Poem For Mandela (A Short Walk, A Long Way)

About A Road (A Short Walk, A Long Way)

For Mandela

In a Cape Town township
(Where me and Josie volunteer)

I hear a choir singing

behind the shiny tin of red church walls

and wonder how voices

can sound like they're smiling.

I ask Josie, but she does not know

why it matters.

Can she not feel the harmony

float their weight up

 above the row of shacks

     painted yellow and blue -

flaring in the after-school heat?

I ask Josie to slow her walk -

I want to bask in this song,

      to feel its glow.   

     Josie does not slow down.

Her feet do not know

that I have come to

  this difficult, bright blooded

country to heal,

and this is what I needed to hear -

     people bringing their faith

together and singing

     about a road

troubled with dirt.

That Story About A Guy Who Stole My Watch In South Africa

I was woken up by someone shouting outside my flat one morning, probably nothing right? – I got up and had a shower. I came out of the shower and went to put my watch on which I left on the bedside table before I went to sleep. 

It was gone. 

I searched the flat furiously, even getting suspicious about the old Indian man I shared the flat with; he was up and ironing his shirt in pink slippers.

Me - Hey! Have you seen a watch, I left it right here?

Old Man – No.

Me – Are you sure?

Old Man – Yes, I’m sure.

I wasn’t convinced but while I was thinking about ways to break into his room and trash his stuff I heard shouting again outside and went to investigate. Outside there were five Indian/Cape Malayan guys, all about my age (twenty five) talking excitedly to two ladies in headscarves, I listened in...

... yeah, he climbed the wall and tried to break through that window but Bonita woke up and called us. We were there in minutes and we caught him... fucked him up! ...

“Excuse me”, I said “I’ve lost a watch” “wait!” said one of the guys.  “Is it black with a big face!”? “Yes!” I said, “You must go the police station! The guy we caught had it on him and swore it was his.”

I went into the house and told my landlord Mr.Gool and he drove me to the police station.

When we arrived I told a police officer at the reception desk, (a black man, about mid-thirties) about my watch and he knew instantly what I was talking about.

Police Man - “Yeah, it’s an expensive watch right?”

Me – “Erm, I guess”

Police Man – “How much would you say exactly?”

Me – “Errrm... I bought it in London for about seventy five pounds”

Police Man – “That’s what, seven thousand rand?”

Me – “I don’t know... maybe.”

The police officer disappeared and came back with a sheet of paper and wrote down the incident. It took him about twenty minutes. He then showed me what he wrote and asked me to sign it. He made the incident sound like a children’s story. It started like this...

“Last night everything was fine. The victim came home and took off his watch and went sleepy. He woke up and it was loud suddenly. Something might be happening but no. Then victim see’s watch gone and thinks OH NO! And now his morning is not fine.”

I sign the statement and ask the police officer if he’s ever considered writing screenplays.

The police office disappeared with the statement and when he came back he told me the man they have arrested is denying the watch is mine. He wants me to go into the jail cell and speak to him directly.

I followed two other police officers (they were also black men) down a corridor that smelt like burnt rubber. They unlocked the cell door and we walked in. Instantly I wished I had my camera.

Scratched into the walls (probably with a knife or keys) someone had written things like - “I will never sin again”, “all I need is one love”, “my spirit is stronger than any bone” “I will do right, right now!” etc.

The robber was sitting on a bed with grey blankets over his body, he looked mixed race and young, about twenty years old. The entire left side of his face was beaten and swollen. His ear puffed up the size of a kidney and he was bruised so badly he couldn’t open his eyes. I wondered if this was done by the police or the five guys next door? (or both) - 

It was weird, before I went in I anticipated feeling angry but I felt sympathetic, my mind went through a whole list of potential scenarios that would lead to a young guy like this breaking into houses.

One of the police officers took my watch out his pocket and asked the robber “Does this belong to you?” the robber barely lifted his head and answered drowsily, “Yes, my watch”. The police officers got aggressive and spoke in Afrikaans, pulling his shirt and speaking loudly in his face until suddenly in English the robber said “Maybe I have a watch that looks like that!” this was enough for them. They made him sign a form and then the police officer put my watch in his pocket.

“So I can take my watch now right?” I asked, “No” said the police officer, “We need it for evidence” I paused and said “But you've written a description of the watch and you have a photo of it so why do you physically need it?” “Court proceedings” said the police officer plainly as he led me out the cell before asking “how much is the watch worth again?”

