Yes! I got to sleep in this morning. Yeehaw! It felt so good not having to get up to an obnoxious alarm going off. As much as I love traveling, it does wear on a person after a while. It was great to have a little break in the routine this morning. We got to semi-relax and enjoy a leisurely breakfast before heading to the lobby to wait for our ride. I felt refreshed and invigorated.
Our ride was there actually twenty minutes early so I was glad we were already down in the lobby. Our driver was a nice gentleman who ushered us into the car for the short ride to the waterfront. He affirmed that he would meet us at 3 PM to pick us back up. Obviously he has had a great deal of experience driving people to and from the Robben Island tour.
As we drove along the promenade to the waterfront, Doug and I both kept an eye peeled for a basset hound as this area was popular for people walking their dogs. I didn’t have much hope of spotting one but you just never know. We HAVE seen bassets all over the world. I always try to be hopeful. We hadn’t gone very far when I heard Doug say “Basset!” Sure enough, there was a young basset being walked. We just got a glimpse of him and then we were passed him. I wanted to yell “Stop the car!” but I knew it wasn’t realistic. We had to get to the pier for our ferry ride. I was thrilled to see those beautiful long ears and disappointed that I didn’t get some bassets snuggles. But at least we saw a basset hound here in Africa, unexpected but wonderful.
We arrived just in time to line up and board our ferry named the Krotoa which held 200 people. I would be willing to be that it was filled to capacity. I didn’t see any empty seats. We were packed in like sardines. That was to be the theme of the entire tour. The ride over to the island was 30 minutes and was far bumpier than I expected. The water of the harbor looked smooth but we were bouncing around some. From the “Oohs” and “Aahhs” of our fellow travelers, you would have thought we were sailing in the Drake Passage on a stormy day. Maybe they hadn’t been on a boat before?
We were entertained on the ride over to the island with a video explaining the history of Robben Island. After its discovery by Bartolomeu Dias in 1488, the island was used by Portuguese navigators. When the Dutch came it was used as a refueling station. Sheep and other livestock were kept on it as they were safer here than on the mainland. Gradually the Dutch morphed it into a prison. It was named Robben (Dutch for seal) Island by the Dutch because of the plethora of seals found there.
Our ship was named after an 11 year old Khoi girl who was “given” to the Dutch to learn to be an interpreter/facilitator for Jan van Riebeeck who settled Cape Town. She was given to Riebeeck by her uncle Autshumato who was a Khoi chieftain. He is thought to be the first prisoner on the island. Krotoa married a Dutch surgeon in a Christian ceremony. She is thought to be the first Khoi to do so. Her husband then became the appointed superintendent for Robben Island where they lived. They couple had three children before he went off to Madagascar to rummage up some slaves to bring back to South Africa. He was killed there while undertaking this task. Krotoa turned to alcohol and ended up being imprisoned on Robben Island for immorality which was totally untrue. Eventually she died there.
Over the course of years, the Dutch imprisoned many people from the East Indies on the island, kings even, who went against them. Of course the East Indies were where the Dutch were getting their slaves so it is no wonder that the kings and leaders were not cooperative. That extended to people of different religious beliefs as well.
When the British took over, they continued the practice of using the island as a prison. African leader Makanda Nxele who led his tribe in the fifth of the Xhosa Wars was sentenced by the British to life imprisonment on the island. He drowned on the shores of Table Bay after escaping the prison. For a while it was also a whaling station but that made it easier for the convicts to escape so the station was closed. In 1812 they decided to use the island as an asylum for the mentally ill and moved the prison to the mainland. Then in 1843 it was used as a lepers’ colony as well as a place for the poor, the chronically ill, and the mentally ill. The conditions for these people on the island were abysmal but it wasn’t until 1931 that the isolation “hospital” was closed down.
During the 1940s it was used as a military complex. The government built new roads and new facilities there. Then in the 1960s, it once again became a prison. During the apartheid era, the government used the island to house political prisoners. It gained international notoriety for the terrible conditions suffered by the prisoners, most of whom were black. All of the big names from the ANC who were arrested ended up here from Walter Sisulu to Nelson Mandela. When Mandela and the others were released, the prison was shut down. After Mandela became president, the new government converted the island into a learning center so that its history would not be forgotten.
Robben Island is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site which I didn’t know. It was given that designation because the buildings on the island are a reminder of its terrible history but they also exemplify the power of the human spirit, freedom and the victory of democracy over oppression. It is a symbol for all of the black and colored people of South Africa of their courageous fight for equality.
Unfortunately our trip ended before the video finished. Doug and I both were hopeful that they would show the remainder on our way back. The video was very interesting and we had learned a great deal from it. But before we could finish the history, we had to see the island itself. And this is where my disappointment with the tour began.
All I can say is that it was a race of masses for the rest of the tour. The 200 people from the ferry crowded into cramped busses. Doug and I got two of the last seats on ours. We were cheek and jowl. It wasn’t pleasant. While touring the island, I couldn’t see anything because I wasn’t sitting at a window. I caught glimpses of what our guide was telling us but that was all.
