Lizeka Mda: CITY LIMITS
Zoo Lake is 90 years old this year. Over time people have forgotten that the name of the park is Hermann Eckstein. Such is the city’s attachment to the murky water in the sunken lake.
As a park it is not even up to scratch. If ever there was some deliberate design to the landscape, there is no evidence of it. There is no statue; the fountain is not that spectacular. The lawns have become muddied. And even when the grass is mowed, the cuttings are just left there. The gardens look fatigued.
Regardless, most Johannesburgers eventually find their way there because the city life is certainly unimaginable without Zoo Lake.
Such as it is, the park attracts Johannesburgers of every ilk – old, young, black, white, Jew, gentile, Hindu, Moslem – seven days a week. There are no class distinctions here. The park is a great leveller, a democratic place where maids and gardeners as well as madams and masters from nearby Saxonwold and Parkview can get away from it all.
The quieter reaches are a haven of peace and solitude for lovers, even women on their own, if they can take the comments of the gardeners in their stride. The park delights adults and children, but Zoo Lake and children go together.
It is the place the city dwellers come to relax and take a break from the busy city. And they certainly need it.
It’s hard to be jubilant about Johannesburg today, but one of the activities enjoyed by the city is the annual Arts Alive cultural festival. And each year the festival kicks off with the Jazz on the Lake concert.
Whether you are into jogging, soccer, roller-skating, cycling, cricket, boating or just plain walking, Zoo Lake unquestionably makes Johannesburg a more bearable place to live. Even if you rarely go near the place.
There are rituals followed in the park and everyone takes shifts. Some people go there during the week, others on Saturday. Some prefer the morning, while others choose the afternoon.
Feroza may have had a heavy Saturday night but come Sunday morning she finds time for a special family ritual. She meets her parents and various aunts at the park as early as 7.30am and they hit the track around the lake, walking briskly. After about an hour they get around to what really brings Feroza from her flat in Killarney.
The family bonds around a sumptuous breakfast of pies, samoosas, chicken in various guises, French toast and fish, all usually prepared by Feroza’s mother at her Mayfair home the night before. “On a bad day it’s just muffins and tea or coffee.”
Sunday at Zoo Lake is one long shift for Indians. By 11am, when Feroza’s clan is ready to go home, more and more cars arrive in the park and picnics are unpacked. Many cars dislodge young families, whose children make a beeline for the jungle gym, and pr omptly fight over the three swings.
Parents hover over the smaller children. The swings are anchored in concrete, but there is no sand to cover the concrete and to cushion any falls. A slight fall may send a child to the emergency room.
“This is such a hazard,” says Yasmin, who is keeping an eye on her three children plus her brother’s two. “But I don’t know what to do about it. And I’m here every week.”
The Naickers from Lenasia – granny, two women, three men and a toddler – have come to Zoo Lake for the first time in many years. They are here for a picnic but they usually go where the fish are, to the Vaal or Hartebeespoort dam.
Brenda and Mark come from Riverlea and Eldorado Park. “It’s peaceful here, and far from the hustle and bustle of township life,” says Mark.
“You know, dogs barking, neighbours shouting, that sort of thing,” adds Brenda.
They bring lunch and read the papers. Afterwards they go to a flea market: Rosebank, Bruma Lake or Randburg Waterfront.
“We leave before the crowds arrive in the afternoon,” says Brenda. “It gets too noisy. People play loud music. It’s too much if you live in the township.”
“I don’t come here to listen to some more kwaito and R’n’B,” says Mark.
“Here it’s full of Indians,” says Brenda, “but the same thing is happening at Florida Lake with coloureds.”
It appears that, other than visiting flea markets and malls, the park is really the only place young adults go to in Johannesburg. The club scene is too young, complain Brenda and Mark, who are both 28. “You find 14-year-olds in nightclubs these days,” s ays Mark.
By 5pm the tranquillity of the morning is completely gone. The parking lot outside the restaurant is full, and so are the parking bays along Prince of Wales Road. Cars cruise with windows wide open or sunroofs down.
“Boom, boom,” go the sound systems that can be heard clear to the gut. The decibels are off the Richter scale, enough to make one dizzy.
Behind the wheels of these (many of them fancy) cars are Indian youths. Those who are already there lean against the cars, which are well cared for. Not a speck of dust to be seen anywhere.
“We wash the cars in the morning,” confides Reedwan from Mayfair.
Young men and women stand in groups talking, and move from group to group.
There are no phone calls beforehand, says Mosy, even though there are many cellular phones hooked on jeans. “It’s taken for granted that you’re coming.”
The regulars come from Mayfair and Lenasia, but some come from as far as Azaadville in Krugersdorp, Laudium in Pretoria, Vereeniging and Middelburg in Mpumalanga.
“It’s the place to be,” says Bilal. “The chicks are here. Can’t you see it’s going down? Unless it’s raining, we are here every Sunday.”
But what for?
“To play music and just sit,” says Naeem.
“It’s a good place to meet and socialise,” says Rish. “Maybe bring a girlfriend, and just chill out.”
And everyone says Indians at Zoo Lake on Sunday is a ritual as old as they can remember.
As very young children they feed the ducks with parents and grandparents. Judging by the number of half loaves of bread, the ducks are very far from starvation.
>From feeding the ducks, it’s on to the swings and the jungle gym, and soccer and cricket. Then it’s parking in the cars and playing music.
You get married, and take leisurely walks on the track around the lake. If you have children, you bring them to feed the ducks. And so on.
Middle-aged couples often come for a brisk walk, but that’s likely to be on a Saturday. Sunday is strictly for strolling.
We have apartheid to thank for this Sunday ritual. When many places were closed to all but the white population, Zoo Lake was open to everyone. The land was bequeathed to the city for the use of “all the people of Johannesburg”, sparing it from any futur e racist policies.
As for why it is a Sunday custom: “Because many Indians own shops, and therefore they work on Saturday,” explains Razina.
“You should see this place on Eid [ul Fitr],” says Feroza. “Then it’s packed. There is a conveyor belt of people who go round and round the lake, showing off outfits that cost R5 000 or more. It gets so full you have to wait to get on the pathway. It’s a complete Johannesburg institution.”
Now and again forces of evil have threatened this sanctuary, like drunks lighting up park benches and having roast duck.
The biggest threat came two years ago, when some nouveau riche blacks and a few of their friends wanted to locate the R500-million Mall of Africa shopping centre at Zoo Lake, and a garage on Westwold Drive and Jan Smuts Avenue. They hadn’t reckoned with the activism of the residents of Saxonwold, Forest Town, Westcliff and Parkview, who took a dim view of the plans and promptly dispatched the mall planners to Midrand.
Johannesburgers were grateful. After all, it may not be Central Park, but Zoo Lake is the best the city has.