"Nothing is so fatiguing as the eternal hanging on of an uncompleted task." ~William James

Sunday, April 29, 2012

History of Westlake Golf Club Cape Town South Africa - By Gerald Crawford

When landlords Clovelly Estates went into liquidation during the Great Depression of the early 1930s, the members of the Clovelly Country Club tried to buy the course, which was situated alongside the Silvermine River in Fish Hoek Valley, from the executors of the insolvent estate. They were not successful, as the Messrs Ackerman and Pevsner's bid was accepted. They duly formed the Clovelly Country Club. Membership was offered to all members of the original Clovelly Golf Club, but the majority of the members decided to move away and purchase their own golf club.

First Clubhouse: The building was converted from a cottage in 1932 on the farm of Mr. Hendricks. Raapkraal Road (later Westlake Avenue).

An elderly dairyman, Mr. Hendricks, owned a farm "Raapkraal" at the foot of Silvermine Mountain near Lakeside and it was here that the members of the old Clovelly Golf Club moved to found their new course. A meeting was held in the hall of the local Kalk Bay Anglican School on the 31st March 1932, at which the members agreed to accept the terms of Mr. Hendricks' lease and form a new golf club, which was named Westlake.

The lease of the farm "Raapkraal" (55.369 morgen) was for nine years, with an option for a further nine years at a fixed rate of £10 per month. A cottage on the farm was included in the lease and was altered to form the original Clubhouse. There were 112 founder members and they all contributed in some way or another towards the layout of the new course. Under the watchful eye of "Oupa" Harrison and Mr. H.B. "Pop" Lee, members gave time and effort, as well as cash. The original layout of the course ran up and down the mountain slope, as opposed to the present layout, which runs along the gradient of the mountain.

The nine-hole course was opened for play on the 1st September 1932. The inaugural competition was won by Dennis Langton, who was later to be come the Club Champion before he was tragically killed in action during World War II.

The constitution was drawn up by Mr. Tudhope, a local attorney, and the bye-laws were adopted in 1933. Subscriptions we £3-0-0 per annum. At the first Annual General Meeting in March 1933, it was decided that every effort must be made to extend Westlake into an eighteen-hole course. Architect Dr. D.C. Murray was duly appointed and plans similar to today's layout were drawn up. Work began almost immediately after the members had approved these planes.

Mr. Hendricks was now elderly and wished to sell the farm. He offered the course and Clubhouse to the members for the sum of £5500. This offer was accepted in October 1935. This gave the members new impetus, as they were now the proud owners of their own golf course. It was not long thereafter that the new 18-hole layout was completed and the first competition was played on 14th April 1936 among much pomp and ceremony.

Westlake was soon on the golfing map, with Mr. Otway Hayes, son of the founder and honorary life member, Dr. J.O. Hayes, receiving his Springbok colours in 1937. He won the SA Amateur in Durban in 1939 and was runner-up in the Natal Open. 1938 was a gala year for the club, as it won for the first time, the Stephan Trophy - a first league interclub tournament which is still keenly contested today.

Clubhouse Changes: Some of the early changes to Westlake's Clubhouse. Further alterations and extensions were completed in 1989 and again in 2000. Today's Clubhouse boasts excellent amenities in a modern setting. A new Clubhouse, designed along the traditional gabled Cape Dutch lines was built in 1939.

The War Years (1939-45) took their toll on the Club finances, as well as the loss of three members who were killed in action. Membership dropped to fifty and it was only though the efforts of the elderly members of the likes of Messrs T. Stevenson, H.B. Lee, E. Tudhope, A.H. Ashley-Cooper ad W.H. Short who kept Westlake going through this tragic period. Each later received Honorary Life membership.

With the return of ex-servicemen after the war, Westlake received an injection of keen young members who joined the older founders of the Club. A tremendous immigration drive from the UK during the late 1940s added further numbers. Membership soared from 87 in 1945 to 255 in 1948. This new drive of members, spearheaded by "Mr. Westlake" - Rex Walker, ensured the Westlake remained on sound footing. It was Rex who negotiated with the Cape Town City Council for the sole use of the Silvermine Reservoir overflow, known as "brown water".

A pipeline was duly constructed and this was the main source of additional water supply, the lifeblood of any golf course, for near on fifty years. It was not until the recent linkage with Steenberg Estate's effluent water system that "brown" water ceased to be the main source of alternate supply to augment the costly municipal "white" water. The Steenberg lining was an historic milestone in the history of Westlake, with a fully reticulated watering system, and was responsible for the rapid transformation of Westlake into one of the premier golf courses in the Western Cape.

Throughout the history of Westlake, camaraderie and club spirit have abounded and many members have come forward and have given both time and effort to ensure the growth and success of Westlake. This has rubbed off on the staff, many employees having served the Club for decades.

Course and Clubhouse alterations and improvements have been very evident over the last twenty years. Well known golfers have praised the layout and condition of Westlake- among these were Bobby Locke in the 1950s and 60s and Gary Player in the 1980s.

Westlake has hosted the SA Intervarsity Golf Championships, the SA Under-23 Interprovincial, the Nomads Nationals and the SA Amateur, which was held in 1999.

