The Marginal Safari: Scouting the edge of South Africa, by Justin Fox

The Marginal Safari: Scouting the edge of South Africa, by Justin Fox.

The Marginal Safari: Scouting the edge of South Africa, by Justin Fox.

The Marginal Safari describes a solo tour of ten thousand kilometres around the edge of South Africa.

The foreshore traffic light is red. across the intersection stands the convention centre my father designed. Up the street is his office. Behind the convention centre an elevated freeway feeds out of the city. Beyond that lies the open road and my dream of travelling round the edge of the country Except my father is ill. And it weighs on me. I left my apartment beside the lighthouse a few minutes ago, turned onto Beach Road and drove past trawlers heading west into the murk. A 10000-kilometre, anticlockwise journey around my homeland lies in store. It's chilly outside and a strong wind is blowing off the Atlantic, a good day to be leaving the Cape of Storms. Restless, anxious about an uneventful slide into my late thirties, hungry for adventure - or colourful change at least - I've been craving the road for some time. Cape Town, for me, has grown predictable. I, too, have grown predictable here. Although it is a kind of escape, this journey seems like a form of taking responsibility, like getting married or buying a first home. The trip is something that has to be done, and done immediately, as though there s a journey inside me that wants out. My borrowed vehicle, a Colt Rodeo, is full of stuff, provisions, a surfboard. The packing has been hurried and haphazard: winter clothes, a carton of favourite books, maps, cameras and, reluctantly, a passport, although I have no intention of crossing the border, merely skimming its edge. But no tent and very little camping gear. I want to stay in b&bs, backpackers and game-park camps, hoping to meet as many people as possible; taking South Africa's pulse, getting inside its head.

It is already late autumn, May of 2004. I hope to be on the road much of the winter, returning in August when the Cape's spring flowers bloom. I've planned the trip pretty well, drawn my route with a highlighter on a photocopied map of the country. It's my intention to stick close to the coastline or border, but there will be many detours as no road runs all the way round the country's edge. I've applied for permission to enter restricted areas on the diamond coast and booked much of the accommodation already, especially the national parks which will be full during school holidays. This thing must run smoothly as I can t take much more than a couple of months off. And there's my dad to consider. The traffic light is still red; my fingers drum on the steering wheel.

I pick up the cellphone and dial my father's office to see if it's possible to go and say good-bye.
'Hi Lorna, can I speak to Dad?' I ask his business manager.
I'm sorry, Justin, he's at the doctor.'
Again?'
'Yes, more check-ups, I think.' 'Do you know anything more?' 'You know how he is.' 'Ja, I guess.'
After hanging up I feel a nagging guilt again. Should I drive to the doctor, or maybe go and wait for him at his office? I catch myself half believing it really is just a muscle tear from jogging.

I dial my mother's number.
'Don't be silly, of course you must go,' she says.
'But Ma—'
'You know how strong your father is. You know what he'd say'

Of course I do, but still... I put on the indicator and turned left onto Eastern Boulevard, choosing the slow lane and cruising down the length of the convention centre, pale as bone in the grey morning light. Driving against the flow of rush-hour traffic, I broke free of the cold front into sunlight. Then down onto Settlers Way, the n2, which I would follow for the ensuing month, hugging the east coast as far as Mozambique. This route symbolises the first steps of the Dutch advance more than three centuries ago: game tracks and footpaths converted to ox-wagon trails and later to roads and highways. Beneath my tyres and a metre of concrete slipped the Liesbeeck River, on whose banks free burghers of the Cape Town hamlet were granted farms in 1656.1 was hardly twenty minutes into my journey and I'd crossed the first frontier. That initial Cape 'border' was a combination of river, almond hedge and redoubt. But soon life grew too cramped within the pale and the perimeter was expanded eastwards to the Hottentot's Holland Mountains, blue and beckoning on my horizon.

To either side lay shanties of latter-day settlers; there was smoke from cooking fires and tall street lights too high to be stoned. Those flatlands were called De Groote Woeste Vlakte by the Dutch. Great, yes, and flat, but desolate no more. Men on the roofs of shacks were mending holes and laying plastic sheets for the imminent rains. There were gaps in the concrete fence lining the n2, where squatters had hammered a way through to avoid crossing gangster-patrolled bridges. Instead of taking Sir Lowry s Pass over the Hottentot's Holland Mountains, the traditional wagon route into the interior, I turned right towards Gordon's Bay, the seaside town where I trained to be a naval officer during a long-ago national service. At the yacht harbour, I stopped to walk on the pier where we used to stand guard duty, Star pistols under our Burberrys.

Memories poured back. Across the mouth lay the boathouse where we moored our dinghies, and where, late at night, we signed the guard register during patrols to prove we weren't sleeping on duty, which of course we were. Beyond the gates, back then, South Africa burned. After Gordon s Bay, I was into veld, snaking towards Koeelbaai on the R44, the prettiest road in South Africa. The way, now, was open, free of traffic, buildings, humans. My spirits lifted. On the left were towering cliffs, the fynbos was green and I rolled down the window to let in the fragrance. Far below, waves crashed against granite boulders, their booming sound reaching me moments after each detonation. I was self-consciously taking it all in, relishing it, this road that would be mine for many weeks to come. (...)

This is an excerpt from the book: The Marginal Safari - Scouting the edge of South Africa, by Justin Fox.

Title: The Marginal Safari
Subtitle: Scouting the edge of South Africa
Author: Justin Fox
Publisher: Randomhouse Struik
Imprint: Umuzi
Cape Town, 2010
ISBN 9781415200582
Softcover, 15x22 cm, 352 pages

Fox, Justin im Namibiana-Buchangebot

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