29. - 4 Jan.: Knysna township

Easy drive to Knysna. As we get closer, I remember how my first impression of the town was its township on 13 December. This time I'd really like to go there: it does not make sense to spend a month and a half in South Africa and not go to a township. However our driver, predictably, does not want to get anywhwere near there. He says it's not safe and he is responsible for us, for the bus, as well as of course for his own good health. I am quite disappointed, but what to do?

Right, what CAN you do? Well, you can read a good guidebook and browse the web, that's what you can do. And that's what Valentina and I start doing. She hands me a copy of the Lonely Planet guidebook, which makes reference to an association that organizes tours of the township. It's called Emzini and there is a phone number. One minute later I am talking to Penny, who at first sounds a bit surprised to hear me asking for a tour of the township in the afternoon. She asks if she can call me back in five minutes.

Five minutes later she is back on the phone and, much to the surprise of our driver, we are on. I tell her I'd like to add some food: I am always interested in eating local food and never tried township delicacies yet. Assuming there is such a thing as a township delicacy. We agree to meet at noon by the big clock tower at the Knysna waterfront.

Penny is with Ella, a young black lady who lives in the township and is behind the idea of Emzini. She grew up without much education during apartheid and later thought that she could start a business by making it possible for tourists to become acquainted with the reality of the townships. She met Penny in church and together they started Emzini.

Ella tells us that until recently this was mostly an area of "informal" housing (slum) with no toilets, no running water or electric power. Now there are real homes in the township people get a free house from the government if they meet three conditions: a) be South African citizen; b) have children and c) earn less 4000 Rand per month.

With 20,000 inhabitants, this is one of the smallest townships in the country. Most residents are Xhosa and colored. In addition, several thousand dogs call this home, says Ella with a smile. She had a difficult childhood and could not afford to go to college. She found the way of her life in the church and it is there she met Penny. When she started to think of making a business out of township tourism, she realized administration was not her forte, and this is where Penny came in for a mutually beneficial partnership.

As soon as we arrive the first experience awaits us, though none of my travel mates decides to take advantage of it: try some local meat that is being cooked in a large cauldron.



It's a pretty exceptional day today: there is a "manhood ceremony" going on. These usually take place in December and January and mark the rite of passage of young boys to adulthood. Men and women celebrate in different rooms of the house. We are told to separate our boys and girls but in the end, this does not seem to be such a hard and fast rule. The boy in question is under a blanket in a corner.

He is a man now

Everybody is in a state of excitement but it seems that it's the ladies who are especially taken into dances and liquor.

Celebrating his manhood

Ella makes Umphokoqo

Then we move to Ella's home. We have an opportunity to learn some Xhosa, though the challenges of the clicks in this language are beyond what most of us can confidently muster. Much easier to go for some food and music. She makes fried cakes with cheese and jam. The I ask her to show me how to make Umphokoqo, a staple food here made with white corn flour and hot milk.There are also a number of drums around the house for anyone to try some African rythms.

We can taste the food and drinks it while sitting around her living room and meeting her adopted children. One boy, the youngest, is sleeping, while the others play with us. Grandma manages to sleep in the same bedroom as the little boy, totally oblivious to what is going on.

Enzimi also gives a short class in  the "click language" of her Xhosa nation. Interesting but very difficult to imitate or understand!



Some of the kids play with us, others are busy with their smart phones. A young teenager lady seems flattered when Stefano, our pro photo man, tells her she could be a model.

On the way out we walk along one street of the township. A horse strolls slowly along: odd to see a horse here, among so many dogs and chicken, but there it is.

It's three o'clock and 30 degrees. I am quite thirsty. There is a drink seller working out of a container with a small cut out window protected by a strong metal grid. It looks more like a bunker than a bar. A large (440cl) can of Coke costs only 7 Rand, just 50 euro cents. But maybe here the "just" would not apply to the locals. They don't serve alcohol at all though. Not that is would be difficult to find, but it's hot and there is no need for it really. Anyway I don't need to celebrate my manhood today!

Very few people in the streets, but quite a number of dogs. At some point a donkey appears, trots down the street and vanishes behind a row of houses. Reluctantly, we board our bus again and head to the watefront. We still have quite a way to drive today.

It's been an intense few hours in the township, but it's time to move on. We bid farewell to Ella and Penny under the same clock tower where we met, and we are back on our big bus, where Petrus has been patiently waiting for us. It's a balmy afternoon in Knysna, we are tempted to stop and have a beer by the waterfront. Tourists and locals blend in a polished environment of boutiques, restaurants and souvenir shops. The contrast could not be starker between here and the rugged houses of the township we just left.

The story of Emzini



Circumcision ceremony explained.




Drive to Mossel bay. This time we stay at a rather posh hotel near a big casino. In the evening we drive to town for dinner, again at the "Ocean Basket". Usual noisy and crowded place, like all other Ocean Basket restaurants, but very popular and we have to wait over half an hour to get a table. Stefano, Stefania and I go for a beer at a nearby bar, and kill time chatting with the bartender about beer in South Africa. When we head back to the restaurant our table is ready: my kinglip fish is very good. It and beer get along very well and after a while fatigue begins to make itself felt. Time to hit the sack, no energy even for a Toscanello. It's been another long day to remember.

