Cape Town was the ideal place to begin a cruise to Singapore. The unique location of this South African city creates a visual blessing of ever-present yet ever-changing views. Table Mountain, the signature landmark, stands tall and flat as Cape Town’s impressive backdrop; and ocean waters in constant motion splash at the city’s feet. Development of this naturally beautiful area began in the 1600s when the Dutch East India Company established a station at the nearby Cape of Good Hope to service and provision ships traveling around South Africa on voyages to and from Asia. Through the centuries this region has become a place where nature’s beauty and worldly sophistication join together, attracting people from all parts of the world at any given time. Today’s Cape Town embodies a blending of nationalities and cultures. The food, languages and architecture reflect the influence of both native and foreign settlers. Somehow, in the midst of this cosmopolitan environment, Cape Town has preserved a genteel friendliness, gracious and polite but never intrusive. We spent two sun-filled days enjoying the scenery, food and people before beginning our voyage, an odyssey that would last 38 days.
After we left Cape Town, our ship initially sailed along the eastern coast of South Africa with stops in Port Elizabeth, East London, Durban and Richards Bay. Even though we entered a different, less affluent world, we soon learned the people had gifts greater than wealth: a refreshing openness of spirit and a respect for tradition, the elderly and ancestral history.
I especially was looking forward to docking at Richards Bay. My Jackson roommate and I had signed up for an excursion that involved an inland drive to Shakaland, where we would participate in a walking tour of a living history Zulu village. We arrived on a rainy, chilly day.
We learned from our guides that Zulus are the largest ethnic group in South Africa, numbering more than 10 million. Historically, they were admired as great warriors. They also were, and still are, known for the honor they give to their elderly and to their heritage.
We saw recreated dome-shaped Zulu houses made of clay with thatched roofs, including one belonging to a mysterious medicine man. In the chief’s hut, we watched Zulu men and women, in tribal dress, sing and dance to the rhythmic beat of drums. We also saw Zulu men, dressed in animal skins, perform a war dance around a fire; chants and pointed spears completed the scene.
Lunch was served in a roofed open air dining area with panoramic views of nearby hills and lakes shrouded in clouds and misty rain. The gourmet buffet was a blend of familiar foods prepared in African style and other dishes typically native.
I met a group of German motorcyclists in the village who were touring the country in a close and personal way. Watching them put on rain gear and helmets took me back in time to a trip my late husband, Dr. Jimmy Royals, made on his Honda Gold Wing from Jackson to California. I joined him for the Colorado Springs to Salt Lake City segment of his dream ride. The day we travelled from Gunnison, Colorado, to Telluride was cold and rainy with limited to no visibility. Riding on the edge of wet mountain roads in challenging weather conditions was a thrilling adventure for Jimmy, who always wanted to make new footprints. If he had been with me in Zululand, he would have been a cheerleader for those rain soaked bikers who were doing things their way; and he would have loved nothing better than sharing their experience.
During the village tour, several Zulu women followed us and, wherever we stopped, set up their displays of handmade, colorful beaded jewelry and headbands. They weren’t bothered by the rain or the muddy ground and potholes. They didn’t invade our space, but they were available when we wanted to buy or ask questions. Their smiles never faded. Their spirits seemed authentic. They helped me decide what to buy, but only after I asked for their opinions. By our standards, my purchases would have been a small transaction, but not so to them. They had very little materially, but they were rich in an abundance of joy and gratitude. My regret is that I didn’t pay more than they asked.
As we left the village, one of the women followed me to the bus and said, “You made me happy. You bought the jewelry I made.”
“And you made me happy with your smile and your beautiful necklaces,” I answered. We never met, at least not formally; but, for a brief moment in time, our souls connected. I experienced a kindred spirit in a stranger whose face I will never see again and whose name I do not know. I thought, as I have so many times, that while travel is about exploring the new or revisiting favorite places from the past, it is also and equally about the personal encounters that remain in our memories and give meaning to our journeys.
I relived the day on the long bus ride back to the ship. I saw God’s universal hand in everything. I experienced His goodness in the midst of people who lived a different life and spoke a different language in a far away land somewhere in the wilderness of South Africa. I felt His love in their interactions with me. His humility and gratitude seemed to be embedded in their gentle souls. He even provided a tangible memory of those gracious people with the jewelry I purchased. And I saw another part of His masterfully created world—through heaven’s gift of rain. God also brought a smile to my heart when I unexpectedly encountered motorcyclists who reminded me of another rainy day so long ago.
Edrie George Royals is a Northsider.
