The First Peoples and the Magic of the Kalahari Desert

Fire the Heart Bushmen Living
Belinda, Oeli and B the dog

Devastation in Welkom after the Powerful ritual, trees uprooted
Generations of the Kalahari River bed Children and First Peoples
Children of the Kalahari and the First Peoples

Ou Baas

Buses are pretty reasonable here and cover long distances. There are several to chose from. We chose the Intercape bus which was R400 about $60. These buses are reasonably comfortable, air conditioned and safe. One or two are not particular safe although I think all is well with Baz Bus, Australian that stops at various places and you can hop on and off, Greyhound and Translux Unfortunately like the USA all transport have discovered a way to make money, charge for every ounce of luggage that is overweight. How can you be overweight on a bus? Anyway apart from the awful tea, and the fact that the temperature ran hot and cold according to how the driver wanted it and the religious brainwashing on the TV. It was okay.

When the bus pulled into Upington, I had a vision of this one road African town in days gone by. I knew Belinda right away when I saw her striding up to the bus. Small, slim brown as a berry from the desert sun and walking with a man who was remarkably tiny and slim, like her, my first sight of a bushmen. Politically correct term .....First People, some say Khoi San, or Khoi Khoi some say Bushman(thought derogatory in some circles, the debate still continues I believe.)

The man who shall be called Oeli (Oeliset) I shortened his name, as it took me a few days to pronounce, was fine being called a Bushman. Belinda and I fell into a natural hug, although we had never met each other, and only had email contact and 2 calls, she felt like a sister. Belinda is a bundle of energy. She did not stop talking from the minute we arrived. It was hard at first to follow her drift, she spoke clearly and in a very strong Afrikaans accent, Cape Colored she later introduced herself as. Oeli and her spoke Afrikaans I found in it a gentleness rather than the harsh gutteral sounds that in the past had made me broil and for some reason my ears and heart leaned towards what can be a rather ugly language. Oeli was a soft gentle soul and the language became softer and gentler the more I heard them speak. Surprisingly I began to understand more and more of it and even more shocking I started to speak it quite fluently. It would be the only way that Oeli would understand me, and as the time went on it turned out that we needed to have some lengthy conversations, as he adopted me as his Ma. He spoke several other African languages.

Belinda led us to her Buckie a 2 seater covered truck, and immediately suggested that I sit up front with her, and everyone else, three adults and Bea the dog settle in the back with all our luggage, neatly arranged by Oeli. I was told it was pretty hot back there. The temperature was a mere 41 degrees and we had not yet reached the heart of the Kalahari.

We were first taken to Belinda’s friend’s house, a famous artist, Walter pronounced Valter, where we were given tea and chocolate biscuits, and a well appreciated shower. We are asked if we wanted to stay overnight or keep moving.

Refreshed from our shower and excited, we opted to keep moving after a sit down meal in a restaurant, all of us were peckish. At this point I had introduced my fellow travelers to Marie biscuits one of them did remember her New Zealand grandmother having them with butter and cheese, just as my grandmother had eaten them! And so Maries became our food of comfort, when in doubt have a Marie and a cup of tea! They are a semi sweet crispy biscuit (cookie for my USA brothers and sisters) that tastes quite creamy in a way. I think you can find them in the “ethnic” section of some delis in the USA.

I had a farm breakfast, Boervoors a kind of very long sausage quite tasty. Traditionally it would be braii (barbecued) and often made with beef and herbs, sometimes game, Springbok or Ostrich (which I do not eat) 2 fried eggs, tomatoes, toast, mushrooms and Five Roses tea, the mainstay of my culinary needs and occasionally a cup of African Rooibos (Red Bush tea) Which I heard the USA tried to claim as their invention, and lost the case, go figure. Watered, grazed and ablouted (If there is such a word) and a stop at the supermarket for food supplies, we all jumped back in the buckie and so began our journey into the Kalahari.

Belinda began to unravel her amazing story and her life with the Bushmen. I would like to suggest an extra ordinary read, Kalahari Rain Song written by Belinda (Kruiper) about her journey, and how she came to meet the Riverbed Children, of the Kalahari. She lived her life with them and finally married a bushmen called Vetkat a talented young artist who tragically died in his thirties of a ruptured lung. His artwork still lives on and the week after we left Belinda and Oeli were traveling to Kimberly where Vetkat’s work was being exhibited. What an honoring in his name to be remembered in this way. I just spoke to her. The exhibition went well and she was recognized for her powerful storytelling and her message of honoring the old ways and practicing them as a necessary part of healing.

On two occasions Belinda has received the woman of the year award in South Africa, although it is not something she would mention herself. Belinda has always worked tirelessly and continues to do so for the protection and preservation of art, artifacts and cultural heritage of the First Peoples, to remain alive in our hearts and to ensure that those who came before are remembered so that those who come after are taught the traditional ways. Credo Mutwa would call it Holy work. It is has been a long journey for her with much struggle and strife, and she just keeps on going, in this time though I see that there is a major breakthrough. Often what we want and what we need do not always align, and when we truly follow the ancestors breath and whisperings in the wind we are shown other ways, ways that are not always where we think we want to go.

It is her time now, to shine and step into her greatness. Don’t be fooled by those small bones she is as strong as an Ox and a powerful woman.

