I’m pretty skeptical when it comes to humanitarian volunteer work. I’m not convinced that outside help is the answer to Africa’s problems. I always wonder if anyone asked the locals if they want help, or if the volunteers would care if they didn’t. I hate being given help when I don’t want it, and I would be incredibly embarrassed to force lifestyle changes and charity on someone who doesn’t want it. And how could you ever know if what you’re doing is the right thing? I think a lot of volunteers who work in Africa do so for the wrong reasons, and I fear a lot of volunteer setups have an over-positive ‘look-at-us-saving-the-world’ vibe.
I’ve always admired NGOs like the Red Cross who go into war-zones to deliver food and medical supplies to people who desperately need it, but I’m just not sure about the benefits of teaching pre-schoolers English for a couple of weeks. I wonder if programs like that are treading on traditional culture and spreading western ideals and ways of life.
Despite my piss-weak reservations, I jumped headlong into a few weeks at a volunteer program in Zululand. Perhaps it was another bit of trickery from my beautiful travelling counterpart – she’s so determined to make a difference in this world, and she knows I’ll follow her pretty much anywhere. To say I was pleasantly surprised would be an understatement; I left there knowing my work was beneficial and my time was spent well. The program is really well set up. Running for eight years, it can easily rotate volunteers on a weekly or monthly basis through ongoing projects. Also, importantly for me, it is not affiliated with any religion.
Standard assignments included HIV and nutrition education, gardening, crèche maintenance and, yes, English lessons. Those on the receiving end of the help were happy to receive it and free to turn it down; no one was forcing the issue. Whether I made a difference in the long run is unclear, but I feel as though I played my small part in something very worthwhile.
‘Voluntourism’ is the term used to describe projects such as this one in Zululand. Volunteers must pay to volunteer and this puts a lot of people off, I think. It’s not an ideal situation, but that’s kind of the whole point; in an ideal situation there would be no need for organisations like this. The cost of placement covers all expenses and everything you need to be effective in the community. A lot of the money goes to transport; cars and petrol aren’t cheap no matter where you are. Theoretically, once you’re there, you don’t need to spend another cent. But when you’re in such an amazing part of the world, you tend to go tripping around. That’s where the ‘tourism bit comes in.
Mozambique is a land of unreliable public transport, infrequent encounters with the English language and countless potentially perfect point breaks. After a serious mission with buses, taxis, broken Portuguese, and many surfboard fees, we arrived at a point break way up the coast that’s half legend, half secret.
You might catch a glimpse on Jordy Smith’s X-Games clip, but I’m not giving away any more than that. There’s a razor-edge sandbar that runs for as long as you could hope and, if you’re lucky enough to score a good swell, you won’t have to bother with sunscreen because you’ll barely leave the shady green tunnels.
Alas, we were deprived of a decent ground swell during our stay and had to be content watching wind-slop struggle to line up for a run down the bay. The plethora of marine life made a great distraction from the lack of quality surf. Humpbacks, whale sharks, dolphins and rays en masse served to blunt the disappointment of relentlessly sub-par surf. One conversation in the water with a local went something like this:
“Hey bru, did you check that whale shark just before?”
“What? Nah mate, missed it.”
“Ah, okay well keep an eye out ‘cause it might’ve been a white.”
“Cheers for the heads up, bru.”
On our last day, a small yet long-period swell came up from the south and gave us a taste of waist-high perfection. We’ll definitely be back to claim some shack time. You could put in a massive slab of time in Mozambique and get totally skunked or roll into town for a weekend and score the waves of your life. The setups are there, you just need Hughy to come to the party.
Africa is absolutely brimming with great waves. Unfortunately, a fair bit of the coast is off-limits, in a serious swell shadow or too dangerous for the casual traveller. But if you’re smart, study your weather maps and take a punt into the unknown, you might just score something special.
That said, you can’t go to Africa just to surf. To do so would be to rob yourself of some life-changing experiences. Do the tourist trail, get off the beaten track, meet some people, look at some animals and the waves will be there when you find time for them.
