God’s Country (pt.2)

Africans are a people blessed with an innate gracefulness and charm. When they smile, they release a contagious endorphin; when they laugh, they laugh with their whole body, an uplifting energy which you'd have to be chronically depressed not to be affected by.

And they are such a beautiful people. Needless to say, given my passion for painting African faces, my heart was pumping high octane as my gaze shifted from one to another. Trying to photograph them was difficult-some were extremely shy, others a bit  suspicious. Pedestrians fit to be on a cat walk, waitresses, like this woman, who could easily grace the cover of Vogue, large women draped in a wild array of different patterned fabrics but which all seemed to work together pleasingly. As you can imagine, I've got my work cut out for me and cant wait to start on a new collection of African paintings. (I'll tackle my impressions of the art scene in SA in due course).

Prior to our departure, we had confided in Judy and Jon, our friends with whom we would be staying in Durban, about the many white-eyed warnings we'd been given about the city. "It's very dirty", oh and a classic one: "it's very black!" Well hello, I am visiting Africa, after all. Shortly after arriving, we're delighted when one of our Durbanite friends, Wouter, determines to give us a taster and decide for ourselves. Without a moment's histation we head off to downtown Durban.

We first visited the magnificent Durban Town Hall where by chance we discovered a stunning exhibition by photographer and visual activist Zanele Muholi. The photographs, many occupying an entire wall, are deeply moving and aptly reflect her mission statement “to re-write a black queer and trans-visual history of South Africa for the world to know of our resistance and existence at the height of hate crimes in this country and beyond”.

We then headed off to our target destination, somewhere in deepest downtown Durban called, I think, the Warwick markets triangle. For a moment I thought Wouter called it the Bermuda Triangle, and it would be apt, given its bad reputation as a place where things disappear, like your wallet. On the way, we came upon a wide open area which was lined with stall holders selling everything under the sun. Immediately we noticed they had pulled up chairs in front of their stalls and together with the gathering crowd of spectators, were all looking in one direction, laughing their heads off.

We glanced back and saw a thin gangly man dashing about. At that moment he had grabbed a bulky backpack from the side of the walkway, rushed into the middle, awkwardly balancing the backpack on his head and with legs spread apart, started to walk with a lazy knees-bent swagger. A few metres ahead of him was a large woman with an even larger bundle balanced on her head making her way across the open space. He was perfectly mimicking her walk. The hoard of onlookers were almost falling off their chairs.

As we exited the area, the street comedian was still at it, parodying the walk of various unaware pedestrians, much to the delight of his audience. People laughing at themselves. It was an endearing demonstration of cultural self-confidence. My last glimpse of him was his walking in exaggerated strides alongside a young male who had his head down, preoccupied while tapping on his phone. It was hilarious.

After many exhilarating hours traipsing around very dirty very African downtown Durban, our verdict is in. Warwick markets, all nine of them, are a stunning unmissable experience. Much of the area resembles a sort of apocalyptic film set designed entirely in stark concrete adorned with colourful graffiti; walkways overhead crisscrossing what seemed like abandoned terminuses, everywhere stuffed to the gills with traders and hawkers, all making for scenes which were saturated in vibrant colours.

We approached a walkway near the railway lines, so crammed with stalls that there was hardly enough space for pedestrians. I was about to take a photograph and a large woman suddenly stood up from her stall and gesticulated,speaking loudly which I immediately understood to be an emphatic NO! As I quickly put away my camera, I glanced around and understood why. We were in the "herbal market", which I think would appropriately be described as the witch doctor section. Every stall had the carcases of small animals on hooks hanging above row upon row of large glass containers holding all sorts of concoctions. Various animal skulls stacked here, strings of talismans hanging there.

Then we crossed into the Indian section, and for a moment I was taken back to downtown Dubai in the early days. Shop after shop, their wares spilling out onto the pavements: big rolls of exquisite fabrics, ornate rugs, woollen blankets in flamboyant African patterns, fluorescent coloured plastic containers. And the smell of spices hanging thickly in the humid air. I felt we were at the southernmost trading post of the Silk Road.

A few days later and reluctantly we have to wrap up our SA adventure, pack our bags and say goodbye to our dear friends. We will see them again soon on one of their frequent "pop-overs" to Malta, so we are not getting weepy on that account; we are tearful with gratitude to them for giving us the greatest adventure of a lifetime. We are tearful from hearts loaded with the wonder and joy that we experienced on this magical journey.

But I can't end on a sad note, and an incident at the airport which had us in fits of laughter provided the most fitting finale. We're going through passport control. As we hand our passports to a large buxom woman looking quite austere in her gilded uniform, we whisper in a conspiratorial tone "Actually, we want to lose our passports because we don't want to leave…" She looks up sternly and for a moment, knowing how airport officials seem generally to be missing the humour gene, we momentarily squirm.

"Uh huh,and where you be travelling to?"

"Malta"

"Uh huh, and what is your relationship to each other?"

(Eh? Is this the question they ask before they call for the interrogation officer?)

"Err," we look at each other, "we're friends!"

"Uh huh. Very good friends ay?"

"Yes!"

"Uh huh……"(longish pause as she stamps our passports), "So, when you gettin' married then?"

For the perfect finishing touch, here's a hilarious video clip from SA comedian Trevor Noah. Enjoy!

(END OF PART 2)