Charles Apple

The folks here in the hotel kept urging me to make my reservations to see the political prison on Robben Island early. The place is overrun with tourists, I was told. There are a limited number of seats on each boat, and the spots tend to fill up early.

Maybe this is true at certain times of the year. But it’s still winter here, and awfully chilly to the average South African (it’s decently balmy for me).

We had maybe 120 people on a boat that holds more than 300 passengers. And a lot of those folks were last-minute walk-ups to the ticket booth.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning…

Friday night, I decided I wanted to do three things this weekend: I wanted to a) see more of downtown Cape Town, b) go back over to Hout Bay and eat fish n’ chips at the wharfside restaurant there, and c) see Robben Island.

Because so many downtown attractions are closed on Sunday, I decided to schedule my Robben Island tour for that morning and then take in a bus tour around Cape Town and Hout Bay on Saturday.

You read already about my Saturday, right? If not, make sure you check it out. Especially the ending.

I slept in relatively late Sunday — waking up around 8 a.m. — only to find the day starting out grey, wet and blustery:

Hmm. Not the ideal weather for a trip to an island seven miles from the harborfront. But my luck had held up so well over the preceding two weeks. I figured I’d be fine.

My tour was scheduled to leave at 11 a.m. I took the 9:30 a.m. shuttle from the Westin Grand to the waterfront:

And I hung around for a while, waiting for my departure time. The waterfront was chilly and windy. Not many people were roaming around this early on a Sunday:

The Clock Tower Center shopping center was just waking up:

The Nelson Mandela Gateway building was open and ready for business. My tour was to be the third of the day:

Inside, guards passed visitors through metal detectors and checked tickets:

I had plenty of time to hang around the gateway building, which was filled with exhibits and reproductions of documents telling the story of various political prisoners kept at Robben Island over the years:

In particular, I was drawn to the poster exhibit: Reproductions of posters — some well-designed and some not, but all extremely effective — that were printed and distributed during the apartheid era:

Downstairs, near the exit, giant timelines told the story of the island its prison and the men who were incarcerated there:

Even the Coca-Cola vending machine got in on the act, replacing the usual giant bottle of ice-cold drink for a Nelson Mandela quote:

Without doubt, one of the coolest promotional ideas I’ve ever seen.

Finally, it was time to climb aboard our ship, the ultra-modern Silkulakile… Sikuhululu… Kulaharai…

Oh, to hell with it. Here’s the boat:

Inside, it looked more like a modern jet aircraft than a ferry. Like I said, the ship can carry up to 300 passengers, I was told. Two thirds of the seats were empty:

The similarities to air travel extended to the pull-out instructions in case of emergency:

I made a mental note, in case we needed to evacuate, to not wear any high heels:

As soon as the ship cleared the breakwater surrounding the harbor, though, I knew there was trouble. The ship hit the rough water of Table Bay and rocked back-and-forth. Hard.

The winds I had been feeling all morning had stirred the bay into a swirling, writhing whitecapped mess. Someone, please cue the song:

A three hour tour. A three. Hour. Tour. [sfx of thunder]

None of the pictures I took there do justice to the wild motions our ship was making. In this photo I took of the other side of the cabin, you see nothing but sky through the windows…

…but then, moments later, you see quite a bit of water…

…moments later, you see nothing but sky once again…

And then, moments later still, you see the rough Atlantic reappear in the window:

All this happened within moments. I felt myself beginning to feel ill.

A very kind crew member saw me turning green — and trying to take pictures at the same time — and invited me onto the fantail of the boat:

I grabbed onto the handrail for dear life, clutching my camera with my other hand and snapping away for dozens and dozens of shots of churning waters:

And the sad part of it is: You can’t really tell here how rough the water was.

As we pulled into the Robbin Island dock, I photographed my hand, just to prove to you my knuckles were not white.

However, my hand was encrusted in a thin layer of salt. It’s a pity you can’t see it here.

The entire trip takes maybe 20 minutes. I’m sure it’s a fun journey on a calm day. But Sunday, it was about 19 minutes more than I would have liked.

As I disembarked and staggered down the pier, I looked back and noticed a detail I hadn’t before: The boat was, in fact, a twin-hulled catamaran:

We passed the main office building and gift shop for the Robben Island complex, eager to board our tour buses and start our visit. We’d have plenty of time to visit the shop — or the rest rooms — later, right?

Forget the gift store. I want to buy something here.

It took three buses to carry our 100 passengers from the dock, around the island and to the prison.

Our tour guide said to call him Kent — surely not his real name.

He was very funny, quite knowledgible and charming as hell. Seriously, this guy ought to be on TV or something.

Robben Island was named Robbe Eiland by the Dutch — the terms means “Seal Island.” There was a huge seal population here at the time.

