The Rainbow Nation

political correctness disclaimer: I write this post having spent only two days in Cape Town after two weeks of camping in the north of the country. I do not pretend that my views are well-researched or anything more than a surface level observation of an incredibly complex country. However.
This blog is a chance for me to express the things I witness on the road, the way that I see them. And so far, this is what I see....
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I suppose it would be impossible to come to South Africa without noticing it.

Black.
White.
Coloured.

Race.

I guess maybe I take racial differences for 'granted' (is that even the right word for it?) coming from a country like Canada. Skin colour has never been a factor in my descriptions of people. I've never considered a person's colour before their name.

But we ain't in Vancouver anymore Toto.

Here?
Here things are different.

The other night, I was chatting with one of the guys who works at our backpacker lodge.
His name is Andre.
Here, people would call him "a White south african. His name is Andre"

(Skin tone first.
All else second.)

As Andre and I sat chatting about the impossible-to-ignore-issue of race, I didn't really know how to phrase my question.

Are groups really as racially divided as they seem? I asked hesitantly



It's just that this country makes you *pause*.. really... racially sensitive. was his carefully worded response



"Racial Sensitivity."

I guess one could call it that.
Personally I would call it something else, but maybe that's just my own brand of racial sensitivity training talking.

And it's not even that bad in Cape Town. Here, I've seen some (albeit few) interracial groups. I've even noticed a couple of wealthy Black south africans (gasp!)

But when we were in Clanwilliam (the little country town closest to e slice of climbing paradise we call Rocklands), the divisions were so visible you would have had to be blind, deaf, and dumb (pun intended) not to notice.

Black = Poor. Dirty. Tired.

White = Rich. Clean. Privileged.

And certainly White and Black would never dare mix.
Certainly not.




When you travel, you try to accept places as they are. Avoid judgement. Accept that things are different in different places and you can't always understand them. Just try to 'do as the locals do'.

But this?
I don't get this.
I don't get it, and I cannot accept it.
And I definitely can't mimic a local.
So I'm going to keep calling my new friend 'Andre'. All other descriptors be damned.




You know, they call this country The Rainbow Nation and I think I'm beginning to understand why.
They sure do pay attention to colour here.

This Is Africa...or is it?!?

When I first started rock climbing, I met all kinds of self-proclaimed 'travelling climbers'.

People who journeyed around the world finding new spots to climb, new pathways to the skies, seeking out views unseen by most of the world.

These people piqued my curiosity.

Travelling to climb.

I love to travel.

I love to climb.

Maybe I should try that.

Thus began the journey to Africa, to a place called Rocklands on the edge of the Western Cape in South Africa. A place where sandstone boulders spread as far as the eye can see, their red and black-streaked beauty interrupted only at the horizon, where the Cederburg mountains climb to the sun-kissed blue skies above.

It is beautiful here.

And yes, the climbing is incredible (and HARD!).

And yes, I'm having the time of my life.

But here's the thing.

I'm not really travelling.

At least not yet.

In my head, Africa was a place where barefooted women wrapped in bright coloured cloth walked along dusty roads, their licorice skin glistening in the sunshine, a pile of belongings balanced on their heads.

In my head, Africa was a land where people moved to a different beat, where the rhythm of the drums spoke to your heart and the mid-day heat left you gasping for air.

Instead, the Africa that I am living in consists of campsites filled with climbers from around the world. We eat pasta and rice. We speak English, Spanish and French. We go rock climbing.

We do all kinds of fun things, and none of them have anything to do with Africa.

Don't get me wrong, I'm loving every second of this experience. Friendships made, muscles tested, personal boundaries pushed.

But travelling?

I don't think so.

Stay tuned.

I'll let you know when the real journey starts.

This time for Africa

Round two.

After a brief session of financial and emotional recuperation in the relative calm of that place I call 'home', the adventure is set to begin anew.

Four months.

Two (maybe three) countries.

One continent.

Waka Waka.

See y'all in Cape Town!