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Published: September 21st 2016
South African Peace Prize winners
Moving monument to courageous leaders
My body awoke at about our usual time for the tour breakfast and wouldn’t sleep in, even though I will uncomfortably spend tonight on the flight to Heathrow. We all have different departure times, mine a transfer to the airport at 3:45 pm. Judy had the whole day, so we decided to go the
Victoria and Alfred Waterfrontto wander around the shops. It is the same place where we departed for Robben Island a few days ago. We enjoyed the fifteen-minute walk along the sidewalk that constituted the view from my hotel window. The only intimidating part was crossing two roads at the roundabout. Judy was good at judging, so I followed her.
We lucked out by finding the Artisan Workshop first. This was in a large former warehouse. Small booths were operated by the artists. Many items were indeed works of art. A wood-turner showed us his work in Black Hemlock, an introduced tree once used to fix erosion. Now it is a nuisance and South Africa is trying to eradicate non-native species. Beaded necklaces were unusual - multi strand and colourful – or black-brown-bone. Yarns were knit or woven into bright multihued scarves that tempted me. Painted and batik cloths portrayed
"Freedom and Democracy"
Cooperation makes progress succeed classic African scenes, few of which appealed to me except their glowing orange-gold-brown combinations. Pewter cutlery, figures and jewelry shone like silver. We restrained ourselves until we entered a large stall full of fun items, including fridge magnets and playful Christmas ornaments and nativity sets. I bought a Christmas ornament for my collections and fridge magnets for Rosemary and for me.
We escaped further purchases and spied a rock and gem store Judy wanted to visit. Nothing tempted her. By now we needed a break - back to the harbour front for fresh orange juice (me) and cappuccino (Judy).
Refreshed, we struck out in a different direction and found another art-filled mall. Judy found some lovely stone and wood pieces. I tried to regard this as a trip to the museum, because my luggage was on the edge of being allowed on board as hand luggage. Coming out of this mall, we heard great music. A group was singing and playing two wooden xylophones, drum, tambourine, and sax, with a lead singer whose voice was rough and golden baritone. He danced as he sang, opening his arms to the audience. I caught some of the words: “You me
Victoria and Alfred Waterfront
Street musicians rock lunch time buy a Porsche.” with chorus, “What cost?”. They group sang township music – melodious and rhythmic. I videoed and donated rather than buying a CD.
It was time to walk back to the hotel for my late check-out at 1:00; done, we walked back a slightly different route to the other end of the Waterfront. We had a pleasurably relaxing lunch at an outdoor restaurant. I ordered lamb chops (three large ones!), because I won’t have them again probably, and Pinotage (not nearly as good as the ones from our tour restaurants). Replete, we wandered over to the
African Trading Port, a huge former port administrative building filled with beautiful works of art from across the continent. The owners or buyers must be knowledgeable collectors because some works were breath-taking. There were some
Benin-style heads from Nigeria that I hoped were not historic. We almost staggered out, sated from a spiritual feast. For our last cultural joy, we returned to the central courts, only to find the same band playing again. Delighted, we sat on some steps in the shade and gently rocked to the rhythms. Then we had to leave to arrive at the hotel for my taxi pick-up.
Moments
Port Captains Building
For sale - every wish you didn't know you had after I got my luggage out of storage, my driver presented himself. He was happy to leave early to avoid some of the rush hour traffic. Indeed, the ride went smoothly, taking about half-an-hour. He was glad I had enjoyed my trip and opened up about his family and the last couple of years of his life. He had been out of work in construction for the past eight months and had got this good job as a driver a couple of months ago. Construction jobs are going to immigrants – legal or illegal – “from our neighbouring countries” at lower wages.
In apartheid days he had been living in District 6 when it was cleared of “Coloured” residents and bulldozed. He has been entitled to return there since democracy in 1994, but the house he owns in the township is larger than what he could afford in District 6. (According to our guides, such displaced residents are entitled to financial compensation.) His youngest daughter is in her second year as a dentistry student and has received rebates on her fees in both years because of good marks. He and his two daughters are conscious of the need to
“help our community”, volunteering with disadvantaged children.
He thought that
National Party supporters were slow to come on board to democracy, but that that no country is perfect and South Africa is young. He mentioned “politics” several times, so I observed that
President Zuma was looking much older than he used to. The driver thought Zuma was unwell and wouldn’t finish his term as president. I asked him his opinion of
Julius Malema, an
ANC youth leader; he considered him to be disrespectful to parliament, where Malema has been staging quasi-demonstrations in the chamber. Conclusively, the driver, like Duane, attributed the good management of the Western Cape Province to having a
woman leader and a
woman mayor in Cape Town. He would like to see a woman president and favours the female prosecutor who is looking into corruption by President Zuma. A fascinating look into a grass-roots citizen’s perspectives.
Now I am on the plane to Johannesburg, and then to Heathrow. A most extraordinary interaction happened at passport control. Great gales of laughter came from one desk, usually a place of whispers. The officer and emigrant were exchanging football stories. When the man finally moved on, the next one joked with the officer
as well. I happened to get the same officer and joked, “Sorry, I know nothing about football.” He looked at my passport, saying, “Where do you come from? Canada! That’s an ice land!” “Not all the time!”, I expostulated, and then conceded, “Well, it is right now.” Cheerful end to a friendly visit.
Postscript: South Africans have my deep respect for how they have accepted the whole of their history as part of their story. Rather than trying to ignore or diminish the racism and the apartheid in the past, they take them on as part of the development of the current society. I have come to realize that diminishing or trying to extinguish the terrible times would also erase the struggle – the successful struggle of which they are proud. They did overcome. This is also the basis for their expressed pride in their democracy – hard won and flourishing.
">Watch video of the street musicians.
Isabel Gibson
non-member comment
Farewell to Nova Scotia?
Well, to anywhere, I guess - always a curious mix of emotions on leaving. Your comments about their willingness to accept the whole of their history were interesting. Mary's middle child, Emma, lives in Berlin with her guy. Mary tells me that there are all sorts of plaques on sidewalks and on buildings to mark where Jewish families used to live. They're not hiding from what their country did, and I think that's likely a good thing.