Day 24: Langa Township

Today was going to be kind of a “down” day. Meaning not driving so much! The plan was to head up the cable car to Table Mountain, then come down to the Hout Bay market and go see Xoma Aob to arrange a tour. Nice, easy day in Cape Town. I woke up at 5:30am and worked while Brian slept, and slept, and slept….I thought he was dead! He’s usually up at the crack of dawn, and heaven forbid I move an inch or he’s completely awake. I let him sleep. Poor guy. The shutters were closed, but I listened- NO WIND!! That’s important because the cable car wouldn’t be running if it was windy. Actually, since Brian got here there’s been practically no wind. Nothing like the insanity I experienced the first couple of weeks. Finally he woke up at 7:30 (half the day is gone!!). I opened the shutters and saw this:

Hmmmmmm. The supposedly spectacular views from Table Mountain wouldn’t be quite so spectacular today… No worries, we’ll just go downtown to the Pan African market, eat at Mama Africa’s (a restaurant the housesitters I met up with suggested), maybe hit the slave museum, then off to Hout Bay. Still a full day. I jumped online to see when everything opened (no more fossil park scenarios for me!). Pan African market: CLOSED ON SUNDAY. Mama Africa’s: CLOSED ON SUNDAY. Slave Museum: CLOSED ON SUNDAY. Remember yesterday when I said little bumps and disappointments are a part of the journey? Yeah, well, SCREW THAT!!!!! I started going in to full blown freak out mode. What in the hell were we going to do? Cape Town had a huge “CLOSED” sign stamped on it. We couldn’t change plans and go to the other 2 adventures outside of Cape Town we had planned, because they had already been booked and paid for for other days. The thought of wasting an entire day was freaking me out. I jumped online and started searching. The only things open were things I had already done or had no interest in doing. Brian cooked his breakfast and then came over and calmly got on his computer. Everything was either too far away or closed. I found something called a township tour by Siviwe Tours– and they had 5 stars. The townships are those “shanty town” looking areas that I saw the day I flew in. It sounded really interesting! I went online to book. No availability. UGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH! Maybe I could plead my case, or maybe someone had cancelled due to the rain and we could take their spot. I called. No answer. I called back a little bit later. No answer. It’s after 9am at this point, and freak out mode is bleeding into panic mode. By 9am we are usually out the door and well on our way to (or have already started) the day’s adventure! I emailed. I kept searching and searching. Brian was searching. Nothing. And then, a ding- new email! It was Siviwe Tours!!! They had space available at noon or 2!! I said we’d take the noon tour!! WOO-HOO! Then….cash only. We didn’t have enough cash (I haven’t changed money once since I’ve been here because everywhere takes a credit card). We started searching for every money changer in town. And guess what? DEEE-NIED. Every where was closed. I emailed back sheepishly about the situation, and they agreed to let us pay in US dollars. (Can you imagine going somewhere in the US and asking to pay in South African rand?? See previous DEE-NIED notation…)

The tour started at noon, and we got there at about 11. We drove into the neighborhood and eeeeeep…it was….interesting. And by interesting I mean really run down and scary (as defined by our prejudices and preconceptions) to the point that we decided we would go find a mall and get an umbrella rather than sit in the parking lot in broad daylight on a Sunday morning. There was a mall about a mile away, and we were the only white people in it. And we were FINE. And the car was FINE. And we got an umbrella at Woolworth’s and were FINE. I hate that we’re taught how people who are “different” (are they, really?) are something to be feared…

Went back to the meeting place and a young black man walked up to our car. I rolled down the window- part way. He said “Hi, you must be…” and hesitated. Brian offered up “Mary and Brian.” The young man said, “Ah, yes, Mary. Wait right here, we’re waiting on two more people.” I rolled up the window and told Brian you NEVER give them your name- make them say your name so you know it’s really the tour guide. Ok, that is probably wise information, but honestly, would I have done that if there was a meeting point outside of the cheetah sanctuary or the San center? I have to admit I wouldn’t. Sigh. Honestly though, this neighborhood was the epitome of being somewhere where my gut said “GET OUT!”. The neighborhood (Township) is Langa.

Another car of slow moving, deer-in-the-headlights, hesitant-to-turn-in white people arrived. Our guide, Loyiso, greeted them and then got in our car to drive to where we would park- just outside of the community center. The couple was from Toronto, and nice enough. I had seriously considered booking a private tour for 4 times the cost because that’s how much I hate tour groups. But as I suspected, the rain kept pretty much everyone away. Four was a good number. Before we start the tour, let me give you a little history of this place so you understand what it is and what it represents. The township is named after King Langalibalele- an activist for black rights who was one of the first people to be imprisoned on Robben Island (where Nelson Mandela was held). Langa means “sun” in the native Xhosa language- which is still widely spoken in Langa. Xhosa are indigenous people of the East Cape, and their language also has the clicks that I learned about from the San center. In the 1920’s, the whites wanted the blacks out of their areas. Far away so they didn’t have to live near them, but close enough that they could use them for workers. A law was put into place to create special areas for the blacks. Langa was the first planned township created for the purpose of containing blacks to specific areas where they were forced to live. When you have all of what you consider to be “problem people” in one location, it’s easier to control them. In fact, control was so strict that family and friends couldn’t even come and visit the people who were in Langa. At one point, there were areas where only men could live- they had to leave their wives and children behind. Certain traditions, such as the brewing of the cultural beer that was so important in many rituals, was banned. Over the years, tensions both within the community (different tribes) and with the government (especially over housing and living conditions) have ebbed and flowed. It is now a fairly strong and cohesive community of people who are proud, but are still waiting to receive basic human rights from the government.

