MICHAEL MACDONALD
Travel Writer

I had been invited to be part of a wedding party for a friend of mine getting married in South Africa. I would be going with another friend, Jeremy Burbridge, so I had no reason to feel intimidated by the uncertainties one would expect to encounter when travelling across the planet.

We set out and before long we were in Atlanta, ready to take the leap across the pond that would place us in a land beyond.

I would spend the next 18-hour trip aboard the plane next to a belligerently drunk man from Baltimore named Dave. In his alcohol-saturated drawl he told us all about how his professional responsibilities as a human resources manager for the United States Peace Corps had him routinely travelling all over Africa. He told us of the crime in Johannesburg, how tourists are often robbed and killed and how our pale winterized skin would make us obvious targets for criminals.

His slurred warnings instilled a fear within me that remained at the fore of my imagination for the duration of my trip.

Before we could get proper footing in Johannesburg we were whisked away by a particularly outgoing airport employee named Selohlo. He greeted us and explained that he knew of a great, cheap hotel near the airport.

Keeping in mind Dave from Baltimore’s advice, we were slightly opposed to accepting his enthusiastic assistance but not enough to rudely reject it. Jeremy and I were quickly escorted towards the Deluxe Hotel.

The further we travelled from the airport towards the hotel, the further the quality of the neighbourhoods deteriorated. I remembered what Dave had said on the flight about violent crime towards unassuming tourists and I soon began to doubt the existence of the Deluxe Hotel. I sat in horror, stricken with silence as I imagined Selohlo taking us to a back alley, throttling us both in a bloody robbery and splitting the treasures of our luggage with the driver. To my surprise, we soon arrived at a fairly hospitable looking place, surrounded by thick heightened concrete walls which were topped with sharp metal spikes — a hotel-security compound that put to rest any doubt I had in Selohlo and our driver.

Though the large cracks in the washed out urine-coloured walls clearly stood in the way of making it a four-star resort, we were content. Without hesitation we paid the hotel bill and Selohlo took us to the bank to replenish our wallets. He watched guard as we extracted money. We then had a delightful time wining and dining with Selohlo at McDonald’s — I scoffed at Dave’s warnings. Selohlo’s help would not soon be forgotten.

The next morning we completed the final leg of our trip to Cape Town. We were let out of the plane on the tarmac and welcomed by the sweet-smelling coastal winds of the Southern tip of Africa.

The humid climate of South Africa was ideal. Each day I could safely abandon my moisturizing creams and lip chap as I frolicked in the densely saturated air. The Cape Town harbour and waterfront is filled with a bustling, lively, multicultural population and the view of the vast Atlantic Ocean is as incredible as the view of the city buildings in the crease created by the iconic Table Mountain. Downtown Cape Town seems to stand right at its base and almost anywhere you stand in the city you can see the mountain hovering above everything.

The next morning Jeremy and I were on the move again, heading to Paternoster, a small coastal fishing town where the wedding event would take place. As we played on the beach, the freezing-cold waters which bridge the tip of Africa with Antarctica filled us with a chill that was enhanced by the blustering winds — it left the white-hot sands vacant for us to prance upon all day. We were assured, however, that the winds and the chill in the water were only present because it was still spring and the heat of Africa was not yet in full-form. This was hard to believe as the sun hovered directly above my head for the duration of the trip.

Our accommodation in Paternoster was incredibly beautiful: a plaster-white, beach-view villa with every amenity, including utilities, dishes and exceptionally luxurious furniture. Being a financially-challenged student, I cringed when I imagined what all the glorious components of this astounding residence could cost.

We paid 400 rand — which is approximately $60 Canadian — each to our friend Selohlo for one night in a downtrodden motel. However, we later found out that living like kings in an ocean-side home should have only cost us each less than 200 rand a night; I had assumed Selohlo had charged both me and my friend a fair price for a stay in the dishevelled Deluxe Hotel.

Though the pain of this betrayal was harsh, I reminisced about the joys we had with Selohlo and I could not say he was my enemy. I was careless with my money, and had I not been ignorant of the culture and society, he would not have had any ignorance to exploit.

So I thank Selohlo, my frenemy, for ushering my ignorance into South African society. His safe profiteering could have easily taken a much more dangerous wrath upon Jeremy and I. These two starry eyed students were lucky enough to escape the hostile environment and hostile society of Africa in a healthy fashion; no two young boys could ask for more.

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image: Michael MacDonald