11 minute read
Continental Drift
Ones to watch: Sung Min Cho (facing page), a coach at Surfers Not Street Children, is set to become Mozambique’s first pro; Senegal’s Chérif Fall (at left) is the first Black surfer to have won the West Africa Tour twice.
T
he legendary documentary The Endless Summer (1966) follows two American surfers, Mike Hynson and Robert August, as they travel the world in search of the perfect wave. On their way to South Africa, they stop off in Ghana. The pair arrive with their surfboards at Lambadi Beach and, seemingly much to the bewilderment and astonishment of the locals, ride the waves. The film suggests that the Ghanaians have never seen anything like it before. But if you look closely, there are local boys surfing on pieces of scrap wood in the background when Hynson and August arrive at the beach—a fact that the film never addresses.
Far from being insignificant, this detail is part of a bigger problem: Surf culture has historically been defined by images of blond hair and blue eyes. Afrosurf—a new book co-published by TV presenter, activist, musician and passionate wave rider Selema Masekela and the team behind African surf brand Mami Wata—aims to change that. For the first time ever, they’ve comprehensively documented the surf culture that exists along Africa’s vast coastline, from Morocco to Somalia, Senegal to Mozambique, South Africa and beyond.
Incorporating more than 200 photos, 14 thought pieces and 25 profiles on some of the continent’s best surfers, the book challenges popular surfing stereotypes. For example, contrary to popular belief, surfing was not first documented by Captain Cook’s botanist in Tahiti in 1767. In fact, the first known account of surfing was written during the 1640s in what is now Ghana. “This is a book that I believe will redefine and expand how the world looks at surf culture,” says 49-year-old Masekela.
Liberia’s unspoiled beaches gained the surf community’s attention via the 2007 documentary Sliding Liberia (sliding is their term for surfing), which featured local pioneer Alfred Lomex.
the red bulletin: How did you come up with the idea for the book?
selema masekela: My father [South African jazz legend Hugh Masekela]’s dying wish was that I continue his work in fostering people’s relationship with— and eagerness to explore—the continent of Africa. After his death [in 2018], I was trying to figure out how to unfold this legacy. Then I realized my way to do it was through surfing. We began a conversation about how the book could use surfing as a lens through which to showcase the beauty of Africa as a whole; to show these images and tell stories never told before.
Why did you feel it was necessary? From when I was young, right up until the present day, 99.9 percent of images [meant to show what] surfing looks like haven’t included anyone who resembles me. It has always been like, if you want
For the Bikoumous, surfing is a family affair. Kelly (above) learned the craft from his father, Patrick, a passionate surfer himself, who owns a beach restaurant in Pointe-Noire, Congo.
to be taken seriously as a surfer, it would be best if you had blond hair and blue eyes. That’s the identifiable marker of what a surfer is—despite the fact that surfing [as we know it today] was invented by Southern Polynesians.
And was also, as we learn in the book, pioneered by Ghanaians. How has this important aspect of surfing history been ignored, even within the scene?
There are all these weird ways in which history gets whitewashed and edited conveniently to make it look like a certain sector of people did things first because they’re greater, more talented or blessed by God. It’s a mix of all these different things that we’ve been convinced of, right? This has led to misconceptions. I see people have to negotiate with images of African people surfing and doing it at a very high level. It’s like “Huh?” When I first learned to surf, people would ask, “How is it that you would learn how to surf, when
people like you don’t even swim?” If you look at surf movies, the majority of them are rooted in this idea of [white] people going to exotic lands and searching for incredible waves as the natives gather on the beach and watch them in disbelief. Then they leave. The Endless Summer is a classic example.
Was your plan to reveal the history of whitewashing in surfing?
Our intention is not to say, “Hey, everything you’ve been told about surfing is a lie.” We want to expand the lens of how we perceive surfing, and grant people access to the richness of Africa. This book is just a scratch on the surface of the surface.
South African surf pro Grant “Twiggy” Baker says that African surf culture is about to explode, just like the Brazilian scene did 10 years ago. Would you agree?
Totally. The “Brazilian Storm” was one that mainstream surfing didn’t see coming. The Brazilians were always looked at as a nuisance, because they were culturally different. Their level of passion for surfing was different, and people didn’t understand the how or the why of what it took for them to get to the world stage. When the Storm arrived in 2011, it turned everything upside down. It was very difficult for the surf community to actually stomach and accept the dominance and the level of performance that the Brazilians were bringing, to the point where they would make excuses about [the South Americans’] style. I never thought that Brazilian surfers would be part of the global teams of the world’s biggest brands, but now they are dominating the World Surf League Championship Tour. I think the African Storm is developing. Africa has the youngest population and it’s a massive continent. It’s not a matter of if, but when, it happens.
Why now and not 10 years ago?
Because there are role models now. In 2018, South African Mikey February became the first non-white African surfer on the World Tour. That opened the door to possibilities for young indigenous African kids across the continent, as well as Black surfers around the world. It was powerful. Before Mikey, they didn’t know they could look like that and do that. Across Africa, surfing has historically been viewed as a white people’s sport.
Why is that?
