Cape Town

8^th March 2011

The mist from Table Mountain is right down in the city this morning, moving through the streets as if searching for something, investigating the lower ground. It’s a morning that should be spent in bed with a delicious book, occasional glances outside to confirm the necessity of a cocooned retreat.

What an astonishing place this is. I had forgotten, seeped in personal judgements about the great and glaring socio-economic divide, the ease with which the paler population lives in phenomenal material abundance here. What has always been jarring on arrival is the highway passage to the city, which is flanked by township and squatter camps that  wrench one into the present day moment, a slap in the face to remind you where you are and of one of the pricetags for this city’s narrowly planned evolution.

But now, thanks to RDP (Reconstruction and Development) housing, the wicked scar of shacklands has been reduced to a contained eyesore. Now there are houses, rows of boxes with nary a meter between them and not a tree in sight, but houses, hallelujah. There is evidence of progress, redress, and of course, like an extra limb that remembered to grow, emerging from those houses are corrugated iron add-ons, lean to's, extra rooms to house extra people, of which there are many. Ever since I was at university 20 years ago, the figure of 10 000 people per month has been bandied about – 10 000 people migrate to Cape Town a month – someone said it to me yesterday again. I’m not sure how they count this migration.

I made it through the highway passage, my senses intact, relieved to arrive at my friends’ house in Tamboerskloof, a lovely old home with a stoep (porch) looking bang onto Table Mountain, the whole chunk of rock right there in all of its glory, embracing the city. My friends are film-makers and social activists, so its always inspiring to be around them. There is interesting conversation and vigorous perspective, as well as great food and wine.

So I put my social equity scanner on stand-by, and let myself simply be and enjoy where I am. I lived in Cape Town for 6 years in my early twenties, so, like Johannesburg, there is memory projected onto many buildings and streets, but thankfully, I am a fully fledged adult now and have shed some of the scales of the less pleasant and destructive behaviours we so gleefully engaged in. A walk on the mountain is just that, my sense of smell alive after years of not smoking, the fynbos giving up such sweet, delectable scents, whilst above us the cloud pouring off Table Mountain moves into dragon shapes, helicopter and shark shapes, according to my friend’s six year old son.

Sunday was my birthday, what a beautiful day we had. I had happy birthday sung to me in English and Afrikaans by my three adult friends and the four children. We blew out candles and gorged ourselves on cake, swam, laughed and enjoyed the bright blue skies, Southern Hemisphere style. 

I was gifted with a bottle of Suikerbossie Premier Grand Cru, subtitled, Ek wil jou he (I want you). Such a gentle way to celebrate a birthday, unassuming and full of family, small children, in whose presence I rarely am.

 

 Above: Devil's Peak from Bo-Kaap

Back of Table Mountain from Bakoven Beach