Our first stop was the leper graveyard. The island was used as a lepers’ asylum for much of the 1800s. All that remains are these graves…

…and a church the lepers built in 1895:

Lepers were relocated to Pretoria in 1931. For about ten years, the island was manned only by the lighthouse keeper and his family until the South African navy placed huge guns on the island.

The lighthouse itself was built in 1863…

…and can be seen from 15 miles away.

At its highest point, the island is only 98 feet above sea level.

Despite this, the rocks surrounding the island were the site of a number of shipwrecks over the years.

We didn’t see any wrecks. But the waves were plenty busy, crashing into the rocks like the U.S. economy into the bottom of a fever chart:

I met a very nice couple from Essex, England: David and Wendy Rayner. We were all having trouble shooting photos from the bus, so I offered to share with them all the photos I took Sunday:

After that, I made a point to include them in some of my shots.

A nice side-effect was that they took photos of me, too:

There were always folks living on the island — to work, to watch over the lighthouse, to guard the prisoners. The largest number I can find is just over a thousand people lived here at the island’s peak, which would have been just before 1900.

This gorgeous primary school was built in 1894. It’s still open to any kids who might live on the island or who care to commute to the island via boat:

This Anglican church was built in 1841. We were told that whenever a boy child was born here, the church would raise a blue flag from the pole atop the turret. When a girl was born, they’d raise a pink flag.

Although the prison closed in 1991, a few folks still live on Robben Island. I believe Kent told us that about 80 percent of the houses here are unoccupied:

Some looked quite nice. They were all modest-sized, though, compared to U.S. tastes:

The bus tour around the island took about 45 minutes. The buses themselves were horribly cramped; I sat elbow-to-elbow with the gentleman from England. The buses were also not air-conditioned. Especially coming off such a rough boat ride, I felt awfully ill a number of times.

Here’s the old limestone quarry, where political prisoners worked six hours a day, five days a week, with insufficient clothing, food and shelter:

Prisoners — including Mandela — suffered lung and eye damage from the limestone dust they breathed year in and year out.

Note the small cave in the lower right. Prisoners would take their lunch breaks there, we were told.

This is an awfully pathetic photo of a very important building. This is where political prisoner Robert Sobukwe was kept in solitary confinement, at a spot between the quarry and the prison itself.

The reason my picture is so poor: At most of these bus stops, we were not allowed to get off the bus itself. Whatever photos you shot were out the window. This one, for example was shot out the window and across the aisle. The full frame:

So your photo-taking is limited by a) wherever the bus driver pulls to a halt, b) the height of the people sitting around you, and c) Whether or not you can stand without seriously bugging the rider beside you.

Just something to remember when you make your own trip here.

Our last stop before entering the prison itself was this Muslim kramat, built over the grave of a prince of Madura — in Indonesia — who died in British captivity here in the 1750s. The structure itself wasn’t built until 1969.

Although the Dutch and British had kept prisoners here, off and on, since the 17th century, the apartheid South African government didn’t officially hand the island over to its prison system until 1960. Prisoners were moved here in earnest to help construct a fearsome maximum security prison — specifically for the growing number of political opponents of the apartheid government.

The prison opened its doors in 1964 and operated for 27 years. It reopened as a museum in 1997 and, two years later, was declared a world heritage site by the United Nations.

Our intrepid group of bus travelers bid goodbye to Kent and headed through the heavily-fortified front gate.

Our first stop was a building that housed prisoners in a barracks-style setting.

The inside of the building itself was quite dark and chilly, despite the warm, dry wind beating Robben Island that day.

The iron bars on the windows would have been a depressing sight, day in and day out for years at a time.

Our prison guide told us the glass in this window wasn’t added until 1980 or so. Before that, only the bars protected prisoners from the elements outside.

The guide himself was a former political prisoner here named Kgotso. Or, he said, some folks called him Glen. When I asked him who, exactly, called him Glen, he smiled and shrugged. I get the feeling the name is merely for the benefit of English-speaking guests.

Sixty prisoners were kept on this block, Kgotso said. Fifteen double-decker bunks lined each side. Each prisoner was allowed two mats like you see here. One was to put under you; the other over you.

I got the distinct impression it didn’t matter which was which: They both sucked.

Five days a week, the prisoners worked the quarries. On Saturdays, they were allowed into the exercise yard, where they organized a soccer league.

Many of the guards had Sundays off. Therefore, the prisoners were kept under lockdown on Sundays.

After a moving lecture on what prison life was like, Kgotso took us to D-section, where Nelson Mandela was kept.

Kgotso paused in the yard of D-section, explaining the history of Nelson Mandela and his years of incarceration here.

Mandela’s cell was the fourth window from the door, Kgotso told us:

Here’s the hallway of Mandela’s cell block:

And here is his cell. It’s maybe ten feet square, with one small window to the outside and another small window to the corridor. The double-door had both a barred, locked component and a standard-looking wooden door.

Mandela was imprisoned for a total of 27 years. He was sent here in 1964 — when the prison was only a year old — and moved to another facility 18 years later.

