Streets with meaning
Stepping out this
afternoon to catch a breather from the onslaught of bureaucratic hurdles I
could do without, the illiterate Dutch collided with my mastery of English in
the naming of some streets in Cape Town. Obviously, I should be careful not to
suggest that Dutch and Afrikaans are the same language separated by centuries
and the tropics but must give due consideration to the distinctive difference
that makes each language unique.
From Buitenkant (Outside
corner) Street, you begin to get a feel of the history and the geography of the
city which I will not delve into that much apart from offering a snippet of my
observations as I walked and sauntered in the heat of the sun.
A slipper of a masked
dog
For by happenstance or
a yet to be determined means, a slipper or probably a shoe found a home on an air-conditioning
unit quite out of reach, the other foot whether right or left was not right
beside it and for whatever reason got left behind. Much as we are under legal
compulsion to wear face masks, as he walked past me, he was wearing something
that looked more like a neckerchief that if he were ordered to don it as a
mask, he most like would strangle himself.
In the back of a
truck they call a bakkie in these places, something moved that I expected to be
a big shaggy dog. Another blink and a man it was, unleashed and left there
alone without anyone else in sight. I could have asked, but he might well not
have mastered speech. Therein is some inconvenient truth, some people are still
being treated as subhuman, else, he could have been just standing beside the
vehicle until the owner returned.
An English history
here
Edward, yes Edward
VII, what are doing in the Grand Parade where Nelson Mandela made his first
speech when he was released from prison. His mother, Queen Victoria regales the
front of Parliament as a jubilee statue. The English not only were here, but
they were also trouble too. To my hearing, trousers hanging under a canopy shop
and the exchange in unmistakably Pidgin English has an accent much closer to
another home, I made no further inquiries.
On to Strand or Beach
if translated properly, but that was a long, long time ago, it is a more a
boulevard with cars travelling as if their brakes have been tampered with until
I saw a splash of golden Jesus painted on a rock or perhaps the ruins of a once
palatial edifice. Need I travel back in time to see?
Ocean views on a
bicycle
The Strand soon
becomes High Level Road and just at where it peaks, I have an amazing vista to
the Victoria & Alfred Waterfront and just in front of me is a grave
memorial of Muslim ancestors with an ocean view. It makes you wonder if in life
they did command that view before they were so revered in death.
A road takes me down
to the Main Road and then the promenade at Sea Point where she mounts a rented
bicycle, Gucci bag on shoulder, stilettos screaming kill, completely oblivious
of anyone that she might just run us down and then she is off, the belt on her
trousers flexing out and pulling down to reveal, that’s all.
Easy on the ice cream
The sea wall
protective and may be exposed for it is a Designated Mugging Area, I cannot say
what time of day, but I was immediately conscious of the fact that I was some
50 yards from the next person, not that I quickened my steps, for there were
other such designated areas. We can assume we are safe for now.
I ask for 3 kinds of Italian
Ice Cream, bubble-gum flavour did not pass the muster, but pistachio, strawberry
and vanilla became a hefty 6 scoops. The calories I had burnt in completing
10,000 steps were to be replenished with what might require another 20,000
steps today. Let’s indulge with no regrets.
Salvation from the
waves
Out on the sea he
paddled in a canoe whilst below him lay many wrecks and watering graves, though
it is quite too sunny for the lighthouse, it stands as a beacon to maritime
history and safety. My view is then momentarily obscured by a big house, she
like us all was rolling everything and more accentuated than we could ever
attempt. Let’s not talk of fitness, but my friends appear to carry around a bit
more than their wallets.
As I was quite far
from home, I called an Uber to take me back and my driver’s profile was as
spiritual as they come, not that I was blessed as I boarded nor regaled by
gospel music from the mouth of angels playing instruments that would take you
right up to heaven, but he had this much to say all the way from the Democratic
Republic of Congo, “I’m a Christian, I strongly believe in Christ.” For those
of us still weakly believing, we have many more beaches, seas, and lands to
cross.
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