Gerald Crawford was born in South Africa, studied electronics, telecommunication, eco-travel and african travel concepts. He taught responsible tourism in South Africa. If you have any questions or comments please e-mail me on. E-mail Address: southafricantravelarticles@12234455.co.za Website Address: http://www.12234455.co.za

Saturday, April 28, 2012

10 Top Golf Courses in Cape Town

Atlantic Beach Golf Course
Atlantic Beach Golf Club is located in the Western Cape of South Africa close to the seaside village of Melkbosstrand and a mere 30km drive from the centre of Cape Town. The Clubhouse is set amidst our beautifully maintained golf course with sweeping views of fairways and greens merging effortlessly with the fynbos reserve.
The breath-taking, Championship Links Style 18-hole golf course, designed by Mark Muller, offers golfers a complete golf experience on a unique course.With all this, including the iconic Table Mountain as your backdrop, the pristine beaches lining our coast and the beautiful west coast scenery.
Phone (021) 553 2223 or visit www.atlanticbeachgolfclub.co.za

Bellville Golf Club
This 18 hole golf course, situated in the suburb of Welgemoed, is set in a sheltered valley of rolling hills with panoramic views of the Hottentots Holland mountains in the distance.
The dams and water canals abound with birds and wild fowl. Manicured fairways and greens, lined with a variety of trees and floral features add to the tranquil and pleasing setting.
Phone (021) 913 3100 or visit www.bellvillegolf.co.za

Clovelly Country Club
Nestled in the pristine and tranquil Silvermine Valley close to Fish Hoek in Cape Town lies Clovelly Country Club. With one of the finest golf courses in South Africa, Clovelly offers its members and visitors a memorable experience.
This is a picturesque and challenging course, the course is laid out in a fairly narrow valley surrounded by indigenous flora, natural sand dunes and an abundance of bird life.
This golf course and facilities are consistently rated in the top fifty in the country by a leading panel of raters utilized in the annual South African “Compleat Golfer” survey of golf clubs. The results of this survey are published annually by the “Compleat Golfer”.
Phone (021) 782 1118 or visit www.clovelly.co.za

Durbanville Golf Course
It is located in the Northern Suburbs of Cape Town, just a 30 km drive or 25 minutes from Cape Town on the N1 freeway.
There are no steep hills to climb, nor thick jungle to swallow your golf ball. Here you will find open space with beautiful fairways, bent grass greens the equal of any others, a course in immaculate condition. All in all, a wonderful setting for a game of golf with a view across the course to the distant mountains. The Durbanville course is set in a beautiful park landscape. The very well maintained course is - compared to others in the Cape - quite protected from the wind and pleasant to play. The Halfway House near hole 9 offers snacks and refreshments. Visitors are very welcome.
Phone (021) 976 8120. www.durbanvillegolf.co.za

Erinvale Golf Course
The Erinvale Golf Course in Somerset West is a Gary Player designed course and is considered one of the best in the Western Cape. Situated at the foot of the Helderberg Mountains, the views are spectacular with the beautiful False Bay and the Hottentots Holland mountain range in the east. The mountains protect the course from the wind. A scenic hilly second 9 compliments a flat challenging first nine.
Phone (021) 847 1906.www.erinvale.co.za

King David Golf Course
Located near Cape Town International Airport, King David's golf course is set amongst a meandering and rolling landscape. The golf course is fairly sheltered from Cape Town's trong winds and is renowned for staying dry and firm during wet winters. The course is well laid out with plenty of trees and offers spectacular views of Table Mountain and Devils Peak.
Phone (021) 934 3056. www.kingdavidgolfclub.co.za

Metropolitan Golf Course
Located in the heart of the city, the main advantage of the Metropolitan golf course near Mouille Point is its position. It is within easy reach of Green Point, Sea Point and the V&A Waterfront and offers beautiful views of Table Mountain. Visitors are welcome.
Phone (021) 434 7808.www.metropolitangolfclub.co.za

Milnerton Golf Course
Situated alongside the sea in Milnerton, this is a fairly exposed course with little to protect it from the strong winds that blow in summer - this makes for a challenging game. The course offers scenic views out to sea and towards Table Mountain, and the nearby lagoon boasts an array of waterbirds.
Phone (021) 552 1047.www.milnertongolf.co.za

Mowbray Golf Course
The lush green fairways of Mowbray golf course are lined with indigenous trees and tall pines. This championship course is within 10 minutes of the city centre and has been home to a number of prestigious competitions and offers sweeping views of Devils Peak and Table Mountain. The club house is new and modern after being being rebuilt following a fire in 1994.
Phone (021) 685 3018 or visit www.mowbraygolfclub.co.za

Rondebosch Golf Club
The Rondebosch golf course is one of the oldest in South Africa, although the course was completely re-designed in 1994 following the broadening of the Black River which runs through the course. The course also boasts an array of birdlife from herons and egrets to wild geese. Visitors are most welcome.
Phone (021) 689 4176 or visit www.rondeboschgolf.co.za

Royal Cape Golf Club
The Royal Cape Golf Club is the oldest in South Africa and has been home to numerous competitions. The course offers fantastic scenery and views and can be particularly windy making for a challenging round of golf.
Phone (021) 761 6551 or visit www.royalcapegolf.co.za

Steenberg Golf Estate
With a picturesque backdrop of vineyards and mountains, Steenberg Golf Estate is set amongst an exclusive residential development and hotel. The 18 hole championship golf course meanders leisurely through the Steenberg vineyards, pine forests and gentle waterways and is reserved exclusively for the use of hotel guests, members and their guests.
Phone (021) 713 2233 or visit www.steenberghotel.com

Westlake Golf Club
 Set against the backdrop of the Silvermine mountains, Westlake Golf Cub is extremely popular and is an easy-to-walk course characterized by its towering trees.
Phone (021) 788 2011 or visit www.westlakegolfclub.co.za

Friday, April 27, 2012

Top ten music schools in Cape Town


Lots of people come to Cape Town to study music. These  music schools in Cape Town offer relaxed tuition, plenty of rehearsal space and the opportunity to perform and network with like-minded musicians. Getting started could be as simple as buying a set of drum-sticks. Your tutor will take care of the rest.

