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We started the morning with a visit to Green Market Square. This is a place where one can obtain African
goods of every description. Haggling is essential. The rule of thumb was to divide the asking price by 4, and settle for 1/3.
The rule, however, was only for non-South African vendors. South Africans sold things for what
they were actually worth. It was interesting. The SA vendors tended to have the better quality and more unique items as well.
The folks from other African nations tried as hard as they could to rob you blind. Five-O was my wingman,
however, and he was the bane of the would-be swindler. Some of his work:
"You say this is made of coconut? What part of the coconut is that exactly? This bears a striking resemblance
to plastic."
"Corn?! Is that what this is composed of? What kind of corn makes plastic rings?"
"You are selling that gold necklace? Let me see here. Somewhere in my wallet I have....my police identification.
Oh, you are going now?"
Yes, he was quite popular that day in the market.
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| Bull prepares to "haggle" for certain "goods". |
I asked Five-O why some cars had a big red L in the back window. He told me that meant the driver was just
learning to operate a motor vehicle. He further stated that a white X meant one wanted to reinstate the death penalty. I asked
if that was in response to the people learning to drive.
As we waited for the ferry that would take us to Robben Island, and reflected on Sputnik's earlier quote
to Five-O of "Don't worry, Darling. Just kiss me on my juicy lips!", Curtis relayed a story from his life with Bull.
Bull served as Curtis' personal bodyguard for several years after Curtis was shot by the Gottis. Curtis
picked Bull from all the Angels he knew for good reason. Bull, during his 24/7 Angel years was not exactly, shall we say, even-tempered.
When he approached a group of drug dealers in NYC he would say "Get off the block," once, calmly. He would then immediately
knock-out whoever hadn't left.
One of these poor saps called the cops on Bull one time, and the Angels were lined up on the sidewalk. The
cops asked the unlucky dealer to point out who had slugged him. The dealer looked right at Bull and picked out someone else.
In LA there had been a hugely rich and powerful dealer by the name of Eddie C. He was A total pain in the
ass and had called the cops on Curtis and Co. several times already. He especially liked to run his mouth to the angels at
every opportunity. Curtis took Bull aside before the patrol. "Don't hit him, man," he said. Sure enough, who did they run
into, but Eddie C. himself. He started right in on them. Bull moved in. Eddie was talking ragtime at full throttle. Bull reached
out and grabbed Eddie's sunglasses off his face, crushed them in his hand, and dropped them. He stood face to face with the
suddenly silent Eddie. Eddie walked away without another sound.
A few pictures from the Robben Island Ferry:
Robben Island is a place of
long and bloody history. It has been a prison of some sort for hundreds of years. Originally it was a place of exile. Defeated
African kings and princes were banished there.
Prisons were built by foreigners,
the Dutch, the British, and after that the place evolved into a depository for political prisoners. People who spoke out against
apartheid were thrown away for decades without trial. Mandela, and many of his compatriots, wasted away here interminably.
Their fame served them, however, it kept them alive. Thousands of lesser known men and women disappeared or had fatal "accidents".
Those of you who have seen "Cry Freedom", which relays the story of Stephen Biko, will know of this practice.
The final political prisoners
were freed in 1991, three years before the end of apartheid.
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| Entryway to the prison. |
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| A remaing occupant. |
The island now serves as a
museum, and as a lesson for those of us unaware of extent to which the evil of prejudice can be manifested.
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| The grounds. |
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| The last to leave. |
The island was a nice enough place on its own. The prison seemed out of place. We saw a bedroom which was reserved for the less well known political prisoners. It was a bay room with many
beds. Someone had painted Jesus on the far wall.
There is an austere beauty to the place now. There is quiet, finally.
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| Leading to the yard. |
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| The route to solitary... |
Most of us took some time to sit in one of the cells, but it was hard to imagine the frustration of being locked-up for
ideas. I don't think I would have made it. The area of the prison that we were taken to last had lines of solitary cells.
There was only one toilet on the entire wing. Here were the famous men, including Mandela, who wasted away in a tropical hell.
All of the guides on the island are former inmates. Dosa, who led us around, spoke in a staccato, accented rhythm. Though
his words did not all reach my ears, the message carried in the lonesome sound of his voice hit home. All those years
lost to someone else's hate.
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| Dosa, our guide and former inmate. |
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| The cell Mandela sat in for 18 years. |
The island was also home to other types of people that vindictive rulers did not wish to see. Lepers, the mentally ill,
and others joined the prisoners on Robben island.
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| The leper graveyard. |
The limestone quarry below is where all the prisoners worked every day. There was no market for limestone, nor need for
it in South Africa. Often they would simply carry stones from one end of the quarry to another. Many of the men were afflicted
with "snow-blindness" from the white glare of the limestone. Mandela, to this day, may not be photographed with flash cameras.
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| The quarry of futility. |
The island is treacherous in a myriad of ways. Its coast is craggy and unpredicatble.
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| Shipwreck! |
A famous muslim fighter of colonialism is entombed on the island. Many muslims travel here each year to visit for this
reason.
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| The tomb of Tuan Abddurahmaan Matura. |
We left the island with more knowledge than we brought.
Our next stop was the maniacal taxi stand above our home station. The taxis in general are the source of tremendous woe
in SA. They control the drugs and prostitutes. They are primarily gangsters who shoot one another in broad daylight over routes.
Busdrivers must sit in bullet-proof cages and steer due to the frequent attacks on them by taxis.
The taxi drivers overload their vehicles to dangerous levels. A 13 passenger van will easily carry 23 or more people,
plus the driver.
The stands themselves are horrific. Thousands of people form lines and wait to be stuffed into the cabs. There are nowhere
near enough and people must wait for hours, every day, to catch a ride home.
Cutting into one of these lines can get you killed.
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| Thousands await the taxis. |
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| This taxi carries the entire SA Philharmonic. |
We finished the night with a dinner at the home of the Chief of Police. He was a good man caught up in the
system of managment without logic. Commisioners and Chiefs are shifted around all over the government into positions they
have no experience or training for. The Chief spent his time in the transportation departments, until he became Chief of Police.
His heart was in the right place though, so positive things were happening under his watch. He and his wife
had an amazing outdoor kitchen with a tremendous wood-burning stove and a pizza oven. The food they made was incredible.
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| Mmmm, smells good. |
Their house was very nice
as well, and in a safer area of the city pretty far removed from downtown. It was quite a day, all told. By this time all
of us, except Curtis, were crashing. The man can go forever. He is one of those very rare people, and the only one I’ve
met, who needs only three hours of sleep per night. The other 21 hours he is active. He reads a dozen newspapers a day, and
saves every one of them. His tireless dedication is the only reason the Guardian Angels still exist, and the only reason they
came into existence in the first place.
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| Helluva oven. |
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| Helluva spooky treehouse. |
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| I make friends with some of the local wildlife... |
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| This one ate well that night too...fresh fly! Mmmm. |
Tomorrow we visit an old
Dutch fort, complete with dungeons and 200 year-old graffiti, a police station and holding cells, and the “White Sand”
shanty town. From there we visited a virtually crime-free neighborhood and the most beautiful beach I’ve ever seen.
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