Exploring Durban – Inanda Heritage Route

Within a 20 mile radius from where I live in Umhlanga, the history of South Africa comes alive on the Inanda Heritage route. I’ve travelled across oceans and met various cultures along the way and yet, I find myself mesmerised by the sights and sounds that Inanda, as part of the city of eThekwini has to offer me.

Is it possible that two such different worlds can exist in such close proximity? The variety and depth that my own country puts on display never ceases to amaze me. And yet, after 10 years of living in Durban, this is only the first time I am wandering across the N2 highway and into the heart of Kwamashu and the Inanda Heritage Route.

My first taste of Inanda was when my domestic helper Gloria invited me home for tea, to meet her children. Unconventional, yes but I am open to new experiences and breaking down the barriers of convention. So naturally I agreed and my world has blossomed thanks to Gloria’s generous invitation.

After navigating the maze of roads that lead to Inanda, parking my car and hiking up the small sloped road to her home, I am welcomed by both hospitality that raises the bar of my westernised standards and an incredible view that in other countries I’d have to pay to see.

In Durban we can experience the most spectacular sunrises over the Indian Ocean but a sunset is often blocked by glass and concrete. Whilst sipping my tea and dunking my ‘Eat-sum-more’ biscuit my eyes feasted on a scene of burnt orange setting behind a rectangular hill accompanied by the echoes of children playing in the valley below and that early evening chill settling on my skin.

Here between ramshackle houses, wandering past a goat satisfied by weeds for dinner and perched on a discarded worn-out tyre,  I see a joyful yet struggling part of South Africa. It is undeniably a part of Durban, a place my heart calls my home, yet in these valleys, I am a visitor, a tourist because it is so different to the world I grew up in.

Perhaps a week later, I find myself back in the Inanda Valley and on the Inanda Heritage Route, this time with a group of people from all spheres of life. I am coming to learn more about my city. Just off the main road, we stop at the Mahatma Gandhi House where we are able to visit Gandhi’s home during his politically formative years in South Africa. As you wander the grounds and buildings, the lettered walls impart the wisdom of their original inhabitant. Every room contains a piece to the puzzle called our past. At the statue of Gandhi, I try to take a peak through his glasses. Perhaps I can see the world through his lenses, the visit to the centre certainly helped see things from a different perspective to my own.

Up and down hills and valleys we go and as we crest one such hill, the world below opens into the snaking blue grey vista of Inanda dam. It is the shimmering jewel of this valley, the element that supports life and allows growth. A rare commodity in Southern Africa with our harsh climate yet here it is, resting in the basin below. We take it for granted that its valuable contents will pour out of our taps but the eyes in this valley can see the reality as the current drought greedily depletes the volumes.

Our last stop is current day Ohlange School,  the site that John Dube chose to establish a school for African children and also build his home. Most people will know him as the first president of the ANC but he was also a writer and a musician. The sight of his memorial and grave overlooks the valley east, all the way to the ocean, a place of peaceful rest after a lifetime of fighting injustice. The school hall at Ohlange is where Madiba cast his vote in South Africa’s first democratic elections in 1994. The significance of this place overwhelms my friend Noks as we reflect on how today it is possible for her and I to walk side by side, black and white, and I can comfort her in her tears with no fear of reproach.

Perhaps we should take more of an interest in this valley. It may not be where I live and it may seem foreign to me but it is beautiful, a part of my city and home to people I call my neighbour. It is a part of my home.