28. - 3 Jan.: Port Elizabeth - Seaview - Jeffrey bay

Depart 8.30 am from Port Elizabeth. First stop is at "Seaview", a lunar landscape spot to take pictures of some funny rock formations shaped by wind and waves. Before embarking on the perilous trip on the slippery rocks to take some pictures, I stop to breath in the fresh breeze and have a chat with a few guys who are drinking beer in the shadow of their pick-up truck. They ask about my country of origin and when they hear Italy the first workds that come to their slightly intoxicated minds are ''bella donna: that's all that you need in life". Well one might argue with that, especially if you are a heterosexual woman, or if you are a believer in equal gender rights, but I am not going to. Anyway I like their answer, at least it's not the usual refrain about soccer players and mafia, the references most commonly associated with my Bel Paese when traveling abroad.

So I agree, a bella donna is really all you need in life. I thought this would be it and we would switch topics, and tackle the weather or Mandela or beer perhaps, but no. One of them asks if I am married to a beautful woman. No, I am not, unfortunately. Do I have kids? So many kids are born out of wedlock in South Africa (some 60%) that, from their point of view, it would be perfectly normal if I did. No, I don't, is again my answer. Why? Well, that's a tough one. So I decide to tell them I actually have a girlfriend who is molto bella but unfortunately she can not be with me for this trip.

After a few minutes I see that Pasquale is coming forward and it is he who now attracts the attention of the three men in the pick-up truck, who let off the pressure on me. I take the chance on the fly, wave them a warm good-bye and head down the rocks to find the perfect seascape angles for my wide-angle lens.

As we keep driving west we stop at Jeffrey bay. It's nothing special really but this could become an interesting twist in my trip because our driver gets lost in a township. I have been trying to visit a township but so far all our (white) drivers have steadfastly refused to venture into any. And today is no different. Petrus wants to get out as fast as possible. Anyway it's drizzling and windy, it would not be so pleasant to walk around, I tell myself. And the light is not right for pictures, either. So be it. At least for now.

However it takes Petrus a good fifteen minutes to find his way out, during which I can take a good look at the place. The people of Jeffrey Bay are obviously poor but not desperate. Their small houses are neatly aligned and seem well maintained. High walls all around most of them prevent me from seeing inside their gardens. No electrified barbed wire though.

click on the map to view it in full size

Much to do in Tsitsikamma

In is early afternoon when we reach Tsitsikamma. There would be a lot to do here. I opt for a long walk up and down the steep slopes that are home for abundant wildlife and lush vegetation all the way to the water's edge. It's cloudy, awful light for photography.



Toward the end of my walk there is a suspension bridge, at the head of which a padlock has been securely latched. It bears the name of two lovers. A habit that seems to have spread around the world.

In the evening I can finally satisfy my curiosity for Kudu steak. Hard to come by these days it seems. Last time I had it was in Namibia, over fifteen years ago, and have been missing it ever since. It is hard to get kudu in South Africa, there are not as many of the beasts in the wild and as far as I know they are not farmed. I order it rare. I like all red meat rare, or raw, to do justice to its unique organolectic characteristics. But it nevertheless comes well done. No: way way well done. Taste and send back. I tell them to serve it RAW. After ten minutes they bring me a new steak, nice and juicy, rare. Seems it's common to overcook meat in South Africa. Totally forgettable shiraz.

After dinner I take a short stroll around the hotel and run into a very unique restaurant/bar: there are table outside, and in fact it seems to be fully booked for the evening. But inside the large neon-lit room there are only antique motor vehicles. Motorcycles, mostly, but also one large American car from the 1950s with a sign on the windshield: "You are welcome to lay down on the bonnet if you are female, under forty and naked."

  

27. - 2 Jan.: Drive to Durban and flight to Port Elizabeth

Very unusual breakfast with chicken liver and omelette. Good and hearty, enough proteins to carry me through to dinner time. My trip mates look at me with a mixture of disgust and disquiet. Yes it's not what Italians are used to eat for breakfast, but the strangeness of it all and their a priori rejection of anything new makes the food more tasty and the whole experience, if one can call a breakfast an experience, more satisfying.

At about 10:00 am we hit the road toward Durban, which unfortunately we won't have time to visit. Our friendly driver drops us off at the airport, and probably sighs of relief as he managed to complete his tour without driving into any black township. Maybe he is right. Again the disturbing sight of everyone wrapping their checked-in bags in plastic. Just after I spend 60 Rand on mine I read a sign that our airline would have provided this service for free. Apparently it costs them less to pay for the wrap than to follow up on complaints from passengers about nags being pifered by the handlers.

Uneventful flight along the Indian ocean coast of South Africa. Looks beautiful from up here, too bad we don't have time to drive along it. It's apparently very lush and not yet invaded by mass tourism operations or luxury hotels. So it must be quite enjoyable for those willing to accept some lack of comfort in exchange for a more direct contact with the people and nature of South Africa. Maybe next time...

In Port Elizabeth we are picked up by Petrus, an outsize Afrikaan with a warm and direct personality. Drop our bags at the hotel and off to the beach. I've been here a few weeks ago but it's a great pleasure to have a chance to walk along the beach in the late afternoon, waiting for the sun to settle. Best for pictures anyway.

I ask to be dropped off at the far Western edge of town, by the water. It is here that a long walkway starts, all wooden planks and railings. It is like a long snake, several kilometers long, and it zig-zags up and down the dunes that separate the ocean from the town of Port Elizabeth. Just inland of the walkway, by the first road that runs parallel to the water, not a few groups of friends and families have set up temporary camps and braai. It's not really a camping site, though it does look like quite a few people spent a night or two here. I ask a friendly guy who wanted to share a beer and he said they are just here for the holidays. I suppose they are sufficiently well off to afford a trip from their township and meat on the grill, but not so well off to patronize hotels and restaurants in town.

