Small country, big heart: by Kombi into Swaziland
The five of us were entirely surprised that a week isn’t enough to explore tiny Swaziland. The reed dance, the decadent king, the corruption of courtiers and royals: all this is true. But Swaziland, beyond the headlines and the waterfalls and the game, is memorable for its safety, its outstanding arts and crafting industry, and the warmth of Swazi people
I have never known what to do with Swaziland or Lesotho. These two monarchies blessedly escaped Apartheid through some astute 19th-century diplomacy by old king Moshoeshoe and Ngwane V.
But what to make of them now? Lesotho has some magic scenery, but the facilities are so much grander on the South African side of the Drakensberg that I had always thought of the Mountain Kingdom as more of a rite of passage for suburban 4×4 owners than an important destination for the curious Southern African traveller. Now that I know how wrong I have been about Swaziland, Lesotho is probably something I should investigate as a matter of urgency because our eastern semi-enclave is a world apart.
Our hosts in Swaziland were hippies who left the Republic for the Kingdom in the 1970s to flee conscription into the Total Onslaught. They found a warm welcome and a natural habitat for blissed-out countercultural living in Swaziland’s gentle hilly, slightly tropical waterfall country and its rolling Lowveld.
The idea of living under an absolute monarch was also more congenial under old King Sobhuza than under today’s Mswati III, who presides at vast expense over a people with the world’s highest HIV/Aids burden. However, the average tourist has little involvement with Swazi politics; the best one can do is support people who are making a difference you believe in, spend money so that, as far as possible, it flows directly to ordinary people, and have a great time. We found that last part easy to follow from the moment our 1990s-vintage white Kombi crossed the Swazi border at Ngwenya, where we bought hot mielies dripping with butter and Aromat from strolling vendors. Ahead was a country with an astonishingly intact traditional way of life that was still a fact of life for Swazi people, that shows up in the persistence of rural customs and fragments of traditional dress worn by older people.
Over drinks at the entirely surprising and memorable House on Fire/Washa Umkhukhu complex that night, Swazis were divided about this living tradition and its headline-grabbing, maiden-marrying embodiment, Mswati III. Several beers deep, opinions were divided: Swaziland’s ‘unspoilt’ nature – quiet roads, a seasonal pace of life, the immersive nature of the uncrowded and beautiful national parks – also explained the poverty of Swazis. To South African eyes, the poverty of Swazis was not new; their gentleness, however, was. This is a country that hasn’t known the kind of grinding inequality and violence South Africa has. In tiny, hilly Mbabane, we parked the Kombi along a major road and climbed up to a waterfall by night to play guitar and drink wine. Herders guiding livestock along rutted roads between far-flung clusters of suburban housing waved us along with a smile or a slow, courteous exchange of greetings.
The same difference held with Swazi crafts: their variety and quality is so consistently high that crafts are a major export for the kingdom. From Ngwenya glass and Swazi Candles, we four jaded Capetonians gasped at the artistic vision and the technical execution of a Murano-style vase that was unmistakably Swazi. This is not a country of endless tall wooden giraffes.
By day four, we had warmed up the winding roads and short driving distances, and set out for the Mantenga falls. The Falls sit in lush forest, and the hills that support timber plantations help to lend a curiously far-away feel to the landscape. The water feature itself is a miniaturised version of the great South African falls like Tugela, but that seems entirely appropriate for a country that you can cross by car before brunch (well, late brunch). We minded none of this because our South African don’t-be-a-target inner voices were turned off; we picnicked everywhere, we stayed until near dark, and we were afraid. This was a feeling more exotic than Swaziland’s tidy, well-equipped national parks and its hidden destination restaurants could ever be.
After bucolic days climbing hills with full picnic baskets and cases of Pinotage and, much less vigorously, descending them, the time had come for a year’s worth of music in one high-altitude, high-decibel weekend. Swaziland may be as gentle as a Summer afternoon nap but it plugs in the metaphorical amplifier once a year for the Brushfire Festival (bush-fire.com), held in and around the House on Fire complex, easily Swaziland’s gem for big sound, tall drinks and mystical Africana wrapped in a free-standing artistic vision. Attendance numbers in the thousands, and the crush of bodies – most of whom hop over from South Africa for the festival – made the stars and the quiet of the rest of our holiday all the most memorable. For all these reasons, and for none to do with reed dances, Swaziland deserves a visit when next you head east from Johannesburg or Northeast from Durban.
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