After a passive protest and realising they are not going to give me my watch back, they say to come back in two weeks. I get my crime reference number and leave with Mr.Gool.

Two weeks later I’m back at the station and I’m being told the watch is still held in the court. I threaten to file a complaint, then they say the detective involved in my case isn’t present and he needs to sign the watch out. I then go into a show about being from London and having to leave tomorrow and how I'll have to make arrangements for my Cape Town friends to pick it up. I then say how I’ve come to South Africa as a teacher and I deserve better treatment! Then I’m told to wait in another office. 

I’m there for half an hour before a woman arrives with an envelope. “Your watch" she says and hands it to me. I signed the forms, opened the envelop and find the watch isn’t working.

 I sigh but decide not to complain; instead I take out my camera and take a photo of the desk and file cabinet in the office.

“What are you doing?” asks the police officer, “I just took a photo" I said  holding up my camera as if to prove it's not a weapon, "I’m from London you see and...” “no!” she cut me off “that’s illegal! You must come with me!” now I'm being marched into another office. We walk in and she points at the chair, “Sit there”.

I was in that office for an hour explaining why I took a photo and how I was trying to be touristy on my working holiday.

I signed some forms agreeing that I wasn’t a spy and I wouldn’t release any photos in the police station. As I was walking out one of the officers recognised me as the “watch guy”, he saw me holding my camera and said “Hey! You can take a picture of me if you want”.

District 6 (The film District 9 is based on this history)

District 6 is an area in Cape Town where 60,000 people were forced to leave their homes in the sixties after the white government declared the district a “white group area”. When South Africa became a democracy in 1994 the original residents were given the option to move back.

Conversation With A District 6 evictee.

They told us we could go back, back to what?  I knew if my avocado pear tree was not standing up in the garden I would not go. As a boy I’d climb that tree, eat the avocado pears and throw the pips at passers by.  My neighbor kept homing pigeons and he lost them all after his removal. He was sent to live in a township shack and couldn’t make his birds follow. Guess you can’t shit on pigeons. Some of the residents did fight but they only stayed in their homes to watch the colour of the district pale around them. Its seventeen years into democracy and people can’t forward move. There is still so much anger here because of apartheid. Even my old neighbor to this day will not forgive the white government, but now he’s as angry at the black government. Since 94’ not one president has served a full term. They get into office and exploit and cause corruption for their own financial gain, knowing they won’t be in power for long. Most of the coloured people will tell you the white government were less corrupt and people lived better with official division. The coloured people feel this because when the whites were ruling they favored the coloured (including the lighter skinned blacks). Generally they got better jobs and education so when the blacks took power the coloured people couldn’t believe it. They had tried so hard to disassociate themselves with the blacks and then they ended up ruling the country. If we are a rainbow nation every colour is still living behind its own fence. It’s a shame we are a nation of people defined solely by the colour of our skin before our South African nationality. But I will say there are also great people here doing great things to ensure South Africa becomes one of the driving forces for a united Africa, an Africa that is always home.

Some Things Are Just Beautiful

Extract from the Travel Journal.

It’s hot, very hot. It’s called South Africa in December. I’m walking down the street, past houses that look like giant shoe boxes. They are painted colours that glow in the sun – cream white, peach yellow, red toffee. I am on my own, imagining how she would look beside me, what she’d wear on a day like this, how we would look to the rest of the world. (Brazilian supermodels maybe? You know, nudist beach material). I would be walking closer to the road, I would sound like royalty as I tell her “the gentleman always walks closer to the road”, she would laugh but I would laugh harder (yes, I’m one of those laugh at your own joke types). She would point out my farmers tan; she would tell me my body has nothing to hide. It is a beautiful body, it belongs in the sun. I would not pretend I’m not thinking about sex, she is not telling me her father has Alzheimer’s and she has a younger brother who is afraid of loneliness. No, we would not talk, would not need to as our mouths open on each other… now I don’t know why I’m thinking this… why I feel so happy right now but feel the happiness enhanced by the imaginary presence of her. Isn’t this freedom? Complete freedom? Walking alone, down the street under an African summer? I could be thinking about swimming with penguins, hiking into caves, diving into the sky but here I am, holding strings and trying to attach them to things that have already disappeared.

Some Things Are Just Beautiful.

