 |
|
|
It sounded like an environment that seasoned international travelers immerse themselves into. We planned our itinerary carefully, jamming it as full as possible during our short two-day stay. We followed the recommendations carefully and chose a hotel conveniently located in the center of the Golden Mile – a marine promenade fronting the beach between North and South coastal areas. Reportedly, this section is chocked full of restaurants, curio tents filled with African handicrafts vended by Zulu ladies and hundreds of people just enjoying the beachfront energy. The travel guides we consulted made minor mention – no more than a sentence - about not wearing expensive jewelry when out walking about and not walking in isolated areas at night. These tips sounded like common sense rules for any large city in any country. We took the precautions suggested, removed watches and jewelry, divided up our Rand and tucked the currency in inconspicuous places on our person. With me being a travel writer, and my husband being the photographer component to this duo, the camera has gone with us to every corner of the world. A photographer cannot capture the essence of a culture if the camera is locked in the hotel safe. A photographer takes pictures – and the tool of this trade is his camera. So, at 3pm, hours before dusk, all buttoned up and stripped down, we and the camera set out to explore Durban. The superlative adjectives for Durban were about to exbound – and astound! We left the hotel, excited and eager as the familiar, travel adrenalin rushed through our bodies. Without the luxury of foresight, the excitement was about to turn to fear; the sights and sounds were about to become ugly; the zest for this culture was about to sour. We were to witness a city that bared no resemblance to a playground for sand and sea enthusiasts. The next 20 minutes would reflect an environment dotted with desperate souls, who had nothing to lose, who just lived for the moment and who eyeballed every tourist as potential prey. We had just explored Hluhluwe-Umfolozi Game Reserve prior to our arrival in Durban. There, we had witnessed the chase, the hunt, the kill, the spoils, the interaction between the hunter and the hunted. We respected the relationship between animal camouflage and survival. Perhaps it was the white pallor of our skin that made camouflage impossible. We were tourists to be sure – we couldn’t hide. We were being stalked. We were viewed as being “the haves”. We walked along the beachfront promenade, winds blowing at almost gale force strength. My skirt whipped about and sand stung our eyes. We noticed a man in tattered clothes going through the trash cans every time we stopped. He trailed silently always keeping us in view. We crossed the street but he followed. Feeling an uncomfortable churn in our stomachs, we decided to turn back toward the hotel. It was within eyesight – only 2 blocks to go. Thirty seconds is all it took. As we crossed a street perpendicular to the beach promenade, I turned to see 5 black teens lunging from behind a building front, pouncing on my husband. Down he went, engulfed by the predators pawing at his pockets, cutting the camera bag strap, licking their lips at the take. I attempted to intervene, but of course I was no match for the pack. They tossed me down onto the macadam, insistent that their catch would not get away. They had their prize for the moment – the camera and along with it every single digital image/ memory card of our entire trip to Southern Africa. They split up and tossed the camera bag back and forth down the street like a lion playing with his prize after the kill. I can still see their vacant, hollow faces. In less than a minute, Durban had become the poorest, the most dangerous, and certainly the most desperate place in all of Africa for us. As I later learned – it has also been the deadliest for other tourists who lost more than a camera and Rand. They lost their lives. What the guide books neglect to tell you is that Durban has 45% unemployment, with an exceptionally high rate of AIDS among its populace. South Africa has the highest percentage of AIDS cases in all of Africa. The white population has moved from Durban city center and, similarly in Johannesburg, it has built new communities in the bordering suburbs for safety reasons. Personal bodyguards are now the order of the day and townhouse sub-divisions surround themselves with fences and walls. Businesses cannot function without armed security guards and even the Durban Police Department has hired private security firms to defend the station. Informal black settlement communities near Durban have recently exploded, rioting because the government is not providing what the people believe was promised. Roving bands of teens, desperate for a future but who see only hopelessness, have taken matters into their own hands. They mug, they steal, they take whatever they can get and they fear no consequences. Unsuspecting travelers congregating in the beachfront area are their prime source of prey. Tourists’ money, cameras, or jewelry can be easily fenced at the numerous pawn shops located one block off the promenade. Residents in condos facing the beach have added “Crime Watch” to their daily activities, for as our mugging was taking place, someone called our hotel to report, “I think two of your guests are being mugged as we speak”. Taxi cab drivers who wait curbside for fares showed us their car trunks full of golf clubs, which they use to beat the thugs who stalk tourists. One cabbie told me “we beat their brains out and don’t even bother calling an ambulance”, aware that their livelihood is affected by all the rampant crime. Municipal Police, mostly former traffic cops, garbed in purple silk shirts, have no authority to investigate crimes. They carry no guns, only long night sticks used to intimidate possible suspects into confessing. They escorted my husband and me to the crowded, dangerous bus station and to the park across from the hotel to search for the perpetrators. I was scared even whiter that they would perhaps lose us in this sea of potential enemies. The police try, but of course they have more serious offenses to consider than the habitual mugging of tourists. People who stood not 5 feet from our incident said that they recognized the thugs as the same who mugged tourists the week before in that very spot and who were in jail until that morning. Apparently, incarceration doesn’t deter the desperate. So instead of spending tourist dollars in Durban – something that might help the economy and the plight of the people – we huddled under the covers in our hotel room, feeling violated and of course angry over our loss of control and perfectly clicked images. I took out a cheap, back-up, digital camera used only for emergencies and clicked the sole image of Durban from the hotel window - the mesmerizing, enchanting, but deceiving Indian Ocean. We watched from the safety of the eleventh floor, as groups of teens meandered through the craft stalls, hunting. It was so clear to us now that we were “The Crime Watchers”. Instead of writing the piece that I planned, encouraging other travelers to explore Durban, I am writing a piece, SCREAMING, “Don’t Even Think of Going There.” Southern Africa
was incredible in many ways. The wildlife, the vast expanses, the kindness
of hospitality industry staffers and the vistas offered unforgettable experiences
and life-long memories. It is sad to know that the cities in general and
Durban, South Africa in particular have more predators than all of the
savannahs, jungles, and plains that we scoured in 5 African countries while
on safari. It is here that desperation prevails and unfortunately this
desperation will be its ultimate ruination.
To contact Carol Click Here If you
would like to submit an article to Escape From America Magazine Click
Here
|
Going,
Going – Ghan ~ 