Children of the Drakensberg Mountains

When people ask me about my trip to the Drakensberg mountains, I tell them it was beautiful, spacious, and COLD. I haven’t shared with anyone outside of my group my experiences with the children of the Drakensberg even though many of those experiences are my fondest memories of the weekend. Here is a separate blog post about children I met.

My first encounter was when we went on our first hike to see an ancient carving. Steve and I leisurely walked about 100 feet behind the rest of the group when we heard tiny footsteps. We look behind us and there were about three little boys in their school uniforms walking a foot behind us! At the time, my egocentric self thought they were following us out of curiosity but ha… no they were just walking home and Steve and I were blocking their path.

Anyway, we walked alongside these boys for a good distance, trying to communicate but not making much progress because they didn’t know English and we didn’t know Zulu. After a little bit, another little boy from a distance joined us … then another … then another … and then a whole crowd, and then all the sudden (really it actually was pretty sudden), Steve and I were surrounded by about forty school kids all no older than 5. When Steve and I caught up with the rest of the group, they all seemed pretty confused why Steve and I were heading a flock of children. So our squad and their squad joined and now we walked together for about a kilometer. Many conversations in broken English and Zulu tried to happen, but never did. Steve on the other hand (pun intended), figured out that though we couldn’t speak to the kids, we could still communicate/bond through hand signals! The one they liked the most was the one we all did when we were in like the 6th grade, and it was like the “we come in peace” sign. So, we walked and walked and the number of kids started shrinking little by little. It wasn’t until we were near our destination that I realized that they were all walking home back from school. It was funny because some kids would get distracted and continue walking and you’d here another little boy saying in Zulu something along the lines of “Hey! Your house is up this path, what are you doing get over here.” I was amazed by how far these children had to walk to school and back every day. And how the whole system was kind of regulated by the children themselves! They walk from school together, watching out to made sure the little ones knew the way back home.

My second encounter was when we were hiking our way up to the top of the mountain to stay with a Zulu family for a night. On our way up, I saw children ranging from a year old to twelve years old running out into road to hold their hands out and yell “SWEEEEEETS! GIVE ME SWEETS!” For many of the younger ones, it didn’t seem like they really knew what they were saying, just that when they saw tourists, they should hold out their hands and yell for sweets. As cute as those kids were, I was slightly unsettled by the custom that travelers have set overtime by harmlessly giving little kids candy. Now it’s like they expect tourists to give the children candy, and the children are expected to ask. To me, this custom further perpetuates the idea that tourists, especially White Americans, don’t come to poorer parts of the world to understand the native culture. Instead, they’re here to poke around, and throw away free candy to “starving African children.”

My third encounter was when we arrived at the Zulu village. We were greeted warmly by the hosts of the house, but from our arrival, I could see that the children living in the village were slightly uncomfortable…and with good reason! I’d be upset with my parents if they let eight random strangers sleep and eat at my house. After getting settled into our room and eating lunch, the rest of the group decided to explore the mountains. I decided I wanted to stay back and introduce myself to the children. Boy, was that not easy! There was this little one that couldn’t have been more than a few months old that would just scream and cry anytime I got within twenty feet from her. The oldest child though seemed the least shy and approached me. I attempted to talk to her, again with no success. I took a tip from my previous experience and started doing hand signals! Alas, the hand signals never fail. More children joined and soon enough the children were less scared of me. Some brought me their homework for me to help them with their English. Others brought me a dead bird they had trapped earlier in the morning.

None of the kids seemed to notice the camera I had around my neck until I turned it on to take a picture of their fat pig. They were instantly fascinated! They wanted me to take their pictures and after a while they wanted to try taking pictures for themselves! They didn’t know how to use it, so the picture of me with the little girl and my hand sticking out is a picture taken by a little boy. I am trying to tell him to push harder on the button lol. By the time the rest of my group returned from exploring, the children and I were happily playing a game very similar to Little Sally Walker except the song had to do with hugging bears and shining shoes.

At dinner that night with Caiphus, I learned that children are taught how to catch chickens at 10 and that the two oldest children, once they turn about 12, are responsible for rounding up the family’s cows and goats. This family owns about seven cows and fifteen goats. Every morning the same children oversee taking apart the wooden structure they keep the animals in and leading them to the right pasture to graze in. I’m nearly 20 and none of the cows would budge even when I tried even my scariest tactics.