The indigenous people of southern Africa, whose territory spans most areas of South Africa, Zimbabwe, Lesotho, Mozambique, Swaziland, Botswana, Namibia, and Angola, are variously referred to as Bushmen, San, Sho, Basarwa, Kung, or Khwe. These people were traditionally hunter-gatherers, part of the Khoisan group and are related to the traditionally pastoral Khoikhoi.They have provided a wealth of information for the fields of anthropology and genetics, even as their lifestyles change. (Wikepedia)

There is much written about the bushmen, San, Khoi Khoi (First Peoples) and so I will not attempt it here, some of it is subjective and derogatory. To look into their eyes,and see the small formed faces, bones and limbs, is to look deep into another world. It is as though you are falling in and there is always an invitation to know them, to know their story, to know their pain, their song, to know where they have come from and where they have been and to know that their hearts are buried deep in the land and all that holds. To take away their land is to take away the very life force that is their love and survival.

We headed to Welkom (pronounced Velkom) first to Belinda’s house where we were to pack various items for our time in the Desert. I was excited to see the red sand dunes so common to the Kalahari. It was dry and hot as is expected, and it was something else.......Magical. There is something Divine in seeing the vast empty space of red sand and sky, and to imagine men hunted with bows and arrows, gathered and lived in such a simple way and some still do (more later) and were the first people. I carried this feeling of gratitude and blessing into the journey and still do.

Alongside the road we stopped at a crossroads where we spotted a couple of small open dwellings more like shade , made of straw/grass. Here sat three or four women one was in traditional dress, bare breasted a straw skirt and a necklace across her chest. The others were dressed in regular clothes. The man had on a very small soft suede loin cloth and a fur headpiece and noting else. They were introduced to us as Isa and Betty and were the River Children (although they were not children,) who sit alongside the road selling their arts and crafts. Bows and arrows, necklaces made of bone beautifully engraved with artwork that looked so delicate and ancient. Horn and bones were used a lot. There was something extraordinary deep about all their eyes, I was fascinated by the bone structure of their body and especially their face. Strong angular jaws with high cheekbones. Dark dark brown skin like beautiful tanned leather exceptionally smooth and tiny limbs that were sinewy and looked strong. These were the people who walked for miles and had the ability to shape shift into the animals they were hunting.

A young boy at about the age of 12 called !Xanan (yes thats the spelling) let us in to the gate and we were greeted by 3 more dogs, wanting to know from Bea, the (spoilt one) where she had been. I later found out that he lived with Belinda, and looked after the place when they were gone. His mother, worked at the Park and came home once a month. This is common it seems this sharing of and looking after children in the townships. !Xanan is a beautiful boy, very independant and responsible. His mother had asked Belinda to look after him now and she has agreed, he is very pleased

We entered the town of Welkom and close to each town is the place where you will find the township, where the people were removed to from the white areas. This is where Belinda had set up home. It had red sand for streets which fell naturally into their order as houses had been built. Not a large township by any means, the houses were mostly brick. Belinda’s house was unusual in that it had a Kraal around it and a sheltered area in the back where fire was often made. Fire the heart of the Bushmen living. It was what we sat around and talked, cooked on, using sturdy iron pots of various sizes, boiled water, cooked tasty stews, boiled rice, and brewed medicine, anything was cooked on the fire in these black cast iron pots. And it tasted good. An iron triangle was sometimes placed on top of the fire to hold the pot. Water was collected in a water tank, sometimes there was water sometimes there was not. The floors were stone in the main house and Belinda’s bedroom where I slept that night was a corrugated iron structure separate from the main house. The floor was red sand! It was lovely and cool to the touch, if you dared walk bare feet. Many thick slug looking long black creatures, slid along the sand. They are called the rain worm, and appear just before the rain comes. Considered sacred they have a beautiful song that they sing called the Kalahari Rain Song.

The houses were divided by trees or shrubbery. There was a liquor store and 2 shops which sold mostly tinned and dried goods. And horses and horsedrawn carts were still used as transport! It felt rather surreal to have a neighbor draw up on a horse and speak to you over the fence!

Some of the people in this tiny township appeared unwelcoming in Welkom. Welkom consists of a colored population with some bushmen/women. Oppression (the bushmen were referred to as rubbish) and its medication, alcohol and Dagga has killed the spirit of the people. Spirit our fire when out of control shows up as violence or can literally burn out no flame or ember, a deep grief, deep depression and no zest for life. I saw both in the eyes of the people in Welcom. TB is a major killer in South Africa the disease that can accompany HIV. The lungs in Chinese Medicine is associated with grief. The grief is tangible in Welkom, its in peoples’ eyes. Some of the young men and women seemed to stagger slightly, slurring their words as they spoke, their eyes red with dagga or too much cheap booze. My heart hurt when I saw them and I felt helpless for the first time on my trip.

There was a sort of despondency, doom, a lost cause. For !Xanan to survive and come out unscathed by his predecessors was a miracle. That is all we can ask for, that at least one child/ youth is supported to lift them selves out of a situation that has been passed down, that was forced upon them. To lose ones land, to an African is to disconnect from one’s true nature. To lose one’s ground is to uproot ones very foundation. To loose one’s cattle and lively hood, is to lose one’s survival. In addition their women were raped, they were raped or abused. To survive and still pull one’s self up is not the measure of an animal, as was often a term used to describe the First People but the measure of a real man, and strong and resilient woman. They say if you are still here, then you must really want to be here. But despite those bold words, I did not see much hope in the faces that did not greet me in Welkom township. We left the next day and my heart felt sore.

We drove deeper into the Kalahari, and what was called the park that Belinda had worked. Here Botswana and South Africa are separated by the riverbed (dry) When we drove on the Botswana side we were not allowed to step out of the truck. This was hard for Oeli whose nature it is to track and walk.