We started our tour at the Guga S’thebe community center, which is the hub of culture within the community. It offers several educational programs, classes such as dance and art, and provides a place for artists to work and sell their crafts. I was immediately fascinated with an artist named Odom and his sand art work. It was GORGEOUS!! Odom dropped out of school very early, but has been working at his craft for the last 18 years. It is a form of art that I know my students are just going to LOVE!! Brian and I like to support individuals as much as we can- I really don’t like buying mass produced trinkets. We bought a sand art piece that depicted the Langa township from Odom (definitely the most expensive souvenir I’ve ever purchased, but I felt good about it), and a gourd rattle that was made by some ladies in another booth. Odom also let me video his entire technique so I can teach it to my students! We also saw an area where they do pottery.

Now it was time to go to the houses. And when I say houses, this is an extremely loose term in many circumstances. I will say, I didn’t always feel comfortable taking pictures in certain areas, so I didn’t. I know that tourism is important to Langa and that the community supports, embraces, and welcomes it, but I didn’t want to feel like I was participating in some kind of “human zoo”. These people are proud and I wanted to be as respectful as I could under the circumstances. There are different levels of housing in Langa, from abysmal to quite nice. Houses that have numbers on their doors are on the government list to receive better housing when it is built. Don’t hold your breath for that to happen, though. People have been waiting 10+ years. First, we went into a dorm that used to be a “mens only” dorm, meaning they had to be separated from their wives and children. There were a few children playing soccer in the entrance hall. Loyiso explained how many families lived in this dorm- at least 8. They shared one bathroom that was outside, which consisted of a single toilet. There is no shower, bathing is done in plastic tubs. The stove and sink are communal as well, and there are no refrigerators. The individual “apartments” consist of a single room. Families who have too many members, children sleep on the floor. If there are too many to fit in the room, they sleep in the entrance hall on filthy mattresses. There is a strict curfew of between 9-10 o’clock. If you are not inside by then, you are locked out. This way, you don’t disturb the people who have to sleep on the entry way floor. I thought this was horrible living conditions. I was soon proved wrong.

In the courtyard area of this dorm were some shipping containers. We learned that these weren’t for storage. They were homes. And each container wasn’t one home, it was TWO homes. The containers were split in half, each side with a family. Electricity was run haphazardly from structures that had electricity (this was the case in many of the areas). These containers had been brought in as temporary housing- years and years ago. We were invited to go inside of one of the “homes”. Honestly, I felt really bad. There were 2 children who had been sitting on the floor, girls about 8 and 10, who had to go outside so we could come in. The room was maybe 10 x 10, no bigger than a normal sized bedroom and this was the entire house. No running water. No kitchen. They shared the outdoor toilet and kitchen with the dorm. There was one bed, with an African woman and a newborn baby laying on it. Loyiso explained how they receive money from the government for each child, and some work and need that money to feed their children because wages aren’t high enough. Some people have children so they don’t have to work. God. How can I judge? I can’t. How do any of us know what we would do in that situation? It’s easy for us to sit in our fine homes with a refrigerator full of food, good jobs, spending cash, hell- our own TOILET AND SHOWER, and judge how these people should live and behave. Fuck us all for that. I couldn’t bear to take a picture- just too human zoo for me. I felt bad enough being in her home with my camera around my neck, knowing it was worth more than she probably sees in a year. I have never been face to face with such abject poverty.

We wandered down more streets and came to a large building called the Old Beer Hall. Originally, there was a ban on the people being able to brew their traditional beer. Then, in the 1940’s, the government allowed it, but only in the beer hall. Now, it’s converted into- you guessed it- temporary housing. Multiple families live in each of the rooms. They all share an outdoor toilet. No showers, just plastic basins in their rooms. Trash isn’t always collected when it should be, which causes a massive problem with rats.

We now went down a makeshift tiny alley in between ramshackle, make shift “accommodations”. I was thinking how there was no way in hell I would ever been in this place if it wasn’t for a tour guide. Because instinctively, you recognize that it is not a place you belong. Is it from fear? Is it from privilege? Is it from not wanting to know this exists? Is it all of these? I don’t know. How do you sort out instinct? There was a church, painted blue and white, and falling apart. We continued down dirty, narrow alleys, almost suffocated by the poverty and injustice on all sides. I can’t stand it. It’s not right. We went into another dwelling- one of these “shanty shack” homes- pieced together from whatever materials could be found. Inside were about 8 children under the age of 4. This was the “orphanage”. A woman was taking in children whose parents could no longer care for them for a multitude of reasons. There were 4 rooms. A “living room” kind of area, a storage type area, a bedroom filled with bunk after bunk that the children slept 2 per bed in, and a kitchen area. Again, no bathroom. I’m not even sure where their toilet was (I think they may have had to share with the Beer Hall toilet that was about ½ a block away). One plastic basin to wash the kids in. How can these children ever even have a chance? How? It’s not possible. They’re born with 3 strikes against them- no parental guidance, no chance of a good education, and growing up in a culture that tends to perpetuate itself.

