Back at the Backpacker Ritz I met an aid worker named Norman. He was at the end of a two year stint at an orphanage for children with HIV in the Kingdom of Swaziland. He and Tony, a Nigerian with a degree in micro-biology, had come to Johannesburg to do some shopping. Tony hadn’t been able to find work at home so he took a job teaching science in a remote village in Swaziland. I talked about an interest in seeing some of rural Africa and visiting a school. They were heading back in the morning and were happy to give me a lift. The next day we were off, driving in Norman’s mini-van across the border and into Swaziland. The trip took about five hours. I spent the first night in Manzini, the largest city in the tiny Kingdom of Swaziland. I slept in one of the empty volunteer’s quarters.
The following day Norman dropped Tony and I off at the bus terminal to catch a bus to Toney’s village. It was there in the dusty crowded Manzini bus lot that I had perhaps my most important moment in Africa. Norman’s departure made me suddenly aware that I was the only white person there. It was five o’clock. The place was packed. Radios bleared, horns honked, drivers shouted out there destinations. People held things out to me as they passed by trying to get me to buy them. Everyone was moving. Everywhere I looked there was a sea of black faces, and it seemed as though every single one was staring right back at me. It was the fact that I drew so much attention that made me begin to feel so acutely uncomfortable. It hit me. I’ve only known Tony for twenty-four hours. We could barely communicate. Now I was in the middle of a country I had barely heard of. I hardly knew where I was, let alone where I was going. Paranoia took hold of me. I tried to stay as close to Tony as I could as he maneuvered through the throngs of people to find the right bus. The scene was chaotic. I clutched my things. My eyes darted everywhere. I was resolved to see the danger that seemed inevitable before it struck.
Tony had me stand and wait while he went off to find a bus that still had seats. I watched the back of his shirt disappear into the crowd. I was alone. I was surrounded. It was ten minutes; an eternity. I could see a guy eyeing me. I looked at him then looked away, but I could see that he was coming over to me. I braced myself. He stood right in front of me and pointed at my watch. I recoiled a bit. Then he pointed to his own bare wrist. My fear turned to embarrassment. All he wanted was the time. I told him it was a quarter past five. We smiled and then he turned and hopped on a bus. It was enough to totally disarm me. It was funny. When I looked at the masses swarming around me now I saw a lot of people going about their business, mostly tired people trying to get home. I had not been prepared for the fear that came over me. This same feeling compounded over time is probably what made the racist Afrikaans I had met a few nights earlier racist.
Tony and I boarded a bus. Everyone stared at me. I waved. The whole bus waved back. We went to his village. I slept on the floor next to him, his wife and their two week old daughter.
Tony had me take a family portrait in every article of clothing they owned. This is just one in a long series.
He was also very keen to show me off around his village. A lot of the little kids cried or ran when they saw me. Most were curious.
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