The Kalahari a place of unforgiving climate, a burning sun and a moon that is the only light that breaks the foreboding darkness once a month, and when that happens porcupines are hunted. Along the way ostriches ran across our paths their long necks flailing as if they would snap at any moment. Herds of Gemsbok grazed and drank at the water hole, a lone turtle waddled across the road, and suddenly we heard a banging from the back Stop !!!! They were pointing to a tree a few feet under which lay a lion. His back was towards us, but his head was up. Oeli climbed higher onto the truck and began what I saw a most delightful goading of the king of Animals. It was in Afrikaans but I understood and so did the lion! Oeli’s face lit up and his smile widened and his voice became childlike as he gently and playfully chided with this amazing animal. What I noticed was the utmost respect as though he was talking to a grandfather. Everything looks large in the desert, Belinda said, it is because of the vast landscape.

Ou Baas (old Boss) he called to the lion, hey Ou baas, get up and look at us. Hey ! ! Get up lazy, turn and look at us, come on what’s wrong with you, no time to sleep. We could see the lions ears twitch and lift as he heard the sound of the voice. Finally he turned to look at us got up and walked away. It was not the last we would see or hear from him.

We arrived at our destination called Roi Puts a campsite with 4 places to set up. There were just two other people already at theirs. Oeli laid a stake at the site for protection and very soon we were amazed to see how in a matter of minutes he had disappeared across the Veldt (desert) and was later seen a long long way away. I wondered quietly to my self how he had gotten so far in such a short space of time, as I swear I had not seen him walk there. I will leave that to the readers imagination but suffice to say that in the desert magic is always in the air and shape shifting happens on a regular basis as they transform to hunt their animals.

We set up the tent, lit a fire arranged our food and settled in for the evening. Whole squash, beets and potatoes were wrapped in foil and Oeli taught us how to ashbake. After the wood had turned to embers he dug a hole, placed the wrapped vegetables in the hole and covered it with hot ash and placed the coals on the top.

Whilst we waited for them to cook we sat and talked and Oeli patiently answered all our questions. The Afrikaans was translated by Belinda and we were fascinated by the stories of medicines found in the plants and trees, hunting and healing and the old ways. We unwrapped our very hot foil packages and ate hungrily. They were good!

Because of the possibility of lions visiting to check us out on their way to or from the waterhole we were coaxed to sleep in our tent as opposed to under the stars and Belinda and Oeli took the back of the truck.

It is where the sky on a clear night opens to twinkling stars that can seem so close you could touch them and the animal sounds woo and frighten you. It is truly in awe that I was taken and it was breathtaking. Here it is said that people suddenly disappeared carried by a wind, or struck by lightning or bitten by a poisonous snake or scorpion. Some survived to tell a story and others were left hanging in a tree, by a lion. I witnessed Oeli come alive at the sight of an animal, speaking to them like children and goading them. It is their game when they hunt to see who will survive. Even with torch light you are not sure what is lurking behind you. You have to have the protection of the Gods with you. It’s vastness is all consuming and deeply freeing all at the same time, especially at night where you are completely exposed and vulnerable. For some reason I find this exhilarating. I felt the same feeling when I crossed the vastness of reservations in the USA, and I now know why I have always had a calling to the desert. Snakes are my fear and therefore my medicine and I trod with apprehension both in daylight and at night.

Mirages appear and shadows loom apparently to warn of animals but only those educated in the ways of this sacred land would know its signs and its mystery. It is a lonely landscape often offering little in sustenance, and as described in Belinda’s book often un -relentless in its teachings but the land the vegetation and the animals were regarded with deep respect by those who inhabited it. In early times and still in certain places the land is inhabited by families who sing and dance and share the fire. Stories are shared and enjoyed and loved by all, smoking was and is a sacred pastime, and at one time waterholes were owned and passed down through the generations.

It seems that in certain areas there is a still an abundance of rock art as part of their spiritual expression however what came through the teachings of this gentle man and Belinda was that all life in the veldt, included their spiritual expression, hunting, ritual, the elements, song, animals dance, art work, building a kraal or hut. All of this was what was depicted in the rock art. What I gleaned from my very brief taste of this veldt (desert) was that every inch of it from the red sand that ran through my fingers to the bark on a tree and a man walking with a stick, or the fire that was the heart of their family life was not only sacred but held in it magic. And I wanted more of this great emptiness and its magical teachings.

The next day we rose early to hot tea, bananas and marie biscuits. We were off on a game drive, and a visit to the beginnings of the veldt school that Belinda and the river bed children had dreamed. Along the way we saw springbok, gemsbok, ostrich sometimes all hanging out at the water hole together. After a very long, very bumpy drive we finally crossed over to the South African side and drove through a sign that said do not enter. We arrived at the beginnings of the Veldt school a kraal had been built by some of the river bed children (not children) , it was surrounded by sand dunes. It was here that Belinda wanted to provide the teachings of the Bushman to the youth and children to help them remember the spirit and traditions of the old ways and preserve them.

We sat and talked and walked a little and finally returned back to the park for cold drinks.

As we drove from the park a grinding noise came from the truck and I suggested we return to the garage in the park to take a look. No book ins had to be done. Belinda knew everyone along the way and they agreed to look and fix right there the brake we had lost and for no charge! While we were there we met a man who was working on the road who was also staying at the camp. Later that evening he drove by and told us the lion was right by the side of the road. When game is around people tend to know their whereabouts and it is customary to spread the word so to speak. We jumped in his truck went up a do not enter road and sure enough there it was just two feet away from us lying (yes you guessed , under a tree) We watched Ou baas the same lion for about half an hour took photos and then left. it was amazing ! Before we parted the man told us that he (the lion) was pretty laid back but to take care as he was likely on his way back from the water hole and may come by our tent later that night to check us out. He also told us that the lions girlfriend was not as peaceful and had attacked his truck! Great...... thanks for sharing.

