jumps. There is no buzz quite like grabbing the chord clipped to your chest, taking a run up and legging it off the edge into oblivion. A veritable road-runner moment as you hang in mid-air before plummeting southbound with an exalted yell!
We had taken on what the Guinness Book of Records says is the highest commercial bungee jump in the world. Though the Guinness Book is wrong (depending on how you measure it, different jumps have a better claim to this including the Golden Eye Bungee I have done off the Vedasco damn in Switzerland), it was every bit as good as I’d hoped and well worth a 1100km plus round trip. 
Still pumped we jumped back in the bubble and took out the map…..foot down to the Klein Karoo!
Unlike a particularly crazy South African who works nearby, this expedition involved a cage (said crazy man free-dives with Great White’s and has been known to attempt to hypnotise them – apparently if you touch a shark on the right place on its nose it suffers sensory overload and rolls on its back). I had expected a big sturdy thing with plenty of spare rails on which to rest your limbs away from sharp teeth. What was dangled over the side was a not so sturdy looking cage which squeezed in about 5 people and required placing of feet on the outer bars – feet dangling out as appetizers. Still, there have been no reported injuries with this company. Tragically there had been some recent fatalities on another boat, but these involved the dislodging of the cage in a storm and consequent drowning – a travesty, but not of great concern here in increasingly flat waters.
I can not go without mentioning the Southern Right Whales (named so because they were the "Right" whales to catch) we saw on they way back to Cape Town. In and around Hermanus, hundreds of these many-tonne mammals come to raise there calves in the protective shallow waters. To stand by the wavecrashed rugged shore and watch mother and calf going about their way was….well just one of those moments.
A multitude of rich 4x4’s and new looking banks aside damp-sodden poverty. A real feeling of South America.
Streets celebrating revolutionary heroes from near and far bring us down to the sea. A comparably prosperous promenade runs adjacent to the green depths and up to embassy land. 
Stopping in elegant, yet slightly decrepid street side cafes for a top cup of coffee. Viewing a local art gallery complete with haunting carved images from 25 years of war and perusing Indian goods shops – for some reason I did not expect to see so many south-Asians in Mozambique, it never being part of the British Empire, yet there are many and as industrious as in neighboring countries. 
A proper crazy night out round the docks. While searching for the infinite variety of the world, some things seem the same where ever you go. A port. Exuberant excess of alcohol, expolitation of women, pimps and sailors. Some surreal moments and unlooked for concern in the guise of a clueless Aussie girl not knowing what she is getting herself into. Then utter comedy as a young one of companions, shameless in the best of senses, takes over the dance floor in a bar of excess.
Jo’berg, Jo’ey... whatever you want to call it. Here was the industrial and financial heartland of Africa. For all the news of hijackings, murder and riots, I was taken aback but its sheer scale. A true metropolis of high-rises, fly-overs, huge malls and development as far as the eye can see. A place of severe contrast and significance – impossible to ignore. Large segregated suburbs of the rich, with their lush gardens, pools and privelege. Townships of millions. Areas so bad that hijacking cars is old news – now they hijack apartment buildings. 
We were in and out of there in a flash. A partial regret as it is undoubtedly a place of interest, but for the one week I had left perhaps a little too interesting - if you know what I mean.
Dave, Dave and I had made it down to the tip of Africa, but there was no time to linger on Zambia, Malawi, Mozambique, the people we had met and experiences we had been given...we were just in time to hit the town... and what a town Cape Town is!