1 - The Jazz Workshop
Established in 1965, this music school provides a wide variety of music lessons, as well as vocal training. Not only will your specific music needs be catered for, think everything from blues to ethnic beats, but you’ll also be taught by actively performing musicians. Top tip: the workshop is home to an in-house music store.
53 Buitengracht Street | Cape Town | +27 (0)21 424 4956

2 - Cape Town Academy of Music
Founded by Avril Kinsey, the academy teaches the same syllabi as the Trinity College of Music in London. Ever wanted to get into musical theatre? Well here’s your chance, this is but one of the diverse subjects on offer at this institution—think cello playing to songwriting. And the best part? Musicians from both beginners to professionals are catered for.
49 Valentino Drive | Kirstenhof | +27 (0)21 782 8857

3 - Dizzy Red Music
Dezi Ray’s versatile performances have taken her around the world. She’s sung at Cape Town’s ubiquitous jazz restaurant, The Green Dolphin, and dazzled audiences as far flung as  the famous Raffles Hotel in Singapore. She teaches privately and her range of subjects include: singing, microphone technique, styling and percussion. Notably, she counts Zolani Mohala from Freshlyground among her past students.
Cape Town | +27 (0)21 423 4637

4 - Legacy School of Music and Vocal Tuition
Not just a learning institution, but also a space to mingle with prolific musos. On offer are part time lessons in piano, drums, vocals, guitar and bass. The Legacy School of Music not only follows a syllabus, but also helps to develop personal musicianship and band skills. There’s plenty of rehearsal space and, as an added bonus, students are given the opportunity to perform at a number of events.
3 Viola Road | Cape Town | +27 (0)21 556 5052

5 - Strepitoso Music School
Composer Cornelis Jordaan oversees the Cape Town branch of Strepitoso Music School. He encourages students to experiment with their respective instruments, as he believes that real knowledge comes through experience. In this same line,  he arranges regular live performances for his students. The school offers violin and piano lessons, as well as music theory and orchestral musicianship training.
41 Panorama Drive | Stellenberg | Cape Town | +27 (0)21 919 1421

6 - Jamrock Music School
Rock and roll baby. This school has a special focus on rock-related genres, and some of the instruments you could learn to play include; guitar, drums, keyboard and bass—all taught by accomplished, local musicians. Expect an environment that is relaxed and creative.
Shop 57 | Brackenfell Shopping Centre | Brackenfell | +27 (0)21 981 1313

7 - Hugo Lambrechts Music Centre
Expect high level tuition for wind and string orchestra students. Subjects can include, symphonic instruments, solo playing and chamber music. This advanced syllabus prepares young South Africans for the international stage.
Picton Street | Parow | +27 (0)21 939 9105

8 - Urban Beat
The one-stop shop for tuition in drumming, bass and guitar. Fluent in various drumming styles, proprietor, Ian Black, offers affordable and practical drumming lessons. Beginners and more advanced musicians can develop new skills and techniques.
Bothasig | Cape Town | +27 (0)21 558 6258

9 - Kindermusik with Leigh
Nurturing a mini virtuoso? Or just want to have some fun with the little ones? Kindermusik’s curriculum has a focus on songs and dance movements that  could help your child develop physically and emotionally, as well as to enhance their cognitive, language and social skills. This program involves children in singing, dancing, chanting and playing musical instruments.
Stella Road | Cape Town | +27 (0)82 615 5116

10 - Guitar Lessons Cape Town
Martin Hunter is a professional musician, offering one-on-one lessons in acoustic and electric guitar at his studio. ‘Martin’s experience and relaxed concepts for teaching guitar make the learning experience fun, enjoyable but, most importantly, easy,’ commented one student.
Table View | Cape Town | +27 (0)21 556 8197

This article supplied by cape-town-active.com

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Cape Town Holidays: Bo-Kaap and Khayelitsa: By Rachel Hill


Bo-Kaap is an area of Cape Town that used to be known as the "Malay Quarter." It is technically a township and is located on the slopes of Signal Hill above the city centre. It is an historical centre of Cape Town's Cape Malay culture and is home to the Nurul Islam Mosque, which was founded in 1844.

Bo-Kaap is a multicultural area that is rich in history. It is well-known for its romantic cobble-stoned streets, making it a perfect place for you and your significant other to visit on your Cape Town holidays. Due to Cape Town's current economic expansion and development, property in Bo-Kaap is becoming highly sought after for its location, its unique architecture, and the quaint cobbled streets.

Bo-Kaap Museum

The Bo-Kaap Museum originated back in the 1760s and is the oldest house in this area that still has its original form. Its architecture shows the contributions that Muslim settlers made in this area. These settlers were known for being quite skilled at building, shoemaking, tailoring, and carpentry.

The Museum has 19th century furnishings, including a fine Cape drop-leaf dining table. It also has a bridal chamber to match the bride's dress and Cape Regency-style chairs.

The Bo-Kaap Museum is especially distinguished by its front porch or terrace (known as a "voorstoep"), with a bench at each end of the terrace. This was to show the polarising aspects of Cape Muslim culture.

The history and knowledge wrapped up in this museum make it a must-see historical location to visit on your Cape Town holidays.

Khayelitsha Township

Khayelitsha Township is reportedly the largest and fastest-growing township in South Africa today. It is a partially informal township that is located in the Western Cape, on the Cape Flats, about 40 km away from Cape Town. The name "Khayelitsha" means "New Home."

One of the most popular places for people on Cape Town holidays is the Look-Out Hill tourist facility on the corner of Mew and Spine Road. Here, you'll find an art and science centre, an information kiosk, a gift shop, and a restaurant. In addition, you'll find a lookout point on the highest dune that has a 360-degree view of the surrounding region - including Groot Drakenstein, Helderberg, False Bay, and the Hottentots Holland Mountain Range.

Another place to check out is the Khayelitsha Craft Market at the St. Michael's and All Angels Anglican Church. There are many fabric paintings, beadwork, pottery, baskets, and hand-made curios to purchase. All of these items are made by the local community in an effort to boost themselves out of poverty. You may also hear a marimba band while you are in this area.

The Gugu le Africa restaurant is a great place to stop and have a delicious meal in Khayelitsha. You can get a traditional Xhosa meal that has much Cape flair to it.

