Spirit of the Sun - Article

There is an uneasy peace in the streets of Cape Town. It appears as a city under siege. Armed guards stroll aimlessly through the business district twirling their truncheons. Barbed wire and electric fences surround all buildings from high-rises to modest apartments. The occasional car passes through the rainy streets. Everything feels sterile, sanitized and cold: lifeless. The morning passes and the streets begin to fill. But still, the joyous noise and mayhem of other major African cities cannot be found here. The blacks and the whites keep to themselves as they pass with briefcases in hand. Apartheid has ended, but still, of course, the streets and alleyways are cleaned by blacks. The city’s soul is hidden under a bullet-proof vest.
Some friends and I decided to visit one of the black Townships on the outskirts of the city near the airport. On the way there, the driver takes us through the remains of the completely bulldozed ‘District Six’. It used to be a huge neighbourhood housing blacks and whites that was completely demolished in the 1960s by Apartheid authorities. The homeless were relocated to shantytown camps, one of which was named ‘Langa’ meaning ‘the Sun’. Langa was the site of some of the fiercest battles between police and freedom activists during the fall of the White Only government. I had heard it described by journalists as a “hellhole of filth, disease, and violence.”
When we arrived I felt a keen sense of exhilaration. This was the Africa I had come to see. The dirt streets were overflowing with people. Corrugated tin roof shacks were stacked together and formed the passageways for the ample traffic. Scores of curious children swarmed us as we disembarked from the van. The healthy and well-clothed tots plied us with questions and took our hands as if to give us a personal tour of their home. We wandered the streets where women cooked meet on grills and men carried wares. Though we were a curiosity for passersby we were never hindered and never felt the slightest threat.
We were soon invited into a local bar, composed of an empty, windowless shack, with a bench around the inside, a woman stirring a pot at the back, and a solitary hanging light bulb providing the only illumination. The hut was filled with men of all ages, some with woolen caps. The beer was poured into an empty paint can and passed around the room. It was offered to us and we all had a swig. No payment was accepted and we thanked our gracious hosts.
Out on the street we were directed to one of the larger concrete bunkhouses that lined the center of the township. As we walked towards the building children played soccer in the street, teenagers stole glances at us and laughed, and old men chatted huddled around corners. The afternoon sun cast the scene in a golden hue.
I am told by the driver that it can take eight years or more of waiting before a family can be offered space in one of these barracks. We enter a room not near big enough to be called a bachelor suite back home. It is home to eight families and their sleeping bags are laid out in carefully assigned positions. The matriarch of the largest family proudly shows me around. She is particularly happy to show me her night-patrol jacket. During Apartheid, Langa was controlled by brutal criminal gangs. The populace rose up and did away with that, instituting their own patrols to keep the peace. She is beaming with pride over her role in keeping her community safe. Her husband is away in the city doing menial work to pay for their living. She is left to care for the kids during the day and watch the streets at night. I ask her,
“Is there any crime in Langa?”
“No, no,” she tells me, “everyone knows everyone else.”
We walk the busy streets and chat with many people. Most hope of a better life in the city, a better job, more money. Concurrent with this we encountered a strong sense of pride in the township. People talked about future plans for community centers and schools.
We made our way over to the ‘illegal settlements’. These were shacks set up on land that the government had designated as no-go zones. These were the poorest settlements in Langa. The industriousness of the residents was impressive. One family’s shack was composed entirely of doors. One made judicious use of toilet seats. A young man emerged from his home and welcomed us over. His two beautiful daughters came out to play with us and pose for pictures. With pride, he freely welcomed us into his home and introduced his wife. He explained that he worked during the day in the city. He told us that he worked very hard to provide a better life for his daughters.
The graciousness and generosity of the citizens of Langa was overwhelming. The strong and cohesive sense of community in this place in undeniable. The goal of Apartheid was to break the blacks: to disenfranchise them, take them from their homes, to destroy their culture, to make them weak and subservient. No greater testament to the failure of those policies exists than in Langa. Langa has a soul and it is vibrant, industrious, alive, joyous, and full of hope.
Whereas Cape Town exudes a feeling of fear and the need for protection, Langa welcomes you with open arms and oozes pride and self-regeneration. The townships and their tribulations contain valuable lessons for Cape Town. At the same time, there is much that Cape Town can do for the Townships. It would be thoroughly irresponsible to write anything about Langa without mentioning the poverty. It is there in force, especially in the illegal settlements. Much more funding is needed for proper housing for the residents. Much can be also done to address the rather shameful fact that the city uses the townships as a cheap labour force. Their pay rates are never sufficient to escape the townships and provide a better life for their children.
What Langa offers Cape Town is far more long-reaching. It is the proof that forgiveness is possible and sometimes great opportunity for bridge building can come from the relics of the painful past. The joyous, vibrant and stridently life-affirming spirit of this magical place can hopefully one day infect Cape Town itself.