Tacking Tales

The old Volkswagen Polo is chugging up the steep incline, dragging its bent and buckled chassis around the sharp and narrow bends. It’s still dark, but the first signs of light are creeping slowly over the horizon; clinging to the edge of the earth. It is summer in Kwa-Zulu Natal and although the sun hasn’t spilt out across Pietermaritzburg the morning air is not cold; crisp; but not cold.

I am squashed in the back of this sedan and finding the abundance of horse hair rather disconcerting, pulling a strand from my mouth and trying not to make eye contact with the driver in the rear view mirror. The veterinary paraphernalia rolling around at my feet makes me feel uncomfortable, but I would never voice these concerns to Debbie; the driver. She lights up a cigarette and cranks up her favourite song, piercing the still morning air. She is my ticket, my ride up the hill, my passage to World’s View.

Eventually, we reach the summit and Debbie turns down the music, draining the repetitive electronic bass beat out of the crisp morning air; allowing the birds to resume their daybreak welcome. I stepped out into the morning air and onto the precipice. From this magnificent vantage point I feel like I could see all the way to the ocean, if the morning fog would allow it. A fantastical sight: A magnificent display of buzzing red and orange hung over Mkondeni; the industrial area to the south, and if a giant lumbered out of the fog and into the pine plantations to the north I would not have been surprised. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, letting the cool wind of the morning gently lick my face.

A church group arrived. Each and every one of them greeted us as they walked by, smiling and casting “good mornings” and “god blesses” in our direction. I mouthed a reply, but nothing of substance; no common greeting passed my lips. A tall man, dressed in his Sunday best, splintered from the group and walked towards us. Gentle and kind, he asked if we would like to join them. My heart sat in my throat. I felt ashamed as we declined, but determined to observe their service and meditate to their song.

As the service continued I found some kind of comfort in the incongruity of our lives, two world views greeting the sunrise in harmony. The idea of God has always eluded me, frightened me even. But in that moment I nestled close to him. I am not sure how I got there, from bass beats to the closest I have been to our maker in the time it took the sun to rise.