Days 210 – 214
Ngwenya / Mbabane / Ezulwini Valley / Lobamba / Mantenga Nature Reserve / Little Usutu River / Mantenga Falls / Manzini / kaPhunga / Mlilwane Wildlife Sanctuary / Malkerns Valley / Mahlanya
As soon as I return home to fast internet, the first thing I will do is add ‘Traveling’ to the Interests on my Facebook page. Okay, it won’t exactly be the first thing I do, but you get the idea; over 7 months of exploring Africa has naturally provided me with a new love in life. But for the first 200-odd days, my travel had mostly been done alongside others. From Kampala to Victoria Falls I was accompanied by a truck-load of tourists, while various contacts assisted me in my journeys through Perth, Tanzania, Johannesburg, Cape Town and Pretoria.
Swaziland was a completely new type of adventure as for once I would be doing it all alone. This time there were no contacts, no acquaintances and no friends of friends. This time there was nobody to turn to but myself.
Things didn’t exactly get off to a flying start on the Friday of my departure. At 8am I began waiting for my lift, a lift that didn’t arrive for another three hours. Having being deprived half a day’s worth of orienting myself with this foreign country I was naturally a little annoyed, however I was more concerned about whether I would even enter Swaziland at all.
Receiving news that the school’s ute wasn’t insured outside of South Africa potentially meant that my eagerly awaited holiday would have to be cancelled. It thankfully turned out to be just a minor hiccup, although it did mean that I would have to be dropped off at the international border and find my own way from there.
My first impressions of the Kingdom of Swaziland were not particularly pleasant. A torrential downpour compounded with roaring thunder and fierce lightning to concoct a daunting sound and light performance. Furthermore this would be my first border crossing with my new passport, a passport that didn’t contain a valid South African visa.
Eventually I was granted access through the gates of my ninth African country, however it didn’t get any easier from there. Carrying a cumbersome backpack, a daypack and an awkwardly shaped tent on my person I had to somehow find a way of reaching Ezulwini Valley – the nation’s tourist hotspot. Exercising exquisite Tetris skills I managed to fit me and my three bags into one tiny minibus seat and before long I was on my way to the modest capital city of Mbabane.
The few minutes I spent in Mbabane epitomised what it means to be in Africa. Still carting along a few dozen kilos of luggage I was faced with the difficult task of finding another linking minibus and subsequently squeezing my way into the van’s back right corner. A couple of passengers in the seat in front were kind enough to nurse my two smaller bags. Nonetheless that still left me with the biggest load and I was literally up to my neck in it.
Given that my only sense of direction came from a vague, disproportional Lonely Planet map I had little idea where to alight from the minibus. To my relief, though, a local man knew the location of my backpacker’s and I managed to arrive safely. I had been in the country for no more than two hours and I had already experienced a whole week’s worth of drama.
As if God was trying to compensate for the raw deal I had endured the evening before, my second day began with remarkably ideal weather. Keen to make up for lost time I headed straight for the Swazi Cultural Village – a respectable replica of rural Swaziland. Complete with beehive huts, traditional dancers, smelly cows and pesky monkeys this tourist attraction – located in the midst of a nature reserve – showcased a culture I was not yet familiar with. Nonetheless small things, such as the Nike soccer boots I spotted in one of the huts, partially negated the authenticity of this experience.
More culture and history became apparent to me at the local museum and memorial park, two places that preserved Swaziland’s proud image as a monarchy. Much honor was given to the former king – elected when he was just four months old – who served 83 years as the country’s ruler. The current king takes residence down the road from these monuments.
With plenty of time to kill and a soccer stadium a few hundred metres away it wasn’t hard to decide on my evening activity. With the picturesque mountains of Lobamba providing a stunning backdrop this soccer stadium was in a prime position. More breathtaking, however, was my ability to withstand one and a half soccer games without falling asleep.
On day three I decided to take advice from an ancient proverb; ‘When in Swaziland, do as the Swazis do.’ As a means of familiarizing myself with the traditional lifestyles still lived by modern day Swazis I visited the village of a local tourist guide named Myxo. The overnight tour may have cost me two months worth of pocket money, however I was willing to trade cash for a genuine cultural experience.
Over the next 24 hours I was based in kaPhunga, a small town located more than an hour away from the main city. In Australian terms that might not mean much, but Swaziland is one of the world’s smallest countries. Perched on top of a lush, green mountain this village was as remote as you could get. Water came from a distant well, electricity was non-existent and English was a foreign language. Meanwhile the only constructions in sight were made entirely of sticks and mud, including the small toilet cubicles, which consisted of an uncomfortable wooden seat and a smelly hole in the ground.