I know we drove by the Moturu Kramat which was built to commemorate Sayed Abdurahman Moturu, the Prince of Madura. A kramat is a shrine that honors a holy person in Islam, particularly in South Africa. Moturu was one of Cape Town’s first imams. He was imprisoned here in the mid-1740s and died here in 1754. In 1969 the kramat was built and the Muslim political prisoners would pay homage there before leaving the island. I’m sure it looked nice but I couldn’t see much of it.
We drove by the lepers’ cemetery which looked unkempt from what I could see. It seemed sad to me that these people are still treated dismissively. They were victims as much as the political prisoners were. They should be accorded some respect.
I did get to see a tiny slice of the quarry where prisoners spent their days cutting blocks of stone out of the ground. In the center I noticed a pile of rocks. That seemed peculiar. Our guide explained its significance. The maximum security portion of the prison closed in 1991. In 1992 the former prisoners all returned. In the quarry they all placed a rock in the pile in memory of the struggle and what they survived. At least I managed to get a photo of that.
And that pretty much ended our bus tour for which I was quite grateful. I was tired of being hot and crowded and not being able to see anything. We did have a quick stop for the toilet. There was also a snack shop where you could grab something to eat. Since it was noon, the place was packed so we didn’t even try. We only had ten minutes and the toilet wait took most of that. We walked out of the building just in time to be told we needed to board our bus for the ride to the prison itself.
It was a short drive and then we were there. The prison had a maximum security area and a medium security area which closed five years after the maximum security section. Of course the black political prisoners (there were no white prisoners in there) were all in the maximum section. Short guard towers marked the boundaries of the prison. Our guide informed us that the guards had orders to shoot to kill.
Our bus guide left us here and we joined our new guide who was a former prisoner. All of the people working here actually live on the island. Until 2011 there was even a school here for the children. However, that year they closed it down and now the kids have to take a boat to the mainland. They have a small store, church, post office. It’s like a tiny town.
Our prison guide was Ntando. He had been a member of the militant arm of the ANC. He joined at the age of 19. In 1981 he left the country illegally and received military training. Then he traveled to Germany where he was taught specialized guerrilla warfare. He fought in Soweto and was arrested at 24. Before being sentenced, he spent six months in detention. He didn’t talk about that period of his life much other than to say those six months were worse than all of his years here on Robben Island. After visiting the Apartheid Museum, I could understand that. Blacks held in detention were tortured mercilessly. Many were brutally murdered. They were dehumanized and brutalized. He felt like he was lucky to get out of detention alive as many didn’t. When he was finally sentenced, his term was seven years. The charges against him were leaving and entering the country illegally. He left the prison in 1991 when the maximum security section was closed down. He came back later as a guide.
Ntando took us to the medium security section and sat us down inside one of the bigger rooms. We were all stuffed in around the perimeter. By the time everybody got seated and more chairs and benches brought in, we had way more people than was on our bus. Plus a good 15 minutes were wasted in the little time we had trying to get seats for everybody.
Finally everybody was situated and the tour continued. Ntando showed us a blow-up of what their ID looked like. It stripped the prisoner of their name and turned them into a series of numbers. The first set of numbers designated what number of prisoner the person was that year. The second set of numbers designated the year of imprisonment. Mandela’s number was 466/64 until 1982 when he was transferred. He was the 466th prisoner incarcerated in 1964.
Part of the display was the two blankets each prisoner was given. They could sleep on one and use the other as covers, sleep on both and have no covers, or sleep on the floor and use both as covers. They had no beds until 1969 and were crammed into sleeping areas much like the prison we saw in Johannesburg.
It was interesting to note that the colored prisoners and black prisoners were fed different diets. Blacks, who were labeled “Bantu,” were given less meat, no jam or syrup, and less of everything else. It was eye-opening. Neither groups were fed well. I don’t know how they did hard labor with as little as they were given.
Food wasn’t the only difference. Blacks were only given shorts to wear and no shoes. Indians and colored prisoners got long pants and shoes. The goal of this differentiation was to divide and conquer. The Powers-That-Be wanted to make the prisoners fight each other, not the system.
However, to fight the system, on March 4, 1990, 343 prisoners began an 11-day hunger strike. Towards the end of the 11 days Ntando said was too weak to climb the ladder to get into his top bunk. He ended up sleeping on the floor. The strike was sparked by the release of Mandela. The black prisoners were wanting to strengthen the bargaining position of the ANC. It showed unity among the various political movements as they all joined in the hunger strike.
After telling us how he came to be a prisoner here and explaining a bit about the day-to-day life there, Ntando took us over to the maximum security block or B Block. This is where the majority of the high profile political prisoners were kept such as Mandela.
In max security the prisoners each had their own tiny cell with a bucket for a toilet. They didn’t have beds either, just blankets on the floor. There was a tiny table with a tin plate, cup, and spoon. That was it. Austere and mind-numbing. Of course they didn’t spend all day in there like our Death Row prisoners do. They spent all day out in the yard breaking up blocks of rock or in the quarry. I believe they were only allowed to talk with each other during lunch. The warden didn’t want these high powered political prisoners fomenting trouble. However, it was during lunch that they held their political discussions tucked inside a tiny cave out in the quarry.
