SWAZILAND

One of the first things the traveler notices about Swaziland is the high quality of the roads.  Also the number of newer-model cars.  Plenty of BMWs, Mercedes, and Land Rovers are in evidence here.  It is possible to comfortably drive from one end of the country to the other – 170 x 135 kilometers (either going north to south or west to east) in less than four hours.  Like Lesotho, the mountainous kingdom is ravishingly beautiful.  Unlike Lesotho, your initial impression is that this is not a third world country.  There seems to be a great deal of relative prosperity in Swaziland.

My first stop is at the well-organized Swazi National Museum in Lobamba – situated squarely in the middle of the country.  It is located next to the Swazi parliament building, and around the corner from the Memorial Park monument to King Sobhuza II, who reigned for 61 years and was the only monarch to go from serving as titular head of his government under the British colonial system to being elected to office as a constitutional monarch after the country was granted its independence in 1968.

This museum has colorful exhibits and interactive multi-media of Swazi historic clothing, housing, musical instruments, food, weapons, tools, pottery, and indigenous animals.  Exhibits are well explained in four different languages.  There is an orderly flow to the stories being displayed.  The information presented is both sequential (per timeline) and by major subject groups (as listed above).   

What is most evident in an hour and one-half sweep through this museum is the great national pride Swazis have in their country and their culture.  This stems I believe, from long resistance to the encroachment of the Boers, The Zulus, and finally the British.  It is exemplified by the Swazi love of dance, quality handicrafts that explain the Swazi culture, a penchant for having a festival for nearly every occasion, and numerous colorful public ceremonies – including the traditional Reed Dance.”  I feel the mountain kingdom to be a classy African locale, especially when contrasted with some of its neighbors.

Quite out of line with the sensibility and modernity of the Swazis is the status of their current King, Mswati III – the last remaining absolute monarch in Africa.  This is a man (born in 1968) who rules extravagantly in the old-school style of regally dyed robes, leopard skin capes, multiple crowns, palatial residences, multiple wives, a lavish entourage, and  a car collection to rival that of Jay Leno.

He is one of 600 children sired by his father Sobhuza II (who died in 1982) in concert with over 100 wives.  Therefore the line of succession choices was initially somewhat difficult to settle on.

Outside the capital area of Mbabane and the central Ezulwini Valley, traditional beehive woven huts are still widely utilized as residences.  I visited one of these villages at the Mantenga Cultural Village, just outside Lohamba.  Numerous signs warning of nearby crocodiles populate the entry road to the village along its riverfront approach.

Swazi culture in rural areas particularly remains polygamous when the man can afford multiple wives.  Bantering among the visitors eventually got around to: “So how many wives can you afford?” (For a Swazi, each bride costs him 17 cattle).  “None,” I answer.  I have no cattle.”  And then an afterthought: “Okay, but will they take crocodiles instead?”  The reply: “I think they might.  What is the exchange rate between cattle and crocs?”  Me: “I don’t know.  But I’ll be back in ten minutes.  I’m headed to the river to see how many wives I can afford now.”

There are numerous huts within the village, each with a different purpose.  Men have their own huts.  And their own separate meeting and cooking areas. There is a brewing hut for beer making.  Each wife has a hut.  And the Grandmother has a hut.  This is the largest of all.  It is a place of peace, blessings, and dispute resolution -- particularly between wives.  A child who is about to be spanked can avoid punishment if they can make it to The Grandmother Hut.

Girls’ huts are placed nearest the entry to the village, to act as a Honey Trap of sorts for any potential enemy who might encroach upon the premises.

Women are not allowed in the men’s huts, meeting areas, or cooking plot.  A man will always visit his wife’s hut, and his hut is most often located next to his newest wife.  If a man dies, the responsibility for his wives and children devolves to his youngest brother.  In this way, a man who already has deep ties of affection for the children adds continuity to their lives.

Women are not allowed to eat certain foods in traditional Swazi culture.  These include the brain, the tongue, and the hooves.  The reason for this is explained somewhat merrily as “that way, she won’t be smarter than her husband, won’t talk too much, and won’t walk out on him.”

A final treat involves a village dance demonstration.  These dances, while employing touching stories from Swazi traditions, do not really differentiate themselves from Inca or Maya or Pueblo Indian dances.  The costuming is always colorful, the maidens beautiful, the drumming intense and catchy, and the young men athletic and strutting proudly as if bucks in rut.  An exception is that noteworthy dance called the sibhaca, involving a solo male rhythmically high lifting his legs and then pounding the earth with his alternating feet, as if each was a pneumatic drill.

Since the northern border closest to Nelspruit (back in South Africa, the jumping off point for one of the world’s greatest game reserves at  Kruger National Park) closes at 4 PM – much earlier than other crossings – a mad dash is made across 37 kilometers of dirt logging road in a race against the clock.  At a security check point with armed soldiers 10 kilometers before the border, the guard simply raised the gate bar, pointed to his watch, and yelled: “Only ten minutes left.  Go!” 

With three minutes left, customs on the Swazi side is cleared.  But there is still a short drive to the South African wire and paperwork to clear.  Even if you have cleared half the border hurdle, the second half does not have to pass you through if the deadline has past.  The paperwork is annoying.  They want my license number.  Who memorizes a rental car license number?  It is with the car back in the parking lot.  I look at the clock.  Ninety seconds left.  Will they strictly adhere to the clock?  The idea of driving back 37 kilometers on harrowing dirt roads to find another, later closing gate is not appealing.

Trying earnestly to hide my annoyance, I offer up my car keys.  “I don’t know what the number is.  I won’t make it back in time if I have to go to the car.  Is this really necessary?”  And then discover with the same magic that provides me the best parking karma in the world, that the license and registration number is typed out on the back side of the rental car id tag.  I am cleared with 30 seconds to spare.  Remaining on schedule to witness “The Big Five” at Kruger: Elephants, Rhinos, Leopards, Lions, and Buffalo.  So-named not because of their size or rarity, but the fear instilled in professional hunters in their pursuit.