This trip stems from a promise that El (my better

half) and I had made to ourselves - when her exams were over

we would take off for a while, travel the world, have a

little fun. The aim was to do a wide variety of stuff – some

touristy things, some mountains, see some friends and family.

Most of this journal dates from notes I took in the evening -

I have allowed hindsight to creep in in some places

though...

Our first sight of SA, as for most people, is Johannesburg

International Airport. Not a good start – first impressions

reminded me of New York. There is clearly much more cash

around than Tanzania, but also many people relying on tips

for a living, and a distinct sense of anxiety about security.

Security guards and paraphenalia are everywhere, perhaps

creating as much fear as reassurance, particularly when

coupled with Joburg's not very good reputation. We head

straight to Cape Town without regrets.

After sorting out a proper room we head out of the suburb

where we're based (the Cape Bowl) and into the centre. It's

all very clean, quiet and well maintained after Tanzania and

when we hit the waterfront it feels like we've gone too far

south and have stepped right off the continent.

More and more paralels with the US come to mind – the

racial diversity, the sandwich shops with five different

types of bread, the gun shops...

For the afternoon we book a trip to Robben Island, the

infamous prison island where Mandela and many others were

kept for so long. Fortunately for me and my stomach the sea

is as calm as a mill pond as we take the boat out of the

harbour. In fact the unseasonably hot and sunny weather makes

it difficult to imagine what the conditions would have been

like in winter for those imprisoned.

The atmosphere is also slightly perturbed by the bright

murals on some of the walls. When the prison was handed over

to the cultural department in 1997, the public works

department was called in to spruce the place up a bit. They

were slightly overzealous, painting pretty pictures of

animals and Father Christmas, with the result that it now

looks more like an asylum than a prison. Still the size of

the rooms in which the prisoners were locked up for up to 18

hours a day hasn't changed.

Also on the tour is the quarry where ANC members and

others were put to work quarrying useless lime. It is amazing

to think that as they hacked away at the lime, blinded by the

dazzling reflection of the sun on the quarry walls and

breathing in the choking dust, they were planning the

principle of reconciliation for a post-apartheid South

Africa, and even putting it into action by including their

warders in the education scheme that they set up. A measure

of the moral and mental strength of men such as Mandela and

Sisulu.

One of the best things about the visit is that it is given

by ex-political prisoners. Not only can these men give

testimony from their personal experience, they are lucid and

political about present day South Africa and the challenges

faced, the iniquity of the previous regime and the struggle

for freedom. In no way are they reciting some form of spiel

set down for them.

In the evening we meet Marilie, an old work colleague of

El's who has moved back to Cape Town after a stay in Antwerp.

We go to a trendy fish restaurant by the sea, with waiters

that are very serious about the food. We have a good time,

talking about things to do and gossiping about the Flemish.

Marilie clearly needs to talk about her Belgian experience –

her SA friends aren't that interested and she needs to digest

some of the less amusing parts of her time in Europe.

Another fine day dawns and we take a taxi to the bottom of

one of the most direct (apart from the cable car) and popular

ways up the mountain. The path is certainly steep, with big

blocky steps. We are soon admiring the view and after passing

through a narrow gorge and bemoaning our lack of climbing

gear surrounded by all this perfect rock, we arrive on the

top plateau. After a walk out to Maclear's beacon for the

magnificent views of Cape Point, we come back to the top

cable car station.

Unbeknownst to El, I have a little surprise for her. She

insists on a sandwich first, though, so I have to be patient

for another 30 minutes. Finally, I manage to lure her to a

quiet spot and ask her to marry me. She says yes, which is

good of her. I can therefore reveal the mini bottle of

champagne which I bought in semi-secret the day before. I had

been trying to find an excuse to disappear for a bit and when

El spied a big tourist shop, I dashed off in the direction of

a wine shop, only for the swing bridge to swing and cut me

off. Foiled! With 15 minutes to go before the boat was due to

leave, El heads to the toilet and I sprint upstairs and make

my purchase. Coming back downstairs she is clearly intrigued

by what I have been up to but despite fierce interrogation

and having to cart the bottle around for four hours without

breaking it, I keep my secret.

