There's No Such Thing As A Free Lunch

by Dave and Jaja Martin

In 1994 we sailed DIRECTION across the Indian Ocean, making our first footfalls on the African continent at Richards Bay. Peter, the manager at the Richards Bay Yacht Club, presented every boat that stopped in with a bottle of South African Champagne. We drank ours with gusto then made plans to visit the Umfolozi game park in the north where we hoped to see rhinos, hippos, elephant, zebra, and giraffe.

Holly was disappointed with the game parks: she expected swings and slides. Chris, on the other hand, got right into it.

I see some game!" he shouted.

"Where?"

"On the windshield!"

"Sorry, Chris. That's a grasshopper."

Once in the reserves, we drove for miles and miles on the deserted dirt roads with the sun's fierce glare blasting through the open windows. Jaja was steering the car around a hairpin corner, into the shade under a huge tree, when she slammed on the brakes; a pair of wild boar hogged the road.

Chris was impressed. "Look, they're giving each other piggy back rides!"

The next day we were out driving aimlessly in the mountains, inland from the Yacht Club, when we saw the sign for a hotel boasting real live Zulu warrior shows. We bumped down a long dirt road, parked our rental car, then walked up to the entrance foyer where another sign welcomed us to "Shaka Land." At that moment, a bus pulled in and began unloading tourists.

"Bummer," I said to Jaja. "Just our luck - now it's going to be crowded."

We followed the tour group in, and after wandering around a bit, we found an empty table in the outdoor restaurant and sat down for a cup of coffee. All of the other tourists were eating lunch from a sumptuous buffet but when a waitress offered to bring us plates we politely refused. We could barely afford the rental car, let alone a meal out.

After our coffee we saw Zulu shows, threw a real live Zulu spear, visited a model village, and I even took a picture of a very friendly Zulu warrior. We couldn't get over how courteous everyone was. In fact, when I had asked our waitress where I was to pay for the coffees, she slapped me on the shoulder and chuckled as if I had told a good joke.

Back at the yacht club that night we gloated over Shaka Land. We told some friends they had to go or else they'd be missing out.

"We've read about Shaka Land," they told us. "Did you guys really pay the one hundred and forty dollar entrance fee to get in?"

I looked at Jaja incredulously. "Entrance fee?"

"Darn it," Jaja laughed. "I knew we should have gone for the buffet!"