 

 

Conversation With A South African Taxi Driver

Traffic Lights? My friend, you are in Africa. They are called Robots. When they turn green, still you cannot trust. No road wants you to get too comfortable. There are drunk drivers and many deaths, mostly pedestrians. Life eh? Cross one road badly and your whole life knocked away. Look out on your left. See how the waves rise out the sea like white horses and crash to the yellow rocks? That says Africa is a woman, only women have that much colour in their fury. You know I'm Muslim, a good Muslim. I do not drink. Many Muslims learn Islam through other idealistic Muslims instead of Islam itself. Like the women who are not allowed to drive in Saudi Arabia, I do not know where that comes from but it's not from Islam. Islam is not strict, it offers many choices. You’re an atheist? Is that the name of your God? OK, we're here. Great to meet you today Ray, take my number. I can come when the morning gets up tomorrow. Call it nine fifteen, Africa time, you might call it 11. OK Ray? See you at nine fifteen.

South Africa/ NHS/ Autumn Photography

I was packing for my trip to South Africa and decided not to pack any music, just basic clothes, camera and books. I realised a lot of my memories abroad involve me walking around strange places with headphones. I can’t tell you the sound of these places but it definitely isn’t soft rock or indie rap.


South Africa – Where, What & Why?

From November fifth I’ll be living and working in the outskirts of Cape Town in a place called Belthom. I’m going to be assisting teachers in a Primary School, using poetry to help teach English. I’ll also be working at The Woodside Special Care Centre working with orphans and children with disabilities.

One of the best things I’ve done with my life so far has been working with children in special needs camps in Ohio, USA, followed by road tripping across North America on my own. I met many people in different cities and suburbs, I felt how different states are like different countries, I understood how so many great people have come out of a country that represents freedom to its people and imperialism, slavery or Hollywood to the rest of the world.

I’ve been eager to experience something like this again and chose South Africa because of my own curiosities of the culture and political history. I’ve read and heard about the Dutch and British colonization, the Zulu wars, the spice trade, the Boer Wars, Apartheid and Nelson Mandela’s long walk to freedom. I’ve met many white South Africans in London and listened to their rants about the inequity of blacks against whites and how the political transition from Apartheid processed too hastily. They’ve told me this has created new tensions between “black, white and coloured people”.

In many ways we should all change the way we think about Africa, its history began thousands of years before European invasion yet it seems to be where we all start with our understanding. Myself included. Why is this important you may ask? Well, we all came from Africa so we’d be more in touch with our origins as human beings. The exploitation of Africa has made many European Empires and has now helped make China perhaps the most powerful country in the new century.

On Race

I’m curious to see how people will respond to me in a country with such high (on-going) racial tensions. As someone of mixed heritage (Caribbean/British if you want the box) I feel I represent the togetherness of two very different cultures. The identity crises/confusion that comes with the mixed race experience is something inflicted by a culture that can’t get rid of its colour lines. People all over the world give you different labels (white, black, mixed race, bi-racial, coloured etc) so the confusion of other people is inflicted onto you.

I struggled with this throughout my school years but meeting other mixed race people and discussing the experience with them helped me to make sense of it. I now celebrate the ambiguity of my appearance and I want to invite the whole world to the party! 


Conversation With A Doctor

I went to the travel Clinic after the NHS told me I had to book six weeks in advance for free treatment. At the clinic I paid £75 for three injections to keep me protected in Africa (Hepatitis A, Typhoid Fever & Polio).

The doctor who gave me the jabs ranted to me about the NHS cuts and the new procedures that are being phased in.

I’ve been a doctor thirty years, so I’m glad I’m coming to the end of my career. It’s terrible now. The new doctors and GPs are being trained to prescribe the lowest costing medicine as opposed to the most effective, it’s a disgrace. You’re my eleventh patient today, you see more people travelling from the UK are getting Malaria and Yellow Fever because the dangers aren’t emphasised enough and people are inconvenienced in getting treated…

Five minutes after he’d injected my upper left arm I passed out in the middle of this conversation. My vision went a fuzzy pale grey then completely black. I came though and I was on the floor with the doctor’s panic stricken face over me. I had no idea what happened. It was like when you skip a scene on a DVD and you know you’ve missed something so you ask someone to fill you in.

Me - Woah. What happened?

Doctor - You passed out buddy; I can feel you’re burning up! I’ll get you water. NURSE!

I found out later that because I have low blood pressure I should always be laying down when receiving injections.

Autumn Photography (Shadow Experiments)

In the UK the season is changing from Autumn into Winter. South Africa is coming into its summer so that's another reason for me to to jet pack. For you people staying put there is beauty in the cold seasons. The first picture below was taken by myself in London Fields on a late monday afternoon and the picture below that was taken on Tottenham Court Road one cold November night.

Farewell London.