I gave Oeli a massage for his heavy lungs and was surprised at the strength he carried in his tiny body. Later he told me that I had come to him to represent his mother and from that day on he referred to me as Ma. It was very touching to have this 50 year old man calling me Ma. It was then that my Afrikaans somehow took on a new life as I found words that I did not know I knew and I talked with my new found son in Afrikaans.

That night there was a keen alertness at our camp. Oeli jumped up from time to time to shine his torch around us. THE OLD ONES SAY that the roar of a lion is so loud and one must have courage to survive it, as it has been known that men have died of heart attacks when they have heard it. We stayed out as long as possible and then we heard the roar. It sounded fairly close and I was shocked that it was as far away as the water hole! Now I understood what the old ones say. Because if that lion had been close to us it would have been so loud it would had stopped my heart! Belinda and Oeli told us to quickly bundle into our tent, and we did, I was thankful not to be sleeping alone. That night we all were awake with a little thrill in the air as we waited for the king to make himself known. The roar came a little louder as it began its journey across the veldt to warn humans that he was there and also to let other lions know where he was. Of course every rattle and crackle and movement outside the tent sent my heart fluttering but I felt protected all the time and never once felt in danger. It was good knowing that we had with us someone who knew this veldt intimately, yet still respected the dangers of the unknown. He did not pay us a visit that night, but he was close very close and we received his medicine.

Belinda awoke asking if I would do a ritual a clearing of all energies that were not good for her and Oeli. I said I would think about it what to do.

We took our last game drive, and were rewarded by witnessing two cheetahs mating way off in the distance on the top of a sand dune. I was surreal and strong medicine.

We returned to camp, packed our stuff and I performed the ritual for them. It was very moving, performed close to the graves of his parents.

We headed out before the noonday sun. On the way out we were rewarded again by our protector who had been with us since the day we arrived. Ou baas the lion was sitting under a tree alongside the side of the road bold as you like. SO close we looked into his eyes and could have touched him, and as our eyes stretched several more feet there she was, the girlfriend, her head up majestic and magnificent! We thanked him for his medicine both Belinda and I were tearful. Thank You old baas. One of the road workers was walking unafraid out there close to both lions, what a gift. What an incredible morning. Magic followed us everywhere we went in the veldt, the animals, the rituals, the medicine, the messages that were received in dreams and the deep wisdom carried by our very special guides.

Happy we drove from the park, and within minutes we headed to the Ompolomo Lodge for our first hearty meal in three days after which we returned to Welkom, where a thunderstorm was brewing in the place where energies were not wholesome. The old ones say when rain, especially heavy rain comes after ritual the prayers have been received. We dropped Oeli while we went back to the park for showers. We were gone no more than half an hour, and by the time we had returned we witnessed puddles along the road that the heavy rain had brought. We did not see any rain on our way to the park. As we entered Welkom Belinda’s mouth dropped, what happened here Slowly we started to see the devastation, trees had been uprooted, even a couple of roofs had come loose. But we were only gone half an hour........Belinda looked at me and together we understood the ritual had taken . That night Oeli made a fire, we cooked a vegetable stew with rice and we sat in the kraal and talked. A very windy night blew all the cobwebs away

The next morning we had a breakfast of eggs and fruit salad and went to say goodbye t a couple of people who sat around a fire smoking . It was clear that they had very little. We headed out to another farm to meet an elder, a woman who still spoke the ancient Language

We had arranged to spend the night with the Kalahari Rain Children that Belinda had spent most of her life with. It was the day before Valentines Day. That day each sign and symbol as we tried to visit blocked our way, until we reached the dwelling of one of the Leaders Isac. It was there I witnessed the devastation of internalized oppression.

The alcoholism and the violence. As I entered the hut I was greeted with a deep wailing that rocked my bones as it came from a place of such pain. And I saw those eyes change from the wisdom of the first peoples to a plea for salvation and again I was helpless. Leaving the hut I began to sense danger and I asked that we leave. I was not willing to stay in the chaos. We slept under the stars restless and uncomfortable. All of us drenched and soaked and yet it was a cold night. The ancestors were working hard to cleanse us. That morning we arose to be greeted by a deadly scorpion, seen by Oeli who gently sacrificed it to the fire in an honoring way, later a poisonous lizard appeared and that night we slept with the bats.

We headed towards Upington in the hope that our two friends could swing a wedding, they had decided to get married the night before. Finally we reached Upington, where we secretly shopped for a few wedding gifts for the couple, just in case, and we then went to see the justice of the peace. Unfortunately a document was needed which they did not have and we decided to go ahead with the gift giving later that night. We bought champagne and brand new sheets, a blues shawl candles, and two bone pieces that had been carved by one of Belinda’s favorite artists. We stopped overnight at an old farm Belinda knew run by Afrikaaners in Spitskop She said they had always been supportive of the Bushmen. On the farm was an old stone cottage with no electricity or water which Oeli and Belinda took and we slept in a one room hut with a thatched roof.

We prepared the gifts secretly whilst they sat outside and talked. It was a beautiful few moments when we presented them with our offerings. To honor a union was such a sweet ending to our adventure and the Magic of our Kalahari Experience. That night I was kept awake listening and watching the bats who lived in the rafters of the thatch swooping around our room. Some say they represent transformation, the bushmen say otherwise, I’ll take the transformation. The next morning we boarded the bus to Johannesburg. Our faithful taxi driver Johannes was there to meet my fellow travelers to return them to their hotel for a night and their flight home to the USA the next day, and I was met by a complete stranger, a friend of Belinda that she had made contact with who met me at the bus station and took me to his house where his wife had prepared a delicious meal of chicken, potatoes and squash.

I took a wonderful hot shower and listened to stories of their life and the next day was taken to the airport to catch my flight to George, and my next adventure in Wilderness.