It's still holiday time, and thousands of people crowd the beach. On the western side, away from town, the holiday makers are all black. They are all, as usual, quite friendly and in an excellent holiday mood. Again a few new Facebook "friends" are added to my list and this time it's quieter than at the St Lucia beach so I can actually make contact on my phone and exchange pics very smoothly. One big guy of Indian origins is fishing with a rod that must be six meters long, and explains the trick is to drop the bait into a hole that's about forty meters offshore, let it sink, and wait. A group of three ladies has had one too many to drink but they do love to pose anyway.

 As I move east, toward the commercial center of town, it gets more mixed. Almost all the whites seem to stick to the more central part, just a stone throw from the Boardwalk. Same beach, same setting sun. But somehow the atmosphere is not the same. As the color of the skin of the sunbathers becomes fairer, so the warmth and smiles cool down and die out. Funny isn't it?

Dinner is at the Boardwalk, a Disneyland-type melee of casinos, restaurants, sound-and-lights displays, shops and pubs.

26. - 1 January 2014: New y\ear's day at Saint Lucia

Morning spent walking leisurly in town. Several ladies sell a bit of everything along the road: the same stand will have fruits and vegetables by the roadside and also sell curios on the sidewalk. Some graceful paintings and some tacky T-shirts, all mixed together with the inevitable Mandela paraphernalia. Just behind the displays, I can barely see simple small houses where they live, I think.

Not far, next to the pumps of a gas station, a half dozen teenagers are celebrating the new year in the street, dancing, singing and performing some remarkable acrobatic rap dance. They are most excited when I stop to take pictures and quite happy to adjust their routines so I can take my best shots.

This started as a cloudy day but by noon the sun is high in the sky and it's rather hot. Decide to skip lunch and spend the rest of the morning by the pool of our hotel. No one is around and it would be very peaceful were it not for the manager of the adjacent restaurant who is yelling at a waitress because she has not tidied up properly after breakfast. He is actually doing the cleaning himself now but keeps screaming that this is not the manager's job. She sits in a corner, silent, motionless, looking straight ahead of herself into a bush.

In the afternoon we all take a cruise n the estuary to see hippos and crocs, plus a lot of other wildlife.The eight hundred hippos who live here, we are told, eat 40kg of grass every day each. Actually every night as they spend the day in the water, whence they come out after sunset to graze the fields. All together they produce some 32 metric tons of dung per day! Which is apparently the favorite food of prawns, a local specialty. Well now I know what's in my plate when I order delicious South African prawns.

Just thinking as I disembark from the crowded ship and make my way to the pier: hippos are the biggest killer of humans in Africa, more than any other big fierce animal like lions or leopards, and second only to malaria carrying mosquitos. And now they turn out to be a major feeder of humans, if an indirect one. Who would have guessed?

After the cruise, Valentina, Luca, Rosella and I head to the beach. We've been told there is a huge party there every year on New Year's day. I've seen some packed vans driving around yesterday and today, but there do not seem to be more people in the streets that one would expect during a holiday. Talk of understimating...

We need to walk for about 2 km from downtown S. Lucia to the beach. It's about 4pm and the sun is already beginning to set behind out backs. As I hold my two cameras, I can see thousands of people who are walking away from the beach we are heading to, and beging to snap away at their cheerful and satisfied expression. Their party is over and they are heading home. I try and walk faster to reach the beach while there is still good light to photograph and the people are partying. I am afraid I am late, party must be over with so many thousands leaving, but hopefully some stragglers will still be there.

But I need not have worried at all. As I approach the beach, and can actually see the blue horizon in the distance, the long line of people leaving continues, but the source of the flow is an infinite crowd that strolls to and fro, swims, eats, drinks (no alcohol is allowed though) and makes merry. Everyone I meet is happy to chat, exchange happy new year wishes, take pictures together and exchange Facebook friendship on our cell phones.

I have never seen so many people together in my whole life, and probably never will again. Unless I come back for another new year celebration at the Saint Lucia beach, that is. Hundreds of thousands of people as far as the eye can see, for kilometers on either side of the spot where we reach the water's edge. All are blacks except my three fellow photographers, a few albinos and me. I can't of course be sure there were no other whites, but I won't see any for the following three hours.

A few policeman and policewomen patrol leisurly but no sense od tension or conflict. The only exception is three drunk guys holding beer cans who talk to me with a clearly hostile attitude while I am exchanging Facebook nicknames with a lady I have photograped. It is strictly forbidden to take any alcohol to the beach today, I have seen several signposts to that effect, but how do you check hundreds of thousands of partying youths?

She insists on typing her name on my Facebook app and they give up. Then another small man maybe twenty years-old wearing red and yellow sunglasses comes forward and asks if everything is OK.

Everyone is quite happy at being photographed. Many ask for it. Several offer their Facebook address to receive their photos. Only the three or four albinos I meet don't want their pictures taken. Maybe they are ashamed, maybe they fear that circulating their images might put them in harm's way. Though not as bad as in other parts of Africa, superstitions on the powers of albino body parts exist in South AFrica as well.

On the way back to town I notice many people with large jars, maybe 5 liters, full of sea water and some sand. I ask why they take sea water away and the disarmiblgy simple answer is that they mix with tap water and make salt bath at home!

Dinner time: it's hard to find a restaurant, many are closed and those which are not are booked solid and often have a long line of people waiting outside. Even the restaurant of our own hotel is overbooked, the kitchen closes early and there is no way they can feed us.