If you need a place to stay in Khayelitsha while on your Cape Town holidays, Vicky's V&B is an excellent choice The proprietor is known for her wonderful entrepreneurial spirit and hospitable accommodation.

Rachel Hill is a Southern Africa Travel specialist, a company specialising in luxury, tailor-made Cape Town holidays as well as holidays to other destinations in Southern Africa. Our experienced consultants will help you design your very own luxury South Africa holiday, and will be happy to provide you with a free quote.

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=Rachel_Hill

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Robben Island Childhood Memories - a personal reflection, by Michael Klerck

Four hundred and sixty seven years after Bartholomew Dias sailed into Table Bay and set eyes on Robben Island in 1488, I 'set foot', in the arms of my mother, little knowing that I would spend the most impressionable years of my childhood there.

One of Dias's captains, Jao del Infante, in Dias's second ship, landed there sometime after him "to molest the seals and penguins." It seems that ever since then the island has, in some way, been molested. Van Riebeeck and his successor saw the potential of the island as a prison. The name Robben is derived from the Dutch for seals - robbe.

Today there are many more seals on Seal Island in False Bay, where the world witnessed the first breaching by a Great White shark, and which remains the only place on Earth where Great Whites do this (we think). See bottom of the article for link.

The British kept prisoners on Robben Island and in 1845 Lord Charles Somerset had lepers moved to the island where they were to "live and die unwanted on an island of terror".

Many ex-inmates of the prison, including President Mandela, see the island as a special place. So do I, but then from a slightly different perspective. The first four years of my life were filled with happy memories of "the island" as my home. Far from being just a prison, it was first an army and then a naval base where my parents met and were married in 1953.

While various nations of the world spoilt and abused it, there is no doubt that nature intended it to be special. My father, a naval officer at the time, with the sanction of Doctor Hey, director of Nature Conservation, turned an area into a nature reserve. A 'Noah's Ark' berthed in the harbour sometime in 1958. They stocked the island with tortoise, duck, geese, buck (which included Springbok, Eland, steenbok, bontebok and fallow deer), ostrich and a few wildebeest which did not last long.   All except the fallow deer are indigenous to the Cape.  Many animals are still there including three species of tortoise - the most recently discovered in 1998 - two Parrot Beaked specimens that have remained undetected until now. The Leopard or Mountain tortoises might have suspected the past terror; perhaps they had no intention of being a part of a future infamy, but they often attempted the swim back to the mainland (they are the only species that can swim). Boats would lift them out of the sea in Table Bay and return them to us. None of the original 12 shipped over remain and in 1995, 4 more were introduced - they seem to have more easily accepted their home as they are still residents. One resident brought across a large Leopard tortoise discovered in a friend's garden in Newlands, Cape Town. He lived in our garden and grew big enough to climb over the wall and roam the island much like the sheep in Van Riebeeck's time. As children we were able to ride his great frame comfortably, as did some grown men. The buck and ostriches seemed equally happy and the ducks and Egyptian Geese were assigned a home in the old quarry, which had, some three hundred years before, supplied the dressed stone for the foundations of the Castle; at the time of my residence it bristled with fish.

Regrettably, recent reports in Cape Town newspapers show that a lack of upkeep and the proliferation of rabbits on the island has led to the total devastation of the wildlife; there remains today almost none of the animals my father brought over all those years ago; the rabbits themselves have laid the island waste, stripping it of almost all ground vegetation. It looks almost like a desert. A reporter from the broadcasting corporation told me recently that they found the carcass of the last bontebok.

Not all animals were wild.  Za-Za was a deaf Dalmatian - she joined my mother just before I was born and lived without the fear of traffic.  My mother only had to stomp on the wooden floors of our house to summon her.  I was reminded of her the other day when I walked into Cafe Verdi, a pub in Wynberg, and saw a young man with a Dalmatian sitting next to him.  I was telling my friend, next to me, the story of Za-Za - the young man overheard me and said he had read about her in the SA Navy archives, bought his pup and named her after the original. An amazing co-incidence!

The dog I remember so well was my spaniel Lindy - soft and gentle enough to put up with my favourite pastime of sticking my fingers in her ears and sitting on her when she carried pups, and faithful enough to sleep under my pram and growl at anyone who came near.  The island, as you can imagine, was her paradise - rabbits or wild hares and birds to chase but never catch.

One animal which was an integral part of my happy childhood, was a buck called Bambi (what else?). She came across on the 'Ark', alone and frightened. Her parents had been destroyed in a typical Cape fire. My mother assigned her to the empty chicken-hok at the bottom of the garden and she spent some time with us before being introduced into the 'wild'. I fed her three times a day from my redundant bottles and the special childhood memory of her sucking my finger at the end of each meal lives with me. I can still almost feel her diminutive tail flicking through the air with uncontrollable excitement at the sight of me. Or was it the bottle?

All the inhabitants on Robben island knew each other well. There was no crime, and nothing can take the place of growing up in a completely safe environment. I call it an island mentality - the feeling of being part of a special community ran through to everyone. My grandfather, then a retired Colonel and near the end of his life, had a frightening experience while pushing me in a pushcart far from our home. He fell badly and could not get up. I lay on my side, still strapped to my seat and, while he struggled to rise, my only attempt at showing sympathy was a bout of uncontrollable laughter. Luckily for both of us a member of the now disbanded Cape Corps drove past in a troop carrier, helped both the old man and myself up, and returned us to our home. I was recorded as being indignant at his ending what I considered a unique adventure.