We take the rotating cable car down to avoid knackering

our knees on the granite steps and to mitigate the effect of

the champagne, and have a distracted afternoon.

Overnight the weather has changed. The rain has swept in

and brought a cold dampness with it. Table Mountain has

disappeared behind a grey veil and we shall not be seeing it

for a while according to the forecast. We go for a guided

tour of District six and a couple of townships.

District six in the fifties was a poor area, but with a

certain vibrancy and sense of community spirit. It was

inhabited by people from a wide range of ethnic backgrounds

so when the apartheid government reclassified it as a white

area, the whole community was moved and split up. Cape

Coloured people to coloured areas, Indians to Indian areas

and so on. The museum contains hundreds of individual

testimonies of the impact this had. Jazz bands ruined, homing

pigeons that wouldn't come back to their new home, friends

lost. And all this for nothing – by the time the last

resident had been moved out the South African government had

run out of cash to redevelop the area, so it was left as

largely a wasteland with a few mosques and churches that the

government hadn't dared knock down. However, perhaps a

happier ending is finally in sight. The first group of

original District six residents to be granted the right to

return to their original land are having houses built at the

moment.

From District six we retraced the path of many of those

who were evicted to the area, out to the Cape Flats and the

townships. These are as grim as you could imagine. Only 25 km

from the waterfront, but a different world. At the bottom of

the scale is unserviced informal housing, shacks basically,

mainly inhabited by squatters. Here there is no refuse

collection, no power, postal service, running water or

sewage. Most people living in this type of accomodation are

relatively recent immigrants to the area, the majority of the

townships having acquired at least basic facilities.

Serviced informal housing is still in corrugated iron

shacks but with access to all the facilities mentioned above.

This is still very common. Formal housing is as you would

expect in bricks and mortar and often off a tarmac road. This

is important in an area like the Cape Flats as it has a very

high water table and does not drain well to say the

least.

We visit Langa township first. The climate and conditions

are insalubrious – the toilets are equivalent to what you

might find at a rock festival and all hot water has to be

boiled on a stove. The graffiti gives a clue to some of the

social problems the area faces – 'real men don't rape' –

'don't smoke dagga' and anti-gang statements. We see an

informal school for kids that can't yet cope in a normal

school. With 30 plus children in a class teaching conditions

seem tricky – the children get most of their tuition in

Xhosa, with some English and perhaps surprisingly, some

Afrikaans. They bark a few phrases at us in English, and sing

some songs in Xhosa. The standard isn't great but coming from

a starting point of almost total illiteracy for parents and

child alike it can only help in making the transition towards

a normal education.

Next stop is Khayelitsa, the largest township in Cape Town

with probably over a million residents. In the absence of

much hope of regular employment, a myriad of informal small

businesses have been created, women selling smilies (boiled

or roasted sheeps heads), barbers, mobile phone places,

shebeens. We see a couple of these in action; a soup kitchen

and Vickys B+B, both run by positive and determined ladies,

involving their communities as much as possible. The constant

rain means we don't get much chance to talk to residents but

it does allow us to get a realistic picture of the Cape Flats

at its grimmest.

In the evening we meet two of Marilie's friends. The girl

is quite pessimistic about the future of South Africa,

voicing fears that SA could become another Zimbabwe, and

vehiculing some of the urban myths we have been reading about

on the transition to democracy. The man, however, is fairly

positive he mentions in passing that he will be so happy when

the last of the tin shacks is taken down. Another theme of

the evening's discussion is their frustration with the image

of South Africa in the outside world; with the country being

perceived as either full of racists or as a third world,

backward kind of place.

Time Out in Africa

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