Book Tour: Sacred Sites. More Contrasts, Durban and Cape Town

On Sunday Morning the next day, my publicist arrived to pick me up to begin the book tour. The book 29 Gifts. ( How a month of giving can change your life) by Cami Walker I entered into the world of media.
One of the travelers stayed with me for the tour whilst the other booked a different range hotel and met us later in Cape Town. First stop after checking in was the Rosebank Mall in Johannesburg to buy a stone that Credo Mutwa had suggested we have for protection. There is also a very good African Market close by with goods from all over Africa.

I returned to the hotel to rest and relax go over my schedule. On some level in order for me to focus and prepare for what would be an extreme pace from 4am wake ups to catch flights to late dinners in the evening, TV, Radio and Newspaper interviews and book signings all day long, I began a slowing down process. I was looking forward to my debut into media and thanks to my amazing publicist, who took care of every detail with ease, grace and a professionalism that looked like she did it in her sleep the tour went without a hitch. I enjoyed every moment of it, every person I met and every welcome I received. I felt like I was being welcomed home by every stranger, be it TV Host, or a woman suffering from MS in a bookstore who simply wanted to talk. There were many magic moments in what seemed to be a tour driven by a force that had little to do with me. I was simply the medicine woman, who gave the author an unusual prescription, “Give way 29 gifts in 29 days” But it caused a stir everywhere we went, book signings sold out, people showed up to the point of overflowing. Abundance abounded and I am still fascinated by the energy behind the 29 gifts movement.

The gifts were every where. I was extremely pleased with the diverse media interviews that had been set up from The Big Issue to a Literary lunch in the wine country and great progressive radio and TV slots.
I was really impressed by what I witnessed as the new South Africa’s emerging budding talent, the majority colored and blacks in TV and radio as well as well seasoned journalists and interviewers. Some of the Radio stations were out of the fifties, quaint wood paneled walls with the mike hanging in the center of the room. My spirits lifted, I did see progress, as my heart had sunk in what I still see as little or no change in many areas of the country with its squatter camps and continuing segregation.

My second cousin’s beautiful young daughter showed up in one of the book signings in Cape Town with her boyfriend, who bought her the book, day 1 of 29 the first gift. Little and big gifts came in, in various packages, a never ending abundance and flow. I was always aware of the still very glaring separation, eating in restaurants with maybe only one or two black people whilst driving to Sandtown a white wealthy area, edged onto one of the most impoverished and dangerous townships in South Africa. Alexandra, enter if you dare, they say, preferably with a guide to drive in, as you may be hit by stones that fly your way as you drive alongside children dressed in rags and barefoot who have been taught somewhere that we needed to be stoned. I can only think of this song at these times ....It was sung in the times of Apartheid especially at the funerals of Political activists and was part of the Vukani’s repertoire. Senzinina. Which means what have we done ...our only sin is our blackness. That line still cracks me open each time I sing it. What a deep and powerful statement- it says it all, when I see a child taught to throw stones at anyone who may be the oppressor. Will that child rise from the gravest poverty, caused only because she was born black? I pray so. What have we done, our only sin is that we are black. I am sure though that there are ways to enter Alexandra in peace, even though some of the locals will not even drive there. This is unusual and not the norm, please read on.

The contrasts here in South Africa are everywhere you go. I consider my self a cosmopolitan person, whatever that means. Colored, my self born in PE, raised in London and now living in the USA. I have a little of everything. Black, white European and mixed blood. Here in South Africa never white enough and never black enough, I have over the years had to work hard on my not enoughness, and have always managed to walk comfortably wherever I was. For those who do not know Colored existed here in South Africa as a race. With this label comes another history which has been written about in past posts.

I am still surprised in the glaring segregation whilst no longer imposed, still imposed, so to speak. Signs still say we reserve the right to refuse permission .......I somehow doubt they were talking about someone who was not wearing a tie.
I walk comfortably in Townships feel welcomed there like family. I watch observe and listen. Still new to my homeland I have seen an enormous amount in my four visits but feel that I have not yet gotten under its skin and felt its pulse. It’s heart has already touched me often in many ways, in the eyes of the motherless children, or the old mans shoes who walks in rags along the road, the Bushman’s creases around the eyes of the folds in their smooth dark leathery skin. I look forward with great relish to digging deep into the heart and psyche of the collective of my country, it is that, that will drive my book. I have been exposed to very little of Mama Africa until recently and now I can’t get enough of it.

Two days in Johannesburg. First stop 7am make up, for TV that made my fellow traveler’s face tell a story of shock as I emerged whiter than when I went in! But it was fun the make up girls were excited that it was me, lord knows why, but we laughed and talked about the book. Live TV followed by Radio and newspapers and more TV. There is a vibe of vibrant young and young at heart elders. I witnessed an exciting media talent. Diverse in every way, very uplifting. Thank You, Joburg! You are all a gift!

