Travel diaries: South Africa
Explorations of a Wild Soul
The Dark Continent, the cradle of civilization, and the womb of humankind: Africa conjures mythic images, images of tropic forests and dry savannas, of gazelles and springboks, and of lions and cheetahs. Africa rouses our innermost fears and desires. Africa. And, I spent two years there.
Johannesburg, a teeming metropolis, disappointed me when I saw its electric beauty, as we circled the airport, waiting to land. Logically, I knew that over a million people worked and played in its city and suburbs. But emotionally, I wanted to see warriorsZulusdressed in war paint with seven-foot spears in one hand and black and white shields in the other, stomping the dirt in their tribal rhythms. I wanted to see Zulu women, dressed in short-grass skirts, and metal necklaces, dancing for their warriors,sending them to hunt or to war. My mind rebelled at the reality of narrow streets ending in cul-de-sacs in modern housing developments. I rebelled at rush-hour traffic, overpasses, apartment blocks, high rises, and department stores; in short, I rebelled against civilization.
But beneath the glamorous faade of Western civilization, beneath this populous city, the wild soul of Africa shook the eartha caged animal. “Don’t worry about the earth tremors,” I was told, “the first gold mines in South Africa were found in Johannesburg. There are miles and miles of open tunnels adequately braced with wooden logs.” I was told that the city sank into the earth at a rate of about a half-inch per year. “But we are used to it,” the residents would say, complacently. I knew better.
I had been down, under the city, down three miles in an old mine, which was used to impress tourists of Johannesburg’s history. I felt the wild soul envelop me, under the dirt, under the city. I felt buried, knowing that if the elevator lost power I would forever wander in the inky depths of the old mine: a lost soul. I knew that one day, the city would sink, and a million lives would be lost, swallowed by the earth.
The wild soul revealed itself not only under the city but also in its substructure: the people. Men, women, and children of dark skin wandered the roads of the city, speaking to each other in the wild rhythmic languages of Zulu or Sotho. The wildest languages used clicksshort clicks at the top of the mouth or harsh clicks at the back of the throat. Xhosa. This wordXhosastarts with a click in the back of the throat, a word that only a native could pronounce.
These people of wild languages and dark skins bathed in parks, raised children, lived, and died under the noses of the white colonists. Wrapped in the fiber of these people, woven into their daily lives, witchdoctors guided them with voodoo, the art of healing and hexing. “Only those who believe in voodoo can be hurt by voodoo.” Explain that rationale to a young Christian missionary of my acquaintance who antagonized a witchdoctor. A week after the incident, she was rushed to the hospital with anemia. Eventually, in an attempt to cure her, she was sent back to the States. She almost died. We spoke of her experience in hushed voices. We began to believe. Should we worry about the man who swore at us? Would his words hurt us? Like her? Fears we could laugh off in the safety of our home countryfears of zombies, ghosts, and cursesbecame real as the wild soul of Africa touched us.
Africa changed me. I will never be the same. I saw a lion and his mate rip open a dead mule with teeth and claws. Watching them, covered in blood, I knew that life was short and that death was only one step away. I felt the earth buck under my feet, and I felt sheer terror. I met people of all races,black, white, and Asian, who were tied to Mother Africa. And, . . . I grew to love Africa. When I left its deserts, its rolling hills, its tropics, its mountains, and its beacheswhen I left Africaa piece of my heart stayed there. I miss my wild soul. I miss Africa.