Sobering Moments, continued

We finally make it to St. James Beach after the delay and bout of uneasiness as we waited anxiously for the train besides Cape Town’s lesser-known Joker. The great thing about CT is that because there are so many beaches, it’s never overcrowded and it often times feels like you have your own private beach. The small sandy opening to the ocean at St. James was surrounded on both sides by staggered and distinctive rock patterns that were interesting to explore and sit on as waves crashed in. Feeling a little uptight after our first encounter of the day, talk about each other’s homes and short moments of uninterrupted rest eased our weariness (me, Petra, Giulia, and Seb). Suddenly, like being awakened by a glass of cold water to the face, a beggar approached a little more aggressive than most. After asking for the customary Rand handout, he starts to paw at my backpack without making a definitive grab, asking “What’s this? What’s in there?” Then without warning he makes a swing at my neck with his arm, halting the motion halfway through, as to scare me or force me to let go of my bag. At this point, feeling threatened, but not intense-heartbeat scared, I stand up gripping the bag and extend my arm as to shield my bag and push him aside. He immediately began to move on, recognizing the futility of his efforts to come away with a new bag or money, knowing that police was nearby and the risk overwhelming.

Abruptly, your focus shifts from careless conversations about summer vacations in the ADK’s and typical beach-bummin’ to intense confusion and disorientation. First, you think, “Wow, what just happened?”, then move to a period of the inexplicable silence between the four of us, finally (but gradually) return to the day’s carelessness. About five minutes after the novel situation, this older, Muslim man – his dress and his wife’s traditional covering was an obvious indication of his faith – walked by in front of us and said to me, “You mustn’t be afraid”, and continued walking away. The whole situation was really bizarre, and it felt like something that should’ve been in an M. Night Shamylan movie. The man’s words of guidance caught me in the middle of my state of disorientation, and the whole thing seemed rather dreamlike.

Enough adventures for one day, well, that’s what we thought anyway…

Disbelief and reassurance, oddly enough, coincided during our return trip on the rail as we witnessed fights, a loving family, police, and excited locals. A few stops back towards Cape Town, the train shuts down and people start rushing to the windows to see what the commotion was. I got a peak out and saw a giant crowd forming 30-yards down the station platform, learning from talk among the Metrorail regulars that a fight broke out. The train shut down for about ten minutes before resuming, but the four of us were unsure the size and seriousness of the fight. We make it to the next stop, train stops again, this time I get my head out of the window to see two police with larger rifles sprinting down the platform, right in front of my window. It was only about 5 seconds before two middle-aged women pushed us aside to get a closer look. For someone who has read a fair amount about apartheid/pre-Mandela South Africa, images like this conjure up rather frightening, visceral reactions: heavily armed South African armed forces and ATV’s (anti-tank vehicles) policing/terrorizing the township areas, indiscriminate killings like those during the 1967 Sharpeville Massacre or various other riots in Soweto. Again, I was caught in this moment of disbelief, thinking that perhaps I was seeing first hand the enduring prevalence of violence in these poor, overcrowded areas.

Just as my disbelief was reaching its climax, a mood of reassurance and comfort trickled in. The people at my end of the cabin were having a good laugh from the whole ordeal – I guess they see the Metrorail security similar to the way Americans envision Canadian Mounties, as dopey imbeciles. Looking out the window again, I see a man absolutely knocked out who is being carried away by a few friends – no idea if he was beat up bad, shocked by a police taser, drunk, or debilitated from drugs. Back to the cabin, we start talking to the family (mentioned in previous post from the Langa township), which includes mom, dad, and a son and daughter both about 5 years old. The dad was telling jokes about the rail security, talking a little about the rail and townships, and tickling his son on the stomach. The mother sat with the daughter opposite, and the daughter ended up falling asleep on Seb’s arm. The little boy would occasionally go over and tickle his sister trying to get her to wake. Again, conversing with family and watching the antics of the little kids, it was difficult to imagine they could come from such poor, and crowded areas like Cape Town’s Langa Township. The stop here was about 20-25 min., but gave us a feeling of comfort and reassurance in an environment of strange uncertainty. Just another example of the disparity between perceptions and reality that can often meet head on when coming in contact with Cape Town’s unique people and environments.

(I realize I haven’t updated about the 5 girls I live with and the freshman from Zimbabwe, Ngoni, but what can I say…bitches be shoppin’)

Next post: Road Trip (World's Highest Bungee Jump included)