Up for a 4am flight to Durban, Bleary eyed and still sleepy I showered in the 4 Quarters Hotel opposite the African Arts Center. Several interviews later, I emerged. I had a radio interview with a charming gentleman who knew integrative Medicine and who’s mother married Gracia and Nelson Mandela, it made the end of a lovely day, followed by just one book launch and dinner in the charming Hotel. Dinner was served under a canopy, whilst stormy warm rain poured down, on a balmy evening. Durban is a laid back seaside town, with a smell of potential and possibility in the dusk’s balmy ocean breeze. Sexy, sultry and romantic. I love it, or is it Kwa Zulu Natal the region that it is in, that really lifts my heart?
It boasts a “Golden Mile” mostly women selling their wares along the sea front, brightly colored beaded jewelry sold at trade prices and where many traders come to buy. So if you like the jewelry there buy it as the next time you see the same wares, it will be marked up somewhat. An Art Deco piece of architecture beautifully and tastefully done is the Sun Coast casino creme and blue pastel walls enhance the skyline, a little walk to the beach. We all hitched up our skirts and dipped our feet in the ocean for a few minutes before heading to the Book launch in Kensington. Oh and did I mention the World Cup? Thousands of rand has been spent on the most beautiful football stands here in South Africa. Of all the cities, I liked Durban the best architecturally speaking (sorry Cape Town and Soweto, but it’s true.See photo above ) Oh and who knew I would be writing about football. Thank You Durban, you are all a gift!
Up at 4 am the next day up to catch the flight to Cape Town. I was thrilled as I always am when the mountain and the ocean came to meet me, as we landed. Male and female energy live very strongly side by side .... the mountain and the ocean, so I am told. Cape Town is quite a vortex of sacred sites. Some of which I was lucky enough to explore. I have a soft, very soft spot for Cape Town. It was there just 4 years ago that I looked down the street where we had lived and literally remembered in my bones some memory of a life on that street. I had never lived there to my knowledge, my first three years spent in Port Elizabeth. They say the cells of the body never forget and so it was. But I remembered, I could feel my father and my mother standing where I stood looking at the mountain. The little pink house they lived in is now a creche and a small church.

Mostly newspapers highly diverse in nature, surprised and pleased at the young talents in journalism and impressed with those more seasoned. The interviews were thoughtfully held where possible in the grounds of the Vineyard hotel, where I was staying, which boasted a rather lovely large turtle and somewhat luxurious grounds and services which I have to admit, I had to keep asking, what I had done to deserve this, but I must admit I did sing for my supper and I loved every moment of it especially the passion fruit juice mixed with sparkling water. It was all a gift.

A very moving and profound moment occurred for me when I was interviewed by a colored radio interviewer. Out of the window I could see table mountain to the left. “Jai is a P.E meisie” he greeted me in Afrikaans. Translated means “You are a PE Girl” What’s it like being home? I felt a lump rise in my throat. It is sort of surreal to be here on radio in Cape Town looking at the Mountain my parents camped on when they were courting. I feel such an honor! I was so grateful he asked the question and I had an opportunity to honor my parents on radio in Cape Town several years after they had passed. It felt like they were right there with me.

Where was I? Oh yes contrasts......
My last venue was the Cape Town Literary lunch held at the Buitenverwachting Wine Estate in Constantaia. Apparantly the event had sold out to 150 people quite quickly and had a waiting list. Go 29 gifts! It was quite an event. The next day I was walking the streets of Kyelisha township, holding babies who were orphaned mostly to HIV and AIds, in a pretty grim, grey impoverished concrete jungle. My friend’s husband, provides volunteers from all over the world to these establishments. His wife drove us into the township, while he, a white gentleman and he is gentle, greeted and waived at all those who recognized him. “it is very safe you know to come here, most people stay away because of fear, I feel very welcomed and safe” and he was welcomed wherever he went. We parked outside a home for children and I stopped to listen to a choir from the nearby church, four white people and me .......I have to go in and listen. They followed. No sooner had we been spotted, we were escorted to seats that people gave up so we could sit, huge smiles and handshakes welcomed us. The only white people in a strange town in a strange church. Music has always united the South African people in times of struggle and during apartheid. (also written in past posts) It was what my choir Vukani Mawethu sang about. Here many many years later, these people invited us into their community. I was overcome with emotion and tears just streamed. This is what it means to truly forgive, they teach me this every time I come here, and I am humbled each time I learn how to forgive. I remembered a line from Nelson Mandela’s speech when he was asked by a reporter in London if the thousands of people who had shown up to honor him scared him. “How can I be afraid, when all I feel is love?” Right here in the heart of strangers in a township where hunger and poverty is rife, where people were cast out of their homes and their land taken away because they were black, is where I felt loved and where I am comfortable. I remembered again that I have so much more to learn from those who forgave their oppressors.
Thank You Cape Town, my publicist and the awesome team of book sellers and promoters and all those I met along the way. You are all a gift.

Just when I thought I was done, my publicist asked if I would do one more live TV interview on the Monday morning. By now I had moved out of my exclusive hotel to the red light district in Cape Town called Green Point, right opposite the Brand new football stadium. Did I mention the world Cup? Its saving grace was that it was in walking distance of the Wharf. I happily agreed, and made it back in time to meet with a woman named Karen I had been in communication with about sacred sites in Cape Town. Previously she had told us we would need to have good shoes and be quite fit. I am not that fit right now and hoped the walk was not going to be too strenuous. Although older than me, a spring chicken indeed, a sprightly mountain goat who could traverse craggy areas and terrains in no time at all. Even the young travelers I was with had to keep up.

Well what a gem she turned out to be! We were taken to Table Mountain. I had been before on two occasions but had never been shown the Vortex of the third eye and incredible point of power. We meditated there and later we were driven to three more power areas. The first a very special rock that Credo had talked about, ‘The all seeing Eye”. It looked a little like a unicorn. In its point was a space the shape of an eye, where it is said that at the time of the solstices, (we have one coming) is the only time the sun shines directly through this eye. We were then taken to a Bushmen burial site ( this is where the elderly lady, shape shifted into a mountain goat (uhhh that would be her not me) and traversed the terrain at lightening speed. We were led to a cave that had been excavated by a man called Pitts who decided that to disturb the graves of 12 Bushmen and dig up their skeletons was a good idea. I sure as hell do not want his Karma or those that follow.

