Tuesday, 15 July 1986: A Look at Non-White Townships of East London

 Friday, July 18, 12:30PM, on the train from East London to Grahamstown

After spending the night with Rotarian John and his family, John takes me to meet Billy at one of Billy’s car lots.   Billy is a jovial white fellow in his early 40s who belongs to both Rotary and Round Table.  He seems to have a very liberal attitude for someone of Afrikaner background.  Still, he introduces me to his white employees as Will Mahoney and to a black salesman as Mr. Mahoney.  I believe Billy is trying hard to change, but old instincts run deep.

The black salesman takes me for a quick photo trip to Mdantsane.  It’s the second largest township in South Africa – well, actually it’s in the Ciskei independent homeland.  It’s 15kms from East London to Mdantsane, much of it vacant land.  I ask the salesman why the township was built so far from East London.  He laughs but doesn’t respond, and I say, “Oh, I think I know the answer.”  There are numerous factories, warehouses, businesses, etc. between East London and Mdantsane:  SATV, a carpet factory, brick company, distillery, Da Gamma Textiles, Johnson & Johnson.  My host says that construction of Mdantsane was started in ’63.   He shows me the oldest section on the south end of the township – rows and rows of little boxes.  Not nice housing, but I suppose it’s better than nothing for poor people.

Mdantsane, the second largest black township in South Africa, is actually in the Ciskei quasi-independent homeland.  Residential housing sprawls to the horizon.  Note the large hospital (reddish-brown building) in the upper left of the photo.

 

My driver is from the Transkei.  He lives in another part of Mdantsane.  Although his house has no electricity, he has a gas stove and refrigerator, paraffin (kerosene) lamps and heater.  It will cost him a couple thousand rand to get electricity into his house from the power line.  He even has a TV which he runs off a car battery.  Once a week, he gets the battery recharged.

We drive into the main shopping area of Mdantsane.  There’s a Checkers supermarket, a large Compo Transport bus terminal, women selling fruits and vegetables on the sidewalk.  But there are not many stores for a city of several 100,000.  A few blocks away is an impressive-looking new hospital and a section of homes for Mdantsane’s affluent.  The salesman takes me past the prison where the Ciskei President’s brother is serving 26 years for plotting against the President’s life.  I quickly and discretely snap a photo.

Frasers department store and produce market in Mdantsane commercial area.

 

From the hillside site of the railroad station, I get a good view of the sprawling township.  The housing is generally very unaesthetic.  It could be project housing in a commie country.  The worst part is that it’s built for blacks, not for poor and low income people of all races.  And it’s in this phony “country” called Ciskei.

We get back from the township in time for Billy to take me over to the Rotary luncheon.  I’m the speaker for today’s meeting and tell them about the Summit County Club while passing around pictures from Colorado.  I am presented with a “Gately Rotary Club” ballpoint pen.  All in all, a fairly decent group of white guys.

Billy drives me back to one of his car lots where I am to meet up with Greg.  On the way, he tells me that white businesses in East London have been boycotted by blacks for more than a year.  In a way, he thinks this is good because it has spurned new black businesses in places like Mdantsane.

Greg picks me up and drives me on a photo tour of the non-white areas of East London, including the North End, Braylen, Buffalo Flats, and Duncan Village.  Actually we can’t go into the latter, a black township, because of current disturbances.  The car would be stoned and the army probably wouldn’t let us in anyway.  But Greg does stop at a couple of places along the road where I am able to get good shots of Duncan Village with my telephoto lens. 

Duncan Village, a black township in East London.  Note the shacks in the bottom third of the photo.

 

Greg drives me through the North End and shows me the site of the house where he grew up.  The north End used to be a multi-racial neighborhood much like Sophiatown in Jo’burg and District Six in Cape Town.  It’s just north of downtown East London, a very desirable area for low income people without their own cars.  But the government began moving families out about ten years ago.  The bulldozers moved in and tore down just about everything. The North End will supposedly be redeveloped for business, but it’s mostly vacant lots now.  The coloureds like Greg have been moved to Buffalo Flats.  There are a few Indian families left, but they will eventually have to move when new housing is ready for them in Braylen. Greg points to an old chubby white guy with a beard who is wearing guru clothes.  He has adopted an Indian religion, according to Greg, and wants to live with Indian people.   But he can’t live in Braylen because of the Group Areas Act, so he must live in the North End, what’s left of it, that is.