My mother's penchant for organising took expression in a massive carols by candlelight with a nativity tableau in which nearly all the inhabitants of Robben Island took part. The naval tiffies constructed large wings for the Archangel which consisted of real feathers, and the halo surrounding her tall frame was embedded with lights which she controlled by means of a switch. The stable and manger were constructed by volunteer sailors, carpenters and artificers. The floodlighting was provided by my father and the head of the PWD (public works department) who both battled against a raging Southeaster. I, at the age of four, was the stable boy. The feeling of apprehension and excitement as I walked into the floodlit stadium, leading Mary's donkey, is still with me. The choir was given additional volume and depth with the naturally harmonizing voices of the black and coloured inhabitants. Few, if any, inhabitants were in the stands - just about everyone was in the tableau itself - but we did get eager support from friends and family who came over especially for the event.

The sound of Silent Night still today evokes the memory of the small children of the island walking up, hesitantly, to peer at the babe in the manger and deposit their gifts which were later dispatched to an orphanage in Cape Town.

Some inhabitants, including a few high-school pupils made the trip to the mainland each weekday on one of the two ferries - the Issie (named after Mrs. Smuts) and the Wolraad Woltemade. I sometimes made the journey sans mother but with my Nanny to meet my grandmother under the old station clock at Cape Town station. Today we smile knowingly at Capetonians reveling in the Waterfront. The ferries berthed at the Victoria Wharf and the harbour cafe was a familiar stop. Nothing can match a stormy sea (see picture) on a Sunday afternoon and the prospect of returning to our haven after a weekend in the wild city. There were the sailing trips on Caprice and other yachts; catching crayfish from small dinghies, and the night-time fishing expeditions by torch.

Capetonians are famous for the appreciation of their heritage and the Navy, famous for its hospitality, decided on an open day. Navy and civilian inhabitants braced themselves for the influx of a one or two hundred people. I can remember a great throng of many hundreds and the ferries and their exhausted crews were busy well into the night returning them to the mainland. A weary island population spent most of the latter part of the day in search of wayward Capetonians who had wandered all over, some thinking a night on the island preferable to returning to town.

I was familiar with the mechanics of the lighthouse - a special privilege for a young child, but just another part of life on the island. Mornings meant gathering in the library where my mother become, magically, a teacher and read to a class of pre-school children. There was a large swimming pool at the Mess. Knowing my love affair with water today, it is strange to vividly remember how frightened I was of it. My mother could no longer take my whimpering one day and hurled me in the deep end (I did have arm bands) - she then couldn't get me out.

My Nanny and I walked each day, right across Robben Island. Long, safe walks of discovery. The bird life was and must still be magnificent, and the view of Table Mountain cannot be matched even from the palatial homes of Plattekloof, one of the posh northern suburbs today. The island farm was a favourite and a visit to the milking sheds was not complete without a search for the resident mole snake who was assigned a 'bunk' in the rafters in return for a diminished rat population. I cannot remember whether, like Able Seaman Just Nuisance, it was assigned any rank though. Near the farm were the remains of a beautiful private garden tended by the Matron of the leper hospital and which had flourished in spite of the fire which had destroyed that part of the island when the lepers were removed. The rambling roses and variety of shrubs seemed to grow in colourful support of the courage displayed by all the people incarcerated over so many years. It was a place many visited with quiet reverence, and still do today.

Nanny, being a Xhosa, struck up a friendship with the non-political prisoners who, surprisingly enough, walked the island with relative 'freedom' in small work parties. Long conversations and much laughter resulted from these encounters. By this time I could speak elementary Xhosa and the hardened prisoners were, to me, simply friendly men with whom I chatted on most days.  What of Nanny and I? - I suppose we were a woman and a child, full of chatter and mirth, and a sad reminder of home.

Nanny is gone. Many of the prisoners are now well-known, immaculately dressed men, imprisoned in our television sets and who speak of the island with ambivalent reverence. In Ciskei there were always two claims to fame for political leaders: imprisonment on Robben Island and also by one of Ciskei's regimes. My own personal claim to fame, and a wonderful dinner startler is that I was born on Robben island. The fact that I moved there when I was a few months old and was, in fact, born in the Gardens Cape Town, has never perturbed me. My mother, however, often reminds me of my indiscretion. I put it down to poetic license; I'll not change my CV for anything! She, in fact, like others, served in the Army there in 1942 and then again in 1946. She met my father there while visiting friends and they were married on the island in the Anglican church (pictured here) in 1952.

There can be no doubt that ex-inhabitants and visitors must wish for some safe sanctuary in the future. No development besides a careful reconstruction of the architecture and natural beauty can give any justice to it's rich history and the many conflicting memories. The recent decision to turn it into a tourist attraction under the umbrella of the Department of Arts and Culture is, perhaps, the best choice (see article below that shows this is no longer the case). There cannot be any doubt, either, that those friendly prisoners would have liked to have experienced the island as I did. Far from being just a "dumping ground for (offenders)", as one editorial in a Cape Town newspaper portrayed it recently, the island has played host to a great deal of 'normality' and even celebration.

Perhaps then, it is fitting to relate one last memory. One day a work-detail of prisoners arrived at our front door. I clung to my mother's side while the spokesman for the group handed over a gift roughly wrapped in brown paper. They had heard from Nanny that Bambi had been released - I had lost a friend and they wanted to show some solidarity. They had carved, lovingly, and probably with very primitive tools, the gift of a wooden spoon.

The spoon took pride of place in the kitchen and always reminded me that along with the memory of a very special place, there are always memories of special people on Robben Island itself.

Monday, April 23, 2012

Beautiful Bo-Kaap - Posted by Andrew Evans of National Geographic Traveler on April 23, 2012



My mind reads each new color my eyes encounter, this wonderful wall of bright stripes along the street–each one a different house with a different family living inside.

The Bo-Kaap is a bouquet of flowers–from the first time I reached the top of Table Mountain, I spotted the tight pack of city blocks below painted with easter-egg colors, crouched on a hill next to Cape Town’s city center with all of its more serious, grown-up buildings: beige, grey, off-white.

