(1) Township Tourist

Today started so well.  The extent to which it turned bad still sickens me.

I didn't fancy a rough boat ride to bleak Robben Island, particularly as three people each suggested the tour of the island prison facility was of questionable value for money: just read the guide book instead, they urged.  Hmmm, well, I can't do everything I guess and whilst the guide book made the day sound quite interesting, I agreed they had a point.

Instead, a tour of a local township was on my agenda.  I left my valuables at home and set out by public transport for a meeting with my guide.   It's always slightly thrilling to take public transport in a new city - particularly one with a reputation for violent robbery.  But by day things seemed safe, and I chatted with one or two passengers to confirm I was on the right train, in the right carriage.  So far, so good.  Friendly people these South Africans.

I was to meet Zwai, an easy going black guy in his mid-thirties, who was to be my guide.  His red backpack and jacket made him easy to spot.  He was waiting for me at Fish Hoek, a seaside town that didn't seem like a 'township' to me.  I was expecting something closer to the expanse of corrugated iron shacks and wooden plank huts crowding onto land just outside the city - I'd passed those settlements coming in from the airport on Tuesday, and they reminded me of the favelas I'd seen in Brazil last month.

Zwai beckoned me on, then cheerfully disappeared down a rabbit hole - or was it a packed minivan taxi full of laden locals?  We emerged a few kilometres up the road, at the edge of a mixed-use residential area.  There were various kinds of dwellings, shops and stores - some just metal shacks, some made of those huge, steel containers off the back of freight trucks.  And, some new-looking stone or brick buildings with cable TV and a 4x4 outside.  I found the contrasts confusing and looked to Zwai for a bit of context.  He was fetching a couple of solid bicycles from a secure container, and grinned.

Zwai chatted helpfully as we pedalled slowly down the tar sealed road on our donated Dutch two-wheelers.  This, he explained, was a 'good' township and safe for tourists: he made me say the name, Masiphumelele, but it was like a tongue twister.  He'd lived here for over ten years, working in tourism.  Everyone knows him, and knows he performs a good role for them.  The particular tour company he worked for hands over most of their (it has to be said - rather large) fee to the community for their projects.  Child care, a school, clinic and library are just some examples illustrating that the program is working:  drug use is rare, employment prospects better than 'normal', and a steady strategy of land ownership and building-upgrades is well established.  This explained the cable TV and 4x4s.

I saw the highlights, and also the low lights: bare foot kids running down narrow sewer alleys whilst adults fetch clean water.  I imagine townships where sewers, electricity, clean water and security are missing would be hellish places to try and improve your lot.  That's how it is on the edges of a township.  As Zwai joked with the people we passed, it was clear this is a township that is 'going places'...   Even some white folks are starting to move in, seeking cheap property in a positive, safe community.  After a braai (BBQ) late lunch of deliciously fatty meat, I left for home just as the heavens opened and the rain sent everyone running.

I never get tired of flame grilled sausages...

Things were about to take another turn for the worst.

-------------------------------- to be continued... ---------------------------