Colorblind

‘look at the stars, look how they shine for you’ Coldplay – Yellow

So as the sky darkened, we pulled out of Cape Town and headed east. There were one or two times when I thought we wouldn’t make it, but luckily we never broke down. The bus starts by moving slightly inland before dropping down along the coast, following what is known as the ‘Garden Route’. Apparently this is a beautiful scenic drive, but it was pitch black and all I could make out where the occasional houses in the small towns we went through. I saw nothing of the sea, the beauty. It was disappointing to find that all buses east only go overnight.

One final thing before we leave Cape Town for a while. Like I said before, I always believed that the population of South Africa was largely white, but wherever we went, be it shops, restaurants or the bus station, we were served, nine times out of ten, by black people. Apparently white people make up less than 10% of the population and, by and large, they are the affluent, middle-class people. The black people on the other hand, the ones who, if you listen to some of the white people, are ‘destroying’ the country, they struggle to get work. Everywhere you go, on every street corner is a black person trying to see you fruit or begging from car to car, or offering to watch your car for 2 or 3 rand (about 20p). We came across one man at the bus station who saw us unloading our bags and brought over a small trolley to carry them for us. His enthusiasm to help and the way he dashed off with our belongings scared me. But at the same time, you could see that these people will do anything for an extra rand.

We arrived in East London at 11:30 on Friday morning, stepping off the dim bus into glorious sunshine and a heat not felt since… maybe last summer in the UK. Apparently it’s around 25/26 degrees celsius. Welcome to winter in the Eastern Cape. There to meet us was Duncan’s mum, Barbara, a woman who immediately hugged me, even though I must have looked awful. She drove us back to her house and left us to shower whilst she went back out to buy lunch. This is white, middle-class South Africa; the double garage, the two automatic locking security gates you have to go through before entering the house. Compared to the house we stayed in in Cape Town, this is luxury. We go about an hour to relax before we were taken to meet Duncan’s grandparents. I knew I’d have to do this at some point, but not quite this soon.

Of course, as it turned out, it all went swimmingly. His family have quirks, like any family does. I know mine is far from perfect. His grandparents live in a decent-sized home in what used to be one of the nicer areas of East London. These days it’s a very ‘black’ neighbourhood. (As a side note, I detest describing people by their colour, but in SA it seems to be the only way to describe people, so forgive me). The houses, well technically bungalows – you have to be some kind of rich to have a two storey house, around are run-down, patched up and unkempt, and they nestle around the grandparents place, as they still work on the up keep of the house, despite being in their late seventies.

I also got to meet his older sister, Lauren. She’s shorter than me (no mean feat I’ll have you know!) and is loud, confident, intimidating to someone like me. I wish I could have her confidence, but the simple truth is, I don’t.

After a short time visiting we leave for dinner and here I meet Rodney, Duncan’s step-dad. I’m going to leave my description of him until late, as I struggle for (polite) words.

Saturday dawns hot. We sleep late, avoiding a 5:30am wake up call to watch Lauren and Barbara walk (it’s a whole race thing – something else to explain later) and take the car out for a brief tour of Duncan’s past. We go to his High School before visiting the bottle store (off-licence to you and me) where he used to work. We are here to visit Shaun, one of the few friends Duncan has left in East London. I realise that sounds bad, but what I mean is that most of his friends fled this town and settled elsewhere, not that he has no friends.

Apparently the store is failing fast. During the 30 minutes or so that we are there, maybe 5 customers come in. Two/three years ago it was triple that. The staff survive on a month to month basis; crossing fingers that their jobs last a little bit longer. It’s an easy life there – which gives Shaun plenty of time to regale us with the latest drinking stories. (It will soon become apparent that there is little else to do in this town). When I say Shaun drinks, it’s not like you or me. It’s five nights out of seven (he’s recently cut back – I kid you not), and he’s not just drinking beers or having one or two. These are seriously heavy sessions. Licensing laws here are confusing. In some way, the same hours apply – 11am to 11pm, but in small towns these are rarely, if ever, stuck to. It’s more a case of 11am until the last person leaves. During the week this is around 2am, at the weekend, 5, 6, 7. Justin used to be a barman in East London and has told of serving drinks as the sun rises. I’m inclined to believe him.

By mid-afternoon I’m beginning to fade. I’m not used to the heat (average 27 whilst we were there, spiking to 31 on the last two days) and it drains me. An afternoon nap rapidly becomes part of each day.

On Saturday evening I am treated to a full family get together including all of the previously mention plus Wayne, Lauren’s husband, Sandra and Michael (aunt and uncle), cousin Claudette and cousin’s daughter Kayla. Kayla is 9 and once she overcomes her initial shyness of Duncan and myself, she becomes a handful. But I’m a sucker for kids and I can’t help but like her, even if she is constant in her demands for playing rock, paper, scissors.

For a small part of the evening I am accosted by Duncan’s grandad (I’d write his name, but no-one ever told me it). He tells me all about how the country was once beautiful but is now being destroyed by the blacks. Actually he used other words, but I can’t even begin to want to write them here, so we’ll stick with ‘blacks’). I bite my tongue as I’m told how the same thing will happen in the UK because of ‘all the Islams’ (a direct quote). As he attempts to reassure me that only 1% of the black population will want to rape, steal and murder me, a seed is planted in the child inside. It will grow over the days as I become more and more convinced that something terrible will happen to me. The rational mind *knows* that there is no more or less chance of me becoming a victim of crime in this country than my own. But the seed of fear is planted nonetheless.

On Sunday we headed out to the beachfront and the small market they hold every week. Here I am in my element – second hand books and nik-naks. After walking round twice I pay my 1st visit to Buccaneers. It’s a bar on the beach front where the teenagers of East London go to drink all night. It is here that Duncan spent many a drunken night before he moved to Newcastle. It’s a great place, and if I lived there I could see myself being there a lot. We had lunch there and then made our way back to watch the Formula 1. We watched in amazement as Rubens was ordered to relinquish 1st place to Schumie. I was slightly unsurprised, anyone who follows F1 will know that team orders exist at Ferrari. It makes what happened no easier to swallow though.

cont…