We consider going to a fast food someone we talked to mentioned might be open in the township of Mtubatuba, some 25 km away. We have little reliable information and might be just wasting time going there. I make some phone calls to numbers provided to me by a seller of curious who is hoping to exchange a zebra skin currently in his shop with some of the notes in my wallet. But the chances of us driving to Mtubatuba and finding an open restaurant seem to be considerably below 50%.

Moreover, our driver, who last night had supported my hypothesis that it would be safe to visit a black township as a group, bulks at the idea of actually taking us there tonight. He says it's not Soweto. It's not welcoming, crime is high. He fears for our safety and the car's. This makes me more rathr than less eager to go so he calls the company headquarters to ask permission (or at least he says he does) and the answer is no. So much for the township experience, for tonight anyway. But we still need to eat.

In the end, and at the end of a long wait in the street in front of the curio shop, with the owner still looking my way hoping for a deal on his zebra skin, we eat at the Reef and Dunes restaurant, which is right next door to it. Warm welcoming and pleasant atmosphere under their thatched roof. Lots of good beer and their fried butterfish is excellent! I did not know at the time that it can be less than healthy to eat it, but it did no harm to me. Time to hit the sack, it's been another long day.

At night I can hear the grunt of several hippos that have walked ashore. They can be dangerous. Several signposts in the streets and in the garden of my hotel warn everyone to be careful with hippos. And even more careful with monkeys who roam around private property and take pleasure in grabbing anything that strikes their fancy.

25. - 31 Dec.: Kruger through Swaziland to S. Lucia

Again wake up at dawn and the adrenaline starts pumping. Breakfast is devoured faster than usual as we try and get back on to our vehicles and out to the lions. They probably have not moved much since last night and it might still be busy with their mating procedure. It usually goes on for a few days, 20 to 25 times a day. So the chances of seeing them in action again are reasonably high.

But first we need to check out, as we'll be leaving Kruget today. I take my packed bags out of the room and onto the balcony on stilts that overlooks a thick bush, and go back into the room to double check I did not leave behind any chargers, razors, slippers, hats etc. As I come out again and definitively close my room's door behind me, there come my three ladies of two days ago: they must have been waiting in the bush for me to appear and of course they make it clear that they are going to take my bags down to the waiting van. They hardly speak a word, and I don't either, but we all know what we have to do. OK fair enough, the sevice is worth twenty Rand. Once in the parking lot, we all leave our bags in the van and head out with the safari vehicles for one last tour of Kruger.

After the usual check-in procedure at the park's gate we tell the driver to head straight for the location where we saw the lions the previous evening and sure enough there they are, they have just moved across the road, a few meters, not more. However, unlike last night, when we were alone, there are lots of cars now. The word about "ngoni fagapagati" spread quickly. Not so the news about the British car being overturned I guess. No one seems to be in the least apprehensive when we later drive by a couple of elephants.

There are rules of the road in national parks, one of them being to keep a safe distance from the animals and not to get in between the anumals and a car who got there first, But not everyone respects the rules and there is not much the rangers can do: they have to power of enforcement. Too bad, they should. After a while it gets crowded. We are lucky to have gotten near the lions first, and keep a safe distance of a good twenty meters or so but soon a big white SUV drives in front of us. All it takes is one rude driver to spoil the sighting for everyone else. Most drivers are polite and line up behind the first to arrive at the scene of a sighting, but some must think that if they don't get ahead first, someone else will. Anyway, after a few minutes the lions move on and some thirty cars turn on the engines and disperse around the park. The magic of last night was not to be again today.

It's clear that the lions are not afraid of people but still: why not just move out some and get away from noise, polluted air and large obstructive vehicles? Apparently they enjoy the warmth of the tarmac as compared to the cool grass.

At about nine o'clock we must give up and head back to the camp. It's time to bid farewell to our rangers, get on our van and head South: we have to hit the coast at Saint Lucia by tonight.

Borderland

Swazi beauties

At around noon we go abroad. Yes, we do, as we drive into Swaziland, a small landlocked independent kingdom wedged between South Africa and Mozambique.

Our T.O. somehow was reluctant to get us here, they said we needed a special permit, then they said we would waste hours at the border, then they said it was not worth it. None of which is true as it turns out.

The country is famous for its polygamous king, who won't be among the friendly people we met along the way, and for lush green mountains, which we'll see a lot of during our five-hour crossing of the country.

Much of these mountains are covered in thick woods grown to make for timber, a major export and source of revenue for the country.

At a gas station I strike a conversation with a few youths who are loitering around, with seemingly nothing much to do. It is a holiday of course, and schools are closed. They speak good English, seem educated and are eager to strike a conversation with foreigners, of whom they must not see too many if one excludes South Africans.

Swazi timber makes good export

Arrive in Saint Lucia at sunset. It's a pretty posh vacation retreat for wealthy (and therefore white) South Africans, and there are many expensive cars with blond Afrikaans and English speakers to be seen. However we do see a lot of blacks with less fancy clothes and much less fancy cars around. Apparently they sleep and dine in the nearby townships, and only come to town for an evening stroll and a drink.

I would like to go and have dinner in one of these townships, but our driver steadfastly refuses to take us there. Too dangerous for us and for the van, and he would be in deep trouble with the agency's boss if anything should happen to either. Disappointing, I will have to try and find a way around this. Most South African live in townships, it would not make any sense to spend over a month here and not see one. I mean a black township. Of course even the exclusive pockets of white wealth that we have seen are strictly speaking "townships", that's just a name for an administrative division of the country's cities. But in the common jargon "township" has come to mean "black township" and also implies poor, dirty, unsafe. Or does it? Some South Africans even told me that Soweto is "no longer a township" because, unlike during the times of apartheid, it is now developed, reasonably safe, home to a growing middle class and a "must do" tourist destination. The borders of the meaning of township are changing. I'd like to find out. But not tonight.