Walking through B Block was a stark reminder of how grim life was here. There were no niceties like TV or radio although I believe they were allowed books. And if memory serves, they would have family visit all of twice a year. I’m nor sure how often their lawyers could visit. I do know that white lawyers were allowed straight in while black lawyers were searched. It was through a white lawyer that Mandela sneaked out his manuscript for A Long Walk To Freedom. He had it sent to London where it was published. I need to get it and read it.
Of course in our tour group nobody paid any attention to cells other than Mandela’s. It was next to impossible to get a picture of it. Everybody was bunched right in front. I managed to snag a fast partial photo and one through a glass window looking into the cell. I took a picture of another well as well so I could get a better representation of what the cells looked like. Mandela’s was no different except it was his actual items in the cell.
After we walked through the block Ntando led us through the center courtyard and to the gate. Our tour was finished. From here we hustled back down to the dock where the ferry was boarding. We were running late from our tour. We had been told that boarding would begin at 1:45 and the ferry would leave at 2:30. It was now 2:05 and we had to move fast as it was a bit of a walk. I don’t go too fast these days. We made it though with plenty of time. We found a couple of seats together and settled in for the thirty minute ride back to the V&A Waterfront. We were doomed to disappointment on finishing the historical video. They played something else instead. Darn! We’ll never find out that last bit of history.
While we sailed back to the mainland, I reflected on all I had learned about Mandela and his time on Robben Island. I have always thought of Mandela as an older man when he was here doing all of this hard labor but really, he was young. He spent 17 or 18 (I’ve read and heard both) years here before he was sent to Pollsmoor Prison and given the prison number 220/82 . His last year in prison was spent at Victor Verster Prison. Joyce and I actually got to see the outside of the prison the last time we were here on the day we went to Stellenbosch. I’m not sure why Abe didn’t take us there. I’d have rather done that than go to the third wine tasting. Anyway, there is a nice statue of Mandela just outside of the prison. It commemorates his “long walk” to freedom.
Now this is my own personal opinion, but I strongly believe that Mandela’s time in prison helped him become the great leader that he was for the country. It molded him into being the leader that the country needed in its first baby steps as a democracy. I’m not sure anybody else could have done it. And I’m not sure he would have had the wisdom to do it if he hadn’t had those years locked up with his mentor Walter Sisulu. We will never know.
We arrived back at the Victoria & Alfred Waterfront which is named after Queen Victoria and her son Alfred, not her husband Albert, right at 3 PM and our driver was there to meet us. He ushered us through the waterfront and out to his car. By this time I was starving to death. We hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. At the hotel I finished off my leftover chicken from dinner. It was as good as it had been last night. It helped that I was hungry. Doug finished off the bits and pieces we had left over from our two bagged breakfasts.
Around five we enjoyed a beer down in the bar, our favorite afternoon hangout when we are here in the afternoon. Then around 6 we strolled down to the swanky food court we had noticed last night on our way to Spur. It was a yuppy type of food court but it looked good. This way we could each get what we wanted. We had really enjoyed the food courts like this when we were in Malaysia.
We wandered through the big area. I scoped out the gelato shop. It was right at the entrance. Then we wandered around seeing what our options were. You could get everything from burgers to sushi. Doug decided on ribs. I chose the brisket at a different place. While he placed his order, I went to order mine. I was glad I asked if I could pay with my Apple wallet because I was told “No.” They only took cards. My cards were locked in the safe back in the room. Darn! So I went with my second choice which was teriyaki chicken with noodles. There I could pay with my digital credit card.
We found an empty table and were in the middle of eating when the power went for load shedding. They had generators which kicked in almost immediately. However, it did knock out the mics for the band that was playing. It took them a while to get up and going again.
After we finished eating, we strolled through the chaos of the place to get our gelato. As we walked, we noticed many of the food kiosks were dark now. They had no power so had to close. What a horrible way to have to do business. When we got to the gelato shop, they were only partially open. One small freezer had gelato that was available for purchase. Of course the only flavors we wanted were in the freezer that was shut down because of load shedding. Grrrrrr! So we headed to the other ice cream place where they flatten the ice cream and then roll it up like a piece of paper. It was completely dark. At that point I gave up on ice cream.
Doug was still determined so we stopped at a convenience store on the way back to the hotel. They had power but Doug couldn’t tell if the ice cream was chocolate or not. The gentleman working there didn’t speak English so we left empty-handed. We really didn’t need it anyway 🙂
Tomorrow is our last full day here in South Africa. To be honest, I am ready to go home. It has been a wonderful trip but I’m ready to watch TV with Sam and drink my morning latte with Leia on my lap. It’s the small things I miss when I’m gone. But tomorrow we have our last hurrah. We are going to do the Hop On, Hop Off bus and a free walking tour downtown. No early wake-up which works for me and mostly a laid-back day.
Tales from the Trail 