Inside his cell, you could see a floor mat/bed, a small table and a can to use as a rest room.

In fact, however, Mandela was allowed furniture and a few personal items. Photos from the era show a small desk, a credenza containing a number of books and photos of his family.

Mandela was released from political captivity in 1990 by order of then-South African president F.W. de Klerk.  De Klerk and Mandela were awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1993. He became president of South Africa a year later.

Our final stop on the tour was Kgotso’s own cell here in the prison. He spent six years in this cell, Kgotso explained.

The former prisoners who work as tour guides here are volunteers. They work solely for tips. I tipped 50 Rand, a bit more than what most folks offered. I still walked away feeling like I hadn’t given the man his due.

The empty guardhouses kept watch as we silently left the forbidding prison. The visit was fascinating and I was glad I made the trip over from Cape Town. But I was ready to get the hell away.

Here is the prison administration building, at the front of the complex:

I’m not quite sure what this sign is telling drivers. Is this a no-subtraction zone, perhaps?

And, of course, here is the obligatory shot beneath the big sign out front:

The wind had increased significantly over the couple of hours since our arrival. Just after we took that last photo, the island public address system announced the complex was closing for the day, hours ahead of schedule. The gift shop was closing and the last ferry of the day — our ferry — would leave in moments.

We scrambled for the boat. The last place I wanted to spend the night was on Robben Island.

The trip back to the mainland was nothing but miserable. I didn’t even try to take more photos. I clutched my seat in horror, recalling movies like the Poseidon Adventure and the Titanic. You know: happy thoughts like that.

Once we reached the ship’s berth at the waterfront — a miracle in itself, to be sure — I paid a few Rand for a kitchy photo of myself upon departure…

…and paid my respects to a baby seal frolicking on the quay while his mommy slept nearby:

I also visited the gateway gift shop to pick up a book about Robben Island. I knew I’d need to know more about this place:

Interestingly, the weather in Cape Town was still cloudy and gloomy. Table Mountain was nearly totally obscured by clouds.

But just seven miles away on Robben Island, the weather had been sunny, warm and very breezy.

What an odd meteorological wonder this place is.

As I wrote Sunday morning, I stopped by the South African Sea Rescue store to buy a T-shirt for my police and rescue-obsessed daughter. The shirt was so cheap I sprang for a matching hat, as well:

I was also overdue for some lunch. Despite what happened to me as I walked through the waterfront the night before, I trekked back across, pausing only to marvel at the choice of samples provided by this street caricaturist:

I went back to my favorite waterfront restaurant, Spur, home of the biggest and tastiest and, yes, cheapest steaks I’ve ever seen:

My waiter — also named Charles, by the way — offered to shoot me eating my lunch:

Once I stuffed myself, I headed back across the waterfront, caught the hotel shuttle back to the Westin and spent the rest of the day studying up for my advertising classes.

I ended my Sunday the way I had begun: By shooting a photo of Signal Hill, out the window of my room:

By now, the clouds were settling in as if to ready themselves for a lengthy stay.

I took a few minutes from my work Sunday night to load these photos into my blog. But I couldn’t do justice to the write-up and prepare for my first day of ad classes at the same time. Which is why you’re reading this report Tuesday morning, as opposed to Monday morning.

—
EXPEDITION TO SOUTH AFRICA

You’re reading chapter 21 of my journey to Cape Town, South Africa. Previous installments:

• CHAPTER 1: Preparing for the journey.
  
• CHAPTER 2: I made it as far as the Dulles airport bar
• CHAPTER 3: Getting really bored sitting at Dulles
• CHAPTER 4: Safe and sound in Cape Town
• CHAPTER 5: Day one in Cape Town
  
• CHAPTER 6: Day two; No effects at all from jet lag
• CHAPTER 7: A tour of the Westin Grand
• CHAPTER 8: Dealing with little things like money and electricity
• CHAPTER 9: Thursday night on the Cape Town waterfront
• CHAPTER 10: Ending the work week on a high note
• CHAPTER 11: A Saturday trip to the Cape of Good Hope
• CHAPTER 12: A Sunday visit to Cape Town’s Table Mountain
• CHAPTER 13: The blustery ‘Cape Doctor’ winds arrive
• CHAPTER 14: Making some real progress in our class work
• CHAPTER 15: Giant infographics and a night on the town
• CHAPTER 16: Our last day of infographics class in Cape Town
  
• CHAPTER 17: Looking forward to a weekend of sightseeing
• CHAPTER 18: An interesting Saturday bus tour of Cape Town
• CHAPTER 19: Preparing for a week of advertising classes
• CHAPTER 20: A beautiful sunset over Signal Hill

This entry was posted on Tuesday, September 8th, 2009 at 2:02 am and is filed under Charles Apple, Travelogue, Trip to South Africa, Visual ethics. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.