Accidental Tourist: Bowled over in Ballito

I had lived in Durban for five years but had never been to Ballito before the December of my matric year. A scenic, 35-minute drive north of Durban, Ballito's amazing beaches make it a great holiday location.

Matric Rage is an annual two-week festival held in Ballito immediately after matric exams. It is a celebration of emancipation from high school in which thousands of school-leavers have pure, unadulterated fun in the sun and even more fun when the sun sets. Be it lazing on the beach or letting loose on the dance floor, I have countless unforgettable memories of Rage.

One of these is of meeting an amazing, inspiring woman after a trip to the local supermarket to buy lunch one lazy afternoon. My three guy and two girl friends and I were walking home from the store with our grocery bags, talking loudly in our model C accents when an elderly, blue-eyed woman, resplendent in an all-white outfit said: "You all speak so well, such proper accents. What school did you go to?"

We all named our different Durban-based private schools, and she exclaimed that it was no wonder we spoke such fine English and praised our schools for the quality of their education. We all smiled awkwardly, feeling slightly coconut-ish and eager to be on our way back to the house for lunch. But the woman started telling us about how great it was that South Africa had changed so much that black children like us were now able to get such a quality education, be the leaders of the future and be able to enjoy luxuries such as a holiday in Ballito. We all nodded in agreement, saying that we were lucky and privileged. What she said next shocked and touched us.

In deep, fluent Zulu, the woman began telling us how she grew up in the apartheid era. It took me a while to actually register what she was saying because she was communicating with us in our vernacular. She articulated all the clicks correctly, had the most amazing vocabulary and spoke with a proper accent. Anyone listening with their eyes closed would have been convinced that a mama from Zululand was speaking.

We listened in awe as she told us about her farm upbringing and how her father had taught her from a young age to respect her elders, regardless of their race or class, and never tolerated racism in his household. She told us that she grew up surrounded mostly by black farm workers who taught her isiZulu. She told how distressing it was to live in South Africa during apartheid and how proud and happy she was that South Africa is what it is today. We were transfixed and tears welled in our eyes.

Then she asked us all to say our izithakazelo, or clan names. We all felt the need to prove ourselves and impress this amazing woman, so we each said them loudly and clearly so as to bring immense pride to our fathers. But she outdid us all, passionately shouting her clan names, ones that she had been given by her family workers in her youth. This woman, we all agreed, was more black than any of us!

One of the boys, while embracing her, was moved to say: "Gogo, believe me, if you were younger I would marry you." She laughed heartily as did we. We all gave her hugs and some of my friends took pictures with her so as to have a memento of a most special occasion.

After spending a good 20 minutes in the supermarket parking lot, we all finally left and made our way back to the beach house. As we did we all mentioned how touched we were by this Gogo and agreed that we might have just met an angel.

My relationships with these friends has changed: some have strengthened, some are weaker and some have ceased. But when we recall the best week of our lives, we all agree that we will never forget meeting that awe-inspiring woman on a sunny summer afternoon in Ballito.

• - Mona is a student