Open Writing

Just north of Pietermaritzburg lies Howick. On the edge of this small town on a non-descript stretch of road running alongside a railway is a monument marking one of South Africa's most significant landmarks: the scene where Nelson Mandela was arrested in 1962. A random check at a police roadblock revealed Mandela, heavily disguised, but nevertheless sufficiently identifiable for the policemen to realise what a huge stroke of luck had befallen them. The nationwide hunt for the Black Pimpernel had come to an end. Mandela was not to experience freedom again for twenty eight years.

The Baz Bus took us the short journey down to Durban where I had booked an overnight stay at a backpackers hostel prior to picking up another Bus through the hilly Transkei countryside. After unpacking I asked for a restaurant recommendation. Reeling off the names of a few, mostly within a short distance of the hostel we made for the exit. "You can't walk; it's too dangerous after dark. I'll get a taxi for you" said the guy on reception. Not being accustomed to such restrictions throughout our time in Southern Africa I opted to have pizza delivered to the hostel; welcome to Durban. Looking out over the city from the hostel balcony I realised for the first time how the bustling streets which we had witnessed upon our arrival had quickly turned into a ghost town as darkness descended. The city had become a 'no go' area for tourists and most of its residents irrespective of race.

The next morning we were picked up by the Baz Bus nice and early and taken on the long drive to Umtata, the main town in the Transkei. Port St John on The Wild Coast was our ultimate destination. Owing to the deliberate policy of under-development during the apartheid years, it has paradoxically been beneficial in attracting visitors to the area with its fascinating coastline and treacherous waters stretching some three hundred kilometres south wards to East London. A small tourist industry has begun to emerge.

The Amaponda Backpackers hostel proved to be an enchanting place to park up for a few days. A couple of progressive South Africans were in the process of developing it with the help of passing backpackers from around the world. A builder from London; a general dogsbody from Canada and a gardener from Germany. All were busily engaged on various tasks in exchange for freeboard and lodgings. A pattern witnessed throughout the trip.

The highlight of the visit to Port St John was the four kilometres canoeing journey up the river. I was paired with an experienced South African guy whilst Mary shared a canoe with the Canadian dogsbody. This was a 'first' for both of us and although we both got pretty wet owing to our inability to use the paddles properly it remains a memorable experience.

The last evening was spent supping beer and listening to drumming skilfully demonstrated by the barman in-between sales and Richard, a builder up from Port Elizabeth to carry out some of the more skilful operations during the reconstruction phase. Richard exhibited sound building skills so I was not surprised to hear him recite the story of a guy he had done some work for in the recent past who had paid him well over the agreed price.

The glorious landscape and coastline of this part of South Africa continued to enchant me. Nelson Mandela's house lay on the road leading southwards. Built by the ANC it had been constructed at the request of Mandela with surrounding walls to resemble those of Polsmoor Prison where he had been incarcerated by the regime. It was here that the BBC Ground force team led by Alan Titchmarsh had created a garden at the request of Mandela's wife, the widow of the late Samara Machel, President of Mozambique. It had been secretly organised during one of Mandela's frequent absences abroad.