The kids sprint over, as if there was the most fantastic prize in sight. Their mother waves at us through the windows – her wide grin brandishing a few missing teeth. Jay, the driver, jumps out and opens the passenger door. He hands them each a bag with loaves of bread. They sit on the side as we leave, enjoying their food.

Further down the road, a larger group of mostly women and kids see the vehicle approaching and move towards us. This time Jay hands them each garments, personalized as though he knew what each of them would like. He also hands over a larger bag of bread. The kids wave as we drive off, a sign points to East London.

Small acts of kindness often make the biggest mark.

I had my worst experience in a backpackers last night. Port Elizabeth is, for many, a pit stop for the next leg of their journey. All I needed was a place to sleep so I could rise early to catch the Baz Bus at 7am. On that basis, I didn’t enquire about the hostels, just choosing the one that appeared to be closest to the shops. Big mistake.

The call it ‘basecamp’. It would be better called ‘baseless’, for this backpackers has little right to claim. Upon arrival, I was taken upstairs to meet the ‘matron’. She was in her bed, with a man. An argument ensued, as the man introducing – perhaps her son – attempted to arrange with her where I stay. I was led back downstairs into a grotty room, already occupied by three other [unsavoury] persons who were clearly not paying to stay. There was no apparent space. “Don’t worry, you can have the top bunk,” he said. Had it not been late, and I alone in a foreign town, I would’ve gotten up to leave. I thought again – sleep – wash – leave. I left to find some food.

On return, the room had been rearranged. “Here, we cleared the bottom bunk for you.” I thanked them, and attempted to arrange my things under watchful eyes. The atmosphere was horrible – air heavy with the fog of indefinite chain smokers. I sat down on the bed, only to find that the sheets were not clean. As though they’d never been washed, the smoke and grime clung to them and ran right through. I felt sick. The kitchen was rank, as were the toilets. I think I slept around one hour, interrupted indefinitely by a man walking in and out, and in and out. At around 4.30am I’d had enough and begun packing my things. I sat in the kitchen for the rest of the morning, waiting for the bus.

Now I’m in Chintsa – at a respectable backpackers called Buccaneers. Actually, it’s laid claim as one of the best in South Africa. With beautiful views of the lagoon and beach, coupled with lots of activities, I can see why. Thanks to my restless night, I find it hard to appreciate as much as I’d like to. Half an hour after arriving, we’re shuttled to the nearby Bulugha School to watch their choir’s performance. And it is quite something. A beautiful melody coupled with charismatic routine, I’m already exposed to some of the Xhosa area that I’m now passing through.

Back for a nap, I still fail to sleep. I guess I’ll have to wait for it to come to me. Enjoying a Mexican dinner with brownie, ice cream & custard desert – I’m now happy to enjoy the night and see what the morning brings. Perhaps we’ll grab a canoe and explore the lagoon.