The three-day Dusi Marathon is renowned internationally
for its physical challenges and locally for bad relationships
with the villagers. This is not surprising given the scale
of political violence in the region and the stark contrast
of the canoeists’ economy with that of the underdeveloped
villages.
In
1990, the race was monitored by police in Casspirs; by 1994
this had been down-scaled to a 17- strong police motorbike
unit armed with semi-automatic weapons. Incidents of stonings
and muggings made headlines; rescue operations launched
by villagers to save canoeists trapped in rapids, didn’t.
But in recent years, a process has quietly got underway-
building relationship between canoeists and villagers. And
this year’s Dusi bears the fruit of it: were it not for
the valley villagers, the race probably would not have happened.
The
story begins 13 years ago: in 1982, two Dusi regulars decided
to teach a few villagers to canoe.” A few near-drownings
later, “ says John Oliver of the Natal Canoe Club, they
realised that it wasn’t making much sense to spend money
and effort teaching canoeing to villagers when their most
basic needs - for things like schools and clinics- were
not being met.” That year, the Valley Assistance Fund was
formed by the Natal Canoe Union.
Funded
by Natal canoeists, it aimed to build classroom and assist
communities in the valley.
But
in 1990, relationships between canoeists and valley locals
reached an all time low. It was clear that residents resented
the huge display of leisure money- 4x4s, boats, portable
generators , hi-tech camping equipment, excess food and
if anything, the heavy police presence suggested an all
-out war between residents and canoeists.
The
tensions provoked a turning point and the fund, with Brian
Moore in the chair, decided to put more into the valley
, more visibly. But the 1993 was still marred by tensions.
Recognising that improved relationships could be the only
way forward, Moore spent the year travelling through the
Valley and building friendships with people involved in
development projects. Along the way , he was made a favoured
member of the Ngcolosi tribe.
By
the end of 1994, the fund had contributed towards 40 classrooms
along the Dusi route and assisted with a number of other
development projects, including the building of a R1,5 million
clinic.
But
with this year’s Dusi Marathon, the story comes full circle.
Dusi organisers struggled to obtain sponsorship, only drawing
in a major sponsor at a very late stage. Nigel Tatham, chairman
of the Natal Canoe Club, put it in nutshell. “But for this
race, “he said, the fund wouldn’t exist. Now all our sponsors
want to be associated with it.”
The
KwaNgcolosi clinic, near Inanda dam. The Valley Assistance
Fund helped to develop the clinic, which cost R1,5 million
and also contributed towards 40 classrooms.
CHIEF
FB Bhengu is seated behind his desk, wearing a Nike T-shirt.
“It’s from the opening of the Willie Mtolo Athletic Club
“he explains. Mtolo started it and it’s part of a major
sports development programme being initiated by canoeists.
His
offices are not far from the steadily rising R1,5 million
KwaNgcolosi Clinic near Inanda Dam. We had problems building
this clinic, “ he says, “ the government had no money for
it, they couldn’t assist us. But through friendship and
brotherhood with canoeists in the VAF we were able to get
in touch with a sponsor.
The
friend he refers to is Brian Moore, honorary Ngcolosi member,
and chairman of the Valley Assistant Fund that was founded
by Dusi Canoe Marathon organisers in 1992.
Curious
about rumours of dramatically improved relationships between
canoeists and valley locals, I had approached Moore, who
offered to introduce me to people connected with Umsunduzi
Valley development projects sponsored by the fund.
The
guided tour started near Hillcrest, wandering along a network
of riverside roads as far as Ximba in the Table Mountain
district -giving us loads of time to talk.
You
know, “he says , when I went and asked valley people what
they wanted from us; what should we be doing, people didn’t
say, give us money’- there was the odd chancer, you get
that anywhere - but they said things ‘like, you should be
working through amakhosi’ - they wanted more awareness,
more communication.
‘
I travelled 10 000 km up and down the valley that year.