We made our way to another shanty. Inside of this one was an older man named Cederick. His nickname is Shooter because he’s short. 🙂 He lived in the Beer Hall, then built a house on this spot 10 years ago. There was a fire that ran through the shanties and destroyed his and many others (I can’t even imagine having practically nothing, losing that, then starting over), and he had to rebuild. He used pieces of the township that was torn down when the freeway that runs next to Langa was put in. He told us stories of his life, how Nelson Mandela gave rights to the people, and how he is still waiting for the government to provide him a real house- that that is his dream. I videoed 17 minutes of him talking, it was that interesting. He works with the local school, teaching children skills. He showed us some Snap Circuit boards he had so he could teach the children how to do electrical work. A woman in the States donated 30 sets. I got the feeling that he’s been a fighter his whole life and refuses to give up. I also got the feeling that he’ll never get a home. I guess when all you have is hope, you hold on to it no matter the circumstances. He told us how Mos Def and DJ Skrillex had both visited his home. One piece of their damn jewelry would buy him a house…

We walked a few more shanties down into a room that had about 7 men in it. This is where they would come to drink the traditional beer. It’s only brewed by women and they refuse to give any man the recipe. They brew it, and they sell it. It only has .01% alcohol, so you’d have to drink buckets of it to get a buzz. And that’s exactly how it was served to us- in a communal bucket that was passed around and everyone drank from it. It tasted a little fermenty, not much like real beer. It was very white and frothy.

We exited this little section of severely run down shanties, and walked down kind of a main road. There were women there preparing a sheep brain soup of sorts. They were smoking sheep heads, then they would prepare them, make the soup, and sell it. Just like with the beer- the women are the primary entrepreneurs in the community. Loyiso told us more than once that the men are lazy… Lazy, or just beaten down? Who am I to judge?

Now we entered kind of a “middle class” area. Large apartment buildings, very similar to what we might see in urban housing projects in the states. He said some people pay rent here, some people stay for free. They have private bathrooms in their apartments. How did they manage to get these upgrades? No one knows for sure, really. Maybe they knew the right person. Maybe they gave money to the right person. Maybe they were next up on the government list. I would think that if you were in the shanties, dorms, or shipping containers with your family, the why and how wouldn’t matter near as much as the fact that you finally had a roof over your head. I know that I would do whatever it took if I was in that situation.

We now walked through another compound of buildings, very similar to the dorms we saw earlier. These were built in 1941 and probably hadn’t seen many if any renovations since then. There were children playing in the courtyard under lines and lines of clothes hung out to dry. These would probably be a step up from the dorms, but not by much. Everywhere you looked in this community was poverty. Children. Conditions you couldn’t even imagine animals living in. Things that are impossible to reconcile in my mind.

Now it was time to visit the “upper class” of Langa, or as Loyiso called it, “Beverly Hills”! Many people of Langa who had gotten an education- doctors, attorneys, accountants, etc… didn’t leave the community. They stayed. They built nice homes. They wanted to show everyone (especially the children) that with hard work, education, and focus, you can change your circumstances. And the thing that I immediately noticed was the lack of bars on the windows. No barbed wire circles trimming the tops of fences. No alarm company signs. No security cameras. No vicious dogs. No barriers between them and the gut wrenching poverty just meters away. Why? Weren’t these home ripe for the picking? Wasn’t this an extravagant display of wealth (even though it was completely modest by our standards) taunting people with nothing? Weren’t these homes a crime of opportunity waiting to happen? No. Because the people of Langa are community. They are strong. They support each other. If a crime does happen in the community, the community takes care of it by beating the hell out of the offender. Ofttimes, the criminal will turn themselves into the police before the community can catch them and institute Langa justice! It’s amazing if you think about it.

After 2 hours, our time in Langa had ended. I never once felt unsafe (except on that initial drive in!). But I did feel uncomfortable. Good. I should feel that way. There are only 3 things that separate me from these people. Three -tions (shuns?). Coloration, education, location. My white skin affords me so much opportunity. Opportunity that even with the same level of education and drive I would not have if my skin was dark. I know and recognize this. I have always valued the importance of education, even though I did struggle with poverty conditions as a child. An education was available to me, and I took full advantage of it. And living in the United States, I automatically have rights, freedoms, and opportunities that these people could never even comprehend. Being “given” a right and having the ability to “exercise” that right are two completely different things.

After Langa, we headed to Hout Bay. First, to the market, where Brian bought me a coral shaped ring that I had seen last weekend. We went and talked to Xoma Abo and scheduled a tour for Wednesday. We had lunch at Mariner’s Wharf where a man from the Congo waited on us. He’s going to Maryland in March to live with his brother. He wants to be a ship mechanic. I hope his dreams come true.