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Published: August 29th 2016
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South African Right Whales
More whales than on all my whale-watching tours! (composite photo) Robben Island was our destination this morning: legend made real! The embarkation point was the Nelson Mandela Gateway Museum, but we didn’t see anything except the exterior. We boarded a medium-speed ferry, full with its 120 passengers. Fortunately with Dramamine, Sea Bands, an outside seat, and the distraction of photography, the motion of the sea didn’t bother me. Leaving the Cape Town harbour took about half of the fifty-minute journey, after which the swells increased. Suddenly we switched our cameras from attempting perfect shots of
Table Mountain to haphazard shots of two whales –
South African Right Whales- unusual at this time of year.
Robben Island soon showed as a green haze on the horizon. Eventually we pulled into the obviously new artificial harbour made with concrete forms. I thought about how terrifying, lonely and despairing this journey must have been for prisoners facing long terms. Perhaps my imagination was a bit off, because later our prisoner guide told us that, once convicted, they hoped to be sent to Robben Island where their leaders and friends were. Still, must have been disheartening.
We were loaded onto busses with a couple hundred other tourists (sharp contrast with our tour until now). A young guide narrated
Robben Island
Long awaited first glimpse a 45-minute bus tour around the island. Quite unexpected, there was a small village of former convicts and guards housed in reasonable homes. The island has been used for detention since the 1600s for rebellious mariners, the mentally infirm, lepers, and political prisoners. Prisoners quarrying to make their own prison seemed to be a common theme – that and minimal or no medical care. We drove by the quarry where prisoners in Mandela’s time broke down a limestone outcrop into limestone sand for concrete. Because no protective gear was provided, this blinded some and caused lung disease in others, including Mandela. The cave where the prisoners urinated was a called South African’s first democratic government because the guards avoided such a smelly place and the prisoners could talk philosophy, politics and economics there.
At the apartheid prison, a new guide took over, Kgotso, a former prisoner. To have former prisoners lead the tours gives an authenticity to the narrative that is unique, and will be irreplaceable as the guides age and retire. Kgotso led us through the double-walled, razor-wired enclosure to a cell block. Empty now, except for two representative bunk beds and a mat, it was still vivid
Kgotso at his cell door
Once a prison, now his living in my imagination to think of sixty men living in one long room. I asked him how he felt now taking tours around his former prison. He answered in an emotion-laden voice that he started in 2003 and that he did then and still does receive counseling, and that talking about it to tourists so often does help. Later in response to another question, he said that the ideological basis for his imprisonment helped, say in comparison to the WWII Holocaust, because the imprisonment and torture was impersonal. (He was tortured for 25 days and imprisoned for 20 years.) He said some of the guards had this same perspective. He thought that Robben Island was a font of inspiration for continuing to do good in the world. I will try to adopt this credo for moving on.
Kgotso then led us to his own prison room, virtually the same as the other. Until 1978 prisoners slept only on mats with inadequate blankets, a sample of which was in this room – the blanket looked like fabric carpet underlay. Only in 1974 was glass put into the barred windows: one was open today and the breeze felt cool on this
Mandela's cell, Number 87
Whence a great philosophy of peace early autumn day. Helen Suzman, for many years the only anti-apartheid MP, managed to get legislation passed to allow Black prisoners to wear long pants and long sleeves, as the Coloured prisoners did. The translation of pettiness into cruelty was perhaps one of the worst tactics of oppression.
From this room we walked across to another cellblock containing the solitary confinement cells, the fate of Nelson Mandela for 18 years. The room, down a long corridor of rooms, was just wide enough for the sleeping mat. (The guide on the bus had pointed out guard dog kennels that were larger than the prison cells.) You would need a strong mind to live in such a small space. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help comparing these prisoners’ access to books and university correspondence courses to the more recent severe deprivation of
Omar Khadr and others in Guantanamo Bay.
We then took “the long walk to freedom”, the path from the prison to the boat dock. On the way we acknowledged the South African flag outside the prison flying at half-mast. This week, the remains of political exiles in Russia were repatriated, and yesterday they were reburied. All who died are called “Heroes
Hibiscus and birds
at The Company's Garden of the Struggle”.
On the deck of the return ferry, a catamaran, the people sitting next to me were on a tour from Montreal – friendly exchange of adventures, although they were just beginning their three week game tour.
Lunch was at the “
Company's Garden”, a park on the grounds of what was an original garden planted by the Governor from the
Company of Dutch East Indies to establish the first self-sufficient settlement of traders. The original vegetable garden has been recreated, plus extensive lawns and flowerbeds have been laid. We had “light lunches”, a concept at odds with the serving sizes we have encountered everywhere. I had Smoorsneok, a traditional fish sandwich, which was strangely encased in lots of chutney-tasting sauce – not to my liking.
We did go up to the Table Mountain gondola, but the wind blew too strong for safety. Indeed, the wind pushed us around as we took photos of Cape Town.
Instead we went to the marvelous
Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens, a celebration of the vast diversity of indigenous plants in the “flora kingdom” along the Southern coast of Africa. We freely wandered in the mild, fresh air. The calm of the green environment helped me shake of
Africa Cafe
Drumming to stir the spirit! the muzziness of the morning’s Dramamine and the faint echos of oppression. In the garden, families of all types enjoyed the calm in many ways, and I met a man who, although born in South Africa, now lives in Red Deer.
Our dinner was at
Africa Café, a special restaurant that serves an African Feast – about twenty dishes in small portions. Not sure of the authenticity, but lots of fun. The “waitrons” (female and male) painted the faces of the willing (Elizabeth and me) and sang and drummed for entertainment. I enjoyed Pinotage wine again.
Jane Harrison
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Moving Account
A very moving account of this dark, dark time in South Africa. I keep thinking of your tour guide. Perhaps he needs a regular reminder of which side of the bars he is on to sustain stability. It's so hard to comprehend such irrational cruelty.