There are six-packs, chiselled chests and red Speedos. There are quad bikes, jet skis andflotation devices. But this is not Baywatch. This is real life — the beaches of Durban, where people have been pulled under waves, sucked into rips, and, in many cases, saved from drowning.
There are other dangers too. On Boxing Day last year, professional lifeguard SaneleNxumalo, 22, was waist deep in the water on South Beach, directing bathers away from the rips, moving them towards the shore and between the flags. A man alongside him pulled a knife. “You tell me what to do once again and I’ll stab you,” he threatened.
Nxumalo took it with a pinch of salt. You have to remain calm at all times, he says, you handle it. There is law enforcement to remove troublemakers, and the lifeguards work as a team. "We are a family."Surf lifesaving is Nxumalo's job, his sport, and his life. It's a calling.
"You need to be fit and fast and have a particular swim rate. Otherwise what use are you to a drowning person?" asks Julian Taylor, former chair of the Durban Surf Lifesaving Club, the oldest voluntary lifesaving organisation in South Africa.
Over the decades a code has developed. Competitions are frequent; between individuals, cities or nations. From surf boat rescues to beach sprints, board races, ski races and relays with competitive mass rescues thrown in, this is not for the fainthearted or the flabby. The purpose of the sport is to save lives.
Lifesaving went through a golden period after World War 2, says Taylor. "The sea was massive, so were the sharks. It was the time of the gladiator types. Massive men. Heroes who would run into the water in their one-piece suits; glorified by all who watched."A Springbok swimmer and former national swimming and surf lifesaving captain, at 52 Taylor still beats men half his age in competitive swims. (He beat Nxumalo by almost two minutes in the 5km Four Elements Ocean Challenge swim in May.)
In the '90s, apartheid ended and the beaches were opened. The transformation was dramatic, says Taylor. "In the old days, if you had said that by 1994 there would be 100 black guys who could swim 400m in under eight minutes, people would have laughed at you. Now there are 200 or 300, among them the forerunners of the new generation, men like Sihle Xaba."There are sacrifices. Xaba hasn't had a Christmas at home in 21 years. He has never seen his three children open their Christmas presents. "I'm the only person who goes to bed at 12.05am on New Year's Eve. I have no choice - I have to be on the beach at 4am."
I GOT IN, IT WAS GREAT
Xaba, like Nxumalo, hails from Lamontville, south of Durban. The township had a municipal pool, a rarity during apartheid. He grew up believing that the ocean "took" people.
"I was told by the elders that before you went near the sea you had to throw something in, like a tin can. If it came back then it was safe to go in. If it didn't, and you went in, you would disappear."As did Nxumalo, who began swimming aged nine and at 16 joined Durban Surf - the club he calls "the greatest in the world outside Australia" - to compete against the best. Nxumalo has competed nationally and abroad and has been lifeguard endurance champion for three years running.
"You don't get a cup," he says. "It's for bragging rights only. It means I am king of the beach."STARTING YOUNG
Tatum Botha was seven the first time she paddled out to sea on a board. The daughter of one lifesaving champion and younger sister to another, Botha, now 13, was bound to find herself in the surf, learning to save lives. At age eight, she became a Nipper - kids between the ages of eight and 14 who are taught the basic principles of surf safety.Botha has risen to the top. "I started for fun and then  when I won the under-nine surf swims, I started competing because I found it easy. I would save a life if I had to. I wouldn't mind becoming a volunteer when I reach 16."
Along the beaches in central Durban there is just one female lifeguard. "It's not that women don't have the skills," says Xaba, "they do." Unfortunately they come in for a great deal of abuse from the public.
"If Tatum was with me on Wedge Beach I know that she would be as good as the next lifeguard," he says. "I also know that I would probably end up punching someone for disrespecting her."..