It was sad to look at the black stones, disheveled and disturbed and to know that the graves had been invaded and the bones dug up. We sat quietly and honored them and myself and one of the travelers decided to sing. I quietly sang a West African song that honored the ancestors and felt my heart lift a little. After that our guide took us to a cave of ascension where we sat at the edge overlooking a stunning valley. We drank a concoction of tea made by her and another traveler as they collected herbs along the way. We made offerings there. It was said that it was where those recently passed were brought to leave their body and for their spirit to ascend.
Just heavenly ..................I got Karen's info through Dean Liprini, www.sunpath.co.za .Karen’s number if you want to contact her is 072 321 9115, and it is okay to mention my name.
Back to the red light district, for an early dinner, before heading to Cape Town Bus station and an overnight 12 hour bus ride to Upington in the North, to begin our Journey into the kalahari Desert and our time with Belinda and the Bushmen.

Polarization: Johannesburg, Soweto

We celebrated our reunion in Johannesburg in Melville a very small vibrant community with buzzing restaurants and bars, our third traveler relating her stories of swimming in the Zambezi River, standing on slippery rocks under the Victoria falls, and feeding 30 people with one chicken. She was tucking into the Asian food and vanilla ice cream with great relish.

The next day I organized through an acquaintance who lived in Soweto and just met in Kuruman for the first time, to be picked up for a tour of Soweto. This is how it happens in South Africa in my humble experience. If I walk without fear, sensitivity for people trying to make a living and trust, I get taken care of. Personally I prefer to go with the locals and stand to have a much more of a real time that isn’t tainted by post apartheid people trying to fit into the New South Africa.

“We will make a plan” is a saying that folks use here. It means people will go out of their way to make sure that you are cared for, met at airports by strangers and carried safely to where ever you are going, oh and did mention given shelter and food. UBUNTU UBUNTU again and again. Even taxi drivers can be relied on here, called several days ahead from another town they will show up! Extraordinary. SO I have no qualms that people will be where they have promised to be, and do what they say they are going to do. A fantastic lesson if you find yourself a little flaky and unreliable and full of complaints.

Don’t get me wrong, not all things work out, due to elements, drink, drugs, poverty and a variety of other things. Yes bad things happen to not just bad people..... life I believe it is called...and if you add that to unnecessary risks, chance, fate then things occur. Truth is it can, as it can in Oakland, London, Kensington, Manhattan and other posh or not so posh places. But it is not by any means this wild and dangerous place where you have to hide away behind your locked gates with several dogs to keep you imprisoned from living your life or integrate and never go anywhere as some people have lived here since apartheid ended.

I travel with caution but not fear, trust not temptation I obey the rules of those who have lived here, black and white and so far all is good, and I don’t allow arrogance, resilience to authority, get in the way of temptation. I put my handbag or purse in the trunk of the car, as I am told to do and I can do all that and someone can still stick their hand through the window of my car to grab a $20 cell phone to sell for food for their starving kids. Is it right no.... but I cannot judge. When a local person tells me not to get out of the car, I listen !

When we live in such fear we not only keep out the bad things we keep out all the amazing things. South africa is one of the most stunningly beautiful countries you could ever imagine. It is diverse in every way. Its polarization is in your face, daily in every breath you take. It is vibrant, exciting, diverse, stunning and scary, and if you let the scary bit get you, then you will not go anywhere.

So for me to climb into a bus with 2 strange, yes, local men from Soweto who I know only from someone I met for literally a few minutes, meant that I was taking a risk, not because they were black but because they were strangers, and it wasn’t silly as I trusted the new acquaintance and I had three other people traveling with me. I noticed that some people also always try to bargain with black people about cost, not something they would do if it were a white tour operator. It’s completely absurd and degrading. Everyone is trying to make a living here.

Two men arrived in a very nice mini bus and we climbed in excited. Our first stop was to change money at the bus station in Johannesburg, a busy metro of people coming and going a very busy very black hub hub of activity, not a place to be hanging out or walking alone, as we were told later by the black taxi driver. Yes the air conditioning in the bus broke down just 30 minutes into the tour, which probably would not have happened had you paid another R400 or maybe it would...something has to break down ..right? It would not be Africa if it didn’t.

Soweto is known as the heart beat of the nation. It is a melting pot of South African Urban culture, infused with the history of the struggle against apartheid and abuzz with the energy of the city of gold. Shabeens ( local drinking establishments) heritage sites, music, arts and crafts and restaurants is the Soweto that has always been there, but now in the New South Africa and did I mention the World Cup? It has cleaned up nicely thank you, spruced, vibrant and a place of friendship. Yes it is okay to walk the streets as it is in most townships, but not many people know that you know, because they simply do not do it and along the way you will be in the heart of the most metropolitan township in the country, a most populous black urban residential area with a population close to a million.

Frankly I could not wait to step foot on its streets and smell the air that I had only heard of and seen from afar. I was struck by the grey concrete four room dwellings "the matchbox Houses” are still there, originally built for the first black migrants. The shacks are just that, one room the size of some people’s toilet and some a little bigger. I had a longing to see inside these shacks and I wondered and remembered the police riots, and the squalor I had read about in Kaffir Boy, Mark Mathabanes novel. The shacks are still there and still home to many Sowetans, and they take pride in making them home and still I hear people say, well they don’t know any better, and my heart fills and I hear, “you seem to let this really bother you” and I am speechless that these words still fall from the mouths of those in denial or is it shame, in the New South Africa. Despite the poverty, a strong sense of community has been established in the squatter camps and surrounding areas.

Soweto is a huge sprawling infrastructure of several thousand houses.