We finally have dinner is at the "Ocean Basket", a chain of fish restaurants that is very popular across South Africa: good quality fish, informal but usually effective service, inexpensive. This restaurant is very busy tonight, this is a holiday town and the Christmas break is in full swing, but in ten minutes a table for twelve is available on the terrace and we can sit down with our driver. Most patrons are white but there are a few blacks.

Ocean Basket immodestly prides on being "the sole provider". Well... a bit ambitious perhaps, but I decide to take their word for it and order their "famed cape sole". It is perhaps not the sole sole around but is indeed quite tasty. The happy new year's eve dinner is made merrier by a few bottles of Sauvignon blanc from the Cape region. Maybe they are not the "sole" provider of good fish, but their formula is a successful one and they have opened shop in several other African countries as well as, for some reason which is not immediately obvious to me, Cyprus.

Back at the hotel we get a couple of bottles of bubbles and pop them at midnight. It's 2014!

24. - 30 Dec.: Alarms and mating lions at the Kruger National Park

I wake up just five minutes before 5:30, which is when my alarm was set to go off. I hear this happens to a lot of people. I am always amazed at how our body clocks can know when to wake up so as to save its owner the trauma of an alarm. Ever since I adopted my smart phone to perform this thankless function, I set the ringtone to a gentle Buddhist bells chime, so as to minimiza the pain. Still, when it goes off, it makes for the worst moment of the day. I suppose our body knows that it is not good to start the day at its most unpleasant, so it tries to avoid it by preempting the alarm. Well, one could argue it might actually be a good thing, as things would only improve after that. But waking up to an alarm is always a traumatic experience, bound to cast a negative shadow on the waking hours to follow. On the other hand, waking up just a few minutes early provides the immense pleasure of waiting in bed, yawning and stretching, aware there is still time before one has to get up. And I derive a sense of accomplishment in killing the alarm before it has a chance to go off at all. I hate the big snooze button, it is cruel torture, I much prefer the smaller "dismiss" option. So I am profoundly grateful to mother nature for having made us evolve over the last few million years to anticipate our own alarms. I can't explain how, also because we evolved over countless thousand generations while even the most ancient alarms are only a few decades old. Two game drives today: the first starting just after sunrise at 6 am and the second ending at sunset, at 6.30pm. With a one hour break for lunch. It's going to be a full day. We set off to a good start with a very full breakfast: sweet, savory, hot, cold, juices, you name it, it's there. Great, we'll need the energy to face rain and wind in our open vehicles.

It's not the best safari day of my life really. At least until we start driving back toward the camp. Then it becomes the single most exciting one, ever!

We are driving along a straight road, a bit sad and despirited as the weather has not given us a break and our sightings have been rather few and far between. OK well it'a part of the game, these are wild animals after all and Kruger is not a zoo, not even one of those super-managed parks where "wild" animale are more or less programmed to appear at artificial water holes.

It could be worse: today an English couple did have a close sighting with an elephant, but one which they wish they never met. They were on a self-drive tour just a few kilometers from us and met a single bull with a limited sense of humor. As they approached, it turned around and flapped its ears a few times. Elephant flap their ears when they are not happy with you being in their way, and it is usually not a good idea to try and argue with them. The Brits decided to stick around a bit longer and the next thing they saw was an elephant tusk piercing through their wind shield, while the trunk flipped the small car over as if it was a pancake.

I am a bit disconsolate and I try to protect my cameras from the sharp bullets of rain that are flying across our seats, pushed by the wind. Then all of a sudden Henry, our driver/guide today, a towering but boyish Xhosa in his early thirties, slams on the breaks and points to the right: a male lion on the grass, only a few meters away from the road. OK not a bad way to end the day, I think. But then Valentina sees a lioness, almost completely hidden in a bush. Ah ha! They are obviously a couple, says Henry, and turns off the engine. The other 4x4 with our travel mates arrives after a few minutes and stops just behind us. We wait. When lions mate, they do it many times every day, so we have a good chance.

Fifteen minutes or so go by and nothing happens. It's getting dark, we have perhaps another hour of sunlight. The other car decides it's not worth waiting longer and moves on. We stay put. Another ten minutes pass and the lion gets up. Now Henry is visibly excited and warns us to be quiet: they are likely going to mate.

 

 And sure they do: the male jumps on the female who got up and is walking around. He gently pushes her to the ground with his big paws and mounts her from behind. The actual penetration is quick, maybe fifteen seconds in all. No prelims, really. But then again they will have done it twenty times of more by night fall, so it's not bad. During the intercourse the female is crouching on the grass, and look straight into my camera, as if to say: "What, you have never seen a lion mating?" No, I have not, in fact!

Ngoni fagapagati!

Can't believe the lions keep going at it in front of everyone. Actually, come to think of it, all animals seem to be perfectly happy to do it in front of any other animal, except for humans. I'll have to do some research and find out why.

"Ngoni fagapagati!, Ngoni fagapagati!! Hahahaaaaaa" Henry can't hold back his enthusiasm as he explains in xhosa. "Ngoni" means lion and fagapagati is the F word which Henry translates by hitting repeatedly and violently his clenched left fist with the palm of his right hand...

The evening is a happy time. At first we don't tell anything to the others who left early, but when the time comes for everyone to show the day's pictures there are a few screams at the sight of the big cats embracing in amorous activity!