Aside from observing life as lived by Myxo’s family I was given the opportunity to explore the rolling hills of kaPhunga on a mountain bike. Along the way I watched local elders laugh together in siSwati and kids greet me in broken English. Evidently that wasn’t the only thing broken about my journey; thirty minutes into my ride my bike pedals decided to conk out, leaving me with a strenuous uphill hike back to base camp.
I returned to find my tour guide at his neighbor’s residence, which consisted of more beehive huts and chicken coops. Here my freshly learnt siSwati was tested in front of locals, whose sentences had to continuously be translated by Myxo due to my language incompetence. On one occasion Myxo chucked me into the deep end, forcing me to converse with an older individual who I presume was drunk. In order for me to comprehend him he ignorantly began speaking slower and more deliberately, until I finally recognised his words. Having told me his name was James (which sounded more like ‘Champs’) he wanted to know mine. However, when he recited Kevin back to me a click managed to wring its way into my name, somewhere between the K and the E. Kqevin. That’s another nickname to add to the list.
Whilst waiting for a traditional dinner – consisting of pap, beans, cabbage and chicken breast (the first chicken breast I’ve eaten in about 7 months!) – I wandered off to a series of rocks, which overlooked the serene beauty of Swaziland’s mountains. Here I was able to gain some peace and quiet, as I reflected on the uniqueness of Africa. Where in Melbourne can one escape everything and simply surround themselves in nature?
If I had any remaining doubts about the legitimacy of this village community they were erased at 7.30pm, when the absolutely darkness took over and the stars came out. By 8 a comprehensive view of the night sky became apparent to me and by 9 I was finding rest inside my beehive hut.
The next morning I awoke at the unearthly hour of 4.30 to find light shining through the cracks in my door. Confused as to what was happening I wandered outside to find the sun already beginning to rise. TIA. By the time I ate breakfast (maize porridge) everybody had been awake for a few hours, having already completed through their morning chores.
To finish off the tour I took a seat in the pre-school – a centre made possible by overseas donations. Here about 20 kids exhibited competent language skills as they recited the complete lyrics to ‘Jesus Loves His Little Children’ and ‘If You’re Happy and You Know It’. They proceeded to introduce themselves at 1000 decibels, before practicing a traditional dance. Damn, if only I was brought up like that.
Having had my dose of culture and traditional for the weekend I was ready to experience the other mandatory aspect of African travel – wildlife. That night I entered my ninth game viewing area, the Mlilwane Wildlife Sanctuary. Before I had even reached my overnight accommodation I had seen blesbok, ostrich, ‘bloody impala’ and a frog. In saying that, I would have seen frogs if I remained in Jane Furse the whole time.
Something else significant happened before this, however I can’t reveal the details just yet. You’ll just have to wait until I return home…
My last morning in Swaziland was spent exploring the sanctuary by foot. For three hours I hiked around in search of hippos, crocs, warthogs, zebra and about 20 different species of antelope. To my great satisfaction I spotted everything I was looking for and the threatening clouds didn’t shed a single tear, but my adventure wasn’t over just yet; I still needed to get out of this place.
In true backpacker style I managed to hitch a ride from the sanctuary gate to the main road, where the eclectic House on Fire was located. This sculpture laden bar resembled more of an art gallery than a nightclub and took post-modern architecture to a new level. The idea of sticking around here for a party was tempting however I had two minibuses to catch and was determined to make it out of the country without being delayed by a single drop of rain.
Thankfully the journey to the border was less hectic than my arrival; I had succeeded in my first solo backpacking expedition. Having encountered no serious problems I reflected on how Africa wasn’t so bad after all in terms of safety and security, but boy was I wrong.
Less than an hour after I pondered those thoughts Lucy and Claudia were held at knife point and were mugged in the quiet streets of Polokwane. The incident – which saw them lose their money and phones – occurred on one of the city’s main suburban streets, a street I had walked along by myself a dozen times before.
The realisation that ‘it could have been me’ and the guilt that ‘it should have been me’ led me to re-assess my complacency, but at the same time helped me to appreciate the wonderful pain-free experiences I’ve had over the last seven months. From here on in my African travel is done, meaning the risks of danger are minimised, however one can never be too sure…
were Lucy and Claudia “okay”?
you definitely got yourself a tat.
Yeah they’re fine now. They were a bit shaken up at the time though as you can imagine.