Driving on the dirt road, avoiding potholes, the view of Zululand was breathtaking. Clinging to the banks of the Umfolozi, rural huts and pondoks caught the setting sun. How fragmented, how forlorn, yet utterly surreal and beautiful. They headed up to the hotel on the hill...the one that she had gone to as a child. Quite changed with nothing of the same establishment but still a place to escape the hum drum of the village that she had searched so long for and now on her return wished for nothing but to escape. This journey in reverse had had a profound effect on her entire being, she was shaken by the very disappointment of it all. She signed in, smiled politely at the guard and thanked him with "Sir" which in Zululand, coming from a "mahlope" either was received in two ways - squinted eyes (confused / what the f%&^&???) or with pride - nyabonga (thank you). This man, this proud Zulu man in his tight uniform and shiny shoes, his brush cut no 2 sank deep into her eyes with a "siyabonga sisi". A curt nod, gear into first and the gates opened. Hand in hand, they walked into the Umfolozi Plaza Hotel, a swish second grade chain store hotel with the trimmings on a budget. Dinner was a buffet, a vulgar spread of too much and not enough - seafood spilt into cold meat, pudding rivaled cheese. A good selection of wine wiped away any culinary cliches and taking a breather outside, they viewed the banks of the Umfolozi river;
"Look, the Moon, it's talking".
"What is it saying?"
"I don't know, its so far away, you know". She smiled as she looked at the Moon, encased in cloud, verging on the slither side of waxing, it did look like it was trying to talk, but not in a convincing kind of way.
Driving home, clapping to Karen Zoid, tail dragging trucks, she was craving a cigarette, a few drinks will do that. She tore into her little village of Wambabawamba, Shelley's housewarming mix tape blaring. She drove past the cafe, Basil's old cafe, and it was closed.
"Drat" she thought. No nicotine tonight then. She drove by the Hotel, but knowing what she would find she continued.
She pulled into her driveway, doubled back, opened the garage door and drove in. The dogs weaved around her, she snuck around the car and opened the side door. The dank smell of the house hit her, a mixture of heat, wet and stale something - an unusual aroma, one that she was sure, with time would become the smell of home. She threw her handbag onto the kitchen counter top, reached for the air-conditioning remote and clicked on. The "buttadabing" of the machine welcomed the piercing of the heat. She unpacked the car - 10 litres of bottled water, meat in a portable refrigerated bag (6 months in Zululand would do that to you), plus bags full of a weeks worth of shopping. She reached for the bag from the vet, calling Boo Boo, she consoled him, caressed him and then slapped him with the "barrier cream", he looked at her in distress, alarmed at the invasion. 5 minutes later and 500 hairs sacrificed, Boo Boo left the lounge more lathered than a biker at a YMCA jol. She walked to the basin, put her hands under the soap dispenser, clicked, watched as the green blob slid onto her hands, rubbed them together and then opened the water faucet and washed.
She reached into the shopping bag and pulled out the soda waters, she got a can, opened it, reached for a glass, got the whiskey out, threw some ice cubes in and clink, clink she poured in the golden spirit and married it with the soda. She sunk a long sip, the pool called to her. She undressed, took her flannel robe out and placed it in the lounge and with her drink in hand, clink, clink she walked into the cool, pool. The Moon, still encased in cloud, seemed inquisitive, now asking her, silently a question. Contemplating the answer, she drank her drink in the pool, dropped beneath the water, her arm an antennae to keep her drink afloat, her skin free, the melt of the water soothing her. Her Labrador, Honey dashed around the pool as she swam and drank, but never dropping a drop, she smiled at herself, at the Moon, she supposed that like Zululand it wasn't inside, it was on top.....
