In the forgotten hills of Dikidikini village in South Africa’s Eastern Cape, the only way across the swollen Mzintlava River when the rains come is to climb inside a 200-litre blue plastic drum, have the lid slammed shut, and trust half-naked young men to swim the sealed barrel across the current while ropes dig into their bodies.
Schoolchildren as young as eight, the elderly, the disabled and pregnant women are packed inside these makeshift coffins-on-water. Water leaks in. Hearts race with palpitations. There is no oxygen, limited movement and the constant risk of being swept away. Residents say a pregnant woman drowned trying to cross alone. Others recount coffins being carried by hand or funerals postponed because the river is too dangerous. Patients have been ferried across on steel beds.
The practice is not new. Locals learned it from their grandfathers. It dates back to at least the mid-1990s, after a small boat bought by a villager was smashed on rocks and three people died. When the river is merely waist- or chest-deep, people wade. When it floods, the drum is the only option. The alternative is a punishing multi-hour trek up a rocky mountain path that children and the frail cannot manage.
One woman told reporters: “I have mixed emotions before getting inside this drum. Once I get inside, I start having severe palpitations. The water is leaking in and I will come out soaking wet.” Another said simply that nobody cares and “they just want us to die.” Young men who operate the drums are sometimes woken at 1 am so people can catch the morning taxi on the far side.
Promises of a proper bridge have been made for years. Municipal officials, the provincial government and even the South African National Defence Force have talked about a pedestrian crossing. In 2024, R51 million was announced for a bridge project involving the municipality and private partners. As of 2026, residents were still waiting, with reports that the first contractor failed and the work had to be reassigned. The village itself has long lacked electricity and proper toilets. Neighbouring areas on the other bank have power; this side does not.
The Eastern Cape is one of South Africa’s poorest provinces and its infrastructure numbers are stark. Only about 9–10 percent of its roads are paved, far below the national average of roughly 25 percent. The South African Human Rights Commission has described the condition of many rural roads and bridges as a human rights violation affecting access to schools, clinics, markets and jobs. Maintenance and upgrade backlogs have been estimated in the tens of billions of rand. At recent funding levels, clearing the backlog could take until the 2040s or 2050s. Floods regularly isolate communities, destroy low-level crossings and add to the damage.
Across parts of rural Africa, scenes like this still occur where basic river crossings remain unbuilt decades after independence. While cities in the same countries have modern highways, shopping centres and airports, remote villages rely on drums, ropes and barefoot swimming. Children miss school when rivers rise. Ambulances cannot reach patients. Farmers lose produce because roads are impassable. The gap between what is possible with modest engineering and what is delivered remains vast.
In Dikidikini, the young men still strip to their underwear, seal neighbours inside plastic barrels and swim. The river still rises. The bridge, after years of announcements, has not arrived.
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