Day One Holiday: The Garden Route

We flew to Cape Town yesterday and traveled down to the Garden Route, the most visited place by tourists after the wine region (which we head to Thursday). I knew I would feel the feelings that came over me in waves, like those crashing outside my window from the Indian Ocean this morning. So at least I was prepared.

I felt guilty. I can afford to travel and others can’t afford to eat.
I felt like a hypocrite.
I felt guilty again.
I felt pangs for Colands.
I felt guilty again.

We arrived in Cape Town and something was nagging at me. I missed Cotlands. I missed going into the office and writing press releases or whatever else I was working on, I missed the kids at lunchtime and I missed the buzz of Johannesburg. Reading my Frommer’s Guide on the airplane I noted that the chapter on Jo’burg is called “Africa’s Big Apple” and it is so true. Jo’burg has a buzz that is undeniable.

It is an entirely different world down in the Western Cape. And yet, some things remain the same. As we drove out of the airport we passed one of the biggest, poorest townships in all of South Africa: Khayelitsha. From Wikipedia:

The Group Areas Act, passed in the 1950s, prohibited Blacks from living in the cities. The discrimination and black population control by the apartheid regime did not prevent blacks from settling in the outskirts of Cape Town. After the scrapping of pass laws in 1987 many blacks, mainly Xhosas, moved into areas around Cape Town in search of work. By this time many blacks were already illegally settled in townships (black neighbourhood) like Nyanga and Crossroads. As the black population grew, the apartheid regime sought to solve the problem by establishing new black neighbourhoods. Khayelitsha was established in 1985. The Western Cape a preference area for the local coloured population and a system called influx control was in place preventing Xhosas from traveling from the Transeki without the required permit. After the historic 1994 elections hundreds of thousands moved to urban areas in search of work, putting up shacks made of tin, wood and cardboard - this is one of them. Apartheid is over, but its legacy - and the shacks, remain. Today Khayelitsha is home to between 500,000 and 1 million people, and runs for a number of kilometres along the N2 highway. The ethnic makeup of Khayelitsha is approximately 90% Black African and 10% Coloured, with Xhosa being the predominant language of the residents.

Incidentally “coloured” was something the apartheid government determined, based on whether a pencil stuck in your hair or not (if it stuck, you were black).

Last year I visited Khayelitsha with GAPA, another grannies group the Stephen Lewis Foundation supports, and I saw the poverty up close. One of the families I visited then had three generations of HIV positive women, living in a house build of large, stone bricks where the wind came through the cracks, chilling our bones. Things don’t seem to have changed much. There is so much money in Cape Town, – with its infamous table mountain and waterfront restaurants – but right on the cusp is this township. Cape Town is a lot like Vancouver, but there is nowhere like Khayelitsha near Van. The Downtown Eastside doesn’t come close.

You can’t help but feel guilty and recognize the extremes when are in the most beautiful – and expensive – parts of South Africa. We drove along the coast and felt like we were in another world from Jo’burg. We are. I’m wrapping my head around it. We went for an Italian dinner and Tony whispered to me, “Pretty white down here.”

But for now, we’re off to explore. Tony told me to put down my pen and paper for the day.

Day One: Holiday...Later

You’ll have to forgive me for not uploading photos to the blog. I’m a bit of a techno-loser at times; my brother had no problems uploading photos on his wedding blog. Me? I’m impatient. So if you want to see photos you’re going to have to get a Facebook account cuz they will be there.

I realized two important things about the guilt I was feeling over spending X amount of dollars on holiday when I knew what that money could be doing for Cotlands, or feeling overwhelmingly like an ex-pat while walking along the coastal front or having a cider at a pub in a touristy part of town:

1. You can take anything to its furthest extreme. I heard a story last week from my boss at Cotlands about a Canadian volunteer who came to Cotlands for two months then returned home and cancelled Christmas for her family (including two young children who didn’t understand why Santa didn’t want to visit their house). As I traveled along the coast today I saw how much tourism does for South Africa – jobs created, investor confidence, and most of all bus loads of German and French tourists who probably return home saying what an absolutely beautiful country South Africa is. Because…it is. So what if they didn’t visit Soweto? Don’t we want them returning home and telling their friends to go to South Africa? Which leads me to
2. South Africa is so, so, so beautiful. I came down to the Western Cape last year and was stunned by the difference: we climbed up through hillsides today and watched 30 meter waves crashing along the rocks; we walked a 10-mile pristine beach and had a beer in a hippie enclave. As I write I’m watching the sun set over the Indian ocean, listening to Snow Patrol, and thinking how lucky I am. That’s it.

A lesson I think we all learn in life – especially those of us who are fortunate enough to travel – is that life is a lottery: from the get-go you are lucky if you’re born in a developed country that has no struggles, no conflict. You luck out – more than most in the world – with running water and electricity, without the threat of malaria or TB striking you down before you’re fifth birthday.

But I look at my life: Not only was I born in Montreal, but lucky enough to be born to good parents. I was lucky to be born in a country with universal education. I think of the kids I saw today, playing in the townships (outside the really rich touristy areas) and my first thought was: ‘It is Wednesday. Why aren’t they in school?’ Why? Because school costs money in South Africa: school fees, and uniforms and pencils and papers are things a lot of families can’t afford it.

So back to lucky me. I was thinking how lucky I am to have doctors and hospitals at my disposal. I was thinking about how Cotlands, in the year plus before the government rolled out the ARVs paid for the drugs themselves, R500 a month for each kid, and how back home that would have been covered (by my very fortunate health plan, but also by our taxation system). That led me to start thinking about ARVs again, something I’m going to write about tomorrow.

I thought about how lucky I am to have family and friends who are alive and well back home, who I can’t wait to see. It isn’t that we don’t have struggles: my mother’s best friend, and my friend’s sister, have just gone through horrific chemotherapy. But they were also treated by some of the top professionals in the world. They are lucky.

I don’t know what my point is. As the sun dies in the west, and the cold ocean forces me back into my room, I’m thankful I’ve seen all I’ve seen the last few weeks.