Reversing Rhodes's footsteps through the North West and Northern Cape, Simnikiwe Xabanisa encounters the old flag - and friendly faces

Juan Steenberg is like any self-respecting 20-year-old. He works as a waiter at the Pringles Pub and Grill in De Aar; likes smoking the occasional cigarette; and loves nothing more than taking a bit of money, R20 at a time, off unsuspecting strangers.

The reason is that the little blighter - due to his fresh-faced appearance - is often mistaken for a boy eight years his junior. And so he wins bets against new patrons at Pringles, who try to guess his real age.

As one of the strangers he's taken money from, I can only conclude that Steenberg is a lot like the new South Africa in that nothing is what it seems with him.

The Explorer powers-that-be had warned us as we set out on the "Reversing Rhodes" route - Johannesburg to Cape Town via the North West and the Northern Cape - that where we came from was not the centre of the SA universe.

But coming from Johannesburg and Durban, we felt we had the platteland covered (just look at Ventersdorp, right?).

Having decided to skip the racial tensions in Eugene Terre Blanche's hometown, we thought popping into neighbouring Coligny would be more instructive about what's really going on in the North West.

But, if we're entirely honest, we left with more questions than answers.

Our first stop was the Coligny Hotel, where seeing the old flag first up suggested we weren't particularly welcome.

Yet, after breaking the ice by speaking about rugby and politics in broken Afrikaans, our odd mix of a white bloke (photographer James Oatway), an Indian woman (Monica Laganparsad) and two blacks (Ziphezinhle Msimango and me) were very nearly given the freedom of the town's main street.

The most confusing aspect was the issue of the old flag, which would again rear its divisive head at the Legends Bar in De Aar.

Some clever bloke once said confusion was good because it meant change was taking place. But how is flying a flag that went out of commission 16 years ago conducive to change?

How are people happy to drink under said flag also fine with having a drink with people who wouldn't have been allowed in the bar had it not been abolished?

Sure, patrons don't own the establishment, but surely where you drink says something about you?

A part of us suspected that our driving around in a big bus marked Sunday Times/The Times Explorer encouraged a charm offensive among the locals.

But would all the people in Coligny, Lichtenburg, Kimberley, De Aar, Beaufort West, Sutherland, Matjiesfontein and even Orania put their ideologies aside for one day just so they could send the right PR message?

Our visit to Orania was even more damaging to the stereotypes we had of this country. Most South Africans see it as a haven for rabid racists, who patrol the streets with shotguns lest some Africans stray into town.

Indeed, we actually left the engine running when we alighted the vehicle for the first time in the town, expecting some nastiness.

But we were accosted by an old tannie, Magda Opperman, who wanted to help us find information.

In the end, she settled for her husband, Manie, a placid, retired archeologist who made a case for Orania that didn't sound deluded.

"Most people (outside of Orania) have lost hope," he explained. "I wouldn't say the government is over-friendly, but they do have their own problems. This is about our roots, our identity and being proud of who we are.

"We try to voice our standpoint without being extremist."

With most of the inhabitants we met over 60 and enjoying a game of jukskei, Orania comes across as more of a retirement village that suits the needs of the senior citizens we met. Put it this way: they didn't come across as people about to start a revolution.

Perhaps more telling is the description of the 300 who are said to be inundating Orania with applications.

They are described as "poor", which uncharitably gives the impression they can't hack it in the real world, where they aren't mollycoddled by the state.

But the nagging issue about a place like Orania is their separating themselves from the rest of SA.

Could it be that, because apartheid was about segregation, we won't abide like-minded citizens doing their own thing simply because it reminds us of an all-too painful past?

As tempting as that theory is, having Hendrik Verwoerd as the face of your movement, as the people of Orania do, does little to advance whatever rational argument you might have.

The other irony we found on the trip was the fact that, while we were reversing Cecil John Rhodes's footsteps, we couldn't miss the singularly Afrikaans influence in all the towns we visited.

Rhodes may have built the Kimberley Club in the diamond city, but the majority of the members there are of Afrikaans stock.

And while Matjiesfontein's locals call it the last outpost of Britain (they still fly the Union Jack and arriving is like walking into an English-themed town), the locals are Afrikaans and speak with a distinct "brrrei".

Which all goes to show: you think you know this country, and it sets you straight.

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