It was pretty lonely at first- I used to drive into the
valley nervous and afraid looking for stone throwers - which
I never saw. That’s how distorted my perceptions were. Even
though I’m a Zulu speaker, I was very nervous. It was hard
to establish contacts- people didn’t trust you.
What
made the difference ?
“It
took time, and continually being there. You’ll see now,
he says, as we pass the sugar fields of Shongweni. “ Here
all around you is commercial agriculture. Just now we’ll
fall of the edge of the earth into Africa, and I love it.”
The
Valley Assistance Fund was founded by Dusi Canoe Marathon
organisers in 1982 and has played an uplifting role in the
community. LESLEY FORDED found out about the strengthening
ties between canoeists and people who live in the Valley.
Asking
the amakhosi is a simple matter of politeness. If you had
a thousand people tramping through your backyard, you’d
be pretty upset.
And
we had to get past the ‘them and us idea. We’ve become part
of the family- I got to tribal do’s in my bheshu- we’re
not just this mad bunch flying through the valley”
How
did he get involved?
Moore
chortles. “ I opened my mouth and moaned!”
“In
1990- at the annual Natal Canoe Union meeting - I said to
them: You’ve been putting money into the Valley since 1982
and nobody knows about it.’ Even in the Valley, only a few
people were aware that it was canoeists who were contributing
to classrooms.”
Down
the road we stop at Umgababa village in the Molweni ward
of KwaNgcolosi, where there’s a small junior primary school
called Lamula (Peace). The fund paid for 50% of its building
costs and persuaded a local sand company to sponsor the
balance. “ The school itself was built by villagers, “says
Moore. And local people supplied building materials to local
contractors. So there’s a double benefit: the money ploughed
into the project actually goes straight into the community
itself.”
That
principle making a little go a long way - is at the heart
of the fund. In every race on a KwaZulu Natal river every
canoeists contributes a rand to the fund. That produces
R14 000 a year - not a lot, but the fund has negotiated
a few rand for rand sponsorship from the corporate sector.
“If we could get another 10 companies to do the same , imagine
what a contribution that would make, “says Moore.
At
Jabulani Coke Depot near Top’s Needle, store-owner Matawula
Maphanga gestures into the far distance as he says”Bhungane
(Brian) and the canoeists have built some schools right
up there for us - not just here in the Valley. Bhungane
is even teaching the little kids to paddle. “ Does he paddle?
“No, I’m too scared ... but I will when I have the opportunity.
Now
that the that the RDP is gearing up development of the sport
of canoeing can become the focus of the fund again, says
Moore. At Inanda Dam, plans are underway for a comprehensive
sports development gramme that will include Willie Mtolo’s
athletics work, as well host of other sports, including
soccer, rugby, canoeing, canoe polo, and even waterskiing.
Chief
Bhengu stresses the importance of organised sports in the
region. “After the violence , “he says, “ the youth are
now trying to organise themselves and you can really see
that sport is helping to develop people. The guys who’ve
joined the Athletics Club - you see the working out togther,
building a team.
We
have had a lot of assistance from the canoeists on the Dusi
these white guys, these South Africans. What has been important
is that they don’t just come and use our river, our place
, but that they come and enjoy our friendship. They don’t
have a lot of money themselves, but when we sit together
as friends and talk about our plans one or two of them will
say - why don’t you contact so and so that company, or I
heard that foundation gives assistance, why don’t you contact
them? When we need a lawyer, we need a teacher, we phone
a canoeists.
Before,
they never used to talk to us, now we are friends; we are
socialising together: we drink together, braai together.
The relationships that have been forged can never be broken
down. He (gesturing at Moore) is like my twin.”
Before
we leave, he opens a drawer and pulls out two beadwork ties
in the design of the South African flag. One is a present
for Moore, the other, for himself . Marvelling at it, Moore
goes to work straight away.
“Hey, this is
amazing, man. You know, if you sold these at the cricket
grounds, you could sell hundreds: everybody there wears
South Africa flags... in fact, I have a contact for you,
there a woman I know who runs a stall there...”
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