The morning started with a sesh at the Wavehouse Durban, the only permanent wavepark with both a right and a lefthander wave.  Sal clocked some serious cave time before the work day and the drive to Zululand.  Miles off any paved roads, our five car caravan was a spectacle over the 90 minute trek on dusty trails.  We might as well have been a police escort Escalde posse down Broadway with sirens blaring.  Kids ran up to the road to see what was causing the clouds of dirt in the distance, and they waved to the cars as we drove by.

Along ridges, through valleys, took us to a remote area without electricity or many of the modern conveniences we enjoy.  On a disappointing note, even here in the middle of nowhere manmade trash littered the dirt roads.  The irony from the surf in Durban, amazing that this could be on the same day.

The vehicles parked and suddenly a couple hundred Zulu’s came to meet the cars, they were expecting us, and we had miss timed the difficult drive.  Young and old met us with intrigue and smiles.  They were anxious to place their traditions on display for us.  The Zulus are known are warriors and artisans, the women’s hats are beautiful.

The dances were proud and perfect.  The energy – off the hook.  This was a sesh of a different kind than the morning and just as we hooted for each other at the wavepark on every wave at the climax of every dance performance

the villagers lost their minds encouraging more from their peers.   Hoots and hollers escalated culminating with the stick fight dance that was as real as it gets around the fire.

Zulu history

This is not a music video.  This is documentary. Miles from electric and lighting up the night.


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