Journal

Day 39 – Bourgeois

Getting picked up by a friend (or “fetched” as they’d say here), we went to ‘the Old Biscuit Mill’ for lunch. No, it no longer has anything to do with biscuits, nor is it a mill. It’s one of those ‘cool’ markets with different types of food at fashionable prices – reminded me a little of Borough Market or something similar. I had a nice stir fry and enjoyed conversing with new people, one of the things I’ve most enjoyed about this trip.

The group increased in size, all heading into town to watch the all important quarter final between Argentina and Germany. Some went straight to the Cape Town Stadium with their tickets. The less fortunate of us joined in the ‘Fan Walk’, a colourful parade of thousands of fans from the fan park to the stadium. Unlike the game I’d been to watch, which had been in the rain at night, the quarter final boasted a beautiful day with people streaming down all the streets. Every possible viewing area was packed out, with groups crowding round televisions wherever they could be found.

As we struggled to find a place to watch the game, someone decided to hail a combi to go to Sea Point. Some of the group seemed incredibly excited in the taxi, others slightly flustered. “The day started with me going out to get a haircut, and now this!” one of them said. It turns out, for at least a few of them, this was their first time in such a taxi. Astounded by my comfort in the vehicle, one turns to me and says “You’re more of a Capetonian than we are, and we’re from here!”

Whilst in the UK the middle-class will have used a bus at some point and almost definitely a train, here it’s less common. I learnt how some have never used any public transport here – neither trains nor buses. “Of course I’ve been in a taxi before. Uh, a metered taxi.” The argument between ‘safety’ and pure bourgeois living rages, as I question many on their methods of travel through the city and country. To watch games in other cities, domestic flights are widely used, and they’re not cheap (irrespective of the environmental cost).
Using your eyes alone, it’s clear that the gap between the rich and poor here is incredibly wide. What worries me is the outlook of some of the affluent people I’ve met, dismissing this gap as being nothing more than ‘the way it is’.

We watched the game in a restaurant with a big screen. It was nice. Later, on Long Street German fans blocked the traffic to celebrate their countries victory. I met some of the volunteers here, they’d already heard of my previous day’s excursion.

I jumped in the taxi with them back to the village, perhaps for the last time.

Day 38 – Strike III

How does a week pass by so quickly? At least I have 7 days of blog posts to account for those days, which is more than I’d have for a week back home.

The morning was spent in the supervisor’s veg. garden, the glaring sun causing my head to spin. I’ve never seen such a freakish looking caterpillar – furry, spiky and multi-coloured – sparking a debate as to whether they could be poisonous or not. We then went for the second week of Rugby training, which is always fun. I left mid-session to prepare for Jummah (Friday prayer). From Atlantis I made my way to town. The combi journey felt longer this time, probably because I hadn’t travelled in the afternoon before.

I wandered around for a while. I wasn’t sure why I’d come, other than to escape the village and the regrets of the previous wasted Friday. Sat in a park, two young women came up to me and attempted to encourage me to come and watch that evening’s football game at a Church. I was in a bit of a reflective mood, not engaging with them on the level they might’ve expected. Instead I calmly declined. They were relentless, asking where I was from and what I was doing in South Africa. Before they left, one says to me “Can I ask – what religion are you?” I answered “I’m a Muslim”. “Oh, that’s why! You’re the enemy!” I was surprised by the brazen comment, and replied by smiling and stating “I have no enemies.”

Attempting to make the most of the day, I ventured to see something new. This time I went to the ‘Iziko South African Museum’, SA’s oldest museum. It was quite interesting, seeing the amazing variety of creatures this country hosted and hosts as well as their displays of dinosaur fossils and prehistoric animals from Africa. What I found most impacting was a sign [pictured] in the anthropology gallery reading: “Out of touch? This gallery was constructed in the 1970s and since that time approaches to exhibiting African culture have changed. Do these exhibits create the impression that all black South Africans live in rural villages, wear traditional dress and use only hand-made utensils?…African culture is not static. Why, then, are many labels in the gallery written in the present tense, as if time had stood still?”

Friday night had big games. Ghana, the last African nation in the world cup, had almost unanimous support from the locals. Brazil is somewhat like the Manchester United of international football – they receive widespread support for a glamorous game. I was waiting for some friends, so I first watched Brazil getting beat whilst eating my lunch. I then ventured to the roof of the Grand Daddy hotel to watch a cool performance by an artist using a foot loop. He layed down a simple beat and used his harmonica and voice to make some pretty impressive music – reminding me of Dub FX and Joe Driscoll (though increasingly common).

From the Mosque window we hear Long Street growing in excitement for the Ghana game. Vuvuzelas raging, people shouting. I can’t help but smile when I hear a chant “Ghana, Ghana!” followed by a squeaky voice wailing “Gaffana Gaffana!” I meet the others and we look for a nice spot to watch the game. We end up on the second floor of a place called ‘The Waiting Room’, giving a pretty impressive view of the city from the roof terrace. The game was crazy, with Ghana playing fantastically well and without a doubt deserving to win. Not wanting to miss the deciding half of the game, I miss the last bus and stay in Cape Town. Subconsciously then, I’d already made a decision. When the last penalty was scored, the room went silent. Long Street lost its heart that night.

Day 37 – Satisfactory weeding

I can feel a big hole in my tooth. I went through all the hassle of registering at a dentist and having a check up before I came out here, only for this to happen. I’m having too much sugar, especially in the form of sugared tea combined with biscuits and cake (discovering the vast difference between cheap and expensive biscuits).

