Dudu Busani-Dube

It dawned on me when I was about 20 minutes away from the Oshoek Border Post that if I had taken the N17 from Johannesburg, I would have been in Swaziland already.

But no, I was travelling with a man. And although he had never been to Swaziland, he insisted he knew the way.

So there we were, me, my dear husband and a dear friend, in a BMW X1 that sometimes turns into a bakkie, because I’m constantly travelling with at least 10 boxes packed in it.

My friend, she has her own rules: any trip that is over an hour long has to have a cooler-box, an over-supply of snacks and music. She never drives, never knows where we are and doesn’t stop talking.

My husband, on the other hand, has never in the 11 years that I have known him uttered the words: “We are lost,” even when we are lost.

I know both of them well, so I tolerate it. This trip, which was to eZulwini in Swaziland in February (for my first-ever book launch outside South Africa), was another of those that required tolerance. It started from the N1 to the N4 (traffic) on a Friday afternoon.

We had about four hours to travel and the weather wasn’t exactly in a good mood.

I pushed back my front seat and relaxed the moment we took the Emalahleni ramp onto the N4; that was where the trip really started. The N4 from Pretoria to Witbank is always a quick and easy drive, simply because the road is straight, clear and well-maintained.

Another 30 minutes spent cruising through the N4 to Middleburg, where we remembered that our lives depended upon not missing the Carolina off-ramp. That off-ramp was going to determine whether we made it to the border post on time or if we’d arrive after 10pm and

would have no choice but to sleep in the car or drive back to Joburg.

In heavy rain and dark sky, we found the road to Carolina and lost all civilization.

The R33 isn’t a bad route. The road itself is not bad. In fact, if you are looking for a road trip that will grant you peace and quiet, it’s the best route to take. It’s mostly lined by farms with names you’ve never heard of.

Although the areas the highway cuts through are completely rural, I was shocked by how good the road signage is.

Every “sho’t left” and “sho’t right”, whether it is going to a farm or just basically nowhere, has a sign with either a road name or plot name.

There was the farm Helpmekaar. I couldn’t help but wonder what it is exactly that a farm with such a humble name produces. There was also a sign pointing to Vaalwater. I wondered if it was referring to a river or an actual farm.

See, those areas are nothing like the N3 or N4, where you can park on the side and pop in. There are fences, gates and you know without being told if you are about to trespass.

We drove past without stopping, because the real goal was to reach Carolina before 7pm.

We had been warned that it being Friday and month-end, the border post would be as busy as a taxi rank.

So we knew we were close when we started seeing thicker traffic on the R33. This was because we were approaching

the left turn to Piet Retief, a small town that borders Mpumalanga and northern KwaZulu-Natal.

We turned right into Carolina, a town with just one road, but two petrol garages, fast-food outlets and a railway line.

It was a busy town. Not Joburg busy, but pretty bustling. It took about four minutes to drive through the town, which begins at a big “CAROLINA” sign and ends at a T-junction.

We took another right turn and not long after that we were approaching the said junction.

I could not believe my eyes when I saw the N17!

We literally could have taken the N17 – all we had to do was take the N3 and then the Springs off-ramp.

The N17 would have been quicker and easier, but then again, we would have missed the peace and quiet of the R33. My husband would not have had his chance to gloat about taking a route he’d never driven before and conquering it. My friend would probably not have been blissfully asleep throughout the trip had it been shorter. I would not have been curious enough to want to know what the heck happens at Helpmekaar.

We spent another hour on the N17, driving in the rain and fog, but we made it to Oshoek before 10pm. And yes, it did look something like Bree Street.