23. - 29 Dec.: Mbahoko Ndebele village to Kruger National Park

Breakfast and good byes to our Ndebele hosts. Even though this has been a brief and obvously superficial encounter, I will miss the casual smile of these ladies as they prepare breakfast for us. They are all by the door of the communal hall to wave us away.

We slowly make our way to the Kruger National Park. Our driver is Paul, a chubby white Afrikaans speaker who tries, really hard, to be funny and crack a new joke every five minutes. I can sense from his talk he really yearns for the days old South Africa, he rarely misses a chance to complain about the post-Apartheid system.

When we arrive at the camp we are welcomed by a row of colorfully attired black ladies who line up next to our parked bus. They don't really speak any English so it's not clear what they are there for and whether it's got anything to do with us. It did: they want to carry our bags to the rooms. In my case, my rooms is a good 300 meters away, a comfortable wooden construction on stilts. To get there, there is an easy paved path and I try to just grab my trolley and roll it to destination by myself. No way: they stop me and gesticulate profusely to make clear they are carrying my bag. Well OK they want to earn a tip, it's not really necessary as I could easily do it myself but I appreciate the effort and agree to let one of them carry my bag. yes, carry, on her head, as whe refuses to just grab the handle and roll it. I try several times to explain it's heavy and there is really no need to put all those 25 kilos or so on her spine but to no avail. Then as I grab my camera backpack another lady comes forward and very politely takes it from me and puts that, too, on her head. Allright, so we just move together to the room, where I give them a good tip, they smile and walk back to the parking lot to way for the next arrivals.

In the afternoon we go for a game drive from 4 to 7 pm. Cold rain is whipped against us by the relative wind as we are in open vehicles. We use special open safari vehicles. Our driver is Tommy, a friendly big guy who enjoys explaining all he knows about the park. It is cold and windy and before sunset we decide to head back without any major sighting under our belt.

Kruger camaleon

Dinner is at the huge buffet of our camp, lots of meat and veggies and of course South African wines. It's been a long day and the cold, rain and wind have taken their toll, so we all decide to hit the sack rather early tonight.

22. - 28 Dec.: Models and billiard at Mabhoko Ndebele village

Today we start with a walking tour of the village. One of the very few men in the village (where are all the others?) takes us around and explains a bit of the history and culture. The village is made of typical Ndebele whitewashed houses painted in lively colors in geometric patterns.

After lunch I stop and talk to a few teen-agers who are wiling the afternoon away by a house, seemingly a bit bored. They are all busy chatting away with their mobile phones. Sunny is 17 years-old and he tells me about school in Johannesburg. He enjoys the city but loves to come home for the holidays. He would like to come back and make a contribution to the village one day. He is going to be a nurse and there is a need for nurses here, he says. Yes, for sure, I think, and, if not a hospital, at least a first-aid facility.

After a while bid them farewell and take a walk around the village. At the bar it's quiet but a few elder ladies are having a good time. One is actually pretty drunk and starts a dance to the tune of the two huge loudspeakers that keep pumping hard rock into the air. Soon the Italian photographer girls join her (in dancing, not drinking, not as much drinking anyway) and it is a party!


Three teenagers catch my attention as they are busy with their cell phones, chatting away. As I get closer I realize they are on Facebook! Quite happy to meet me and take pictures together, only this time the older girl (maybe 20 years-old) asks my Facebook friendship so we can share pictures! I am honestly taken aback to be asked this question here, but maybe I should not be: the mobile network has gone a long way connecting people in Africa where land lines were too expensive.

As the afternoon moves on we ask a few ladies to wear their traditional dresses for us. They seem willing to do anything within reason for some extra Rand. Maybe even something not within reason. These dresses are simple and thick blankets with wide stripes of bright colors: red, yellow and blue. Some of them also show some jewels of various kinds. Some are simple ornaments, while others are clearly more elaborate and rich ones: perhaps those that every girl gets as a gift with her coming of age.

I am highly hesitant but in the end I get myself together and ask one lady with whom I have made acquaintance about finding a model to take some pictures with ahem ...only the blanket. And nothing else. She is a big woman and immediately offers herself as my model. She asks for 300 rand. How about 200? Ok 200.

She walks me to her house. It's a brick contruction with wooden door that displays some simple artwork cut in the top panel. She is a bit shy, or pretends to be, but smiles and clearly enjoys the unexpected attention. I try to explain how I want her to pose, so as to take advantage of available sunlight and compose her body against the door decorations with the interior of the house as background. She does not understand me, so I gently use my hands to move her body until I am satisfied. She is having a great time and clearly has to make an effort not to laugh! An elderly lady (her mother?) looks on from the porch.

Model for a day

I take a few pictures and just when I am done her niece comes forward and I ask whether I can photograph her as well. No problem. It seems the aunt model was waiting for me to ask her. 150 rand? OK. The young girl is much more at ease than her auntie. She quickly undresses and moves to pose. Her complexion is fairer and her skin smooth as silk. She wears some simple necklaces and understands enough English to pose exactly as I ask her to. She seems to have done this before, but I don't think of asking her. She has a rather serious expression hen we start, but switches quickly to a benevolent smile when I ask her.

Two other elderly ladies see all of this and do not wait for me to ask. They offer to pose for me. I thank them but politely decline: it's enough for the day! I am quite happy at having taken my first ever photographs of nude models and head to the bar for a beer. here I find most of my travel mates and several Ndebele ladies (but no men: where are they?) who are sharing snack and beer. One old auntie is particularly happy and drags several Italian ladies to the yard in front of the bar for a ...let's say freestyle dancing session.