We worked in the veg. garden for the day, the reduced size of the garden group means more time to reflect and work. Initially I’d found the job boring and often pointless but I’ve grown to appreciate the rhythm. I can understand how gardening is often looked at as a form of relaxation, especially through nurturing crops for their entire life cycle. So I’ve decided that when I get back I will endeavour to implement what I’ve learnt. There are so many projects related to sustainable living in the UK and I have friends who are actively involved in the study and application of permaculture, so really there’s no excuse (blame the weather?).

“I’ve always wanted to meet someone mysterious just to say they’re enigmatic, so I’m thankful I’ve met you.” Apparently someone thinks I’m an enigma. I thought I’d do with a better definition, and ironically it seems the dictionary.com example seems to fit me: “a person of puzzling or contradictory character: To me he has always been an enigma, one minute completely insensitive, the next moved to tears.”

Depth is something I miss in conversation, so I enjoy the odd one-to-one chat with some of the group. It’s always enlightening to try and look at life from another’s perspective and having the opportunity to share some of your own experiences. When someone says to me “Oh I never looked at it like that” I feel a sense of attainment. For the knowledge that I’ve helped to offer a different perspective, it’s always worthwhile.

Day 36 – Reasoned reflections

I couldn’t find the willpower to get out of bed this morning. So I didn’t.

Later, on TV, I watched an elderly disabled woman use only her arms to manoeuvre herself from her bed into her wheelchair. It took numerous attempts and an unquestionable amount of strength. I wonder how many times she’s woken up and thought to herself ‘I can’t be bothered anymore.’ Feeling the cold, she looks up at the tin roof of her shack. No electricity. No running water. No toilet. They take up to two weeks to empty the bucket. “I have to pay someone to take me to town. When I don’t have enough money, they just leave me somewhere and a stranger will eventually take me home.”

I have been questioning my presence here in South Africa’s ‘sticks’, amongst other things in my life. Many of us have discussed the issue amongst ourselves, and yesterday’s speech from the supervisor suggested that this is indeed a system that we are a part of. Beyond the story, however, what exactly is it that I’m doing here?

I just finished watching “Sometimes in April”, a film about the 1994 genocide in Rwanda which cost the lives of at least 800,000 people. This month last year, I was in Bosnia, a country which also suffered from genocide. The Srebrenica massacre cost the lives of at least 8,000 people. We took part in the burial of the 534 more people found that year, and they continue to find more each year. “History repeats itself and blood is always spilled…”

I cast my mind back 9 years ago and find myself in Iraq. The memory of the al-Amiriya bomb shelter will stay with me forever. A search reveals a video which brings the entire scene rushing back. It’s amazing how accurate scarring memories can be. “4:30 AM: 408 women and children were hiding from the war, when a US bunker buster bomb smashes through the roof. Moments later a “smart” phosphor bomb was guided through the hole in the roof, and burned them all to death. The people in the basement were boiled to death when the water storage tank exploded from the heat. The imprints of their bodies are still on the wall.”

What is the relevance of these stories?

We all have to make decisions which will shape our outlook on life and the way we live. I often reflect on how little anyone would be affected if I were to not return to the UK. I wonder, beyond material possessions, what my life consists of. I set out on this journey to learn about myself, and to learn how I can best channel my abilities into making a change in the world – however big or small. I pray that God grants me the ability do so.

Day 35 – Lifted spirits

I wanted to learn to knit this morning. Clearly it’s not for everyone. Latisha, one of the senior figures at Lief en Leed, first attempted to teach me. I don’t know why, but I just couldn’t pick it up. She then asked one of the wheelchair-bound women to assist me. A master of the art, she certainly knew what she was doing. I watched and tried, watched, watched and tried. By 11am, I’d successfully learnt how to observe someone knitting.

The weekly meeting was of length, but consisted of a much needed motivational and somewhat emotional speech from Aunty Hilda. “I eliminate negative people from my life because I do not have the time or energy to deal with them. But if you plant a seed, maybe in 5 years you’ll make a difference to that person…It’s not me, it’s God giving us the means.” She told us of how so many volunteers had had an impact on the people here, whether it is teaching the children to speak better English or the guitar, or being involved in the beginnings of projects which are still running today like the veg. gardens and dance group. What affected me most, however, was the way in which she spoke of love. “I have so much love to give to each person who walks through my door. I’ve been given an abundance of love…if someone doesn’t want that love, if I can’t share that love I’ll share tough luck!” We were reminded of the short time we have left, and how important it is to motivate ourselves to continually give it our all.

As I said to a fellow volunteer on the way home, “Kid’s always lift your spirits.” The holiday programme consisted of a lot of running around with children playing variations of football, rugby, piggy in the middle and some wrestling of sorts. I know I’ll miss the bright smiles and undying enthusiasm. I don’t fear playing with the children here. “Will you be back tomorrow?” one eagerly asks as we leave. We will, I reassure him, offering the handshake I taught him one last time.

The good weather must be compensated for, and the long walk back was through a continuous downpour. There’s something so beautiful about the rain. Its sound, and the silence it brings. The way it runs along the sides of the roads, causing them to glisten and shine. I got home in a ridiculously clammy state, enjoying a warm shower whilst my host-mum made me a cup of tea. I couldn’t possibly ask for more.