It was the little things that stuck out the most. Don’t get me wrong, the main attractions were great, awesome even. But it was the little things that were the difference between going on a cycle tour through Masiphumelele with award winning AWOL Tours, and going on normal tour.
It was the group of men in the shabeen who offered me a drink, and the fact that my drink turned out to be a very nice Swartland Cabernet. I guess I had been expecting a beer, or a vodka and lemonade, and yet there they all were sitting around a table at a Sunday lunch sharing a lovely bottle of wine. A warm and friendly circle of friends, full of laughter.
It was the young girl in front of me in the church we visited. The service was in full tilt, men and women beautifully dressed and the harmony of their voices resonating deep within me as I sat watching. Deep, rich, harmonious voices, loudly joining into one stirring sound. And in front of me a young girl. She was about my daughter’s age. Around her, people had their eyes closed and their faces turned up as if basking in an invisible light, but she alone was looking out of the window. I followed her gaze through the opening and down the road to where a group of laughing teenagers was playing in the sun. And I knew how she felt. And it made my heart warm as she reminded me of a small boy who had felt the same way. And reminded me that this was like many of us felt in our lives.
It was the people we passed in the narrow alleys between rusted shacks as we made our way through spaces and people and greetings to the Sangoma’s house, skirting puddles and the potholes left by the previous day’s rain. It was the warmth people showed when we suddenly appeared around a corner on our bikes. Everybody we met seemed pleasantly surprised to bump into us. Faces creasing into instant smiles as they passed us on their way.
Waiting outside the Sangoma’s hut it was the sense of respect as I watched her light a twist of dried herbs in a small bowl on the floor. It was the sight of the wonderful slow rising mist of smoke that smelled just like incense in a church, and seemed to serve the same purpose. And as I watched this scene through the open door, beams of light streamed through an open window on the far wall, creating a curtain of misty light through which a young child appeared, and I cursed myself for being practical and bringing my small camera on a bicycle tour.
It was the way my eleven-year-old daughter kept beaming over at me as we cycled through the community and kept repeating time and time again how much she was enjoying the experience.
It was the garish yellow corner fisheries, which advertised fish, chips, russians and hard-boiled eggs.
It was the wonderful sense of freedom and unity that I felt riding down the streets. I had felt this before years ago travelling through Egypt and riding a bike through the back streets of Luxor as the sun was setting, and suddenly understanding back then and connecting and feeling whole. And now, riding through Masiphumelele it was invoking the same deep feeling in me.
If there had been less potholes in the road I would have let go of my handle bars and held my arms out and thrown my head back and laughed.
It was the young kids smiling and calling out cheerfully to me as I rode past, ‘Molo Mulungu, Molo Mulungu’, they implored me with their eyes to get a short lift on your back carrier.
It was the husband of the Sangoma taking us through to the back of their shack to show us where he prepared his various herbal medicines. A simple cheese grater and dry roots and herbs, and the flickering candle creating a sense of drama and secrecy that made me curse for not bringing the big camera a second time.
It was a traditional lunch at Nongolozi’s: three big serving plates laden with boerewors and beef and pork chops, and a big serving bowl of pap and a spicy sauce, cooked on big braai’s and served to be eaten with your fingers.
And when we stopped towards the end of the tour and I cursed myself a third time for not having the big camera, watching a hotly contested soccer match, it was the skill and determination those youngsters showed as they played their hearts out. Sometimes they were ankle deep in soft sand and forced to scoop the ball out of the dust, rather than kicking it. It was their style and their spirit that I remember. A young boy of about twelve attacking down the left wing, much smaller and younger that the players around him, but eyes alight with determination.
Then later, driving home full after the tasty carnivorous lunch, overflowing with the experience I had just left, I wished that the rest of my family had been with me and seen and absorbed and enjoyed what we had done. I wished anybody visiting or living in Cape Town could understand that such a morning cycle, and interacting with this wonderful community, would leave you with far more memories and a far deeper understanding of our wonderful city and her people than you would get visiting many of our more conventional attractions.
A tour with AWOL through Masiphumelele will give you many things that you won’t find up a cable car or at a wine tasting and as I looked across at my eleven year old daughter, an important one seemed to stand out most:
Hope.
Visit AWOL Tours to find out more about this and other tours and projects that they are involved in.
Tel 083-234-6428
Web www.awol.travel
For more information on these or other Fair Trade Tourism adventures, visit the FTTSA website, or join FTTSA on Facebook.
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