HEART AND SOUL OF THE BEACH
The floaty things are yellow and the people are real . . . otherwise this could be Baywatch. Shelley Seid meets the men, women and children who save lives in South African surf
There are six-packs, chiselled chests and red Speedos. There are quad bikes, jet skis and flotation 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 Sanele Nxumalo, 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 onepiece 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.”
CAN I HAVE YOUR NUMBER?
Xaba is the bonus prize of lifesavers. At 39, he has been a professional lifeguard for 21 years, but he is also an actor. His first role was in the TV drama series Bay of Plenty, where he played a lifeguard. He went on to major roles in films, including Otelo Burning, Ayanda, and the newly released Vaya. He also starred in the reality TV show, Durban Beach Rescue.
A senior lifeguard at the notoriously dangerous Wedge beach, during holiday season Xaba sticks mostly to the observation tower. “Since the movies I can hardly be out there. Fans want photos, selfies and other things. I keep it strictly professional. ‘Can I have a hug?’ I’m asked, and I’ll say yes, and then, ‘Can I have your phone number?’ and I’ll say no. I do get irritated because I take my job seriously. I love this life.”
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.”
At 12, against his family’s wishes, he began swimming at the municipal pool. “I would go to the pool with my friend and then go to his house afterwards and cover myself with Vaseline so my skin didn’t look dry. But still, I was caught many times and I would get a thrashing. The more they hit me the more I was determined to prove that it was better to know how to swim.”
At 13, he went body surfing with friends. “They were swimming far out and seemed to be having fun. I got in. It was great. Then I knew the whole story about throwing things in the ocean was a myth.” He went on to become a national lifesaving and bodyboarding champion.
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.”