Robben Island and Malay Quarter

We departed Aquila at the relatively civilized hour of 7:30 a.m. with breakfasts on the bus. Another stunning ride through the mountains. We even saw more baboons in two different locations. Baboons are perhaps not as nice to each other as they could be...we witnessed one booting another down a hill as though he were a soccer ball.

We arrived back in Cape Town a little after 10:00 a.m. Today, there was a huge (at least 39,000 riders) bike race right in the city, so traffic was crazy. Rumor has it that Lance Armstrong was even participating. Shortly after our arrival, we boarded a ferry to visit the prison on Robben Island where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned for 18 years. The ride was gorgeous - strange how the ride out to this place could be so beautiful. The sea was a bright blue, the waves broke white on the rocks on the island, and birds raced us to the island.

Chatham Hall was met by a guide who escorted us to several sites on the island. We first walked out to Penguin Boardwalk to see the, um, penguins. Well, they must have heard we were coming, because there was a mass, and I mean mass, exodus off the island. We could see hundreds of penguins swimming out to sea. I could not have been something we said...but I don't gknow.













Next, we were driven up to the prison where we were taken on a tour by a gentleman who was an prisoner of Robben Island during the 1970's and '80's. We were able to see many different kinds of cells (solitary, two person cells, four person, and then rooms that would hold up to 52 prisoners. Life was pretty grim for these prisoners. We certainly learned quite a bit. Political prisoners, apparently the worst kind, we made to work in a limestone quarry (very hot in summer, very cold in winter) from eight until four every day. Criminals (not the political prisoners) were taught skills, but the political prisoners were feared, so there was no real attempt made to teach them anything. They were allowed to apply to study, and their ability to do so was based on their behavior.

Food was not copious -- we saw a menu of what types of foods (fats, beverages, starches) the different types of prisoners were allotted each day. It made me think of the school where we'd made lunch for the students. Not much food.

The displays were interesting in that the prison had been left pretty much as it had been, but the museum had political prisoners relate some of their stories which were printed up on the walls of the cells. The cells themselves, were small, featuring, usually, a bed, cupboard, waste can (read "toilet"), and at a later date, a small table.

I asked our prison tour guide if many of the former prisoners were still active politically. He said that maybe a handful continued to be, but that the younger generation was not as concerned because they had not lived through it and saw things as being okay.

After the prison, we visited a house were Sobukwe, a political prisoner who had forwarded the anti-apartheid cause as much as Mandela, had spent his time and were able to view letters that he had written to his wife, recommendations that others wrote as he applied for jobs prior to his imprisonment, and a small unit where his children and wife were allowed to stay when they visited.

We had a great shot of Cape Town from the island. The sky was clear and we could easily see Table Mountain rising up behind the city.






The quarry was stark and featured a pile of stones that Mandela and other political prisoner made when they visited during a reunion of such Robben Island prisoners.

Back at the hotel until 6:30 p.m. (though Lourence says he will not bring the bus back into the city until after 9:00 p.m. tonight because of all the bikers!), when we leave to have dinner in the Malay district which we drove through our first morning on the way to Table Mountain.

Well, I am going to try to get this posted before the Internet conks out! More later or tomorrow!

I lied. The Internet is working now, so I am going to type up our evening, try to download a couple of pictures, and go to bed. We have an early wake up call.

This evening, we ate a delicious dinner at a restaurant in the Malay quarter. This area is striking for many reasons, the most obvious to the eye would be the bright pastel colors that individual houses are painted. Lourence said that the reason for the eye-popping colors was because, initially, the inhabitants could not read, so one could say, "I live in the pink house," and friends would be able to find it.

The food tonight had a distinctly Indian feel to it. We were greeted by a wonderful and welcoming staff in the restaurant, and explanation of the appetizers on the table (Mmmm! My favorite -- samosas!) and then were served a chicken curry, sweet and sour beef, and a vegetable curry. Even the most timid tasted something. The rest of the meal consisted of a very chocolatey ice cream and a refreshing strawberry ice cream that was quite startling in its pinkness!

The highlight of the evening were our two guests -- one, a former political prisoner of Robben Island; the other, a former guard of this prisoner's section. The prisoner (I will have to get his name so that I can spell it correctly in the future) and guard knew each other in the prison. Both knew Nelson Mandela. It was striking to hear the stories from these two points of view. The guard grew up in the country on his father's farm. His playmates were black children and he did not know of apartheid until he went to the city and noticed the segregation. He went to work as a prison guard to avoid having to join the military where a friend had recently been killed. He began working at Robben Island at the age of 18 and met the prisoner who joined us for dinner that same year -- the year of his imprisonment -- 1978. Both men spoke of having an immediate understanding of one another. The guard first addressed the prisoner in Afrikaans, so each understood that they were from the countryside. The guard told a story of Winnie Mandela bringing a baby, her grandchild, to the island to see if she could show the baby to Nelson Mandela. This guard told her no, that it was not allowed. In his heart, though, he wanted Mandela to be able to see the baby. He called his supervisor who told him that they would have to keep it a secret and that Winnie could not keep a secret -- Nelson could, but Winnie could not. So they devised a ploy for the guard to be able to hold the baby, got Winnie out of the room, showed Nelson the baby (Nelson shook and wept as he held the baby), got the baby back, opened up the door and let Winnie back in. Winnie, at that point, offered to pay the guard a month's salary to be able to show Nelson the baby. He told her he could not and he and Nelson never spoke of that again. To this day, the guard has contact with Mandela and even brought photos taken very recently of a visit he had with the former president of South Africa.

The prisoner spoke of reconciliation and the need to forget any anger that may have arisen out of apartheid and needless imprisonments. He is not angry. He did say that he believed that as a young man, he probably had to go through some anger to be able to appreciate the concept of reconciliation and the ability to move forward. He was a student when he was arrested and the guard spoke of the respect that he and other guards had for the political prisoners, as they were educated and could actually help the guards with their studies. As the prisoners studied at night, some guards would ask to work at night in order to receive help with their work from the prisoners.

It is hard to capture the impact of this evening -- being in a room with two people who could, by all rights, hate each other, but who clearly enjoyed each other's company and who clearly respected each other. As our bus pulled away, these two men, both of who live and work on Robben Island, got into the guard's small pick up truck and drove away.

Back at the hotel, as I said, bed time with an early wake up. Tomorrow, we go to the Lawrencia school where we will spend the next three days.

Good night!