16. Durban, 1991 — RAG

In which Eleanor gets a little intoxicated.

An all night party, with music, and building floats. Probably some other unmentionables. Eleanor is content. 

Eleanor

I’m drunk from more than just alcohol. Exhaustion vies with a new burst of energy as Alasdair comes over, wraps me in a huge embrace and we melt into each other, exploring, touching, kissing. As the sky lightens, all around us the detritus of the night becomes visible. Chicken wire. Beer cans and bottles. Crepe ribbons, trampled into the dirt. Plastic cups. Cigarette butts. Wood off cuts. The culminating event of Rag¹ week is this all night party slash float construction and decoration dash we’re just emerging from. In a few hours the floats will depart for the annual Rag parade through downtown Durban. The party started at dusk and went on all night. Savuka, Mango Groove, Boom Shaka and other local and smaller bands I don’t know kept us going through the night, the beats African and township and European and eclectic. 

And alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Probably some weed too, but I haven’t felt the urge to try that. I have some fuzzy memory of a bunch of the wilder boys going bush diving². I pull away from Alasdair and look at him in the dawn light. He looks quizzically back at me, his 6 foot 3 frame making me feel short rather than tall. A feeling I like. He doesn’t have scratches all over him, so he wasn’t one of the crazy ones. He smells of beer and smoke. But then so do I, I’m sure. 

I look around the field. People are milling around, some are passed out, and others are putting last touches to the floats. My eyes rest on the mountain the Mountain Club has built on the back of the flatbed lorry. There was a friendly competition all night between the Club and the School of Engineering as to who would build the tallest structure. I think the Club has won out. I dimly remember Tig being hoisted up to check the measurements. Last week he’d phoned the Durban City Council to confirm the maximum height measurements that would fit under the bridge. 

I slide my hand into Alasdair’s. I’m still getting used to having a steady boyfriend. My fingers are raw from working the crepe into the chicken wire for hours and hours during the middle of the night, but it’s easy to ignore them. A wave of tiredness washes over me and I lean back into Alasdair, drawing his arms around me. Tig walks by and gives me a grin and a wink. I smile back at him, contentment warming me in the dawn light.

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Bonus Materials

• The sounds of our university days: Alasdair & Meredith give Eleanor a musical education…and a playlist.