Dripping in culture and champagne
Lucy Kgweetsi | Monday July 14, 2025 15:23
I didn’t go to chase celebrities or collect selfies. I went because something told me the theme “Marvels of Mzansi” wasn’t just a call to fashion, it was a calling, full stop. A chance to witness what Southern Africa looks like when we show up in our fullest, freest selves. And Durban, as always, had the perfect stage for it.
By the time our Air Botswana flight glided over the ocean and touched down at King Shaka International Airport, I had already decided that I wouldn’t just be an attendee. I would let the city have me fully. And it did. Durban didn’t introduce itself. It embraced me. She doesn’t shout her beauty. She glows with it. Sometimes loud and luminous, sometimes slow and sultry, but always sure of herself.
From the moment we settled into the elegant Hilton Garden Inn, I sensed the mood building. There’s something about being in a city that knows it’s about to explode with art, music, and motion. Every elevator ride felt like a networking moment. The hotel lobby? A runway. The buzz wasn’t just from the glasses of bubbly, it was from the realisation that something big was about to happen.
And it did. Durban July is hard to describe to someone who’s never been. Yes, it’s about horse racing. But truly, that’s just the heartbeat underneath a living, breathing work of cultural theatre.
The fashion is loud and lyrical. The crowd is a blend of moguls, dreamers, creators, and outsiders-turned-insiders. And for one wild, exquisite day, Greyville becomes our very own pan-African Met Gala, except with more rhythm, more meaning, more dust on your heels.
I arrived dressed to tell a story. Not just mine, but one threaded with home. I saw pieces of Botswana in the beadwork, in the laughter of our group, in the calm confidence we carried. We weren’t just there, we belonged. That was the magic. Seeing ourselves reflected in the mirrors of Mzansi’s marvels. We, too, are part of this tapestry.
But what truly moved me was what happened between the headlines, the soft, quiet moments. The shared glances. The collabs whispered over cocktails. A content creator from Eswatini exchanging contacts with a Durban stylist. A Botswana filmmaker pitching an idea to someone from KZN Film. We weren’t just watching the show, we were already scripting the next one.
Because KZN Tourism and Film didn’t just invite us to a spectacle. They created a space. A platform. An ecosystem that allows African stories to thrive without apology. One where you’re not just invited to observe you’re encouraged to contribute.
And Durban itself? She plays her role flawlessly. The city knows how to slow things down after the storm. One moment you’re in a crush of feathers, lenses, and laughter the next, you’re floating on the ocean, the skyline behind you and the horizon ahead. That boat cruise wasn’t just a Sunday activity. It was a reminder that life is both the roar and the rest. And Durban, in her brilliance, gives you both.
On the final day, as I watched the palm trees blur through the shuttle window back to the airport, something settled in me. The kind of peace that only comes after you’ve lived in full colour for a few days unapologetically, stylishly, joyfully.
As Air Botswana lifted off, I didn’t feel like I was leaving something behind. I felt like I was taking something with me.
The Marvels of Mzansi weren’t just in the outfits or the champagne flutes. They were in the quiet confidence of Southern Africans owning space together. In the way Durban turns strangers into collaborators. In how easily a moment becomes a memory.
Would I go again? Absolutely. But not to repeat it. To evolve it. Because Durban July isn’t just a once-a-year experience. It’s a reminder of the Africa we’re building, bold, beautiful, collaborative, and cinematic.
So here’s my advice, book the ticket. Wear the outfit. Take the meeting. Film the thing. Say yes. Because some marvels only reveal themselves when you dare to show up in your own magic.