I simply follow the colors until the streets rises upward and I step into the rainbow world of the Bo-Kaap. The Cape Malay coloreds live here, I’m told, by nearly everyone in Cape Town. The houses are colored and so are the people, they say.

But it wasn’t always this colorful. Not so very long ago, the Bo-Kaap was an excluded working-class quarter, the quiet quarter on the hillside where colored folks lived and from where they commuted to their jobs in the city.

Apartheid made some neighborhoods “safe”; others it destroyed completely. The failed policies of racial segregation froze parts of Cape Town into a strange limbo, as happened in the Bo-Kaap–or “upper cape” in Afrikaans.

Only after apartheid lost its legal grasp did the Bo-Kaap erupt into color. The whitewashed rental properties of low-wage labor became houses, now owned by the families who had lived in them for generations. Each new color that appeared was a bold statement of fact–not a mere light in the window hinted a human might live inside, but a great visual shout: We LIVE here.

Today, the Bo-Kaap has its own color, literal and figurative, as well as its own sounds and flavors. The Muslim call to prayer echos in the air five times a day–the oldest mosque in South Africa is here in the Bo-Kaap. Children play soccer in the streets, kicking a ball up and down the narrow, sloped lanes.

From kitchen windows, cafes and restaurants come the magical smells of Cape Malay cooking–a fabulous fusion of Indonesian, Indian and Afrikaans cuisine. Among the wide array of food in Cape Town, Cape Malay is the silent favorite. A Xhosa acquaintance is the first to admit it, “The food of my own culture is not so inspiring, just like that of the Dutch. But Cape Malay food is . . . wow. I love it.”

It might sound simplistic, but food and faith hold the Bo-Kaap together–even now, when the world is suddenly fascinated by the neighborhood’s character and residents must cope with rising property values and uitlanders (foreigners) moving in.

“During Ramadan, I make cakes for all my neighbors,” explains renowned cook and Bo-Kaap resident Faldela Tolker. “I want to be sure that everyone has something nice to eat after fasting.” Faldela goes on to explain how tight-knit the Bo-Kaap is today and how much she loves the area’s warm and welcoming Muslim culture.

“We all come together like a glove,” she says, grateful for the support she finds in her neighborhood. When her kitchen caught on fire, did she call the fire department? No. She called a neighbor instead, and her neighbor’s son rushed over and extinguished the flames.

This makes me wonder about my own neighborhood back home. If my kitchen caught on fire, would I call my neighbor, or would I call 911? Too many of us live in cities where we trust strangers more than our neighbors.

I am learning this, at least, about Cape Town. That there are many different cities here, each of them somewhat self-reliant (like the Bo-Kaap) and all of them melting back together ever so slowly, creating a new and fascinating city that is far more colorful than ever before.


Sunday, April 22, 2012

The Great Hottentot Tea Party Posted by Andrew Evans of National Geographic Traveler on April 21, 2012



I offer my sweat as a gift to the earth.

Jethro tells me that my sweat is enough—the important thing is to always give back. If we take something, we must also give. We take water into our bodies and we give it back.

He says this while pulling out the fuzzy black end of one dread lock and burying it beneath a bush. I awkwardly follow suit, trying to yank a few unrelenting hairs, but they hold fast and instead, I wipe my sweat on the leaves of the bush.

We are climbing up Lion’s Head, the sandstone pyramid next to Table Mountain—the one that is said to look just like the head of a lion—and yet I still don’t see the resemblance.

All morning long, my new friend points to this rock and that rock—this one is a lion, this one is a sleeping woman, that one over there is a newborn baby and that one is a giant crocodile. But this is not the African bushman folklore I am seeking—it is all invented myth, a Rorschach test in the rocks.

I wanted to climb to the top of the mountain, but Jethro says there is no point. “There is nothing of my culture on top of that mountain,” he says. Instead, he is leading me to the shrine. The rocks are hot and the trail is steep but I follow him up and down, listening to this odd little Hottentot poet as he rambles a discordant lecture to me incorporating history, religion, race, botany, numerology and of course, politics.

His name is Jethro Louw and he is a bona fide Hottentot. He tells me this with pride.

“I am Hottentot,” he proclaims, then cocks his head to the side in reflection.

Jethro uses the original Dutch word for the Khoi-San people, the first nation of the Cape of Good Hope—also known as the khoe-khoe or the bushmen. “Hottentot” refers to particular group of Khoi who roamed the lands around the Cape, but over the past 400 years, the name has been used as a kind of blanket moniker denoting the wild naked savages of Africa. Where I come from, it’s rather rude, and while once upon a time, our very own National Geographic carried stories of the Hottentots, the name is now considered extremely politically incorrect and downright racist. In fact, just that morning, a Xhosa man told me to never say Hottentot—it is far too derogatory.

But Jethro disagrees.

“Hottentot is what I am, so call me that.”

He goes on to explain that he is Khoi-San, yes, but that it is too big a term for his people. He is not one of the bushmen of Botswana and he does not live in a mud hut in the Namibian desert—he was born in Cape Town and his first language is Afrikaans.

“The Dutch gave us the name Hottentot because that’s the sound they heard when we talked, so it’s just a made-up word and that’s alright!” Then he rumples his brow and exclaims, “Hey, I don’t care what you call me, just call me man!” He laughs at his joke, then hops to the next rock.

Our journey to the sacred shrine continues. Now Jethro pulls twigs and leaves from the fynbos, bits of herbs, naming them out loud in four or five different languages, or else forgetting the name completely, but explaining their purpose.

“This one is good for high blood pressure. This one here is what the rhinoceros like to eat. And this one here—wild celery—it’s good for helping with water retention. I am going to pick some for my mother now.”

Jethro keeps walking and talking, grabbing at bits of bushes, before stopping at a low shrub with miniscule green confetti leaves that cling to toothpick branches—aniseed boegoe he calls it.

