December 4 – Durban, South Africa

It took us ages to get here, two overnight flights , and another one from Johannesburg to Durban. We're out of practice; we haven't travelled for the book since last year -- it's been a year of writing, fundraising and choosing photographs -- and September 11 has added a certain amount of trepidation to flying. Nevertheless, everything went fine, or as fine as can be expected during more than 20 hours in the air. We did manage about six hours in Paris en route, and even though the weather was drab, nothing could dull the shine of that beautiful city.

But we've arrived to warm weather and sunshine, quite a change from Canada, where the leaves are off the trees, it's either raining or snowing and we consider ourselves lucky that it's only dropped below zero once or twice so far.

The house where we're staying just north of the city is owned by Ann Starkey, a South African of German parentage who may be typical -- terribly worried about crime and deterioration of services, obviously proud of her city and generally sort of bemused about her life. "This is South Africa," Ann says with a smile and tells me she speaks five languages -- among them Zulu, Africaans and German.

Ann's greatest worry is the AIDS epidemic here and while it hasn't affected her own family she says that she has seen many who are dying. She discounts the official one in three statistic; Ann is convinced that 50 per cent of the black population here are HIV positive.

December 5 – Durban and Waterfall, South Africa

Ann and her husband take us for a morning visit down to the beach front in Durban -- it's already very hot and sunny at 7 a.m. There are surfers in the roiling waves of the Indian Ocean and groups of schoolchildren in the shallows, while on the promenade near the road, market women mind their blankets laid with woven baskets, carvings and beaded jewelry.

This afternoon, we set off for our first interview. We travel to a hilly community called Waterfall, an upscale residential neighbourhood with one big difference -- on its outskirts on 3 1/2 acres is Agape, an orphanage for children whose parents are HIV positive or have died from AIDS. Fifty children live here, ranging in age from 1 to 15.

But despite their losses, there's lots of happiness at Agape, lots of love from founder Zodwa Mqadi and her staff and help from outside the community. When we arrive, a local barbecued chicken franchise have brought helium-filled balloons and boxed meals for all the children, along with their chicken mascot who is greeted with waves and smiles from the older kids, and screams from the younger ones. Once they've left, another group turns up with boxes of clothes for the children, which must be stacked in Zodwa's small office. Already, the room is full of wrapped Christmas boxes, arm chairs and assorted children with their colouring books and crayons making use of the floor.

Zodwa is a large, jolly woman who settles herself in a chair, anywhere, and is soon surrounded by children. "When they come back from school, they all come to greet me," she says. She is quick to help settle a dispute, dispense a hug or direct a cleanup of the grounds. They call her gogo, grandmother in Zulu.

Before we leave, we are treated to the children's thank-you in the form of song -- they sing with pleasure, swaying to the music, and their Zulu gospel songs are so beautifully harmonized that Nance and I get the shivers just listening to them. "God heals all sickness," they sing. "When I cross the River Jordan, I will be saved."

December 6 – Mount Frere, Eastern Cape, South Africa

We are truly blessed, says Langa Dube, as we head out of Durban at 5 a.m., the sun beating down out of a cloudless blue sky. His face shines as he talks about the township, Inanda, where he grew up, the place where Mahatma Gandhi stayed and Nelson Mandela cast his vote in the first free elections in South Africa. Dube -- whose grandfather, Dr. John Langalibalele Dube, was a co-founder of the ANC and established the first black school and printing press in the early 1900s -- has started a series of Township tours, a new concept in a new South Africa. Today, he and a colleague, Emmanuel Moloi, are taking us to the Eastern Cape to meet Tandaswa Ndita, and ferrying the lot of us to one of the tribal communities nearby where Tandaswa visits as part of her work as local magistrate. She is the woman we are here to see and we're anxious to meet her and to visit the "real" South Africa.

It's an early start -- people in this area seem to think nothing of getting up at 4 a.m., helped by the sunrise. By 4:30, our guides arrive and Ann, our unbelievably kind and generous innkeeper, is ready with coffee for Langa and Emmanuel and a packed breakfast/lunch hamper for the long trip ahead. We're told it will take about 3 1/2 hours to get to Mount Frere, where Tandaswa sits in the magistrates court, then another hour perhaps to reach the tribal community we are to visit.

We drive along cane fields to our right, the ocean roaring onto sand beaches to our left, then inland through Kwazulu Natal, where fields of sugarcane grow over rolling hillsides. The grassy hills, planted with terraced plots, are topped by the round Zulu homes. These Ngani tribes have round houses with thatched roofs set out in a cluster, Langa says, to bring people together. The kitchen hut has a fireplace in the middle, and the hut for the living room is ringed with seat; the women sit on the right and men on the left side. The door is short, he says, so if an aggressor were to enter he must kneel. In the group of huts, the one that belongs to the head of the family is always at the centre. There is a cattle corral and homes for the first wife and second wife, or more. In some cases, he says, polygamy is still practiced.

The hillsides are punctuated with stands, sometimes small forests of gum trees with their puffy, rounded branches and feathery green leaves. We pass through forests of pine cultivated for paper, matches and furniture.When we reach the upper highlands, cattle graze across the fields and the low-lying clouds catch on hilltops, leaving stains of shadow on the villages below.

Jacaranda trees, covered with pale purple blossoms, line the main road of Mount Frere, a teeming town with a multitude of vendors displaying their wares on the sidewalks or in small shops. In the courtyard of the yellow plaster courthouse, Tandaswa is already in court when we arrive. She meets us in her large office, a regally tall woman who defies convention by wearing high-heeled mules and deadlocks. I am soon to learn that Tandaswa defies convention in every way but one -- she is the law in this region, and is taken very seriously.

