Seeing South Africa

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

As sunset floods orange across the still river waters, we chat about the town and its people. "There's no crime here," Mike says, "because if we see a colored person on the street at night, we know he doesn't belong. And it's the same for the village up the road, Melkhoutfontein. If they see a white person at night, they know he's up to no good."

I avoid the urge to debate this crime-busting strategy and sip a glass of Amarula, liqueur made from a native fruit. Little do I know, two white people will be on the streets of Melkhoutfontein tomorrow night -- us.

The village of Melkhoutfontein is 2 1/2 miles inland from Stilbaai, which seems odd because it's always eked by on the dangerous, fickle fishing trade. In 1994, unemployment in Melkhoutfontein stood at 85 percent and the town lacked electricity, plumbing and paved roads. Now tourism is the new hope. Stilbaai's boom has brought jobs and a better standard of living; locals are even looking to make Melkhoutfontein a destination itself. We meet up with Sheryldene Kleinhans, a young woman who runs the tourist office. She walks us past a new clinic, playground and senior center.

Outside town, a stone church stands on a hill. In the graveyard, many headstones are worn smooth, the oldest graves marked by piles of rocks. Two cows graze among the dead. Sheryldene tells us old folks buy coffins in advance and store them in the rafters of their houses. "My grandmother is very superstitious," she says. "She covers all the mirrors and windows with blankets when there's lightning." The town's fishermen are superstitious, too. They refuse to live within view of the ocean, believing it's bad luck. "But," she claims, "they can predict weather better than a TV meteorologist, just by looking at the sky -- and the old women can read tea leaves, too." A gust of wind snakes through the graveyard, a cow rears its head and looks me in the eye, and I shiver.

Down at the ocean, Sheryldene shows us ancient fish traps, arced walls of stones that loop into the surf, trapping fish when the tide flows out. They're still used by some Melkhoutfontein residents, descendants of the Khoisan people who first built them hundreds of years ago.

Usually it's possible to arrange a braai here on the beach, but today the wind has kicked up to sandblasting force and we flee back to the tourist office. A table is spread with baked cob fish; chakalaka, an addictive vegetable relish; and fresh homemade bread paired with melon jam and honey from local fynbos plants. We're joined by other locals: a young couple, Juanita and Hendrik, and Sybil, a rowdy 50-year-old. Though Afrikaans is the first language of Melkhoutfontein, the dinner guests all speak English.

Paul and I tell the story of how we met on an airplane, and Sybil says she met her husband while attending a funeral in Melkhoutfontein. "I love him like I love my feet -- they are ugly, but they're mine," she exclaims. The night speeds by and we discover we've spent four hours at the table, swapping stories like old pals. With a flurry of hugs and photos, we part. I look out on the still streets of Melkhoutfontein. Tonight we are friends, not suspects.

'My Momma's Back'

Depending on who you are, Mossel Bay holds the great (or dubious) distinction of being the first spot where Europeans set foot in South Africa. Sixty-three miles down the road from Stilbaai, this broad harbor is home to nearly 100,000 people and a tree reputed to be South Africa's oldest post office. The Bartolomeu Dias Museum boasts a full-sized -- but shockingly tiny -- replica of the Portuguese caravel that landed here in 1488 (this one repeated the voyage in 1988).

Mossel Bay guide Jauckie Viljoen is a new entrepreneur who happens to be white. He matter-of-factly tells us that racial quotas caused him to lose his job as a medical technician, so he turned to tourism. Now he introduces travelers to interesting local characters: a sixth-generation oyster harvester, an ostrich farmer, a fifth-generation furniture craftsman, plucky women who've started a sewing business.

Jauckie takes us to meet Lovelyness Mpumlo, who opened the first alcohol-free shebeen (informal cafe) in a township. Its name, Emqolweni Kamama, means "My Momma's Back." Lovelyness tells us that since African mothers traditionally carry infants on their backs, the name symbolizes security and safety.

"I didn't have a good life as a child, so I want these children to have better," she says, serving up cake and coffee while kids cavort in the cafe's playground.