“Ah, this one here is great! You make into a tea and it really helps you out, you know? It calms you down—way down man!” Jethro hands me a clump to carry in my bag.

“Yeah, we gotta make this tea—you’ll love it, man—boegoe.” From higher up on the trail, Jethro turns back at me and smiles a wide, toothless grin.

“Maybe someday, we’ll have The Great Hottentot Tea Party!” He keeps laughing with real joy. Between all of his stories, folklore, poems and bits of botany, this small native man keeps up a steady trail of laughter, punctuated by interludes of simple genius.

“Do you know the first script of Afrikaans was written in Arabic?”

I have quickly learned this one thing about Jethro—sometimes I think he is talking utter gibberish—the next thing, out tumbles some thick slice of knowledge or a wonderfully golden quip.

As a language, Afrikaans was born in the kitchens of Cape Town, where the Dutch mingled with their slaves, so many of them Muslims from Southeast Asia. Today, the language is as colorful as the country that speaks it, incorporating words from all the different people who’ve set foot on this spit of land at the end of Africa.

“Cape Town is the oldest European city in the southern hemisphere,” Jethro adds, then launches into an explanation of how African, Asian and European all mixed at this one lucky point of geography. Somehow his own people got the raw end of the deal, but he is strangely not bitter.

“My culture has been neglected for too long, and that’s why it is so important for me to share with you now.” That’s all that he has to say about a very painful history of exclusion and decimation. The sad fact is that from the start, Jethro’s people have been marginalized in their homeland. The first official census in the Cape Colony did not take place until 1865, where the British government counted 180,000 Europeans living among 200,000 Hottentots and “others” (not including the 100,000 Xhosa). That means that two hundred years after Cape Town was founded, the Khoi-San still represented the majority in this city.

But that ratio changed rapidly. Among the oppressive laws of the British was a pass law in 1809 that specifically ordered the Hottentots to maintain a “fixed place of abode” from which they could not leave without a pass signed by the landowner. Thus marked the end to travel and free movement for one of the oldest nomadic peoples on earth.

“You know they have museums in Europe with the heads of my ancestors on display, but with glass eyes?” Jethro is right—that actually did happen once upon a time. Hottentots were once carted away to Europe where they were displayed as curiosities in museums—even zoos—or made to perform in circus sideshow acts.

We reach a ledge on the mountain and stop at a clump of balloon-shaped boulders—this is the shrine.

“From here you can look down and see all the madness,” Jethro nods to the tight city below, filling every inch of coastline with gardens, tennis courts, swimming pools, and parking lots. The traffic hums and gigantic yellow building cranes move with steel beams for new buildings. Overhead, helicopters buzz like lost dragonflies.

Jethro leads me into the shrine—a natural shelter formed by three fallen boulders, each one the size of a truck.

“All that down there is madness man!” he shakes his head. He is right—for the first time, I see the beautiful city of Cape Town through his eyes—an urban fungus spreading uphill on every coastline, closing in on the mountain. It is madness.

But Jethro is a little mad, too, in the British sense of the word. As I sit on the ground in the shade of a boulder, I watch him fumbling with a wad of sage that we picked earlier, “for healing, man.” Jethro lights the sage and mumbles some words with both eyes closed. I watch as the smoke explodes and a single red flame jumps three feet high. Jethro jumps up and stomps on the fire, almost dancing the burning bush back into a smoking wad of natural incense.

Now he is holding an orange pipe in his hands and playing it like a flute. This is what the Xhosa shepherds play out in the fields, he explains. The noise is an ear-pinching whistle and while my white man ears find it entirely annoying, I try to follow the mood.

Now he is telling my fortune, reading my personality based on my birthday.

“Six is a number that travels a lot, so you need to travel a lot.” This weird prophet is stating the obvious, but I say nothing—I only listen.

Jethro says that based on my numbers, I am a good salesman. “You could sell ice to an Eskimo!” he shouts. But then he sees my worried face and edits his phrase, “What I mean is that you could sell ice to the Inuit—who already have so much ice . . .”

My worried face is merely my shock at the surrealism of my situation. I am in Africa, sitting underneath a rock, listening to a bona fide Hottentot who is at this moment, worried about offending the Eskimo. The tears in my eyes are from the stinging sage smoke that surrounds me, but they could also be from the suppression of laughter, or perhaps I really want to cry a little.

And that’s when Jethro reveals that he’s an ex-con.

“Most people think that grown men don’t cry, but see, I’ve been to prison and man, did I cry there. I cried like a baby when I was in jail.”

And now I feel like Alice in Wonderland, at the Madhatter’s crazy tea party, where the reader is unsure if she is having fun or facing grave danger. But Jethro is not a criminal—he has no interest in taking anything or hurting anyone.

“I see someone’s left ten cents here!” He picks up the shiny South African coin. “Ah, but this is too little—such a poor reflection on the Copper Belt,” he chuckles. He holds the money up, “This is not a currency we deal in—my people. Money is nothing to the San.” And with that he throws the coin back into the dirt.

The Khoi-San became criminals when their way of life became a crime. Just like the Xhosa became warriors when their lands were challenged. Xhosa is a San word that means “Fighting Man”.

South Africa is a land of labels, mostly labels placed upon one group by another. The Dutch called the Khoi-San Hottentots. The Khoi-San called the Bantu farmers the Xhosa. The Xhosa called the white people mlungu; the Dutch merchants called the settlers the Boers, and the English made all the names stick.

But a long time ago, the very first people of Cape Town simply called themselves the Khoi-San (literally “real person”) or the khoe-khoe (“people people”). I think that so much of the nearly 400-year experiment of South Africa has been figuring out just who is, in fact, a Khoi-San—a real person. It is not a uniquely South African question—the entire world with all of its manmade names and borders is constantly struggling with—or ignoring—the question of who is a person. Perhaps that is why we are all watching South Africa so closely—they are tackling a world problem. Only in the last few decades has South Africa formalized an understanding that everybody is in fact, a  “khoe-khoe”.