"I used to travel more into the tribal communities," she tells me as we bump along the unpaved road, climbing along hillsides with rounded valleys stretched below," but since we've expanded we formed an NOG whose members go into the tribal communities, then liaise directly with me." She handles anything to do with force, domestic violence, and the interpretation of statutes. They are in the process, she says, of building trust, especially among women who have few rights under the customary law under which they are treated, Tandaswa says, as perpetual minors. It's hard work to make them understand that they are considered equal to men under the constitution of South Africa.

We arrive at our destination, an area called Ngwetsheni locality, about 200 houses, belonging to the people of the Bhaca Tribe.Tandaswa spends some time talking to a grandmother, riddled with arthritis, who has been left with two young grandchildren to care for. The oldest of these, a girl of 9, is responsible for all the cooking and washing for the household. She has lost her childhood, the old lady says, although she still goes to school.

We make our way to a group of houses clustered down in the valley, invited because of Tandaswa to a feast being held to honour a retiring teacher. Men in suits, women in traditional or Western dresses -- all wearing hats -- assemble on red plastic chairs under a large green canopy. Tandaswa has been asked to sit at the head table, where the guest of honor and older members of the community sit, their plates and glasses hidden under nets thrown over to keep away the flies. We are invited in too, and sit at right angles to the head table. A prayer is read, they rise to sing and 100-plus voices are raised in traditional Xhosa song. Outside the tent, another group of men gather, dressed more casually but also singing traditional Xhosa songs.

A young man dressed as a tribal warrior recites a poem and the crowd of women ululate in appreciation. Then the MC, sporting a double-breasted suit and tie, starts to speak, finally introducing the head table, and we are also presented. We follow the others' lead and stand when our names are called, saluting the crowd with a small wave. They respond in kind. Shine, they say to us. "Cheers!" We must slip out soon after, but can't leave before we're taken to the dining house where a spread of mashed pumpkin, curried beans and shredded carrots, salads and mutton stew is set out before us. We're in Africa, where great friendliness and generosity are common. Full and happy, we take Tandaswa back to Mount Frere and bid our farewells, with many hugs and promises to stay in touch.

December 7 – Inanda Township, Durban, South Africa

Another early morning -- we're getting into the Durban 5 a.m. wake-ups. Nance manages a swim in the pounding surf of the Indian Ocean with Ann, who shows up at our door at 5 with bathing suit and towel, while I settle down to work on the journal. By 8, Langa and Emmanuel arrive and we head to Inanda Township so that Langa can show us the restoration work being done on Gandhi's home and the printing building, which is to become a museum. The township is a huge settlement stretching across several hillsides, and the area we walk through is especially poor, houses made of mud and sticks with roofs of tin or plastic sheeting held down with stones, unpaved paths and roads.

The townships would not welcome white visitors, our guides tell us, although some like Inanda are friendly to whites when brought here by blacks and this plan for cultural tours may change things. One constant we hear from the whites we do meet is their concern about violence, especially robbery and carjacking, and in truth many white South Africans, especially the well-off ones, live in their own kind of townships -- suburban areas where the houses are surrounded by high walls, gates and huge signs indicating armed security services.

We stop in at the home of the local witch doctor, a fortune-teller and healer whose arms are wrapped in feather bracelets to keep away evil spirits. It's a bizarre scene when two younger women don their leopard print capes so Nance can photograph them and there on the floor beside their a bowl of dried herbs is a cell phone. Most working people do carry cell phones here and that's the number they usually give out; you get the feeling that land lines don't get much use at all. We carry on up the hillside to visit Langa's home, once his grandfather's house, passing an area where the people are disciples of Shembe, the quasi Christian and tribal religion that dominates the area. The Shembe church built nearby can hold 4,000 people, Langa says. His family home, built in the early 1900s, is a traditional English-style brick house with sprawling verandahs. It sits right on the hilltop and soft breezes rustle the trees even though down in the valley the atmosphere is hot and muggy.

We leave Langa in Durban and head out with Emmanuel to an abbreviated game-park excursion. It's a three-hour drive to Hluhluwe-Umfolozi Park, a carefully managed, 960 square kilometre site which is home to black and white rhinos, both nearly hunted into extinction. On the way, Emmanuel teaches us a Xhosa song they sing at soccer games. "Shosholosa, shosholosa!" we yell, not quite able to figure out the other words. He's such a nice fellow he gives Nance a chance to take the wheel and she manages admirably, no easy feat with an unaccustomed right-hand drive in a country known for its traffic accidents.

In the park, we see the rhinos chowing down on grasses not far from the roadside but not before Nance is thrilled to encounter the animal at the top of her list -- the elusive wart hog -- and I get my wish, a sighting of several magnificent elephants wandering through the brush. While it takes some time to get a sighting, there's great excitement when something is seen among the trees. Or a little closer. At one point, a bunch of baboons wander across the roadway and into the bushes, we see monkeys gambol on vines near the river and springbok and zebras don't even look up from their grazing when we stop. Television may give closer viewing, but there's nothing like seeing these wild things just a stone's throw away.

On the way back, we sing and talk and Emmanuel confesses that none of his black friends call him by that name. He has a Xhosa name, but under apartheid was forced also to have an English name. We are sad for him and express our shock at some of the brutalities of that regime. "Can you forgive them?" I ask him. "Oh yes, I can forgive," he says. "It's been seven years. I'd like also to forget, but it's hard, especially when people are always asking us about life under apartheid." We're silenced, and wiser.

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