Springtime at the Tip of Africa

Sunday 12th September a few of us, some from my office and some teaching volunteers made a trip to the tip of Africa (well almost, the most South Westerly point, but who cares about a few degree, right?).

It was a beautiful spring day. The sun was shining brightly as we set off on our car journey along the coast, it almost looked as if the sky and sea were merging in together. We drove on a beautiful coastal road looking down at one of the trendy areas, Clifton, where Adonises complete with RayBan's were sun worshipping the amber orb visible in the expanse of cloud free skies above. The rocky ragged hills rose up as a backdrop to the foaming seas below.

We headed into the Cape Peninsula National Park where groups of baboons were picking at berries opulent among the clumps of bushes which clung to the rocky hillsides. After having my sandwich stolen by a baboon, I'm not exactly a fan though. It was a good job that we could admire the baboons from the safety of our vechile! All I could see for miles around was blue. The blue of the sky, the blue of the sea. Even the fauna had a bluish hue.

We were dropped off on the cliff path and walked through the alpine-like plants past ostriches and seagulls watching crumbs of sand on the beach below being enveloped by the surge of the frothy seas. We walked up and up climbing up to the top where the beaches were spread out below. It was like walking into an oil painting. A more beautiful place than I could ever have imagined. We took photos and marvelled at the view before descending.

At the bottom we posed before the Cape of Good Hope sign. We took in the awesome feeling of being at the tip of such a beautiful place. And the end of the continent.

On the drive back with the sun blazing down we stopped off at boulders beach and went penguin watching. We walked to the beach on a path where huge geraniums (I never knew that my window box favourite could grow so big!) hung over  groups of penguins. We sat at the beach and contemplated the big blocks of stone that rose out of the icy Atlantic waters. It looked how I imagine paradise to look with blooming tree branches hanging down over our heads. Bliss!

Then it was back in the car and home to the host family after a beautiful spring day.

A Taxi Cab Like No Other

The favourite part of my day is surprisingly not relaxing with the other PAHRO volunteers in CyBar after work with a pint of Black Label draft or “chowing” my host mum’s delicious chicken curry, but my morning journey in the taxi. At home I hate morning travel. I hate pushing my way onto the Underground and spending half an hour tucked under someone else’s armpit. The way the doors jerk and roll as someone squeezes onto the super fast cattle truck rushing through the belly of the city. But in Cape Town I really enjoy going to work because its during my morning ride that I really feel that I am in Africa! I love flagging down a taxi and squeezing in between traditionally built ladies wedged between bags and buckets. I love the way the drivers’ mate rides with his head out of the window screaming Wyyyyyyyyyyyynberg or Cape Toooooouuuuuuunn at everyone we pass. I love the way that everyone passes their money up to the driver and the way one of the “mamas” passes me my change. This would never happen at home. For starters you wouldn’t be allowed on the bus unless you had bought your ticket in advance. For a city where its not safe to ride around after dark this trust sums up for me the paradoxes of life here.


Before I arrived in Cape Town I thought I had seen it all on London’s nightbuses. Seriously. Drunken football fans singing “We’re forever blowing bubbles” while downing cans of beer. Students with straggly beards wearing ripped jeans talking in posh accents about how they found themselves while smoking dope in Indiah on their gap yars. Girls in short skirts and skimpy tops throwing up chunks of kebabs every time the bus lurches around another grey corner on a drizzling London night. That was until I came to Cape Town. But you really see all manner of life in the taxis! Guys in blue factory overalls jump out on the way to work, while girls rearrange their headscarves with bangled arms. Children in smart brown uniforms (with brown shoes and tights!) much on dried snacks. The ladies with the buckets shout at each other in the klick klick of Khosa and wave their arms around and laugh with toothless smiles. On my first journey alone, when the workers were striking, a young woman roused the troops of women who were clapping and singing in Khosa. I’ve ridden up front with the driver, I’ve squashed myself in the back. I’m forever being spoken to in Afrikaans. I shrug. “Ma ma where are you from? Where did you learn to speak?…You like my country?” I’ve had a neighbour around my age from a few streets away tell me everything he knows about Germany - it took me the entire journey to realise he thought I was from Germany. We pass one of the PAHRO projects – Bonytoun, a young offenders institute. We pass a military base. I see the street vendors selling cheap ciggies and sweets on their makeshift market stalls made up of cardboard boxes and old fruit crates. I am in the bustling hubbub which is Wynberg and the end of my ride.


However, what I love most about my Taxi ride is seeing Table Mountain rise up before me as we swing around the corner of Plantation Road. I love seeing the misty tablecloth rise and swirl over the rocky crags that stand like a sentinel over the city. One of the things I love most about South Africa is the huge open skies. The way the sky seems to go on and on forever as if the world is a picture frame and the sky a canvass stretched over it. I love seeing the sky and my day anew spread out before me as I ride to work. And it makes me feel a little sad that the people here only enjoy it from beyond the window of a taxi, a train or a car. That is my prayer for South Africa that everyone is able to feel as free here as I do on a London nightbus.

At Last A Blog - Arrival!

So on Sunday I will have been in SA for 3 weeks now. I didn't want to write anything sooner as I've been finding my feet.

I'm living with a Catholic family - so all you Newman Housers can breathe a sigh - who have a house in a coloured suburb called Wetton. This is one of the Southern suburbs. I work in the PAHRO office in Rondebosch, where one of the main universities is. This is about a half hours journey to work. I wait for a taxi (minibus) and go to the train station in a bustling place called Wynberg, which reminds me a bit of where I was born in Walthamstow. I recognise the station by the Mosque. The family are very kind and are feeding me very well. Unfortunately I may come back twice the size if I am not careful!

The office has around 20 interns at the moment and our leader, Theo, is a very inspiring man, full of kind words and friendly encouragement. I do a mixture of case work, from refugee status applications, finding abused women counselling and hostels to employment rights. So far its been very eye-opening. I am also doing some social outreach work which is more hands on. We give little workshops to women's hostels on their employment rights, basic health care rights and how to prepare for a job interview. I find this really rewarding as the case work can be a bit frustrating. However, I cracked my first case this week - I managed to get an employer to pay their ex-employee the 8,000R they owed him! Yeah!

So aside from a big wallop of culture shock when I first got out here - no amount of watching videos and reading books could have prepared me for how I would feel - I'm managing to have a bit of fun too. It's quite hard giving up control and not being able to cook for myself, walk around the streets at night on my own, just pop out of the house for a stroll...but the beaches are beautiful, if the sea is a bit chilly (need to wait for it to warm up). The city centre is very lush and green. My to-do list is getting longer and longer as the weeks go on...so I guess I'll have lots to write about

Bye for now, Missing you all, xxx