I love cities in the
early morning. Jacques Dutronc allready sung about the city mornings in his
song 'Paris s'éveille’. For me city mornings are the beginning of a day in a
city far away and heading for an unknown end.
I started my day in
Cape Town City Centre in the early morning. Residing in one of the suburbs of
Cape Town, and without a car at the time, I was forced to take the train to
Cape Town. Brigid and Craig told me it was best to take the train during rush
hour and to take a seat in first class because it is safer, even more so as a
white woman. Class differences are not only a matter of trains here. They are
sadly enough a big problem amongst the population as well. As a good student, I
bought my first class ticket for 8 Rand or 0.8 Eurocents, and my safety lesson
in mind, I followed the largest group of people on the train, all hopping on
third class. As the only white person, I joined the colored and black commuters
and had to rely on my neighbor to know where my stop was. Trains in Cape Town
look more like subway trains, full of graffiti and because of the very weathered
windows, a limited view of the outside world. There are no announcers on train
and so you have to rely on the goodwill of people to tell you where you are. As
in Belgium, commuters look just like Belgian commuters: same boredom on their
faces, the MP3 player and a book or
newspaper in the hand, even in third class.
Cape Town was still
shrouded in fog when I arrived but soon the streets were colored with a lot of
people. Office boys and girls in suits were on their way to their desks, the
street stalls were being built, the smell of coffee came from the many trendy
coffee bars and shops opened their doors. Opening doors is relative in South
Africa. In most of the stores, one must ring the bell to get inside, especially
in the more exclusive boutiques and book shops. I found one of the coolest
bookstores in Cape Town: Clark's. Wooden shelves, tables,
all full of new books, secondhand books and this all stowed in a little old
shop. Two elderly ladies are running the shop and were willingly to help me to the part of anthropology, novels, history and were more than excited to guide
me through the rich history of literature of their country. It almost felt like
being part of an English movie, called ‘The Old Book Shop ‘ where the only
character missing is a Dicken’s figure. Cape Town is a bizarre mix of races,
colors and everyone colors the city in its own way. African figurines and
jewelry shops, English teahouses, hallalshops, chain stores, many vegetables
and fruit stalls along the road and even a Democratic shop ... they are all
part of the city center and blend into one city. After my thorough introduction
to South African literature and asking if I could leave the books at the store
until I was going home, I started my
tour of the city. ‘Sure’, they said, ‘we will put the books in a nice bag for
you '.
The fog had now
disappeared and the city was full of life. The City Centre of Cape Town still has
the grandeur of the old days with historic buildings and parks and green, despite
of the skyscrapers that have taken possession of the streets as well. The park
is a nice relief and not just for me. Many couples, even on a weekday, make use
of the benches in the park and even in winter many camellias and roses are in
bloom. One of the attractions of Cape town is Green Market where tourists can
buy souvenirs. And yes, vuvuselas are still popular, even decorated with
pearls now, and probably adorning many rooms somewhere overseas. Just on this market crowded with tourists, I am
stopped by a street child. ‘Ma'am, can you buy me some food’. I try to ignore them
as the other Captonians, but he keeps following me. ‘Ma'am, please, no money,
just buy me some food, I am hungry. I look at him and do not know what to do.’
‘How cruel can you be, I think. Buy this child something.’ On the way to the
store someone stopped us and told the kid to 'leave the lady alone.’ I decided
to take the child to the shop anyhow, and he immediately grapped a box of cornflakes, a milk bottle and a pack of sugar. Do I need to feel like a good Samaritan? I
am not sure what to feel. It leaves me with a bad feeling. The child won’t be
hungry for a day, maybe two, ... and yet ... why him and not me. I
can not get rid of the feeling.
My second encounter in
the city is of a different nature. I had an interview with Roelof Peter Van
Wijk. He is an architect, photographer and has an exhibition running in Cape
Town with impressive photographs called 'Jong Afrikaner'. His subjects are
depicted as the portraits of the Dutch portrait painters in the old days. He
wants to show us the diversity of the Jong Afrikaners of Dutch and German descent.
The history they share can not be wiped away but they also have a future ahead
of them. A future that offers a lot of opportunities, especially giving them a
chance to be released from the Afrikaner, Christian conservative identity with
all their prejudices against other races, homosexuals, as they are often associated
with. It is not obvious. He says ‘we are more than Afrikaner, we are also
Afrikaans and even have African blood and we share a history for centuries. We
are also a part of this country but we also have the responsibility, more than
the rest, to ensure that this country will be a better place to live for everyone.
‘ He is convinced of his mission and his next project will be a series of
portraits from the Van Wijk descendents. Van Wijk's ancestor entered South
Africa in the 17th century and left behind a lot of sons and daughters. He was
a busy man, Roelof jokes about his ancestor. The family Van Wijk has
descendants from San (Bushmen) over Zulu to the Afrikaners with blue eyes and
blond hair. This series of portraits will be a witness of what unites us more than what separates us as South Afrikaner, he says. Pictures tell us so much,
he goes on and photography can bring an added value as a testimony. He believes in the role of art that can serve as a trigger and can open doors for people to
look at society in a different way.
After this inspiring and enlightening conversation I walk back to the bookstore
to pick up my books. One of the ladies of the bookstore offers me a ride back
home. ‘I live in the neighbourhood anyhow and I was about to leave’, she says.
On the way home she tells me she is a retired English teacher. Her oldest
daughter lives in London, she tells me, and I miss my grandchildren so. But my
daughter prefers to live in Europe. She believes it is safer for children. ‘There
is no future here, she continues. You are no longer safe and white people do
not stand a chance here any longer.’
During this day I was
confronted with three different stories, all of them are a resident of a city:
a street child, a bookstore servant and a photographer, all struck by the
disparity that exists, injustice and the security that goes with it, but each
in their own way.
Meanwhile I am in
Strand, a coastal town near Cape Town. I have an idyllic view of the ocean and
Cape Point, almost the southern tip of the continent. A continent that looks up to South Africa. A country where the
confrontation between two different paradigms is so very visible and therefore
making it very fascinating as one paradigm is now taking over from the other.