While driving me through the orderly new housing of Braylen, Greg asks if I’d like to see the inside of a small house.  We go in and meet Dev, who has just gotten home from school.  He is a warm, quiet Indian guy, 30ish and a teacher.  He affirms what Greg has told me earlier.  While the housing is reasonably nice, there is no neighborhood feeling here like there was in the North End.  He doesn’t think there ever will be.  It’s interesting for me to get behind the news headlines and personally discover how apartheid has fucked with the lives of so many nice, ordinary people. 

We return to downtown East London, to pick up Greg’s pretty, thin, café au lait wife, Desiree.  Very foxy!  Greg and Desiree’s home is in a block of “ownership” homes in Buffalo Flats.  It’s a nice middle class home except for big cracks in the wall where the foundation is settling.  We are met by two cute little girls.  A black servant and her boyfriend stay in the basement.  Greg likes having the guy there because he knows there’s a man around when he’s not at home.

After dropping off Desiree, we head out for some more photos of Buffalo Flats housing.  Greg points out “economic” and “sub-economic” homes, rentals which can be purchased after five years.  There are a scattering of nicer “ownership” homes in with the rentals.  The latter bring down the value of the former. “Why do they do it this way?” I ask.  Greg thinks it’s a way to keep all coloureds somewhat the same economically.  He also points out that Buffalo Flats, a large neighborhood of several thousand people, has only one road entrance.  He says the government would deny this, but it makes non-white areas easier to control in case of an uprising.  All non-white areas have limited access like this.

"Subeconomic homes", Buffalo Flats, East London

Greg takes me into an area of new townhomes to meet Lester, a friend of his from the Round Table multi-racial men’s club.  Lester is a light skinned coloured like Greg.  He looks maybe Greek or Portuguese at first glance.  Lester has a good management position in an East London company where he has worked for a number of years.  He hates the government, Afrikaners and English-speaking whites.  A very angry guy.  He’s been in detention, including solitary confinement.  They try to totally disorient you in solitary because there are no lights, and they feed you at odd times.  We drink brandy and have a good talk.  Subjects include such male universals as “fluff” (um, excuse me, South African slang for “pussy”) and drugs.  I ask Lester how he frankly feels about me since I’m white. He says that it’s a lot different since I’m not a South African.  I have no vote or economic interest in the country.   Still I’m white so I can’t be 100% trusted.

Lester’s three kids are running in and out of the lounge (living room).  The little boy (age 3 or 4) has a 4-foot long hairdryer hose and is making noises into it.  I put one end of it up to my ear and he yells.  Then I do the same to him.

Greg and I go back to his house.  Desiree fixes a terrific chicken curry.  I decide I like the casualness of these coloureds.  They are so much more relaxing and fun to be with than some of the fucking “poms” (English), especially at dinner.

After dinner, Greg and I head to the Round Table club.  Billy is there and so are Lester and Dev, one or two other coloureds and Indians and a bunch of white guys.  We sit around the bar and get pissed (shit-faced) watching several wives and girlfriends practicing dance numbers for an upcoming musical which the club is sponsoring.  Lester and I talk more politics.  Then I giggle as Greg and Lester join the women to practice a coed number.  Around 11 PM, a group of us go out for coffee and ogle the women in the café.  My friends tell me that East London is 2 to 1, birds to blokes.  They say it’s easy to pick up “fluff” in the bars. 

Around midnight, Billy takes me home in his Rolls.  His home is a fucking palace on a river with a huge swimming pool.  We sit around and bullshit over a nightcap.  I like Billy but he’s a bit wealthy for my blood.  It’s been a good day but too much drinking and cigarette smoking.  And I have to get up around 7 AM for a trip to the Transkei with Francois, another of Billy’s salesmen.