But my day is far from over. After our usual buffet dinner in the communal house, we head back to the bar for an international pool match Italy vs. South Africa. Or maybe Italy vs. Ndebele? Or just Italy vs. Mabhoko? Well, no point discussing identities. Pasquale, Gianluca and I represent the green, red and white tricolor, though Valentina will come in and help at various crucial times in the match. The African team is made of various players who alternate at the cue and I can't honestly remember any of their names. We'll play American pool, solid vs striped balls and the black number 8 ball last.

We get started in earnest and Italy wins, just, the first set, while our hosts win the second. We are interrupted by dinner, but as soon as we are done we rush back to the bar for the play-off. It is a tight game, and in the end each team pockets all its balls and it's down to the black number 8. It's Gianluca who puts it into a corner pocket for an Italian victory which our friends acknowledge with powerful hand shakes and big smiles.

After which we all head outside and I order some beers which easily find their way around. We all celebrate together, it's been a fun game and a great couple of days here. My lady mama model is here and has no qualms asking me to buy her a beer. And then another. After I buy her third beer I decide it is time to wave goodbye to all and hit the sack.

21. - 27 Dec.: Soweto and drive to Mabhoko Ndebele village

Easy wake-up and breakfast in the business lounge to which I have been upgraded for no apparent reason. At check-in, on Christmas day, I had asked to what I owed this gift and the response from the charming lady at the reception was: "It's Christmas, so we thought we'd give you a gift!": Well thanks Madam, no point trying to understand any further. I am all by myself at 8 o'clock. Great cold and hot breakfast. Mostly English style but it's a true rainbow buffet, with lots of African fruits and some Chinese spring rolls

Then on to the airport with the hotel shuttle where I meet my fellow photographers from Italy. We'll be spending the next two weeks together trying to capture the beauties of this country.Their flight via Istanbul is ontime, we are met by our driver Peeter, a tall, blond and blue-eyed Dutch African, and after a few quick purchases of local sim cards we are off.

From the airport we drive straight to Soweto where we meet Jessica, our local guide, and stop for lunch. Actually I don't have lunch at all and instead use the time to walk around and mingle with the local patrons.

It's an easy and welcoming atmosphere on Vilakazi street, where both Mandela and archbishop Tutu had their homes. "The only street in the world where two Nobel peace prize winners had their home" boasts Jessica, our local guide. I suppose Marie and Pierre Curie, who got the prize in 1903, don't count because they were a married couple. Other than that, it sounds like a credible claim, though I confess I have not taken the time to verify it.

Mandela's home is a small construction but of course it carries huge symbolic significance for it is from here that he waged his struggle with Winnie in the 1950s and early 1960s, and it is here that he returned when released from prison in 1990. Tutu's house is nearby but can't be visited as they still live in it.

In one large restaurant full of patrons lunching and drinking in the rodside terrace, I fail by a split second to raise my camera in time to take the picture of a young waitress opening the metal cap of a bottle of Coke with her big white teeth, apparently that's how you do it here. I start snapping at families enjoying their lunch. Patrons are all blacks, except for obvious tourists, and by and large they are smartly dressed for the occasion.

Two big guys are having a chat and a
few beers at one of the tables. I ask to sit down with them and after our mutual introductions they start to talk about Italian soccer, which of course they know more about than I ever will or care. We then turn to politics.

They miss Mandela of course and are highly critical of the current president Zuma.They chuckle when recalling how the president was booed at the stadium during the recent commemoration of Madiba.

At about 3:00 pm everyone is done eating and we walk down the street and toward the monument to the rioters of 1976. Along the way we meet some Church officials intent on preparing for the Sunday mass, and stop for chat on the beauties of Soweto. It's one of the many churches that make for the kaleidoscopic panorama of South Africa's Christian religions.

Moving along the street, we head to the unmissable Hector Pieterson monument, celebrating the person whose death contributed to change the history of South Africa like few others. His sister was with him when he died and tells her story in this video.The monument has now become a place of remembrance like few others, with eveeryone taking their picture next to the large photograph from that fateful day.

On the way, we run into a group of locals, in their early twenties, who are having a few drinks at an improvised pic-nic on a patch of lawn. Their car is their bar and the booze moves around but they are perfectly sober and warmly welcome us to join for a sip or two.

Drive on to Mapoch (Mabholo in the local language) Ndebele village. Driver uneasy when we stop at a small village shopping mall to buy some South African adaptors. (This country has a unique ans bulky plug size that is incompatible with anything from anywhere else in the world). He urges us to hurry up and move on, especially, he says, as it's getting dark.

Orlando power station is now a playground

On the way out of Soweto we drive by the decommissioned towers of the old Orlando power station. Colorful graffiti mask the history of this obsolete and very polluting coal-fired plant, now transformed in an amusement park. South Africa is growing rapidly and needs more and more energy. This plant was shut down in the late 1990s however after fifty years of honorable service. The white government flirted with nuclear power (and even build half a dozen nuclear weapons, only to dismantle them before surrendering power) and one plant is still in operation near Cape Town.

Our village is hard to find, navigator goes crazy. It tells us to drive into the bush , then straight then it starts babbling away as if it had had a beer too many. We finally get to a small gate: our Ndebele village. We are home for the night.We are the only guests and it seems we might be the only tourists to have come this far for a long time.

At dinner, we are seated in what seem like a communal hall, just next to the large kitchen. After a while a few women come along and prepare a simple buffet of rice, potatoes and chicken, but there are no drinks. They must go and fetch those at a nearby "bar", a place that we will get to know rather well in the coming days.

