In Madiba's Land
one man's taste of being american abroad
2007-10-02
By Rahim Walker

Johann, a white South African fluent in Afrikaans, Xhosa, and English, informs the gentlemen of the tribe that I do not speak their language, that I am an American. The crowd, now intrigued, inches a little closer to further investigate the rare spectacle before them: a black American.

Apparently, my brother, Dr. Shaka Walker, a former volunteer at Bedford Hospital in Umtata, was the first black non-African present in this area.

That was just 8 months ago.
 
After fifteen hours on a bus from Cape Town I have finally reached Umtata, the economic center of the Transkei. It is extremely humid and I am tired, sore, and hungry. However, I am excited to have arrived at the birthplace of South Africa's most famed freedom fighter, Nelson Mandela. My goal: Mdumbi, a right point break that is "the hardcore jewel of the Wild Coast and when at its superlative, rivals Jeffrey's Bay," according to my Surfing South Africa guidebook.
 
I settle into a traditional Xhosa hut made from cow dung, with a thatched straw roof and survey the surrounding landscape: miles of lush green rolling hills, animals roaming the land freely, and the most pure air I have ever breathed. Life here is simple. Women gather to smoke their pipes, the children play a communal football game, and the men enjoy a beer at the local shebeen, which was outlawed during Apartheid.
 
The surf beckons. I grab my board and get my first glimpse of Mdumbi's potential. A few local kids mess around in the shore break with boogie boards. The main point is empty. The swell is a modest 3 to 4 feet, a northeast wind adding a minor bump to the wave faces. I pause a moment. The open lineup is a welcome, yet worrisome sight. The shark presence in South Africa, and particularly the Wild Coast, is a known threat.
 
I linger at the edge of the ocean and a local fisherman looking to sell crayfish briefly stops me.
 
"Molo," I greet him in Xhosa, quickly followed by "Ngitheta isi Ngesaqha." My pronunciation is extremely poor. The fisherman, cognizant of the situation, switches to English to ease our communication.
 
"Where are you from?" he asks suspiciously.
 
"America!" I respond proudly. Completely unaware of the magnitude of this encounter, I attempt to rush into the ocean. I want to surf! However, the fisherman continues his inquiry.
 
"You mean you're not from Africa? You don't speak Xhosa?" The fisherman, glaring intensely at my skin, is anxious for an explanation.
 
"No," I repeat somewhat annoyed. "I am from America. I speak English and a few other languages, but not Xhosa. This is my first time in Africa."
 
The fisherman ponders my response for a moment. He seems somewhat lost searching for words. Finally he exclaims, "They have black people in America?"

Rahim Walker is a citizen of the world currently hanging out in Australia. He has navigated 4 continents, 17 countries, 5 languages and 24 years of life.