Some of my most vivid childhood memories are of fishing trips on the remote Eastern Cape coast of South Africa. There were few roads, so we had to walk for hours to the best angling spots.We often come across groups of Xhosa women walking in single file through the green rolling hills above the white-capped breakers of the Indian Ocean. The women were usually carrying huge bundles on their heads, and we always wondered how they managed to keep their balance so perfectly. We struggled on the steep slopes with modern backpacks while they casually chatted or broke into a song as they journeyed from one village to the next. All the same it was hard work for them.

In the rural areas of Africa, often the only way for women to get water to their homes is to carry it on their heads from the river.

Nowadays it is possible to use closed plastic containers, but in the past women would carry water in empty paraffin tins. They would put green leaves on the top of the water to stop it splashing out. In the Eastern Cape the paraffin tins became known as igogo because of the noise the water made as it swirled against the sides of the tin with each step the women took.

But in other parts of the continent men put baggage on their heads as well. This means that ill-supplied African armies can be remarkably mobile and resilient.

I have seen rebels in Mozambique, Sudan and Congo equipped with nothing more than flip-flops on their feet, AK-47s in their hands, and carrying half a sack of maize or manioc on their heads. They take everything they need with them through the narrow pathways in the forest or thick bush. If they are attacked, their hands are free to shoot back. No doubt in the chaos the sack will fall off, but after the battle it is simple enough to go back and find it lying on the pathway.So too, whenever there is a conflict in Africa, one sees the frightened refugees escaping the fighting carrying huge bundles on their heads. They lug mattresses, suitcases, cooking pots and furniture for miles through the African bush. These people are literally forced to take what they can of their lives with them. Being able to carry their possessions on their heads can mean the difference between living and dying. They carry with them shelter, food and a way to cook it.

Luanda, the capital of Angola, is known for its horrendous traffic. Young men and boys wind their way carefully through the cars, smiling amid the exhaust fumes rising through the salty humid air. They carry tall cardboard shelves on their heads. These tiny mobile shops are crammed with cigarettes, matches, soap, shoelaces, razor blades - just about anything you could want - and you can shop through your car window.

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If you want something, they drop the shelves off their head and bring it right up close for you to select what you need. Once you've paid, they hoist the shelves back onto their heads and slip easily through the cars, searching for another customer.

It's a simple African solution to the all too common problems of poverty and crumbling infrastructure. The young men can make a living, and you can keep your blood pressure down while you're stuck in some of the worst traffic in the world. If the traffic's really slow, you can get almost all of your shopping done without stepping out of your car.

It is astonishing what people are able to keep on their heads as they walk. I'll never forget seeing ayoung boy in Nigeria precariously balancing a gas lamp which was about three times taller than he was. I've seen people carrying boxes of beer, bricks, long wooden planks, even chairs. I once saw a middle-aged woman carrying a heavy old pedal-driven sewing machine on her head.

But the old ways are changing. Different economic realities are bringing new freedoms to African women. The traditional image of women winding their way through the hills with heavy loads has become a meaningless cliché for many urban women.

A young woman I met at a trendy party in Johannesburg grew up in the same rural area where we went on our fishing trips. She laughed when I told her my stories.
"That's how it was then," she said. "When I was a child and I went home to the old village, there always seemed to be something to carry - blankets from one house to another, firewood, cooking pots to the village across the valley... it was endless. My grandmother tried to teach me how to carry things on my head.

"But," she confessed to me over her glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, "I'm afraid I never did learn."

Hamilton Wende made this report for BBC Radio 4's From Our Own Correspondent.