After dinner in the kitchen

After dinner we ask for directions to the bar, which is actually unmissable even in the pitch dark dirt roads of the village: its huge loudspeakers make themselves heard a long distance away. The bar, a few rooms of bricks and mortar with neon lights hanging in a rather haphazard fashion, serves beer and a few soft drinks but no water. The beer is nice and cold, coming out of large refrigeratos powered by a diesel generator. There is a choice of two South African beers.

The main point of interest however is a red cloth covered pool table next door, which seems to be a magnet for most youths in the village. We are too tired today but we'll be here tomorrow!

20. - 26 Dec.: Johannesburg

Full day tour of the city with Lesley, an independent local guide I found online. We have had extensive correspondence before my arrival and I have detailed my priorities to her, though today being the 26th of December many of my points of interest are closed. I am disappointed to learn that the Museum Africa, the most important in Johannesburg, is closed. So is the Apartheid Museum, which acquires a special relevance now that Mandela has passed away. Oh well...

Leslie comes with her minivan at 8:30 and we are off to town. We proceed first to Rosebank Mall for the African Craft Market, a much ancitipated stop of my tour. My 4.25 meter high wooden Namibian giraffe, which I bought in Okahandjia in 1997, has long been waiting for company in my Brussels home's foyer. Here I was expecting to find her a mate - I mean not necessarily another giraffe, but perhaps a fellow savannah inhabitant to mark some continuity in the tangible memories of my African adventures. It was not to be. The market is very closed. Lesley is visibly upset because she had called them in advance. Well, so it goes.

Oldest gold mine in Joburg

It's drizzling a bit, which does not help uplift our morale in the wake of this useless trip to Rosebank. We then move to the first mine, not much more than a hole in the ground really today. What could be a green garden to spend time and remember the founders of this city is actually a haven for squatters. Rubbish and ash are everywhere, and a stench of urine does not encourage us to prolong our visit.

As we drive along Lesley points out various neighbohoods to me, some newer and visibly more affluent, some dirtier, poorer, sad really. The rich areas are mostly dotted with low lying contruction, pretty villas, lush gardens. Most of these are fenced and many are walled off with CCTV cameras and very unfriendly signs that warn of no trespassing and "armed response". Not many people are to be seen in the clean and well paved streets.

The poorer areas are mostly made up of large apartment buildings, criss crossed by dirty roads full of people moving about or just sitting lazily on the pavement, doing nothing in particular. Maybe because it is a holiday and there is not much to do in their small dwellings, just being together in the open seems the thing to do.

Mural art in Joburg

Mary Fitzgerald Square and Museum Africa, unfortunately closed. We walk around the square a bit, it is pretty desolate today. Some lively murals spice up the dreary concrete pillars of a road overpass. A few people move about aimlessly and after twenty minutes or so we decide it is probably safer to move on.

We then move to Main street a the pulsating commercial and financial center of Johannesburg. It is not pulsating very much today actually, yes, you guessed right, because of the Christmas holiday. But it is interesting to see the historical plates that dot the sidewalk, with pictures and text documenting the birth and growth of the city around the gold mining industry.

Lesley is especially fond of pointing out to me the few remaining mining machines that are now exhibited in public gardens and sidewalks. An old stamp battery figures prominently among them. It is an old machine that was used to extract gold by heavy pounding instead of grinding.

Mine shaft under the Bank

At the headquarters of Standard Bank, on Simmonds Street, we visit the mining museum. While digging for the contruction of this impressive building in the mid-1980s the earth moving machines uncovered a shaft of the gold mines of one hundred years earlier. It had been a certain colonel Ignatius Phillip Ferreira (1840-1921) who had first struck gold here in 1886, thouch he later lost all his money. Standard Bank which, coincidentally, also began operations in Johannesburg in 1886, decided to name this museum after the colonel.

Despite the holiday there is quite a bit of life at the Carlton Centre, a fifty-floor skyscraper we visit next. At 223 meters this has been the tallest building in Africa for almost forty years.

All offices are of course closed today but there is nonetheless a lively crowd in the large shopping mall that occupies the lower floors. The 360 degree view over the city is not to be missed and Leslie elaborates profusely on the history of the city as we walk around a full circle on the top floor, pointing at the various landmarks through the large windows.

We then go for lunch downstairs in a large shopping mall. Nando's chicken offers half a tasty bird and a pile of potato wedges for a very reasonable price. It is a local chain that's been very successful and is now expanding abroad. I'd like to do some window shopping, just to see what's on offere here but our stroll is cut short by a tall guy who starts folloing us mumbling some unintelligible nonsense. As we hurriedly make for the elevator and back to the garage, a security guards approaches us and asks if everything is OK. Unfortunately it seems that this sort of harassment is not rare in this once posh building.

One other venue that is open today, surprisingly, is the Constitutional Court! Lesley wants to take me there because of the significance of the adjacent women's prison. A somber place, but one that inspires hope: the grim facilities that once deprived women of their freedom, in some cases because of political reasons, are now closed and the Constitutional Court, supposedly, is the guarantor of the rights of all in the new South Africa.

It's been a long day and I spend te evening resting and reading in my room, not before another walk through the incredible casinos next door. It's a surreal view from my window: glittering lights from the casino contrast markedly with the black nught sky.

Next to the hotel, a large parking lot is full with the gamblers' cars. Every few hundred meters a parking guard looks after the vehicles: they are dressed in smart uniforms and gesticulate profusely to attract the drivers' attention every time a new car approaces. Smack in the middle there is a huge fountain with a larger-than-life statue of a Roman centurion and four horses galloping wildly into a ring of water jets...