A Very Auspicious Diwali

“Dīpãvali (also transliterated Deepavali; Sanskrit: row of lights) or Diwãli (contracted spelling) is the Hindu Festival of Lights and marks the victory of good over the evil. Held on the final day of the Vikram calendar, one type of a Hindu calendar that is followed by North Indians. The following day, marking the beginning of a new year, for North Indians, entitled Annakut.”

Or that’s what Wikipedia says anyhow. Diwali is a big holiday for the Hindu Indian community in Durban and the celebrations include lots and lots of fireworks. Heather lives with an Indian lady in a predominantly Indian neighborhood just north of Durban.

Last Saturday night when another friend and I ventured into Heather’s neighborhood to pick her up for a night out, the Festival of Lights was in full swing. The people across the street from Heather’s house were launching fireworks – like the rocket kind we usually shoot off over rivers back home in Pennsylvania – into the sky in the middle of the tightly arranged residential neighborhood.

Their neighborhood is high up on a hill, and at night you can see alot of Durban and the surrounding areas. Every few seconds there would be a huge colorful brust of light shot up into the sky from some part of Durban below. It was like the 4th of July, totally uncontrolled and chaotic – but what a view!

Lost in Mozambique

After attending yet another mandatory compound-based training given by the you-know-what I spent a few weeks in Mozambique. I got there via a 10 hour overnight busride from Joburg to Maputo – a mode of transportation that makes you feel rough, unrested and unwashed. At about 6am the bus stopped just shy of the razor wire enforced SA-Moz border, where we all got off and walked across. The sun had just come up and the border post had just opened. The bus had been sitting in a line of traffic since at least 3am, as you can’t get your passport stamped 24 hours a day.

Inside the border post office the bus stewardess (they have those here on long bus trips) herded myself and the other Americans into some special line that allowed us to get through the country entry process a little bit faster. I think her assistance was motivated more by a desire to get the hell out of there and back on the road then by any goodwill towards our clueless selves. Then it was back to the bus, which we stood beside for about 20 minutes while Moz customs officials searched the cargo hold for undocumented/untaxed goods being brought into the country from South Africa.

Its really hard to get alot of stuff in Mozambique as I learned throughout my time there. Even in the capital, Maputo. But South Africa is closeby so its quite common for people to go across the border, go shopping, and bring craploads of stuff back into Moz – without paying the country any tax on the stuff they’re importing.

Arriving in Maputo was kind of like having some sort of weight lifted after being in SA. There isnt the same sort of tension hanging the air or something. There’s crime and anyone traveling through should keep their guard up, but the way people look at you is different; kind of like they find you curious as a white person walking around on the street. But unlike SA there’s no anger in people’s eyes – I didn’t feel once like someone would rather kill me than look at me. Kind of a nice change.

And they speak Portuguese there which is pretty cool since I can actually understand a little bit of that language. There’s definitely a Latin cultural-feel to the country in their architecture, attitude, food – they even have siesta there where all the shops close for 3 hours in the middle of the afternoon!

Moz is worse off economically than SA though, which you can tell by how many people are constantly out to rip you off in any way possible. During our 2 days in Maputo our cab driver and hostel manager both tried to get away with some shady stuff. When you know the going price for things – like cab rides for instance – this type of situation is easy to deal with. You just tell the person, “I know how much this should cost. This is a fair price and this is what I’m giving you.” If the price really is fair, and if they’re smart they’ll take it. But things can get a little more complicated in some cases – like with the hostel manager. Mathew sorted this out though, so thanks for that dude!

There really isn’t much to see in Maputo other than a neat, colorful open air market selling all sorts of fruits, veggies, nuts and crafts. So after a visit there we got on another never-ending busride up the coast to Inhambane. By this time Mathew, Joanna and I had hooked up with Brooke and Tom and we all endured the unairconditioned bus together. Although it was long (9 hours!) and monotonous after awhile, it was a nice way to see the countryside. Once you get out of the capital Moz is RURAL, there ain’t nothing around except a few towns here and there. My favorite one we went through is called Xai-Xai (pronounced Shy-Shy).

“Why is your hair so Fluffy?”

This would be what white people typically refer to as frizz. This is a condition that I’m learning Zulus know little or nothing about, as they must have evolved frizz-resistant hair follicles after living in steamy Kwa-Zulu Natal for centuries. My genetically inferior follicles, however, are at the mercy of the dew point.

Because It’s getting to be that time of year again in Durban when it gets so freakin-a humid that I look like fuzzball no matter what I do, I realize that I must prepare myself for questions like:

“What is wrong with your hair?”

“Did you brush your hair this morning?”

The questions aren’t asked to be nasty – at least I don’t think so. They’re actually interested to know what the F goes wrong with my hair on those really humid days. If only I knew.

Mandisi and Thulani’s Wedding

The Traditional Ceremony
Mandisi and Thulani were married on the weekend of September 30th near Ndumo in the very northern part of KwaZulu Natal. Saturday was a traditional Zulu wedding ceremony, which as tradition dictates took place at the groom’s family home. I arrived there with my co-workers Mandla and Jan. Mandla drove the company 4wd the 5 hours up from Durban. Jan is 80 years old and works at AFSA part-time as a receptionist. He’s had a pretty remarkable life – born in Holland, prisoner of war in Japan during WWII, worked for a mining company in Botwana – just to list a few highlights.

Anywho the three of us show up a few hours before the tradiational wedding start time of 2pm. Nothing in SA starts on time – and the addition of the word “traditional” pretty much confirms without a doubt that said event will be LATE. So none of us were too surprised when we found ourselves hanging around for about 3 hours before things really got going. Jan brings a little camping chair along with him for times when he’s obliged to sit around and wait. He estimates that of his 60 years in Africa he’s spent about 5 of them just waiting.

We weren’t the only ones waiting though, there was a whole group of wedding tailgaters parked in the road leading up to Thulani’s parents’. Like us most of the tailgaters were on the “bride’s side”, as she and her family, bridesmaids, etc. were all parked out there preparing themselves for the ceremony. Things would officially begin as the bride and her entourage made their way up the road to the groom’s house. Also at some point during this period a cow was slaughtered in honor of the wedding. This is the job of the men – the bride’s father and brothers playing a very important role. The cow parts are then put into several large pots, cooked and eaten as part of the wedding feast.