Kwa Eden Guest House
Travel Blogs from Zinkwazi Beach
Saturday night bloodshed *WARNING BRUTAL
... case is wheel in soon after. The bullet passing up and through the liver and out the right arm. Surgeons pounce.
A man who has severed a major artery in a bottle fight is sweating profusely as we pour fluids into him. Thankfully coming round.
Another stabbed pelvis comes with a 6cm cavity missing the femoral artery by mere centimetres. He isn’t even admitted and discharged later before his hangover has kicked in.
Amid this all a ...
Weekend at Zinkwazi
Saturday morning was spent at the local market. A regular activity for Heather, Anton and kids. After some breakfast under the community tent we went shopping for beaded traditional african Christmas decorations. Back to house to pack for weekend away. Kids and Anton went in their car and Heather and I in mine. It was a lovely drive as we had a good chat all the way ...
Check-in
Of course I can't go anywhere without making it look like the circus is in town... I checked in and quickly popped to the loo and then a for quick fag outside. Made my way eagerly to passport control only to realize my file with all my info and boarding passes is gone! ****! So I race back to where I left the trolley which of course had been swiftly removed. I rushed back to the Emirates counter and they all stared at me blankly. You'd think someone with half a brain cell ...
Zwinkwazi and house hunting on the North Coast
21st September 2012: Zwinkwazi and house hunting on the North Coast
The wild waves bash the coast with fury, spray whips across a small lagoon. In the distance cane fields toss in the wind and golden haze and a long unbroken stretch of beach lies scattered with bleached whit drift wood. Zinkwazi Beach is truly spectular.
We drove out here, 15 kms past the sprawling Stanger (and location of our future work), as we had heard that it ...
Two ways of not knowing
My first entry into South Africa was by train in 1976. At the Mafeking border, a white officer was indignant at finding me in third class. At the ticket window in Bulawayo I had been sold the ticket by a black person, whether in ignorance of what was in store for me, or out of a sense of protest and mischief at setting two white people at odds. I was forced to buy a ...
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