In South Africa, for example, surfing was an activity that was distinctly regulated by apartheid. I remember they tried to arrest me at North Beach in Durban in 1991. This was after the separation act [the Group Areas Act, which, between 1951 and 1991, assigned racial groups to different districts] had been lifted, so technically I was allowed to be there. But the idea that I was there, doing “their thing” without caring, so incensed the cops that they watched me for three days before finding some ridiculous and antiquated charge to try to arrest me on. That’s how it was back then. I remember
In 2018, South African Mikey February— born in 1993, a year before his homeland’s first democratic election—became the first African of color to qualify for the World Surf League Championship Tour.
In Afrosurf, well-traveled photographer Alan Van Gysen reveals his favorite African surf spots, including this South Angolan beach with its “3 km of waves and empty walls.”
Aita Diop’s wave- riding skills won her a scholarship with the International Surfing Association, so now the 15-yearold Senegalese can focus on her passion. “I feel free and happy in the ocean. It is my playground,” she says.
“In 20 years’ time, I can see there being as many Black Africans on the world surfing tours as there are Brazilians now,” says South African big-wave champion Grant “Twiggy” Baker.
stepping out of the elevator with a surfboard and the whole hotel lobby froze. Everyone stared at me and stopped moving. It was not something they ever thought they’d see.
And that was only 30 years ago.
But even in South Africa right now, there are still plenty of people who look at Black kids surfing as some sort of a charity activity. They view it as some kind of benevolent act taking place. It’s like they’re holding the door open for people to enter something, as opposed to it being just as much theirs as it is yours.
In the book, several surfers say that a strong trait of African surf culture is that there is none and they’re making it up as they go along.
I agree. Not being saddled by magazines or years of generational inheritance like, “You have to do it this way or you’re not doing it right,” allows a different approach. The beauty of not knowing any better is where the magic happens. It’s the same in art, music and life in general: Having no governing body, real or perceived, dictating what’s right has always been key to creating cultureshifting moments.
Running through the profiles like a golden thread is African surfers’ spiritual connection to the ocean.
This idea of surfing as a sexy leisure experience doesn’t exist in African culture; instead there is a very powerful reverence for the ocean. When my father was young and first started playing these regional tours through the South African townships, my grandmother would ask him to bring back a jar of seawater from certain provinces. That was her one request. And she would keep those jars on a shelf in her living room. My father wrote a song titled “Mami Wata,” an ode to the spiritual energy of the ocean.
Does this spiritual aspect impact on people’s approach to surfing?
Community and closeness are ubiquitous in indigenous cultures. In South Africa’s case, the Ubuntu philosophy is all about a bond of sharing that connects all humanity. If you apply that mindset to surfing, you’re going to end up with something completely different.
Do you think that this sense of community makes you a better surfer?
If you look at all of the world’s best surfers, regardless of race and culture, many of them come from adversity; many had to overcome something in order to become great. Kelly Slater had a broken home, with alcoholism in his family, so surfing became his oasis. Or look at the stories of these Brazilian surfers. Many of them come from very strong communities in their favelas, right? They all managed to overcome economic strife. When we learn how to couple our culture with talent, hard work and opportunity, that’s when we rise.
What future do you see for surf culture in Africa?
It’s going to be about the ways in which surf communities across the continent craft their own definition of African surf culture, from starting brands that appeal to others around the world to redefining the surf tourism economy. Right now it’s dominated by expats from America and Australia who go to these countries and hire locals but dictate how the economy looks. What if these were businesses run by Africans as opposed to outsiders who come in and create this top-down situation? There’s a huge opportunity for local cultures to build and shape their own version of the service economy.
“Morocco is a surf nation. We have 3,000 kilometers [1,860 miles] of coastline and world-class waves,” says Ramzi Boukhiam, who will represent his country in surfing’s debut at the next Olympics.
In 2015, photographer Marco Gualazzini visited war-torn Mogadishu in Somalia. Today, women, surfers and the youth of Mogadishu pack Lido Beach (above), indicating a growing sense of optimism. The beach has become the symbol of the city’s rebirth. In his essay, Mikey February says, “I feel like African surf communities are going to be the ones to influence a lot of people around the rest of the world instead.” Do you agree?
Yes. Mikey says that African expression is very raw and honest. There’s no bullshitting, no trying to impress anyone. And that’s important to consider, because all your experiences on land shape you into who you are when you stand on the board. That’s what you’re expressing. It’s the food, it’s the music, it’s the dance. It’s the culture and traditions. It’s all these things you can’t re-create anywhere else, and it will influence the way you surf. It’s why Brazilians have the flair that they do, and why the Tahitians do the dance in the manner that they do. Essentially, it’s what gives surfing its richness and depth and diversity. It’s what makes surfing so cool. mamiwatasurf.com/pages/afrosurf
For TV presenter Selema Masekela, surfing is more than just a sport. All profits from his book will go to African surftherapy organizations, including Waves for Change and Surfers Not Street Children.
Time to Rally
It was one of the last big motorsports events to take place before last year’s global lockdown. Now, as the world tries to shake off its stasis, the Mint 400 is revving up again. America’s oldest desert rally has endured throughout the nation’s many upheaval and remains as wild as ever.
Words TOM GUISE Photography GAVIN BOND
