Can you hitchhike in South Africa?
In some little tin-pot truckstop town, a bread truck pulls over. A young black guy, Xhosa I think, jumps down from the driver’s seat. He speaks very little English, but it becomes clear enough he is headed to Albertinia, the major clue being his repitition of “Albertinia? Albertinia?”. The back truck doors open, we jump in, hunkering down amongst the trays and trays of loaves. The doors close again, with no way to open them from the inside. We aren’t too stressed, the fibreglass walls are paper-thin and two kiwi lads in a real hurry could be through them in seconds. An eyehole at ankle height lets me see out and keep tabs on our surroundings.
There was no real need. The kid was friendly, a big smile under his green beanie with earflaps. He gave off the same vibe as most South Africans we’d already met: friendly, and a little disinterested due to the language barrier. Thirty minutes down the road and we are pulling off the road into a carpark. Doors open and sure enough, we’re in Albertinia.
So can you hitchhike in South Africa?
The answer is yes. Is it stressful? Also yes.
But the stress is very much personality dependent. I certainly get wound up, victim of an over-active imagination and the helpfully explicit horror stories in the news. Jamie has seemed rock-steady since day one. So far, Jamie and I have hitchhiked approximately 1,300kms in South Africa without incident, and met uniformly friendly and helpful people.
Somewhat fittingly, our first ride was with a French couple. It was nearly a ride with a the Vice President of the Predators (a large motorcycle “club”) but early travel nerves, and Jamie’s stories of their previous night together got the better of me. We very politely declined, and hitched with co-backpackers Fabien and Aurelie to Cape Agulhas and subsequently a nowhere town called Swellendam. They waved away our cash in a typically French manner, explaining “It is our way”. Hitchhiking runs strong in their blood, as evinced by taking two strange kiwis on a 7 hour trip without accepting a single rand in gas money.
In our hitching experience this was to be our only international pickup. The remaining nine hitches were with genuine South Africans from across the spectrum. At no point in our travels did we ever feel threatened or unsafe.
Without a doubt the most fun, the most real way to hike in Africa is in the back of a bakkie. The bakkie — a ute or pickup — is the true workhorse of this continent and comes in all shapes and sizes and only ever white. Colour variation comes only with dirtiness: bakkies slowly turn a dull rust-red with time and neglect. Riding in the tray of one of these heroic beasts breaks the barrier between you, the road, and Africa. Every bump in the land is felt, every smell of forest or slum is smelt. The air rushes past your face and your legs at obscene speed, the mountains are closer, the wilderness more vital. If you come to Africa and do not find yourself in the back of a bakkie, then you have missed one of the fundamental experiences of Africa. You’ve seen a lion and an elephant? Then good for you. You’ve ridden in a bakkie? You were there.
We’ve also spent quality time in Africa’s second favourite ride (the hatchback) and the occasional luxurious sedan or 4x4. We’ve been principally picked up by white South Africans, but have had around six rides with black or coloured South Africans. There’s been several older ladies with serious concerns for our safety, and plenty of rugby fans ready to decry the state of the scrum and the injustice of the TMO.
Only one guy actually accepted our cash, and that particular ride was very enterprisingly organised by one of the local taxi drivers. After some haggling, the guy waived his own fee and organised for us to ride in a bakkie. We offered to jump in the back but were ushered into the cab to ride with the driver. Pure luxury well paid for. Looking back at our bags later, Jamie and I realised that there was actually a coffin in the tray, sitting next to our packs. We’d been picked up by a hearse. Naturally enough, the African hearse is in fact a bakkie. Still, 90 rand ($9NZ) for 300km was a fairly good deal, and not to be sneezed at.
There have been many other rides with their own helpings of humour and generosity. I believe the bread truck episode perfectly reflects my experience in both hitchhiking and the day-to-day in South Africa. This country can feel overwhelming and scary. I’ve often laid awake at night before hitchhiking days, the feeling of dread absolute. From the safety of home or hostel, my brain runs a million miles an hour through nightmares. Bad thoughts, bad scenarios, some implausible and some very real. Actual news a week ago: a guy gets abducted at gunpoint near Port Elizabeth (PE), fed drugs and raped by three women who milked him for his sperm. We blew through PE about two days later. No man-rapers in sight, but that’s sort of not the point. Stories and anecdotes feed that late night fear. But the reality of everyday Africa is at total odds to the media experience.
The people we’ve hitched with have always been nice. When you get a bit of context, a little resolution in your surroundings, meet some genuine South Africans, it becomes obvious that the stories represent a small overrepresented part of the population. Hitchhiking so far has been a pleasure, with people going the extra mile and treating us well. Having said that, we are always aware of our surroundings, hitchhike in well-travelled places, and take precautions as we go. Jamie later told me he had his pocket knife discreetly out and ready in the bread truck, and for sure my cricket bat is always within easy reach.
So far we’ve traveled 2,983km from Cape Town SA, to Bulawayo Zimbabwe. Of that distance about half has been hitchhiking, with the remainder by bus. Without a doubt we cover a lot more distance in less time by bus, but at greater cost and at the expense of experiences. It’s a fairly common joke amongst people who spend a lot of time outdoors that there’s three types of fun:
Type one fun: fun
Type two fun: not fun at the time, but fun when you tell stories about it later
Type three fun: not fun at all
So far hitchhiking has been a generous helping of types one and two fun. Riding in the back of a bakkie is a delight, while riding in a bread truck is something you appreciate later when you can relax and swap stories with friends. Hitchhiking in Africa so far has never been type three fun, and with a little luck never will.
