As Olympic fever hits Cape Town, residents are still divided on whether the Games will be good for them or not, writes Andy Duffy
Patrick is sitting with his friends under a bird crap-encrusted statue, watching through bleary eyes as the metal skeleton of a giant podium slowly takes shape on Cape Town’s Grand Parade.
In three days the site will be over-run by thousands of party-goers, drawn together on the night Cape Town hears whether its bid for the 2004 Olympics has succeeded.
The party, organised by the Cape Town Council, starts at 3pm and its extent will depend on whether the city has anything to celebrate after the International Olympic Committee reveals the 2004 host city.
The City Hall and Civic Centre have been draped in Olympic banners and the Waterfront is also planning massive parties in its many bars and restuarants.
Patrick doesn’t really care. Pushed, he says the bid is a good thing, but he’s not sure why. He does know, however, that the only reason Cape Town is in the race is because “FW is coaching Mandela.” Patrick raises his fist and clears his throat to regale – probably not for the first time – the outgoing leader of the National Party. He’s cut short by Joseph, who butts in to introduce himself as Patrick’s friend. Yes, Cape Town’s bid is a good idea and can he have R5 as well?
On Wednesday (September 3) it takes some leap of faith to imagine the Grand Parade being transformed into the focal point for Cape Town’s bid for Olympic glory.
But then this is a city that has for months endured a barrage of slick advertising, blanket hype and gushing press coverage. And by Wednesday – once the death of Princess Diana had sunk in – people are beginning to get suitably enthusiastic.
“If we get it, then I’d feel good about it,” says Owen Letcher, who has been selling bric-a-brac on the Grand Parade for 19 years.
“People tell me different things – that it’ll be a waste of money, that the poorer classes could be exploited. But I think Cape Town will benefit.”
A hundred yards away, Sergeant George Solomons is busy relieving a man of what looks like a tasteful lounge ornament. As he speaks, Solomons pulls the ornament apart to reveal a jagged, gleaming knife blade. “From a policing point of view, I wouldn’t say the Olympics is a great idea,” Solomons adds, fingering the blade. “Crime is absolutely out of control.” He suggests we talk to two youngsters coming our way. After the introductions, Solomons goes back to hunting lethal weapons. “I love my job,” he grins.
The two arrivals don’t want their names in the papers: both are national squad athletes. “Most of the people from the townships are not being informed about the Olympics,” one of them says. “We can’t tell whether the bid is for Cabinet ministers or for the community.”
They point to the workers erecting the party podium, and then to Patrick and his friends. “People are shouting for jobs, jobs, jobs. There’s a lot of development to be done, and if the Olympics make this city poor it will be the poor who suffer. Why do we need all these stadiums? People are still living in shacks.”
Fazeka, who works in a boutique on the Waterfront, agrees that housing should be an issue but she is convinced that it is, along with jobs and crime, already “being dealt with … the Olympics will be good”.
Her view is echoed by Adriaan Sadie, who proudly sports the bid tie – as does everyone else working in his store. “We’re the only country in Africa that’s got a chance of getting it,” he says. “Growth is the very thing we need in this country. Everybody is very positive about it.”
Proof of that arrives in the form of Waterfront security guard Arrie Syster. He’s here to take us along to management so they can give us their permission to talk to more members of the public.
But Syster takes time out from such duties to rave about the bid. He’s carrying with him special leaflets, one for each shop in the complex, explaining why the bid is a good thing. He too wears the tie.
Syster’s leafleting has clearly still got a lot of ground to cover. Student Tina Schwarzbauer says she doesn’t think the city is ready, and a woman who declined to give her name dismissed the whole idea as “crap and a waste of money … The only people who will benefit is big business. They should just build the stadium in the desert and hold it there every four years.”
She makes her statement from the little wooden booth in which she sits, surrounded by caps, T-shirts and ties. Each is emblazoned with four digits: 2004.