Durban-Fourteen Years Later

John & Trish Cuban Food Happy Times

 

Our last visit on this whirlwind visit to Nairobi, Capetown and Durban was both nostalgic and peaceful.  Durban is remarkably changed.  Umhlanga Rocks doesn’t even resemble the little town to which we were assigned when we attended the World AIDS Conference 2000.  We understood that our old Oyster Box Hotel was still standing and I actually got a glimpse of it as we drove to the airport this morning.  It looked quite small amidst the massive shiny buildings of the posh suburb.  Our cab driver pointed out all the new buildings as well as an enormous casino perched up on a hill that is self contained, with gambling, hotels, massage parlors, multiple entertainment sites, glitter and glam.  (Sounded horrible)

The Quarters Hotel

We stayed in a very nice hotel, the Quarters, located up higher in Durban and in just a few steps, beautiful views of the ocean combined with magnificent houses and private schools.  Once again, we entertained one of the KCMC trainees—a lovely young man taking his training in oncology at the University of Kwa Zulu Natal.  We had a delicious meal at the hotel, and nice chat until I suddenly was “hit by the wall” and started falling asleep right at the table.  I have not had that happen since I was in Amsterdam in 1992, and it was so embarrassing that I had to apologize, say goodnight and zip to our room where I promptly fell asleep and locked John out.  Some time later I vaguely remember waking up, seeing John sitting in a chair working on his computer and asked him what he was doing there in the room.  That is all I remember!  Chalk this up to old age, and so much travel, and getting up at 4am many mornings in a row.

View Downtown

Because it was such a short trip, while John was in meetings, I walked and walked.  In this location there was no feel of crime or anxiety that I might be mugged.  And walking is a wonderful endeavor.  I met two very nice people, both men who were eager to carry on conversations.  The first was an older gentleman named Peter who became my personal escort to the post office.  Turns out, his first cousin was Richard Harris.  He didn’t divulge this information until well into the walk where our conversation involved wonderful exchanges about life in Zimbabwe, Durban, Capetown, family, the US, becoming older, computer saavy, personal likes and dislikes.  And, then he chatted about his cousin and his theatre accomplishments, as well as his love of alcohol.  We chatted a little about AIDS, the International Conference of 15 years ago, and his hopes for a cure.  I pinched myself, thinking about the good fortune I have had over the years, to travel so much and to meet such wonderful people, purely by happenstance, or one simple question, “Can you tell me where the nearest post is, where I might buy some stamps?” 

Name of lovely Anglican Church

Anglican Church

Words for WWI dead

Words at Chapel

My eyes lit up at a lovely small Anglican Church with beautiful mosaic and ceramic tiles on the outside.  Peter noted that this church held the names carved in stone of all the South African soldiers who died in World War I.  We had a chat about the horrible war, and he was also aware of how it nearly ended after the Christmas “truce” in 1914 that found British troops and Germans playing soccer in France.  I told him about the John McCutcheon song that my brother Jim sings each year at his Christmas Concert and also about the Book “Silent Nights” that describes how the “peace” movement continued until the generals had to pull the troops that had been involved and replace with new troops that had not been a part of this miraculous moment. 

The post office was equally entertaining.  I apparently made the day of my postman.  He said that he had never sold postage stamps for postcards to the US, or for that matter, anywhere.  He had to find them, and to inquire about the price (checking in a book for the most up to date cost.)  I loved it, and apparently so did he.  He told all the other clerks about my visit and they all laughed and clapped.  I hope this is not a sign of the times, when postage stamps won’t be available. 

On my way back to the hotel, I met another gentleman who heard me greet a security guard.  He thought perhaps I came from the UK!  No one has ever suggested that to me, so we wound up chatting right there on the sidewalk for another 45 minutes or so.  This gentleman had worked in the sugar industry in Capetown, Durban and Malawi.  He was the epitome of the old colonialist who had worked hard and played hard.  He had been in a terrible auto crash when he was quite young, had tremendous head trauma, been in a coma, had to completely rehab, and had taken up marathon running to bring himself back.  He spontaneously showed me his head scars and his neck where lots of surgeries and work had been done.  There may have been one or two screws loose, but he was just delightful.  He couldn’t stop talking about how wonderful Malawi had been, where he had visited a wonderful area on Lake Malawi with fabulous all night bars, live music, sitting around just in plain shorts and t-shirts.  Perhaps I should have been worried, but he was clearly harmless and absolutely happy with his life as a pensioner and runner.

view of city of Durban

view Durban with new "football stadium"

For my friend Gordon

Mandela fence....locks bought to benefit breast cancer

City cities of Africa

Cannot get away from the Zulu's or Shaka

Durban may be a city that is much more well to do, but there were certainly street people.  The higher crime is nearer the waterfront, and I was not going that direction.  Only a few people were begging in our area, and as usual that makes me sad, but it was astonishing the difference in feel of Durban to Capetown.  I thought about our trip to the big Juma Mosque, of the influence of Ghandi (attacked by white settlers in 1897 but went on to be an important character in demonstrating for equality) in the area, and of our visit to the old “Souk”, to Shakaland, the snake park, and most especially our taxi driver James who had made our family visit to Durban so special 15 years ago.  No one has forgotten the World AIDS Conference in Durban.  And most people I talked to said that it remained a special moment in time for them.  They especially noted that it highlighted Durban and South Africa in a promising way, in particular because so many companies were selling “rape insurance” and cautioning participants to “stay away”.  Thank goodness we did not, as our lives were forever changed.