A Zululand Eco-Adventure Tour Experience

I've decided that my number one rule of staying a long way from home is to Keep Busy. And, as from yesterday night and the return of the owner, Graham Chennells, this isn't looking like it'll be a problem to fulfil. Graham has a habit of causing things to happen. Within ten minutes of Graham's arrival at the pub last night he had talked me into joining the tour today and was cooking up dozens of other ideas for me besides.
 First stop was a tour of a real Zulu village, given by a real Zulu. Graham dropped me and my fellow traveller Gareth (bald, 50, divorced Canadian who lives in the USA) off at Joe's house at about 10am. The first thing I noticed about Joe is his gold tooth, set in an easy-going smile. He's 23 years old and is famed throughout his village for being the first young man to own a car.

Me and Joe (I mean Joe and I)

 Joe is a very informal tour-guide. It's more like chatting than imparting information. The first thing he shows us is his family's 'ancestral hut' - where the ancestors live. Every family has one of these, but Joe's is the only family to have two. The reason is that there is one for most of the ancestors and then one for his grandfather. This is because when his brother was sick they were advised by the traditional healer (the sangoma) that his grandfather's spirit did not want to live with all the grandmothers any more.
 Then we go for a walk into the village. I instantly regret wearing jeans and forgetting to bring my sun-hat, my sun-cream, but most of all my bottle of water. It's a fair way along the dusty road to get to the next cluster of buildings. Joe says about 5000 people live in his village, spread all over the surrounding hills.
 We slip through a tall, barred gate and pacify a security guard by signing in to a guest book. We are now in an orphanage, one of the many projects Graham has had a hand in overseeing. It's been financed by the Belgians and the Norwegians and can take up to thirty orphans, although at the moment there are only twelve. There are five houses, each of which has a 'mother' who looks after her six children twenty-four hours a day and raises them as her own.
 All the children are out at church, except for one tiny, silent little girl who, according to the 'mother' who has had to stay back to look after her, threw a tantrum that morning and refused to go. The inside of the house is very smart and obviously new: the walls are brightly painted with pictures from 'Finding Nemo' and the appliances in the kitchen look a lot better than the ones at the Backpackers'.

The Shembe church

 The final stop in the tour is a church. This does not look like any church I have ever seen before. It is not even a building: it is a large ring of short grass on a hillside, surrounded by a ring of white stones marking out the three entrances: one for men, one for married women and one for unmarried women and girls. Joe explains that this particular branch of Christianity has about 2 million followers among the Zulu community and worships on a Saturday instead of Sunday.
 When we get back to Joe's house, he serves us both lunch while we wait for Graham. Lunch was made by Joe's mother and consists of the traditional maize (tastes and looks a bit like cous-cous) and beans (flavoured with curry-powder and remarkably tasty).
 Gareth and I are already very satisfied with the tour so far, but we are about to discover that we 'ain't seen nuffin' yet'. Graham drives with a confidence born of experience or fool-hardiness (it's difficult to say which) along the bumpy dirt roads and drops us off at the sangoma's hut. This is a very large hut, but it still isn't big enough to comfortably accommodate the hundred or so people crammed inside. Everyone is black, but it's clear we aren't the only visitors - apparently people come from as far away as Durban and even Cape Town to visit this sangoma. 

 It's quite difficult to describe what happens during the next three hours. I don't take many pictures, because it soon becomes clear to me that a camera is not sufficient equipment to capture this experience. The people, mostly dressed in ordinary Western clothing, regularly and spontaneously burst into glorious, harmonised song. Within a few seconds the ear-splitting drums (made of barrels with goat skin stretched over them) will join in, inevitable increasing the tempo. As people get more excited, there will be clapping, high-pitched ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ing, rocking in their seat and then people jump to their feet to start dancing.

The sangoma (yes, that's money in her hair)

 Meanwhile the sangoma herself, fabulously dressed with beads, necklaces and an embroidered 'Ma Xulu' coat, first blesses a goat and then a series of chickens for slaughter. (Thankfully they are taken away to be slaughtered.) She blesses the chickens by seizing them by the legs, swinging the unfortunate bird up into the air and onto her head, then placing it briefly, flapping and squawking, on the offerer's head and each shoulder. All without bursting out laughing.
 After this a queue is formed to bring her gifts. These include bed-rolls, floor rush-mats and a bottle of Smirnoff vodka donated by Graham. Whenever anyone gives any money everyone claps and ay-ay-ayes their appreciation, and the offerer uses a safety-pin to attach the rand note to the sangoma's hair. Thus by the end of the afternoon she flutters every time she turns her head and looks just as feathered as the chickens.
 Finally, the sangoma lets a young man take over to lead the next stage in the celebrations. This young man, wearing a South African yellow football shirt, a piece of leopard-skin tied around his head and holding a Zulu shield and spear, raises everyone to their feet, encourages us all to grab the palm-leaves that have been tucked around the edge of the roof all afternoon and follow him outside with them, singing and dancing and drumming all the while. He takes everyone right around the circular krall (where the cattle are traditionally kept) and then back inside.
 By the time Graham arrives at half-past four to take us away, they still haven't finished singing and dancing and generally having a really good time. I feel loose and relaxed and I'm still resonating with the beat of the drums as we climb in the car and bounce away.