Much different from a few years ago when the Sowetan landscape consisted mostly of tin shacks and broken down houses. South Africa is the only country I believe in the world that provides some free housing. Soweto is a place of contrasts, piles of garbage alongside the newly planted grass and trees. There are the poverty stricken and the millionaires all living in the same swarming infrastructure with its own stores and gas stations. It is only in recent years that the democratic government has spearheaded moves to provide running water, provide electricity, plant trees and develop parks for the township. Despite the high unemployment I continue to see the creativity and entrepreneurship in the many traders plying their wares on the street corners. Recycling wire into elaborate toy bicycles, or animals studded with brightly colored beads, plastic bottles into beautifully painted boxes and plastic bags into strong bags! It puts the USA to shame!

Back in 1904 Klipspruit the oldest cluster of townships was established. Soweto is an Acronym for “South Western Townships” and from the start intended to be segregated. What struck me was walking into the center of Freedom Square where the freedom charter was adopted,(see previous posts) a grey concrete structure and the Soweto Hotel, also a grey concrete structure ....nothing was meant to be attractive and beautiful in Soweto when it was planned. It housed mainly black laborers, who worked in the mines away from the inner city and the famous single hostels where they lived can still be seen. More spots in inner Joburg were later reserved for white occupation, and in the 1950’s as more black neighborhoods were emptied out for white residents, Soweto became the so called dumping ground for those being relocated.....Senzenina -what have we done? Our only sin is our blackness.

Soweto’s history is rich. It became the center of campaigns that wanted to overthrow the apartheid state. Uprisings began in Soweto and included the famous student uprisings where Hector Pietersen was shot dead, in 1976 and changed the course of South African history.

Many political activists live and have lived here including Nelson and Winnie Mandela, and Desmond Tutu, their houses open as museums in the township. Oh and did I mention the township awaits the world cup with pride, its stadium is ready as it always has been, as Soweto produced the highest number of Soccer teams in the country.

The Orlando power station towers carries the largest mural painting in South Africa. And if you love graffiti and wall art some of it is spectacular. Make sure and check out the exquisite ones near the Regina Mundi church and also shown above.

First stop Nelson Mandela’s house which houses Mandela Memorabilia. It is a humble little house in Orlando West and it is where Mandela wanted to return rather than move to a more affluent area. I left my fellow travellers to wander whilst I sat with the tour organizer a whippet of a man called Mahlaba who was very efficient and looking forward to the world cup and the expected generation of business that it would bring. We sat outside at the wooden tables at the famous restaurant close by and shared a cold drink. There was a never ending buffet that served, chicken curry, tripe, sweet potatoes endless vegetables, beets, salads and malva pudding a sponge made with dates and treacle and trifle. All the yummie foods that reminded me of my families cooking. It was constantly busy, friendly, buzzing and vibrant. When the girls returned we ate as much as we wanted for 85 rand, about $11. After our sumptuous lunch we hopped back into the small bus, next stop the Hectar Pietersen Museum dedicated to the first child tragically shot in the Soweto riots, when the School children came out to protest about being forced to learn Afrikaans as part of their curricula. See past blog posts. The police opened fire on a peaceful group of children

The tour coordinator suggested 15 minutes and after my friends entered, and before I followed them in, I sat next to him on the stone wall, across from the vendors that sold the local arts and crafts. My heart was surprisingly full with emotion, as we had driven through the township, I spoke gently.

Mahlaba, it’s very important that those coming to our country learn the history of our people and that you participate in encouraging folks to spend as much time as they need in the museum, so you become a part of telling the story, 15 minutes is not enough. He listened intently and I saw a sadness descend. You are right maam he said. No need to call me maam, you are my brother, let’s work together to tell the story. I will bring you people and you honor your people by being patient. We shook hands on it, in the old African way.

The museum is excellent, small, but a beautiful honoring and portrayal of the events leading up to this historical event, it follows a history that is key and essential for those wanting to know South Africa. There are benches across from videos, text, newspaper articles or photos where at times one wants to sit and integrate and process the deep sadness that overtakes you as you read and look at the images on the walls. I saw tears brimming unashamedly as people’s hearts suddenly softened. It is not a museum to be rushed. Threaded through the sadness comes inspiration, appreciation for the struggle of Apartheid, pride and empowerment for the people’s courage and then for me an overwhelming deep love for my people.

After that museum we were taken to the Regina Mundi church where last year the Vukani Mawethu choir that I sang in had the honor of singing alongside Johannesburg church choirs, their tones and harmony filling the vast church leaving us quite speechless. Regina Mundi Church became the home to numerous anti -apartheid organizations and hosted the funerals of scores of political activists.

It is a spiritual haven for thousands of Sowetans and visitors and is known for its role in the townships history of resistance against apartheid. It is here that police stormed through the doors firing at fleeing students, where many were injured and to this day a statue of Christ stands his arms blown off by gun fire from the out of control riot police. Rgeina Mundi means Queen of the World and it offered protection to those in the struggle for freedom and has also been called “Church of the Nation”

The church became a world-wide symbol of the determination of our people to free themselves," Nelson Mandela. The truth and reconciliation commission hearings were held in the church from 1995 -1998 presided over by Archbishop Tutu.

"The church is an eye. It must see to it that justice is done."

The church is a historical place that despite the massacre that occurred, holds an uplifting energy. The Black Madonna and child is a masterpiece in oils, the high beamed ceilings calling for it to take its place on that wall space, and overlook all children and the swelling congregation sometimes up to 5000.

Onto Walter Sisulu’s grave where we walked amongst segregated grave yards, black without headstones, Asian, Colored and Jewish. I asked Mahlaba if we could sing the national anthem, he was surprised that I knew it and that I sang in Zulu. We sang out together not solemnly but with gusto and verve for the new South Africa, right there in honor of those who died in the struggle of Apartheid.