Seeing South Africa

A digital camera draws a crowd in a Cape Flats township. (R. Paul Herman)

In another township with small, blocky, government-built houses, children run up when we stop to snap a photo. They're entranced by the display on our digital camera, hoisting brothers and sisters to watch them appear in the magical screen. Ezzat tells us that during apartheid, black children weren't allowed to learn math or physical sciences. "What the former government achieved was total annihilation of pride," he says.

The past 10 years have brought electricity and paved roads to many of the Cape Flats townships. Gugulethu now has a College of Cape Town campus. Yet refugees flood from impoverished rural areas, swelling township populations; it's clear freedom isn't the magic fix some had dreamed.

Tea, Tilly and Prison

"I call it 'Mother's home-cooking from the heart,' " Shireen Salie tells us as she serves up a feast in her suburban back yard. A chalkboard announces that we are in Boeta Ebrihima's Cape Malay Restaurant. Swaths of blue fabric tent the dining area; it feels like we've tumbled into "The Arabian Nights." Shireen plies us with triangular meat pies, samosas, masala chicken, mutton curry and sweet almond rice, while her husband, Ebrahim, sporting a jaunty crimson fez, spins tales of the Cape Malays.

In their Muslim household, Ebrahim rules the table and Shireen rules the kitchen, appearing only to deliver more food. "This country has been so good to me!" she exclaims, telling us that her mother took in laundry to make ends meet. We sip rooibos tea and sample koeksisters, little deep-fried clouds of dough steeped in exotic spices. Shireen beams as we praise these bits of heaven, then rushes off to pack take-away boxes of nearly everything we've sampled. "That restaurant food isn't so good," she frets, reminding Ezzat to drive safely as she hugs us goodbye.

We're on our way to one of Cape Town's star attractions, Robben Island: leprosy colony, World War II defense station, UNESCO World Heritage Site and Mandela's prison for 18 years. Like another famous island prison, Alcatraz, it has dazzling views of a city just out of reach -- unless your eyesight was ruined in the glaring white limestone quarry, where many political prisoners were forced to work.

At the cellblock, we're met by former prisoner Modise Phekonyane, who, at age 19, was jailed here for five years. He describes life in prison -- how different races received different rations, how contraband books were smuggled between prisoners, how he read the dictionary from cover to cover twice -- then leads us to Mandela's cell. I ask how he could possibly return to this place. "They made me an offer I couldn't refuse," he says, telling us that former prisoners now share profits from Robben Island tourism.

Later on, 35 miles outside Cape Town near the Stellenbosch winelands, we show up tardy at our B&B, Tilly's Homestay. "I was worried about you!" Tilly Van Zitters fusses. It's a comfy kind of fussy, though, and the place is immaculate. Between her and Shireen, I'm starting to think South Africa should just put mothers in charge of running the country.

In choosing our lodging, we skipped the posh guesthouses on the main street of Paarl and crossed the river, once the end of white territory and the beginning of apartheid land. In this neighborhood of small, worn homes, Tilly and Jack Van Zitters's two-story place looms large, behind a beauteous flower garden.

Tilly looks to be in her early sixties, with a cafe-au-lait complexion, and boy, can she cook. She serves up cold plum soup, paella, chicken Kiev and salad lavished with ripe papaya. As we tuck in, she joins us, telling how in 1968, after an apartheid clampdown, her family was forced to move to this side of the river. Her contractor husband built their house himself. With her kids grown, she thought she'd attend a development program for aspiring home-stay proprietors. The problem is, nobody's been training the tourists. "Most people don't know I'm an option," she says.

Villages by the Sea

There's nothing like dipping your toe in a brand-new ocean. We splash into the chilly surf at Stilbaai, a little town set where the Goukou River spills into the Indian Ocean. About 220 miles from Paarl, it's become a vacation mecca, thanks to whale-watching and pristine, powdery beaches. After two days exploring the ovenlike winelands, water is a welcome change. "Can you believe it's January?!" my husband shouts, as a wave smacks him.

Our hosts at Hibiscus House B&B, Mike and Louise Steytler, have invited us to a fish braai ("barbecue" in Afrikaans) with the other guests, a couple from the Netherlands. Mike keeps our glasses brimming with sauvignon blanc and greets neighbors who paddle up in a canoe, all while instructing us in the art of the braai, his wood-fueled brick altar to barbecue. The local cob fish is moist and delicate, complemented by a spread of salads and braai bread stuffed with tomato, cheese and onion.