People are people. The Xhosa word is uBuntu—humanity—and it translates literally as: “I am what I am because of who we all are.

This is what I love about South Africa. There is a word for everything because there is a world of languages to choose from. What’s more, in this country, true self-affirmation only comes from accepting the diversity around you.

“Man, my neighborhood is really diverse,” Jethro says to me on the way down the mountain. “We even have white people living there!” he shouts. It is the first time in my life that someone has taken pride in their diversity because whites are present. And it is the first time in my life that an indigenous nomad has asked me to be his friend on Facebook.

I’ll see you on Facebook, man!” he calls out and I nod yes before shouting back, “Gunn-Gunn Si!”

It means “Thank You” in San. Jethro taught me this, right after quoting Nelson Mandela: “When you speak to a man in his own language, you speak to his heart.”

Back in the madness of the city, I enter my civilized, air-conditioned hotel room and turn on my computer. First I find Jethro on Facebook and friend him—unlike me, he is a true digital nomad. His people are born wanderers but even then, we can remain equal friends online.

I click “Friend”, then take out the clips of aniseed brush from my bag. I crumble the tiny green leaves of boegoe into a cup, then pour boiling water over them. The liquid turns a pale green—I take one sip, then another.

It is the tea from the Lion’s Head—I am drinking this plant straight from the mountain, and just like Jethro promised, it makes me feel quite calm.

So calm—in Cape Town.

Saturday, April 21, 2012

Mkambati Nature Reserve; by Scott Ramsay



Mkambati is one of the world s centres of biodiversity. I may have found what I’m looking for. Mkhambathi Nature Reserve in the Eastern Cape is one of the most photogenic and pristine places I have been to so far. There is much to admire about this relatively small 7 000-hectare reserve on the northern Wild Coast.

The reserve lies about 60km north-east of Port St Johns, protecting some of the most spectacular sub-tropical shoreline in SA. Calm inlets shelter sparkling beaches, offering respite from the booming waves. Emerald grasslands roll down to the shores, where eland and hartebeest graze with the blue Indian Ocean as a backdrop.

Pockets of thick coastal forest echo with Knysna turacos, while kudu antelope hide away in the blanket of greenness. The reserve falls within the Maputo-Pondoland-Albany “hotspot”, one of the world’s centres of biodiversity.

The most extensive forest lies in the north-west of the reserve, in an area known as the superbowl. Here, an amphitheatre of sandstone cliffs surrounds several hectares of luminous high-canopy forest. A river cascades 30 metres down on its way into the gorge below. It’s a breathtaking scene.

The three main rivers of the reserve from south to north – Msikaba, Mkhambathi and Mtentu – cut deep gorges through the sandstone bed rock. A sizeable Cape vulture colony thrives on the cliff faces of the Msikaba gorge.

But it’s the waterfalls which make this reserve extra special. Within the space of a few hundred metres, the Mkhambathi river tumbles down several precipices into deep, dark plunge pools. The last waterfall cascades directly into the ocean, a fitting climax. Here you can drink straight from the crystal clear river. How many places in SA these days can you quench your thirst from a river at the end of its journey to the sea?

Schools of fish move up and down the estuaries and rivers, and along the coast. Fishing is controlled, and the Pondoland Marine Protected Area has done much to conserve the abundant marine life. But enforcement is difficult. The reserve needs more staff. There is just one rubber duck to patrol one of the largest areas of protected ocean in SA, stretching 90km along the coast and about 15km out to sea.

Nevertheless, it’s still a largely untouched place. It is probably what most of the east coast of SA looked like a few hundred years ago: plenty of wildlife sharing their space with local people, living a life deeply connected to the rhythms of nature. Pastoralists and fishermen receiving everything they needed – all the food, water and health they require. Today, the local Pondo community owns the reserve and leases the land to Eastern Cape Parks & Tourism Agency.

But like many of SA’s pristine areas, Mkhambathi is under threat. The curse of unchecked commerce and development is lurking. For several years the Pondo people and organisations like Sustaining the Wild Coast and Wild Coast Project have been fighting mining companies which want to strip the sands and soils of its titanium. However, the Pondoland community, under the leadership of King Mpondombini Sigcau, has forbidden any mining.

I spent a weekend with environmental activist and educator Nonhle Mbuthuma while she was conducting an environmental workshop for local kids at Mtentu, on the northern border of the reserve. “Mining will destroy the rivers,” Nonhle said, “and destroy the grasslands for our cattle.”

Additionally, Nonhle elaborated, the mine is estimated to last for just 20-odd years, but it will ruin the aesthetic value forever. If the mine went ahead, the income generated from nature tourism would – like the rivers – dry up immediately.

“Most of the mining jobs will be for outsiders, and most of the money will end up in the bank accounts of a few individuals,” Nonhle explained.

Another threat is the N2, which the government wants to extend through this part of the Wild Coast. As Nonhle told me, its expensive funding could come from companies who want access to the mining rights.

There’s no doubt that Mkhambathi and its marine protected area could be one of SA’s flagship reserves. For a small reserve, this would be no small feat, yet – incredibly – Mkhambathi’s long-term preservation is uncertain. I challenge anyone to come here and then tell me that SA’s authorities should not do everything to conserve this unique reserve and its surrounding oceans.

For travellers, be sure to drive a vehicle with high-ground clearance, as the roads are in a dire state. The challenge is worth it, because once you’ve arrived at your rondawel at Gwe-Gwe beach, you’ll think you’ve stumbled into heaven. - Cape Times

Scott Ramsay is a photojournalist, he is travelling for a year to 31 of  South Africa's nature reserves. Follow his adventures with this link www.yearinthewild.com   For more information or bookings see www.ecparks.co.za, or call 043 701 9600