The venue that hosted Codesa has been transformed into a gambling den. Bafana Khumalo reports
The “miracle” of South Africa’s transition from apartheid to democracy was painfully hammered out at the World Trade Centre in 1993 after months of negotiation at the Congress for a Democratic South Africa (Codesa).
Today, this hall of democracy has been transformed into a loud, bright casino called Caesar’s. A group of enterprising South Africans leased the name from Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas and found the World Trade Centre was adequate accommodation for their gambling den.
“This we inherited from the old world trade centre, this is just a temporary arrangement,” says our guide, Caesar’s public relations officer Paula Carvalalo. She points out a gaudy coloured hall, floors blanketed by a bright red carpet with the motif of emperor Julius Caesar on it.
On the main floor are one-armed bandits. “They are the most popular machines,” says Carvalalo, explaining that the casino has 1 500 machines and 50 blackjack tables. “This will change when the resort is completed,” she says, adding that the main floor will be an exhibition centre. The hall will grow over the next few years into a fully- fledged mock Venetian city, complete with gushing ponds and palm trees.
Next to the main floor is the “Palace Court”, where high rollers insert anything from R10 to R500 a go into the machines. “You can walk away a millionaire,” says Carvalalo. High rollers receive special treatment. Regulars are given a “loyalty card” and do not have to pay the R5 entry fee. Every day 4 000 to 5 000 people pass through the gates.This rises to 16 000 on weekends.
But Caesar’s is not just a place where people make a million or lose their life savings – it does some good deeds for the nation as well. This comes in the form of a black empowerment partner in the consortium that owns the den, and the “Codesa Room”, presently being renovated. It is a world apart from the adjoining dream rooms.
Workmen hammer away, dust engulfing them. “We are going to put up pictures of Cyril Ramaphosa, Thabo Mbeki, Nelson Mandela and all the people who were involved in that process,” says Carvalalo. The resort will also house a museum of democracy. “It is, after all, because of this place that so many people have gotten jobs.”
The casino provides training for dealers, waiters and gaming industry workers. Although most of the croupiers come from other casinos, some are fresh to the industry.
Not only workers are benefiting from the rise of Caesar. Local government is also minting it in taxes, taking as much as R3- million a week from each of the six casinos in Gauteng.
But what is the human cost of this revenue? “We look after our customers the same as if they were family,” says Carvalalo. “We work with organisations like Gamblers Anonymous if people are problem gamblers.”
It is 10am, and the faithful gathered around the machines all fall into the same category – mature white women dressed like they are on the way to the office. The men seem to favour the “farmer” look: khaki shorts and chequered shirts.
“This is our down time,” says Carvalalo, adding that “in the evening it is impossible to walk through here.” She is quite convinced about the future of the resort: “This is going to be the Mecca of gambling.”
The incessant ring of the machines suggest a millionaire is created every minute. Even the poor, it seems, have the chance of untold wealth. “This is the one where you can win a BMW,” enthuses Carvalalo, adding that this is for the outlay of only 25c or 50c.
At lunchtime, the Showbar begins to fill with office-type males. An outfit called Skintight will be performing. They are not exactly showgirls, but the audience seems to find the show interesting. Interesting if women in knickers dancing badly to a techno beat is your idea of culture.
Later we meet Jimmy Argyropolous. He is a legend – to Carvalalo at least. “I a professional gambler,” he intones proudly with his Greek accent. “First 1973 I go to Swaziland, when Sun City open in 1979 I go there and now I come here.”
Argyropolous is a casino owner’s dream or nightmare, depending on the roll of the dice. He relates how he once lost R425 000 in a night and a few days later won R235 000 in two hours. Married with two children, Argyropolous has a permanent base at the casino. He doesn’t see himself as an addict. “If I say for one month I don’t come here, then I don’t come here,” he says.
Carvalalo is beaming, seemingly happy that Argyropolous won’t sell his children to pornographers to settle his debts. The smile fades a wee bit when he talks about his favourite sport: “I like the roulette, she like a woman.” He smiles, expecting one to get the punchline. Blank stares greet him. “You never know with a woman.”
The machines continue to ring. A casino worker leads Argyropolous to his game. It’s a beautiful day outside. Who knows, Argyropolous might strike it rich today. Or he might just give unto Caesar what belongs to Caesar.