Men

On a four-day, 2,300-kms road trip across South Africa I realized how little I knew about men.

Tour guides are a highlight of my travels because I learn so much from them. That’s why I’m writing about Joseph, our surprising South Africa driver-guide. His contradictory ways convinced me I knew little about Africa or men. But as I relived the miles on my keyboard…

Husband, Joseph and Doorman front of the Winchester Shoreditch Hotel, Cape Town.

It is a chilly August Tuesday when a black SUV pulls up to Cape Town’s Instagrammable Winchester Shoreditch Hotel. The tall, slender and stylish Joseph – tweed cap and leather jacket -- is at the wheel.

As we introduce ourselves cruising up the R27 in Western Cape, we learn Joseph is from the DRC, Congo. He is well educated, speaks fluent English, French and three tribal languages. With a college degree in marketing, and a child, he lives near his own mother.

He was born in Zambia but has lived in Cape Town for two decades. His family’s move, however, doesn’t define him.

Congo is where his father was from. His father’s people are his people; therefore, he is from Congo. It’s the African way.

Joseph is full of facts and stories. On our first day, we tour West Coast National Park. The white sand is stunning. The Atlantic surf is too cold for swimmers, but surfers go out in wetsuits. We explore South Africa’s unique biome known as fynbos with its gorgeous flower fields.

Husband with the “Bushman” Biltong Truck at West Coast National Park, South Africa.

Professional street foodies, we insist he stop at a food truck parked by the beach walk. It is the Boesmanland Biltong Bar.

Biltong is a favorite African snack, he explains, a type of jerky made from springbok, eland, ostrich or beef depending on what’s local. It can be salty or spicy or, his favorite tangy flavor, Peri Peri.

We lunch at !Khwaa ttu, a San tribal heritage center with a lodge and restaurant run by the aboriginal people of southern Africa. A smiling young guide explains that the San are hunter gatherers. Women ruled the homestead because men were always away. Many died young.

San marriage customs flipped European and Asian dowry systems by demanding a steep bride price in cattle before a husband was approved.

Joseph confides that livestock prices are high now, even though a Cape Town bride would have no need for actual cattle. His bride’s tribe will instead determine the cattle equivalent in cash. That’s why he is saving his ZAR (South African Rand).

Yellow Weaver Nests

Small Yellow Weavers are chattering in the trees. Each one flutters next to an intricately woven hanging nest. They are male birds, dancing and singing to attract potential mates.

If a female believes the male will be a good provider, she moves in with softer feathers to cushion the nest. If not, the embarrassed male destroys it and starts again. It is the birds’ way.

We overnight in the tiny Victorian hamlet of Matjiesfontein. The super luxurious Rovos Rail train is parked at the station. Mirrored windows obscure breakfasters in the Michelin-starred dining car. We take pictures and drive off.

My Dallas-born husband naps during long stretches of two-lane blacktop until we reach South Africa’s Karoo. The miles of fenced-in scrub brush and honey mesquite trees resemble West Texas.

He moves to the front seat, in his element now, showing Joseph what “riding shotgun” means. Joseph is delighted to learn some American slang and listens intently to the history of the stagecoach.

We pause to hike in Camdeboo National Park. Our ascent guarantees stunning views of the Valley of Desolation, whose stiletto rock towers are so aptly named. The road leads downhill to the Dutch-Mediterranean style Drostdy Hotel in the town of Graaff Reinet, an affluent oasis.

Day 3, we are on the N9 heading towards Lootsberg Pass. My husband’s jaw drops when I ask Joseph, an almost-stranger, about polygamy. (Google AI says: “At least 15 African countries have legal polygamy under civil, customary, or religious law.”)

Joseph confirms polygamy is the African way. Providing a separate home for each wife, however, has gotten so expensive it is rarely done. He sighs.

Our route passes Orania, a private, gated farming community where only Afrikaners, white South Africans, are allowed. We have heard about this controversial community with roots in Apartheid. Over the fence, we spot a blond boy on a swing, hair glistening in the waning sun. It is unspoken, but apparent. Joseph does not want to get any closer than the highway exit sign.

Yummuy chicken wrap from Wimpy, Peri-Peri sauce on the side.

We drive on, hoping for more snack stops. Joseph introduces his favorite one, Wimpy, a local gas station and fast-food chain.

Not as fancy as MacDonald’s, he notes, but they are high-quality establishments with clean restrooms.

Bags of Peri Peri Biltong are stacked at the register.

Joseph expounds on Peri Peri’s subtleties: the citrus tanginess and the heat of the Bird’s eye chili peppers at its core. He claims his Peri Peri marinade makes his braai (barbecue) popular with friends.

Now he sounds like my husband.

I mention that we first encountered the spicy, tangy sauce in the Old Town of St. Augustine. The conquistador Juan Ponce de Leon (of Fountain of Youth fame) sailed to Florida in 1521 with 13 Black crew. These free Africans helped found the Spanish colony -- America’s earliest settlement -- bringing their gastronomy to the New World.

Joseph is pleased to discover a cultural foothold in the United States.

His obvious culinary skill (and the very long drive) lead to questions about dating. Joseph explains how the popular reality TV show, “First Dates,” has shaped his preference in women.

He understands African women, so he only watches the UK and US versions. He is turned off by the American women contestants he sees, who are very materialistic and career oriented. He does not want to spend money dressing his wife for her workplace!

We pose with Joseph in front of ‘The Big Hole’ - the 240-meter-deep pit mine at Kimberley.

We pass the afternoon at the site of Cecil Rhodes’ famous diamond mine at Kimberley. The museum chronicles a boom-and-bust period that reveals a lot about South Africa’s history. Kimberley itself reminds me of Rust Belt towns during the 1970s.

Joseph surprises us in the gift shop when he mentions that diamond jewelry is a lasting expression of love.

I can’t get the De Beers slogan: “A Diamond is Forever” out of my head. Perhaps he can’t either.

We depart Kimberley early for the UNESCO World Heritage site at Maropeng. Priceless prehistoric fossils have earned it the name ‘Cradle of Humankind.’

A large billboard touting “Arabic Perfumes! Make Your Own Scent!” catches my eye as we near the townships outside Johannesburg.

Joseph explains that African men love Arabic perfumes and buy the oils to blend their own fragrance. Some of his friends buy European designer ones from Duty Free, without knowing their scent, just for the impressive labels.

I ask if perfume is a good gift for a date. Joseph is taken aback.

A woman would never wear perfume, he insists. Only men wear perfume. I myself have two favorite fragrances -- one for every day and one for dress-up. It is the African way.

It is Night 4. As we pull up to our Johannesburg hotel, I realize African men are like Yellow Weavers.

They are bound by tradition.

They try hard to please the women in their lives.

They like to believe they are in charge.

It is the way of men.

Thanks to Xavier and his team at Cape Archives Tours for planning such a rich itinerary and introducing us to Joseph. His deep insights into the ways of the animal kingdom and African culture served us well on the safari cruise we joined the following day (read more). And endless thanks to my avid Substacking editor, Keith McCarthy.