#africalite

Cecil Rhodes

After three months back in the UK, I am still catching myself with South African habits: like, saying “Thank you so much” to shop assistants - a particular phrase I never heard before coming to RSA. And even now, it feels odd, even slightly dangerous, to be stepping out of the house and getting in the car with no mask on ...

I was about to blog a “retrospective” on our time in South Africa (Africa Lite) when I was shown a news article about the Eastern Cape. It seems they have decided to rename not only Port Elizabeth and its airport, but most other cities as well, with Xhosa or Koi names -- these people being the present majority and former inhabitants respectively, and both suppressed and disadvantaged by the white settlers, Dutch and English, who created (and named) the cities. Port Elizabeth, for instance, will now be called Gqeberha. What non-South Africans generally don’t know, however, is that both the Koi language and isiXhosa contain sounds that no European language has ever attempted. These are the ‘clicks’, represented by the letters C, Q and X in the Xhosa tongue; so for instance, immediately after the ‘G’ of Gqeberha, you have to make a deep cluck or ‘plock’ sound with your tongue against your cheek, almost as if imitating a horse’s hoof. (The Koi language, I’m told, has NINE distinct ‘click’ sounds.) Many white South Africans never even attempt the clicks, just using whichever European consonant comes somewhere close; so ‘Xhosa’ sounds like ‘coarser’, instead of starting with a sharp ‘click’ made with the tongue towards the back of the palette. And King William’s Town is to become Qonce; I’m betting a lot of white folk will settle for “Kwonsie” if indeed they bother with the new name at all ...

Last view of Cape Town ... from airport lounge

Having returned to Cape Town (in March) on one of the last flights in, we left CapeTown on 31st December on one of the first (international) flights out that was not purely a repatriation flight. It was only two or three weeks earlier I had noticed an unfamiliar noise overhead -- an aircraft taking off from CPT airport -- the first I had heard in eight months. (It was bright orange, so a Mango regional flight.) The airport, when we got there, seemed almost business-as-usual at first glance; except (of course) everyone was wearing masks; then you noticed the sanitisers, the queueing distance-markers, the distinct thin-ness of the crowds. In the departure lounge, two out of three seats were marked as “do not use”, so  we sat on the window-ledge; most of the shops were shuttered, and the duty-free was virtually out of chocolate and had hazard tape all over the alcohol displays. Entering the plane felt reminiscent of entering A&E, with all the cabin staff togged up head to foot in single-use gowns, masks and gloves. Unexpectedly, practically all seats on the first flight were taken; only on the second flight (into Birmingham) was the plane half-empty, with social distancing almost practical. However, with the constant micro-filtering of the air, a plane is possibly the least risky place to be sat next to someone you don’t know for several hours. We had filled in our “tracing” forms, but weren’t required to show the printouts at Immigration; I assume our scanned passport numbers matched up with their records. Angie, however, was stopped and quizzed briefly; at Dubai, she had randomly checked, and been ‘tagged’ as travelling from South Africa -- whereas I hadn’t. Nor were we contacted or followed up after arrival. Still, I learned later they were only checking about 3% of arrivals ...

The famous Red Bus Tour, height of season ... 

President Ramaphosa addressed the nation again shortly before New Year. He rebuked us -- softening it a little by saying “we” -- for having not followed the clear rules to prevent an unmanageable rise in Covid-19 infections. Although part of the issue has ben the emergence of a new, more contagious strain of the virus (similar to that discovered in Britain), much the larger cause has been social gatherings, carelessness in hygiene and distancing, and neglecting to wear masks in any public place. In order to contain the spread, he announced that the whole country would revert to a Level 3 lockdown (we had been on Level 1, the lightest); this would enable most of the economy to keep functioning, with a few exceptions. Another raft of districts, including Cape Town, were finally declared ‘hotspots’ and subject to slightly enhanced restrictions. A full lockdown (Level 5) was inappropriate now; it had only been vital at the start, to enable hospitals and testing facilities to get up to full readiness; they were now as ready as they could be. Because of the undeniable link between liquor consumption, careless or violent behaviour and hospital admissions, the sale of alcohol was to be suspended immediately. No gatherings of any sort, other than funerals (limited to 50 attendees -- a serious restriction for most Africans), inside or outside, including religious services, would be allowed until at least mid-January, the next review. The only miscalculation the Government seem to have made in is the readiness of hospitals to cope with this second wave of the pandemic. Even the same day as the President’s speech, social media posts from doctors and nurses were pleading with people to take all precautions seriously, as there was no more capacity -- beds, or oxygen, or ventilators, or staff -- anywhere in Cape Town or most other places. By 31st December, patients were lying in the car parks; there was no room even in the corridors. In place of New Year parties, specifically forbidden, the President suggested that to mark the passing of 2020 and coming of 2021 we stayed at home and lit a candle in our window just before midnight; to remember so many lives lost. He planned to do so himself. We couldn’t join him in lighting a candle; we were in the air on the first leg of our flight home to the UK ...

Seals and cormorants at Cape of Good Hope