South Africa

It was in the summer of 1995.  My husband, André, a tenured professor of Economics at UCD, belonged to several international organizations, one of which had arranged a meeting in Cape Town, South Africa.  It turned out to be one of the most interesting of the many worldwide trips which we took.

In Cape Town we stayed in a big, modern hotel.  We took a side trip to the Cape of Good Hope, where the cold Atlantic meets the warm Indian Ocean.  Another side trip was to a big vineyard, another to an ostrich farm. 

I remember that we were told not to walk around alone at night, not even within a block of the hotel.  One man in our group was mugged in a department store in broad daylight, across the street from our hotel.  One night I wanted to go to a nightclub, just a few blocks away.  We were told not to walk there alone. 

The most interesting part of the trip was a visit to Soweto, (Southwest Township.) It was a huge slum in which the poorest black people lived. Miles and miles of slum.  It was a city unto itself and was very dangerous.  There were parts of Soweto which the police didn’t dare to enter. 

None of the other women in our group wanted to go to Soweto.  But I did.  We were driven there with a police escort.  We saw the terrible slum, as well as a huge lot full of stolen cars.  We had a good lunch of fried chicken at a little restaurant in Soweto.  We ate with the police escort and our driver, who was very protective of us.  I bought a CD of South African songs, including a lullaby.  I have unfortunately lost it, but not the memory of Soweto.

Back in Cape Town, on another day we took a sightseeing bus around the city.  The bus driver stopped in front of a long white building, the Summer Palace.  He told us that ordinarily Nelson Mandela, who was the President at that time, would usually come out and shake hands with the people on the bus. However, that day he was entertaining the Chancellor of Germany, and therefore could not shake hands with us.  I was very disappointed, since I admired him tremendously.  He came from a small native village, to become the leader of apartheid, and eventually President of South Africa.  As the leader of Apartheid he was imprisoned for twenty-seven years, and learned to speak his jailer’s language. He never lost faith.  I have a picture of Nelson Mandela on the wall in my SF apartment.  It has been there for many years. 

When the conference ended, we took the famous Blue Train to Johannesburg.  We had a sleeping compartment with meals served including a bottle of champagne. The trip took a night and a day.  We were told not to stay in Johannesburg, as it wasn’t safe for a white person to be seen there.  We stayed at a hotel in a suburb.

We then travelled northeast to Mala Mala, a private game preserve, recommended to me by my cousin.  It was a “luxury safari.”  We stayed in a little rustic cottage but took our meals with the other visitors in a large building.  The food was very good.  We were driven around in a jeep.  I sat in front with John, a very nice black man who told me all about the animals.  It was strange to see lions lounging around, taking their naps, and those incredible giraffes walking around nonchalantly.  

Our guide John was also in charge of Happy Hour in the Bush. He heated up hors d’oeures on a little burner and offered them to us as the fiery sun was setting behind a mass of trees. 

This trip was an unforgettable experience.